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Tristan likes to say he was born in a barn. It may actually be literally true--his mother was a groom at the Grayson stables in Bastion, and Tristan grew up in the royal stables, playing with the puppies and the foals, always underfoot. He practically breathed horses growing up; he learnt everything from his mother, but in addition he seemed to have a natural ability--a kinship, almost--with horses. But he was destined for higher things than his mother's life. Almost by chance, he fell in with the young then-prince Alaric. They were almost of an age, and found each other agreeable companions. They grew up together, as much as a prince can grow up with a groom's son. Tristan drank with him, he rode with him, and when rare occasion demanded it, he fought for him. When Alaric became king, he appointed his old friend to the position of royal stablemaster in Arx--an appointment that, admittedly, drew some resentment from the older, higher-ranked, and who believed themselves better qualifed. He retains his position despite Alaric's...condition, now without his closest ally. Still. He has the horses.

Tristan is tall, and looks even taller still by his built, lean and lithe. Broad of shoulder and lean of hip, he is all hard muscle, long-legged with muscular thighs. He has long, elegant hands, fingers hardened by work and rein. The lines of his face are lean and sensitive, but his lips curve habitually into a faint smirk. The sun has coloured his skin to a deep tan and burnt red streaks into his dark auburn hair, making his eyes a startling blue in contrast.

Tristan is a man of almost infinite gentleness and patience--with horses. With people he likes, he can be a great companion--hard drinking, hard riding, and quick of wit. With most people, however, he is often sarcastic and distant, keeping them determinedly at arm's length. He doesn't have time for social interaction. He has to see to the horses. Still, all his prickles hide a soft heart. He is always bringing home strays.