A tall but underfed goliath man, broad-shouldered yet visibly lean, with weathered gray skin, dark braided hair tied with temple cord, and a solemn face marked by a faint chalk-white prayer tattoo across one cheek. He wears chain mail over plain vestments, carries a greatsword with a wrapped prayer cord on the hilt, and keeps his holy symbol polished like a cherished relic.

Hadrun is patient, meticulous, and unexpectedly gentle. He listens longer than most warriors, speaks only after weighing his words, and treats every task, from polishing armor to comforting the dying, like a sacred obligation. In battle he becomes focused and severe, not cruel, but utterly convinced that if he stands firm, others do not have to break.

Born high in the wind-scoured stone reaches where his people measure worth by endurance, Hadrun learned early that he had more faith than flesh. He was the runt of a formidable line of cliff-born goliaths, quieter than his siblings and more interested in the temple bells echoing through the passes than in climbing contests or wrestling pits. When a traveling priest recognized the reverence in his questions and the discipline in his silence, Hadrun was taken in as an acolyte. There, he scrubbed floors, copied prayers, carried water to the sick, and learned that devotion could be forged like steel, through repetition, humility, and pain.