Tarzel Voth is a broad-shouldered gold dragonborn with weathered amber scales, a few pale scars across his muzzle and forearms, and a heavy, deliberate posture shaped by soldiering and solitude. He keeps his armor meticulously clean, his shield polished despite years of use, and wears a worn hermit’s cloak over chain mail when he can. His eyes are calm and watchful, like a hunter measuring wind before an arrow is loosed.

Tarzel is patient, restrained, and quietly compassionate, with a soldier's discipline wrapped around a hermit's hard-won calm. He rarely raises his voice, prefers practical solutions, and measures honor by who is protected when the dust settles. Beneath that reserved exterior is a dependable warmth, especially toward farmers, travelers, and anyone who lives one bad night away from ruin.

Tarzel Voth spent a decade alone in the wilds beyond the village roads, surviving as a hermit after years of military service had left him tired of banners, commands, and the easy certainty of war. In that quiet time he became known only by rumor, a scaled figure who mended fences in silence, drove off wolves, and left meat on the thresholds of families too poor to hunt well. The villagers came to speak of him as a strange kindness in the hills, a disciplined hermit with the heart of a protector and the patience of an old trapper. When a local lord finally sought him out, it was not for his isolation but for what the stories revealed, a man who knew the land, the people, and the cost of violence. Tarzel returned to service not as a brute of war, but as a sworn defender, a paladin who believes order must be made useful, not merely obeyed. He serves with measured words and an unshakable sense of duty, guiding his strength toward stability, mercy, and the quiet expectation that a good law should keep the weak alive long enough to enjoy it.