Varis Liadon
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~ 8 Fire Fall Moon, 1450 AL
~ 27 Years Old
From dawn til dusk, long after the sun has set, Varis slaves over the forge and anvil in the East Frostpin distric of Zerac. Dedicated to mastering a skill that he has only recently begun to understand. He apprentices under Henrick - the town’s reputable blacksmith - and under his tutelage, hopes to become just as skilled in smithing. Though new, Varis is a quick study, and many in town mistake him as having spent far longer perfecting the craft.
Physical Description
Varis is taller than your average human. At 6’1”, he cuts a rather intimidating figure due to his size and muscle mass. Smithing, after all, is no easy task, so Varis has built up thick and well defined muscle all over his body - most noticeably the muscles in his arms and upper torso. He favours strength and the ability to endure long periods of physical duress over speed or finesse.
His skin has a light brown complexion. For the most part, it is relatively unscathed, but long hours spent smithing have caused his hands to callous. A partiuclarly horrible accident during his third month in the forge has left skin around his left shoulder blistered and gnarled. He was lucky that Henrick was there to help him as soon as the accident occurred, otherwise the burns would have claimed far more than just his shoulder.
Removing his shirt is a slow and steady process. He takes his time, inching it up passed toned abs, recalling his right arm through the sleeve and popping his head through the neckline of the shirt with relative ease. It isn’t until he starts prying the shirt over his left arm that you realise why he’s taking so long.
The thin fabric slides over his left shoulder and down his arm, revealing gnarled skin; a harsh and unrelenting reddish colour starkly contrasting with the rest of his light brown complexion. A disorderly map of raised flesh. He throws the shirt to the ground and looks at you, waiting on your reaction. Eyes burning; taciturn yet fearful.
"Varis..." you say, at a complete loss for words.
"It's disgusting, isn't it?" he asks bitterly. Such venom, directed towards his own self loathing. Understanding dawns on you in that moment, that no matter what answer you give him, he won't hear it. You draw closer to him and raise a hand to the scar. Let it hover above his shoulder, present but never touching. After a moment of contemplation, of Varis - usually so stoic and confident in himself - being so reluctant in meeting your gaze, you rest your hand above his heart instead. Below the scarred tissue. Below a past he isn't willing to divulge just yet.
"It's not disgusting,” you say softly, slowly, unwilling to scare away your companion. “We all have scars, Varis, some more visible than others. But that doesn't make you any less - not in my eyes." You gently place your other hand over his cheek and he leans into the gesture, closing his eyes at the touch. "I still see you for who you are."
When working around the forge, Varis will try his best to keep his hair as uniform as possible. Unfortunately, between the nature of his short, chaotic locks and the unyielding heat, this usually turns out to be a losing battle. To combat this he tends to wear a bandana over his hair to at the very least keep it out of the way. Outside of the forge is a different story. He leaves his hair to it’s own devices, which often leads to it looking windswept.
He has a square jawline. Along his lower jaw and chin, and around his lips, is a shadow of finely trimmed stubble. Varis has tried to grow it out a few times in the past but, much like his messy head of hair, he finds it too difficult to maintain once it reaches a certain length.
Varis, unbeknownst to most of his peers, has an eye for fashion. Not that many would realise that. From first glance, especially if your first impression of him is working the forge, he would seem to favour generic shirts and worn out trousers underneath a dust spattered apron. Outside of the forge, his sense of style shines through. More vibrant shirts with low cut necklines, pressed trousers tucked neatly into frequently shined boots, a myriad of bracelets adorning his wrists. He also wears a necklace which has been passed down in his family from generation to generation, which his father gave to him before he passed. An obsidian circular charm on a white cord, with a strange symbol engraved onto the front. On the back of the charm are two letters: R.Y.
Personal History
During his early years, Varis lived an ordinary life.
From his birth, right up until the age of six, he was Alaric and Clara Liadon’s only child. When his parents told him that he was going to be an older brother, he was ecstatic, barely able to contain all of his excitement. He took to following his mother around for months, asking her an endless list of questions, until eventually his father stepped in to relieve some of the stress that followed it, in particular during the later months of his mother’s pregnancy.
It was during those months that Varis and his father bonded. Alaric would offer Varis advice, simplified to satiate the curiosity of a six year old, and Varis took each and every word to heart. When his younger brother Jax was born, Varis swore he would protect him, just as his father had asked of him.
He takes a hesitant step towards the bed. Glances back. Blue eyes, blown wide, blink rapidly as his nerves alight with anxiety.
