Tarraque is a broad-shouldered tiefling with deep crimson skin, swept-back black horns, and a thick tail that curls slightly when he is thinking. His yellow eyes are steady rather than menacing, and he wears his dark hair in a short, practical crest. He occupies more space than he seems to realize, standing too close during conversations and carrying the faint, unmistakable smell of lamp oil, iron, and cedar smoke. His clothing is plain and durable, with old prison-gray stitching repaired in bright red thread.

Tarraque is restrained, observant, and unexpectedly courteous. He prefers clear agreements to friendly assumptions and treats promises like physical objects that can be carried, broken, or repaired. He rarely laughs, but when he does, it is a sudden booming sound that makes nearby cups tremble. He is protective of ordinary workers, clerks, and servants, especially when powerful people treat them as disposable.

Tarraque was born in a city quarter where tieflings were expected to be either dangerous or useful, preferably both. He learned early that the law was less interested in justice than in deciding who could afford to be believed. A gang called the Red Ledger recruited him as an enforcer and courier, valuing his strength, his intimidating presence, and the fact that strangers often underestimated his patience. He began as muscle, but he became the person trusted to carry messages, settle disputes, and make certain debts impossible to forget. The Red Ledger eventually ordered him to break the hands of a clerk who had falsified accounts. Tarraque discovered that the clerk had been stealing from the gang to pay for medicine for his daughter. Rather than carry out the punishment, Tarraque exposed the gang's bookkeeper and turned over the evidence to a magistrate whose authority he still respected. The decision dismantled part of the organization but left Tarraque wanted by the people who had once employed him. Now he travels as a disciplined sellsword, determined to build a life governed by rules he has chosen himself. When anger overtakes him, it is not wildness that emerges, but a cold, focused certainty that every broken rule must be answered for.