Varric Stonewell
Varric Stonewell presents himself as a seasoned sellsword, the kind of man who’s seen more battlefields than birthdays. He carries himself with quiet discipline, speaks little, and watches everything. There's nothing flashy about him—no crest, no songs, no stories—but something about the way he moves, the way he fights, feels deliberate. Purposeful.
Though he claims no cause or lord, those who fight beside him notice strange things: wounds closing under his touch, a cold fire in his eyes when he raises his sword, and an uncanny ability to push forward long after others falter. He never talks about it, and no one’s foolish enough to ask.
In these uncertain times, he says only this: “Steel’s honest. Gold’s heavy. And every man has his reasons.”
Though he claims no cause or lord, those who fight beside him notice strange things: wounds closing under his touch, a cold fire in his eyes when he raises his sword, and an uncanny ability to push forward long after others falter. He never talks about it, and no one’s foolish enough to ask.
In these uncertain times, he says only this: “Steel’s honest. Gold’s heavy. And every man has his reasons.”
Children