Those eyes find his father, a matching set staring back with such warmth that Varis can barely remember what he was nervous about in the first place. Emboldened, he puffs his chest, filled with a resolute inhale.
Then he turns. Gazing back at the bed, as his mother, who cradles a baby no larger than Varis’ arm to her chest. Sweat beading on her forehead and a small smile at her lips.
Varis is trapped in that moment. Gawking at the sight, unable to truly comprehend the rush of adoration, feeling as though he might collapse under the weight of it. But then a hand comes to rest on his shoulder, giving a single gentle squeeze. Papa, he realises, sparing him another glance, only to catch a similar smile gracing his father’s lips.
“That’s your brother, little one,” his father says softly as he crouches down. A whisper tingling the edge of Varis’ ear. “You look after him, okay?”
I will, Varis thinks, eyes filled with wonder. I will.
Like most children in Raiken, he attended a public school and gained a basic education. From how to read, write and count, to topics that the teachers in Raiken thought were most essential, such as village politics, the history of the village (and at times a more rudimentary retelling of Yondar’s history), and common merchantile practices. His father would take him to and from school, listening eagerly to everything that Varis told him, from how his day went to what he learnt. When they got home, he would also try and recite the very same information to his mother, but soon enough Jax would demand most of her attention.
When he was twelve years old, Varis's father became deathly ill. The local apothecary tried all that she could, but was prompt in informing Clara that Alaric would likely not live longer than another year. Bearing this information in mind, Clara tried her best to prepare Varis for the worst, whilst shielding a then 6 year old Jax from the brunt of the grief.
Then, a few months shy of Varis's 14th birthday, his father passed away.
After his father's death, Varis was lost. He couldn't bring himself to attend school, still stuck on the memory of how everyday he would let his father know how he had done. His mother was worried, but with Jax's young age, she had to make a decision on who to help the most through this trying time. Though Varis understood her decision he would still be angered by it for years to come. His own mother, who should have helped him through his grief, who should have been at his side in place of his father, had all but cast him aside in his own mind.
Instead of attending school he started to hang around the local blacksmith - Jacksom. Sometimes, Jacksom would allow Varis to help around the shop, understanding that he needed something to do, even if it only meant taking his mind off of the grief for a moment. Still, Varis took to the work instantly, but eventually he realised that as long as he stayed in Raiken, he would be haunted by the memory of his father.
He told his mother when he was 17 that he was going to travel Yondar. She understood that he couldn't stay as well - despite their distance over the years, she still knew her son better than Varis thought she did. She gave Varis her blessing and with it, he took off to find his new home.
“Varis–”
“Don’t.”
“Varis, wait!”
He pauses, bag strap halfway hefted over his shoulder, hovering. Despite every instinct screaming at him to turn around, he doesn’t. Knows that the moment he looks his mother in the eyes is the moment his resolve shatters.
So he waits. Hears the faint padding of feet across wooden floorboards. His shoulders rise with unbridled tension, hunched up to the tips of his ears.
“I…” his mother says, voice a soothing cadence. “Just… be careful, alright? If I can’t convince you to stay, then at least promise me you’ll take care of yourself. That’s all I ask.”
Varis would spend a good three years trying to find a place to call home, but to no avail, until finally he stumbled into Zerac in the north east.
In Zerac, he instantly tried his luck at convincing the blacksmith Henrick to allow him to apprentice around the shop. Unfortunately, Varis was relatively unknown in Zerac at the time, and Henrick was wary of newcomers to the village. In such trying times, it was difficult to determine whether a person was genuine or just a common thug.
Luckily for Varis, someone decided to take an interest in him. Yevelda, co-owner of the Old Stone Pitcher, which just so happened to be the tavern where Varis was staying. She got to know Varis, a difficult feat considering his reluctance to get close to people at the time. In doing so, she made a fine friend out of him and decided to help him get a job with Henrick. Although the blacksmith was still reluctant, he trusted Yevelda's judge of character and made the decision to let him help. Since that day, Varis has helped greatly around the forge and, although Henrick would never admit it, has swiftly mastered his techniques.
Social
Family Ties
Before Varis moved away from Raiken, he had a rather complex series of relationships with the rest of his family. He was always closest with his father, whilst his brother Jax would spend time with their mother instead. There was never an obvious divide between the two. Clara and Alaric would try their best to spend time with the other son as well, but it tended to be difficult when Varis and Jax had clear favourites, something not unexpected from children.
