Tahldor Vanderbourne is of average height and weight for a human male. He wears a shining breastplate beneath a slightly tattered and bloodstained white tabard, upon which is emblazoned the red shield and shining longsword of the god Tempus. A fine quality human made battle axe is in one gloved hand while the other grips a glorious mithral heavy shield, which is again engraved with the symbol of Tempus. A backpack is slung over his shoulder, and hooked to his belt are a light crossbow and a small case of bolts.

Tahldor's hair is long, wavy and black with streaks of gray, a sign of his advancing years. He is middle aged, with 42 years upon Faerun. His complexion is rugged, obviously he spends much time out of doors. A wears a large, bushy mustache and his similarly bushy eyebrows rest above bright green eyes. His expression is nearly always one of stern seriousness, though it softens a touch when he is well into his wine. In his ears are two large silver hoops, and upon his forearms are two silver armbands.
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His gloved fist pounds upon the table of the Black Bear Inne and Taproom, and Tahldor pushes his chair back, standing to his full height, now pointing a finger at the man sitting across from him.

"It WAS Tempus, I say, and a curse upon you for doubting my word!", he shouts. "How else can you explain my being the sole survivor of those damned maurading orcs' invasion? Tempus himself placed me under a feigned death state, and when it was once again safe, he brought me back. I saw it with my own two... well, I saw it in my mind, but I know it in my heart twas the great god himself. I'll not listen to your doubts any longer, fool. Feel lucky that I do not draw mine axe loose upon ye for your dishonoring me as such. Praise Tempus!"

Again Tahldor slams his fist upon the table. Grabbing his flagon of wine, which has sloshed over a bit from all the cajoling of the table, he moves on to the bar, sitting upon a stool with a huff. Turning, he spies a well armored and armed human smiling at him. Tahldor merely scowls at him. The mercenary captain chuckles, extending a hand. "Well met, blessed of Tempus, I am Captain Vilson Fordingham, of the Iron Shield Mercenary Company."

Tahldor nods to the man, taking his hand in a firm shake. "Aye, we are well met indeed, then. I am Tahldor Vanderbourne. And indeed, I serve Tempus with all my vigor. My faith cannot and will not be doubted."

Capt. Fordingham smiles again, nodding. "No, that can be seen by all, certainly. If I may be so bold, Tahldor, I have an offer I would like to extend to you. I am recruiting good men for a caravan guard, heading from here in the southern Silver Marches to the city of Heliogabalus. We could use a priest, and I assume by your attire, you have also seen a battle or two in your day. The pay is not the best around, but our employers are not cheapskates either. What say you, sir, are you interested?"

A crooked grin appears on the priest's face, and he slowly nods to himself, in thought, pondering the offer. There was little left for him in the Marches, after all, and he had been wandering about for too long now. It was time to be a part of something once again. It was time to get on with his life. And all the way, he could spread the word of his great beloved deity. Still grinning his awkward smile he raises his flagon to the Captain.

"So when do we leave?"...