• Technically A Sentry And Technically A Deep Scout And Thus Very Technically An Outrider, But If We Actually Called Him That Both He And Turania Would Die Of Shame
• No-Good Layabout
• Hatchling Corruption Education

Weathertop is a disaster.

A rakishly handsome former drifter, he would call himself; guard-captain Turania has stronger words for him, with “conman”, “scoundrel”, “cad”, “insolently casual vagabond” and “If he so much as winks at me again I swear to every god of the Eleven, Adecia--!” among the more polite. Ever accompanied by his loyal and mischievous pet Dameon, Weathertop is horrified by any implication that he’s settled down.

“I’ve gone crooked in a legitimate direction, my lady,” he insists with a dashing swish of his tail. Of course this is very conveniently sidestepping his gentleness and utter devotion to his mate Wren. Weathertop keeps a vaguely horrified tally of how long it’s been since he stole something, and has discovered a talent for cartography that he indulges with great enthusiasm, never entirely satisfied with his work as he almost casually attempts to create a comprehensive atlas of Sornieth. He is, of course, assisted in this endeavor by Wren--herself a travelling scholar, an astronomer--and Dameon.

(Dameon primarily helps his owners by lying across the exact charts they are trying to edit, rolling around on the exact tools they are trying to use, and occasionally grabbing some piece of equipment and running off with it if he feels he is being paid an insufficient amount of attention.)

He is, to Turania’s constant despair, a favorite among hatchlings; for all he insists he’s an absolute blackguard at heart, he's never hesitated to offer a child a few words of encouragement and cheer, or distract them with a joke or game or little trinket he's picked up. The hatchlings of the Reach adore him. A common sight in the evenings is Weathertop lounging in a corner, regaling his captivated audience with the tale of how he lost his leg.

Naturally, it changes every time.