About Varis DuskbaneVaris Duskbane
CMB: +3 = +3 (BAB) +4 (str)
Fort 8 = +4 +2(Con) +1 resistance +1 racial
Init +1 = +0 dex +1 ioun stone
Classes/Levels
Age: 22
Attributes
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Space 5 ft. Reach 5 ft. --------------------
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Acrobatics -5 = 0 -5(ACP)
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WP1: Weapon focus (Gauntlet)
Equipment:
Full plate +1 2650gp 50lbs Spiked gauntlet +1 2305gp 1lb Cloak of resistance +1 1000gp 1lb Ring of protection +1 2000gp - Ioun Gauntlet 1600gp 5lbs * Cracked dusty rose prism (+1 competence to Initiative, +1 Perception) Belt:
Masterwork backpack 50gp 4lbs
Travelers outfit 1gp 5lbs
Carrying capacity:
Total weight: 144,5 lbs
Remaining money: 1222,37gp
Appearance:
Image Varis "Duskbane" Brighblade is not a man who draws attention with words. His face is hard and weather-worn, with the stern features of someone who’s seen too much and spoken too little. His eyes are cold silver - calm, watchful, and unblinking, like twin moons staring through fog. Scars cross his jaw, not proudly displayed, but simply there - unimportant to him, but impossible to ignore. He wears full plate armor darkened by ash and reforged a dozen times. Each joint and curve is built for function, not ceremony. There are no golden trims or noble banners - only etched heraldry of his family, triangular argent shield with vertical platinum sword in a circle of roses, and faint traces of battlefield repairs. His gauntlets are thick, edged with metal bands notched from use. They are reinforced, spiked at the knuckles, designed to strike as much as protect. He does not radiate charm - he exudes purpose. A presence like a drawn blade: silent until it's too late to run.
Background/Personality/History:
Personality History
At the temple, Varis delved into theological studies and received instruction in martial arts, aiming to harmonize body and spirit. However, his inherently compassionate and free-spirited nature often clashed with the temple's stringent discipline. While he respected the teachings, Varis found himself more attuned to the principles of protection and benevolence than to rigid ascetic practices. This disposition aligned seamlessly with the family's deep-rooted belief in noblesse oblige - the conviction that nobility entails a solemn duty to safeguard and serve those of lesser means. During his temple tenure, Varis accompanied senior knights on missions to aid afflicted communities. On one such expedition, they encountered a village ravaged by a recent flood. Amid the devastation, Varis observed a young girl trapped beneath debris, her cries for help piercing the air. Without hesitation, he rushed to her side, utilizing his strength to lift the wreckage and free her. This act of selflessness not only saved a life but also galvanized the villagers, who rallied together to rebuild their community. This experience profoundly reinforced Varis's commitment to the protection aspect, underscoring the impact of shielding others from harm. Returning to the family estate, he resumed his knightly training, sword and shield as was tradition in his family. [The broken staff story] As the War of the Lance raged across the continent, he witnessed first-hand how unrestrained spellcasters, both arcane and divine, left devastation in their wake. When Haven fell to the Dragon armies, his family was nearly wiped out. His eldest brother was somewhere in the front lines, his sister married, relatively safe away from the war, Brightblade estate fallen in the war, his father, brother and the rest of the family and servants at the keep presumed dead. [Steel in hand story] Vignette: The broken staff:
The broken staff Nearing the end of his training, Varis was part of the team investigating rogue Red Robe who abandoned her oath and experimented with soul-binding. Deep in the Plains of Dust, they trekked, surviving on sheer grit. The confrontation went badly, her minions delayed the wardens long enough for her to be ready. It was a matter of seconds before she wiped out the team, already in the process of casting the final spell. Varis struck her staff in desperation, with all his might and incredibly, the staff broke. The spell was interrupted, the team rallied and finished her before she could cast again. The praises the boy received didn't sit well with him, he attributed the improbable break to Paladine's will to protect, not his own strength. "It was platinum, not steel."
Steel in hand:
The southern edge of Solamnia, near the fortress ruins of Castle Eastwatch, was no place for measured battles. Varis Duskbane, now leading a small team, had been tracking a cult of renegade sorcerers calling themselves the Crimson Coil - men and women who twisted elemental magic through pain and blood. Their leader, once a disgraced Black Robe, had discovered how to anchor spells to his own suffering. Every wound made him stronger. After weeks of ambushes, dead ends, and magical illusions, Varis found them in a sunken glade of shattered trees and cracked stones - six cultists and their leader, surrounding a sacrificial altar carved from the remains of a bronze dragon’s ribcage. Team of four against six, but with four arcane casters, the six were both frail and dangerous. And their guards, ogres, were physical enough. The team charged with prayers to Paladine ringing loud. Three of his team went against the ogres. Varis went for the casters, catching a club on the shield in passing. This nearly broke his arm, but definitely broke his shield. But he was already at the first line of acolytes. The first cultist went down with a broken jaw. The second caught a sword to the chest. But the battlefield turned against them quickly. One ogre fell quickly to three warriors, but not without a fight and the other just turned back from striking at Varis. And sorcerers fought like feral animals - they focused on Varis, used minor telekinetic bursts to yank his weapon from his grip, and wrapped burning ropes of force around his arms. In seconds, the sword was scalding hot, his arm singed, and his back slammed against a stone outcrop. Yet, he was still standing. He surged forward with a roar, his armored gauntlet crashing into the nearest cultist's face. The man's nose shattered in a spray of blood, and he went down. Varis grabbed the next with the edge of his hand, chopping at her throat. Third one, an elf, thrust at him with her sword, the spells spent on preparation of the ritual and now for the fight. Reflexively, he blocked it with the heavy plated gauntlet and pushed forward. His gauntlet became his weapon. Punches wrapped in divine fervor. Elbow strikes blessed by war. The battle was not elegant - it was brutal, savage, blessed chaos. But it was his chaos, directed by fate and forged in Dragon's will. His team brought down the ogre at the same time Varis finished the cultist. The Black Robe disappeared in a flash of magic. When the fight was over, Varis stood over the dead, breathing through bruised ribs, his sword lost somewhere in the mud. He never recovered it. Instead, he reforged his fighting style - close, relentless, brutal. He had new gauntlets made, etched with platinum sword’s sigil on the back of each hand. Gauntlets edge and cuff were reinforced with steel banding, designed not just to block - but to strike. "Paladine may watch from above," he later told a fellow warpriests, {B]"but we rise from the earth. Fighting is the way of Men, not of The Gods."[/B]
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