Edzred was a tempest incarnate, a 35-year-old storm sorcerer whose life had been forged in the relentless gales of the northern coasts, where the Sea of Ghosts clawed at jagged cliffs like a beast denied its prey. Tall and lean, with a frame weathered by salt and fury, he stood at six feet, his skin etched with faint scars from lightning strikes that had kissed rather than killed him. His hair, wild and storm-gray, whipped about his angular face even in still air, as if the winds themselves clung to him. Piercing blue eyes, like chips of glacial ice, burned with an intensity that could shift from brooding calm to volcanic rage in a heartbeat. He dressed in ragged leathers reinforced with driftwood plates, a cloak of storm-weathered sails billowing behind him, and at his belt hung a small, polished piece of driftwood—his talisman, carved with runes to Talos, the storm-crowned god who had whispered power into his bloodline.

Born in a fishing village shattered by a divine tempest, Edzred discovered his sorcery young, when a squall he summoned in childish anger drowned his family's boat. Chaotic neutral to his core, he worshipped Talos not out of piety but raw reverence for the god's unyielding might, seeing in the divine storms a mirror to his own untamed soul. What he craved was dominion over the tempests that had claimed so much—unleashing gales to reshape the world in thunderous glory, proving himself Talos's favored son. But the arcane weave resisted him; his rages fractured his focus, scattering spells into wild, unpredictable fury that often backlashed, leaving him scarred and isolated. The driftwood talisman, a relic from his father's sunken ship, channeled his power but amplified his tempers, turning allies into victims.

To seize his destiny, Edzred wandered the wilds, raiding ancient Nord barrows for storm-lore and challenging sky-worshippers to duels of lightning. He bartered with daedric whispers and allied with outcasts, his coastal accent—thick with rolling 'r's like crashing waves—bellowing incantations that shook the earth. It worked because his raw, unbridled passion resonated with Talos's essence; where calculated mages faltered, Edzred's chaos bent the storms to his will, if only briefly. Yet conflicts tore at him: the villagers he once called kin hunted him as a monster, his rages birthed regrets that gnawed like frostbite, and rival sorcerers coveted his talisman. In the end, atop a thunder-swept peak, Edzred unleashed a cataclysmic gale to claim a legendary storm-artifact, but his fury consumed him—lightning rent his body, merging his soul with the eternal storm, a raging specter forever haunting the skies, neither victor nor vanquished, but a whirlwind of unresolved wrath.