Edzred was born under a sky rent by lightning in the jagged peaks of the Stormcrown Mountains, where the wind howled like the ghosts of ancient battles and thunder rolled eternal as the drums of war. Now in his thirty-fifth year, he cuts a figure both imposing and wild, his frame lean and wiry from years of scaling sheer cliffs and outrunning tempests. His skin is weathered to a deep bronze, etched with faint, silvery scars that pulse faintly in electrical storms, souvenirs from the first time he called down the fury of the skies. Eyes like polished obsidian gleam beneath a shock of unkempt black hair streaked with premature gray, whipped by an ever-present breeze that seems to follow him. He dresses in layered leathers reinforced with storm-forged iron plates, a cloak of raven feathers billowing behind him like wings of night, and around his neck hangs a talisman of Talos—a crude hammer etched with runes that hum with latent power. His hands, callused and tattooed with swirling storm patterns, crackle with residual energy, betraying the sorcery that courses through his veins.

As a storm sorcery sorcerer and devoted disciple of Talos, the Dragonborn god of storms and strife, Edzred sees the world as a forge where tempests temper the weak into weapons. He wants nothing more than to ascend to true mastery, to wield the gales as Talos once did, shattering empires and birthing legends from chaos. But the wild magic of storms is fickle, a jealous lover that devours the unworthy; Edzred's bloodline carries a curse from his forebears, who bargained with lesser sky spirits and paid with fractured souls. Each spell risks unraveling his mind, flooding it with visions of endless gales that whisper madness. Rival cults, devotees of softer gods who decry Talos's brutal creed, hunt him relentlessly, branding him a harbinger of doom.

Undeterred, Edzred wanders the fractured kingdoms, seeking lost shrines of Talos hidden in thunder-wracked ruins. He raids merchant caravans under cover of squalls, claiming tribute for his god, and trains in isolation, wrestling bolts of lightning until his body bleeds ozone. His unique quirk—a low, rumbling laugh that echoes like distant thunder, even in jest—unsettles allies and foes alike, a reminder of the storm within. This path works because Edzred's unyielding faith in Talos's doctrine of survival through savagery hones his will like a blade on whetstone; where others falter, he thrives in the fury, turning peril into power. Yet conflicts plague him: the gnawing doubt that his curse might doom him to oblivion, the betrayal of a childhood mentor who turned apostate, and the siren call of a rival sorceress whose calm seas tempt him from the storm's embrace.

In the end, Edzred's arc crescendos atop the shattered spire of Talos's forgotten citadel, where he confronts the heart of his curse—a primordial storm entity born of his ancestors' hubris. Channeling every ounce of his devotion, he binds it not with pleas but with raw defiance, merging man and maelstrom in a cataclysm that reshapes the mountains. He emerges transformed, no longer just a disciple but a living tempest, his laugh now the roar of thunder gods. But victory's price lingers: the storms obey him utterly, yet they hollow his humanity, leaving a man who walks as if forever chased by the winds he commands. In a world of scheming lords and whispering shadows, Edzred stands as Talos's thunderbolt, striking fear into the hearts of the meek and drawing the bold to his side—or their doom.