Selas is a man of imposing height and rigid posture. His hair is cropped short and has turned the color of steel. His skin is weathered from years of campaigning. He wears a set of flawlessly polished full plate armor that lacks ornamentation, emphasizing utility over vanity. His eyes are a piercing, frigid blue that seem to look through people rather than at them.

I am a silent mountain that the wind cannot move. I speak only when necessary and never mince words. I believe that emotions are a weakness that chaos uses to infiltrate the heart. Every action I take is calculated to uphold the law of my order.

Selas was abandoned at the gates of a remote monastery as an infant, raised by clerics who valued obedience above all else. He spent his youth scrubbing stone floors and memorizing ancient scrolls of jurisprudence. While the other acolytes found comfort in the gods, Selas found comfort in the structure. He realized that the world was a wild, bleeding place that needed a firm hand to keep it from falling into the abyss. He took up the heavy plate and the mace of the templars not for the love of battle, but for the necessity of control. For twenty years, he has traveled the borderlands, turning chaotic hamlets into disciplined outposts through fear and the unrelenting application of divine law. He does not seek to be loved, for love is fleeting. He seeks to be obeyed, for obedience is eternal. His journey has taken him from the smallest temple archives to the heights of military command, but his soul remains that of a humble servant of order.