This sometimes-raggedly man carries many a scar, being one seen in the woods, and no stranger to the blade. He thinks them things already done, a willingness to stop and defend. He feels his most prominent scar over his right eye a prime example of this. His oft tied back red mane marks him as a son of Eorl, of the flaxen-haired Eorlingas, and he shares the weariness common amongst his kinsmen, though like they, he is no stranger to laughter and joy.

Eorland is strong and tall, speaking always clear and true. He sings song, and story, those of his home he knows by heart. He will always recant a tale of his mother-land to wealh asking, his accent being that of his home.

He carries upon his belt a sheathed seax, and a rugged satchel hangs from his side. A flask is always with him. A harp is sometimes with him, and song always.  He bears his bow upon his steed's saddle, and is a fine bowman, upon steed or on foot.

Eorland thinks of days gone by fondly, and enjoys the songs of old. He can sometimes be seen writing; but near never seen reading, for he carries song in his heart and tale in his throat, preferring bardly talent to written word.