Madil Giltar is as striking in presence as in purpose. His hair—a vivid cascade of coppery red—catches the light like flame, usually bound in a tight braid that falls just below his shoulders. But it’s his eyes that silence rooms: violet, unnervingly clear, and deeply perceptive, they seem to look right through pretense and hesitation alike. He’s tall and wiry, favoring speed and finesse over brute strength, and his approach to combat reflects that—swift footwork, clever angles, and a blade that flashes like lightning.

Among the cohort, Madil is known for his unwavering confidence, some say bordering on arrogance, though none question his skill. His tabard fits perfectly, always crisp, as if daring others to match his discipline. He doesn’t waste words, but when she speaks, it’s often laced with quiet intensity—more edge than warmth, more fire than comfort. Still, those who’ve fought beside his know he’s a fierce loyalty beneath his cool exterior, and that he’ll walk into the storm first, no questions asked