Tedo is an elderly human with a broad, weathered face and a beard like pale wool combed by years of rain. His back has begun to bow, but he stands perfectly straight whenever someone crosses the gate he guards. His movements are economical and strangely quiet for a man in steel, with the measured balance of someone who has spent decades sleeping in armor. His blue gambeson reaches almost to his knees, its quilted fabric faded at the elbows and darkened by old oil stains. Over it sits a plain steel cuirass, carefully polished but visibly dented near the heart. A ring-mail coif covers his neck and cheeks beneath a close-fitting helmet with a nasal guard. The unexpected thing about him is his hands: they are large, scarred, and soldierly, yet he keeps their nails clean and wears a tiny yellow thread bracelet around one wrist, a child's craftwork that he refuses to remove.