The Elder Scrolls: Tamriel

A broad, weathered Nord in his early forties with a rugged build, Geimund has shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a warrior's tail and a heavy beard flecked with straw. His tanned, scarred skin bears a jagged mark from collarbone to shoulder, usually hidden beneath a thick wool shirt. His pale blue eyes reflect a hard focus, and he wears simple, worn-in leathers with a fur-lined vest in colder months. Despite a lingering limp in his left leg, he carries himself with a fighter's confidence.

Geimund is gruff but fair, with a dry sense of humor and a blunt way of speaking that leaves no room for misunderstanding. He’s slow to trust, quicker to act, and doesn’t suffer liars or braggarts. Though hardened by his past, he’s a devoted husband and father, and takes pride in the simple work of raising animals and watching his son grow strong and steady. He’s fiercely protective of his family and his land, and while he doesn’t go looking for trouble anymore, he won’t hesitate to meet it head-on if it threatens what's his. He holds a deep mistrust of magic—particularly witches—and still wakes with nightmares from Ravenscar Hollow, though he hides the worst of it behind silence and grit. To travelers, he’s the man with the good horses and bad stories. To Solitude, he’s a reliable fixture. And to those few who cross him, he’s a reminder that even a retired blade can still cut deep.

Once a wandering sword-for-hire, Geimund carved out a reputation across the northern holds for handling dangerous work no one else wanted—bandits in the Pale, trolls in the Reach, even a brief stint clearing out draugr tombs. His career came to an abrupt end during a contract gone wrong at Ravenscar Hollow, where a fight with a coven of hagravens left him grievously injured and half-mad with fever for weeks. It was Fridrika, then a stablehand tending the wounded near Whiterun, who helped him recover—both body and spirit. The two eventually married, settling in Solitude where they took over the stables. Though he still carries the instincts of a warrior, Geimund has embraced a quieter life—raising horses, training stablehands, and teaching his son Horm how to hold a brush before a blade. He rarely speaks of his mercenary days, except as cautionary tales. But when danger comes too close to the stables, the old fire in him flares back to life in an instant.