When Alaric died, Varis felt the divide was a lot bigger than it seemed. More often than not, he would notice the days when Clara and Jax would spend time bonding, whilst he was left to his own devices. Part of this was due to him being the older, more mature brother, and so Clara expected that he would be able to handle his father's death on his own better than Jax would.
Soon enough, the divide between Varis and his mother and younger brother became unbearable for him. He decided to strike out on his own and his mother never had the heart to try and stop him. She knew that after Alaric's death, Varis had become independent and had distanced himself from the rest of the family, so she was happy for him to go out on his own into the world so long as it made him happy as well.
Religious Views
Varis himself is not religious, though he doesn’t outright deny that the gods exist. It is more of a personal matter and feeling no divine pull or strong sense of belief in one god or another. This has frequently led to religious people trying to convert him to their viewpoints. Each time, he has remained steadfast in his belief (or rather lack thereof).
His opinions on the three main religions (for humans) are as follows:
- A dislike of the The Church of Van-Hael and the Nightsingers, mainly because of their constant bickering over whose gods are real, or more powerful than the other
- An indifference to the Elryvian Pantheon, but with an acknowledgement that - were he to believe in a religion or a set of gods - it would likely be this one because their views are more open and accepting
Like many people on Ma’rune, Varis has not heard of the collection of deities known as the ‘Forgotten Ones’ and so holds no opinion of them.
Class
Fighter
Family
Clara Liadon - Mother
Alaric Liadon - Father (deceased)
Jax Liadon - Brother
What Does He Like?
One might think that spending all day in a boiling hot forge might make a person dislike the heat. However, this is not the case for Varis. He has always been the kind of person who enjoys a warmer day, even when some might find the heat unbearable, which is in part why he finds so much comfort in working the forge. Though he will draw the line at sweltering heat where sweat sticks to your skin.
No matter how far, Varis enjoys travelling. Whether it’s a short journey to the market or a long hike through the nearby woods. When he’s not in the forge, he likes to be on his feet, out and about either amongst the people or within the vast expanse of the wilderness. Sometimes, he’ll disappear for days at a time on a hike (but never without giving Henrick prior warning).
What Does He Dislike?
If there is something that irritates Varis time and time again, then it is people who waste his time. It is, after all, limited and precious. He only has so many hours in the day, so to make him waste those is very foolish.
That’s not to say he doesn’t like taking time off. On the contrary, if he has planned to take a day or two to himself, he will enjoy every minute of it. But for those who are late, or those who dance around the point, he is quick to lose his temper.
Marichole flowers are an uncommon plant species across Yondar. A fortunate fact for Varis, who dislikes the sight and scent of them.
It wasn’t always that way. He has fond childhood memories, seeing handfuls of maricholes set in a vase by the fireplace of his old family home, joyous smiles on the faces of his parents. But they were always a gift from his father, who loved picking them and would always bring some home for Varis’ mother whenever he passed a set of them in bloom. Since his father’s death, Varis has been unable to look at a marichole without bringing up those memories, which in turn are followed by an unimaginable grief.
Varis’ preferred method of travel is walking, followed by carriage or cart if the journey is too long to make on foot. But travelling by boat? You would be hard pressed to convince him to clamber across the gangplank and onto the boat’s deck. He hasn’t had a bad experience with them - in fact, he hasn’t been on a boat at all - he just isn’t keen on the idea of being stuck on a, well, in his own words, “death trap”, regardless of whether or not the waters beneath are calm.
Personal Connections
Yevelda
Between his size and his unwillingness to talk to others, many people in town avoided Varis when he first arrived in Zerac. But not Yevelda. She took a chance on him and he has remembered that moment ever since. In his eyes, he could never dream of finding a better friend, and their relationship has grown to the point where Varis considers her family.
Luth Hornraven
An unusual pairing to be sure. Luth might not be the first person that comes to mind when asked who Varis’ closest companions are, considering his vastly more prominent outgoing nature, but the two of them are quite close. It started with a bit of flirting on Varis’ initial arrival in Zerac before turning into something a little bit more. Although that relationship has long since ended (amicably on both their parts), Varis will still seek out Luth and confide in him when doubts plague his mind.
Henrick Steinyr
Varis would be hard pressed not to call Henrick a close companion. He gave Varis a job and saved his life after all, two gestures that Varis is forever grateful for. Varis has tried time and time again to make it up to Henrick, but his boss has shot him down everytime, insisting that just working for him and doing an excellent job at the forge is more than enough payment.
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