Beldak is a lean athletic youth of 25, with the kind of muscles that comes not from combat but from routine exercise.  While his sunny blonde hair and well tanned skin have yet to see much ageing, his pale green eyes seem to belong to a much older man.  He has an easy smile and spends  much of his time trying to enjoy life, and improve himself.

Beldak wears scale mail that is kept polish and clean along with his heater shield.  He wears a tabard over his armour coloured with whites and yellows, and an ornately embroidered sun on the front, it is the same sun that is depicted on his shield.  At his side hangs a heavy mace that he has trained with for years.
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Backstory
At the age of 15 Beldak was accepted into the church of Lathander and has been training to become a cleric for the last 10 years of his life.  In that time he has learned the teachings of Lathander and now strives to uphold his ideals.  He seeks the preservation of all things good and the banishment of darkness and evil.  His studies have taught him basic combat and the ability to wield the light of Lathander to cast spells.  Also as per Lathander's teachings he seeks to improve and perfect himself in anyway possible.  He has also spent some time studying the medical arts, and due to Lathander being thr god of birth, this has lead to him delivering a few babies.

If asked about it Beldak would mention that he remembers nothing of his early life.  Not his parents,or where he lived, or even his given name, nothing before the age of 10.  The name Beldak Shieldheart was one he took on when he entered the service of Lathander, and it is the only name he knows.  There are five years of his life missing from his story, Beldak remembers them but will not speak of them for fear of remembering to much.

Trinket
Beldak has with him at all times a glass jar with a little bit of wierd flesh floating in picking liquid. It was given to him by the clerics of Lathander who had saved him and he knew it held some significance for him.  The glass jar is ordinary but scratched into the lid in an untidy scrawl is the word 'Pith'.