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Magical Ability:

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Talen can manipulate CO2, giving him a bit of an elusive ability that he's still learning all of the ins and outs about. Two things he's determined by his explorations thus far: one, dramatically increasing the quantity of CO2 in a given area is not a good idea unless he wants to kill off all of the oxygen-based lifeforms he's subjecting to his mad experiments, and two, focusing on the suspension of its molecules will result in a horrifyingly icy creation. This he's learned firsthand, and has gotten his fair share of strange "burns" from whilst trying to figure out just what it is he's messing with. It's strange and he dislikes how easy it is to accidentally start the process of suffocation on some poor innocent soul. Though he himself isn't familiar with the concept of sublimation, he's catalyzed the act countless times before out of morbid curiosity. Needless to say, a few sad bunnies have lost their lungs to merciless clouds of CO2. Because he still isn't fully mastered on just what it is he can do, he hardly calls upon his magic. It seems a little too risky to him, and he's more of a hands-on type of guy anyways.
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Appearance:

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Standing at a meager hair's width above 6', Talen is certainly no giant of his kind, but he manages an air of superiority about him simply by the way he holds himself. Chin held high and mouth set grim, he is almost always a vision of all work and no play. Yet, the somber mask he wears scarcely reaches his eyes. The mismatched irises--one a soft gray, like the ocean after a heavy storm, and the other the palest shade of moss green--are forever overflowing with emotion. As for his hair, it grows in as a shock of silvery white, an oddity in comparison to his dark brows and darker yet lashes. His lean figure is often covered in articles supplied by the military, but in his rare moments of rest he can be found wearing simple linens and tunics. Intimate tattoos riddle his body, and while a great topic starter, they hardly see the light of day from beneath his deliberately placed clothing.
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Personality:

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At times it can be difficult to get Talen to fully engage in a conversation, most often because he's thinking more than speaking, but it can also be due to his inherently reserved nature. Ever since he was a young boy Talen has been quiet and nothing yet has managed to change this about him. He is instinctively wary of those he comes across, and takes to observing before engaging. However, this does not downplay the assertiveness he can employ in most any situation when he feels the need, and this helps reinforce the natural leadership skills he possesses. Candid and blessed (or perhaps cursed) with a bleeding heart, he is a good ally to come by, but will not hold back on speaking the truth. He can become easily frustrated when things aren't exactly going as planned, and wilts under overwhelming masses of stress, but he will never mention anything that could potentially weaken his image. Coming off as strong-willed and impervious to his mountain-high problems is one of Talen's greatest motivators in his day-to-day life.
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History:

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Talen had been born into a rather minor and insignificant family in the grand scheme of things. His mother and father, though to the public-eye always keen on keeping the peace, fought like two territorial wolves trying to tear each other's throats out. He learned quickly that silence was rewarded and a raised voice meant that he was asking to be reprimanded, and thus his withdrawn demeanor was born. It turned out to be alright, he kept to himself often and found refuge in the world outside of his rundown home. Tensions were high not only with his parents, but also everybody else in the world it seemed, and as a young boy he was not equipped with the confidence needed to stand up straight against the stress. Due to this he wandered on his own away from the masses and instead allowed nature to open her comforting arms to him. How easily he'd forget how difficult things were, until evening came and home beckoned his return.
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An evening rolled in where his father was no longer there. "Off to the join the effort," his mother told him. Little did he know that that was pure rubbish and he'd been lied to straight to his face. His father had not left for a noble cause. He'd left for another woman, and maybe this was where Talen acquired his strong face which he put on for all to see. His mother had done the exact same thing; she'd kept quiet about the real issues and had shouldered them herself. It wasn't healthy, and she deteriorated quickly from the weight of it upon her conscience, but she also gave herself a pat on the back for leading her son down better paths. Talen had never taken a particular liking to his father, oftentimes siding more with his mother in hard times, but the thought that he'd gone off to fight for peace--to truly fight for it--had sparked something inside of him. Deep down, he'd felt his soul flicker with intrigue and cause.
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Entertaining these thoughts of honor and recognition consumed him. Talen became even quieter than he'd been before, completely lost in his own little world, dazzled by the prospect of valor. He would vanish into the great Dryhtwood Forest for hours on end, sitting at the bases of trees and plucking apart the dead, fallen leaves he used as a cushion. It was during one of these moments that he felt a prickle in his fingertips. The leaf he'd been rolling had become a thin sheet of ice, puffing white from between his fingers. Startled, Talen had begun inspecting it, only to find his fingers so painfully assaulted that he had to drop it in a minute's time. Where his hands had touched the ice was now red and raw, some of his skin torn clean off. It took at least a decade after this incident for him to finally come upon the realization that it was something in the air he was fiddling with, not temperature itself.
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His mother passed away not far into her life. She had much more laid out before her, but odd coughing spells tormented her day and night. Left alone, with nothing but a shoebox of a home for him to now look after, Talen decided it was time to stop wasting his life away in the forest. His love had grown for the area, and observations over the years had shown him that others held the same fondness as he did. Why not fight for one of the last remaining importances in his life? Talen joined the elven army, making no true name for himself for a handful of years. He was quiet, he kept his head down, and he rarely put himself out there. But age brought with it a need for greater purpose. He could not go on like this forever, a thought that'd been plaguing him for some time by that point, but his biggest trigger became the fact that he could not find his father anywhere in the ranks. Had he died? Lost his life to the cause? No. A talk with varying head officers had informed him that a man by his father's name had never joined at all.
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Angered by this, Talen lashed out. He discovered sublimation during this time. His anger however was not a fueling force for him. It drained him more than pushed him, and he felt guilted by the smallest of lives it stole through the pads of his fingers. Instead, Talen redirected his anger into incentive. Carry on where his father never had, and continue making his mother smile, wherever she now resided. He knew that being a man of importance had mattered buckets to her. Perhaps it was because she knew he could do what neither she nor his father never could, and so he went on to fight. Fighting with the army, fighting through it, he strove to keep the forest and its occupants safe, and also to improve his own standings. Although far below the man, Talen had had a few run-ins with the commander. They hit it off like two drunkards sharing tales over ale, and their relationship grew from that point on. Thick as thieves, they stood side by side in time. For all he cared, that man was his father, and nobody else.
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The news of his passing, by his own hand no less, had been a shock to the system. Talen felt disconnected from the rest of the world, lost in his own again after so many years of being engaged with reality. Anger needled in his fingertips, an old friend, but he contained it. He needed to, because before he knew what was happening, before he could get a grip on his own sense of self, he was being confronted about filling the position of Commander. Impulsively, he agreed, the words, "Yes," and, "Of course," spilling from his lips like a rush of water.
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And now, now he's still lost. But he will continue to fight, for his Father and Mother.
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Miscellaneous:

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He favors the use of a bow and pike in combat. He'd personally crafted a double-bladed swordstaff for himself years ago, and it still resides in his repertoire for present use.