The Elder Scrolls: Tamriel

A middle-aged Breton man with weathered charm and an academic’s disheveled elegance. His once-dark hair has faded into streaks of grey, tied loosely at the nape of his neck. His lightly tanned skin is marked with fine lines of laughter and late-night study. A short, well-kept beard frames his mouth, often half-curled into a smirk. His clever hazel eyes are quick and curious, narrowing with sharp amusement. He wears bardic but practical robes dyed in royal blue and trimmed in bronze, often rumpled from long hours of study. A satchel slung across his shoulder carries quills, scrolls, and a flask. His voice carries the smooth cadence of a natural orator.

Witty, sardonic, and endlessly charismatic, Giraud Gemane is equal parts professor and performer. He thrives in a room full of wide-eyed students and skeptical colleagues, and has a talent for weaving truth and legend into the same tale without ever fully revealing which is which. He has little patience for pompous scholars or dry instruction, preferring to provoke thought through mockery, metaphor, and a well-timed drinking song. Though he’s outwardly flippant, those who know him well recognize a deeper reverence beneath the bravado—a true love for history, and a fierce desire to preserve it. Giraud is generous with praise when earned, sharp with criticism when necessary, and always watching—cataloging not just facts, but the people around him. He drinks often, jokes even more, but never forgets a name, a lie, or a lesson. Beneath the laughter and lectures is a mind that misses nothing and forgives little.

Originally hailing from Wayrest, Giraud grew up surrounded by books and ballads, raised in a household where lore was a second language and dinner table debates could stretch until sunrise. After traveling extensively across Tamriel in his youth—chasing lost verses, forgotten tomes, and the occasional fleeting romance—he eventually settled in Solitude, where the Bards College offered the perfect stage for both his scholarship and theatricality. As Dean of History, Giraud’s teachings are as colorful as they are informative, peppered with personal anecdotes that may or may not be true. He takes particular pride in recovering obscure pieces of cultural lore, such as Svaknir’s lost work or the legendary Rjorn’s Drum—efforts that have earned him quiet respect among scholars and raucous applause from students. Yet rumors linger that he’s brushed too close to dangerous knowledge in his searches, that he’s seen things in ancient tombs he refuses to speak of.