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A once proud and strong leader hailing from the Everwinter. Bearing the banner of the wolf and broken down by the harsh realities of war. Repeated battles of attrition have taken their toll. The men who fought beside him now long dead. He blames himself for every man lost, though the odds were never in his favour. After his tribe swore allegiance to the crown, he traveled south hoping to open a store in the more populated lands of Arvum in order to get more customers for his small smithing business. His wares aren't great but he charges a fair price for fair work. He now tries to make a living for himself as a simple blacksmith in Whitehold, praying that he never has to fight again. Though in public he claims to be religious, he often doubts that the gods really exist.

Scars run deep across his entire body. Brown eyes stare into the abyss hardly noticing the world around them. A full black beard covers most of his face and his hair has been cut short. His left hand is missing the top of its index finger. He looks like an older man and his voice has an unusual thick accent.

In battle he was cold, calculated and cunning. Tactics were his weapon of choice and his leadership skills were unmatched, however things have changed and he now blames himself about his past. His confidence has dropped and he no longer believes that he is capable or deserves anything. He tries not to start trouble but he often ofends people without realizing or meaning to. He finds it hard to make friends but the friends he does make are friends for life and he will never betray them.