Varisia

Harsk is a stocky, broad-shouldered dwarf, built for endurance rather than brute strength. His weathered skin bears the marks of a life spent outdoors, and his sharp, piercing eyes—keen as a hawk’s—constantly scan his surroundings. His dark brown hair is kept short and practical, while his thick beard, streaked with traces of silver, is well-groomed but never ornamental. He wears earth-toned leathers and a hooded cloak, blending into the forests and hills where he hunts. His heavy crossbow, a finely crafted but well-worn weapon of his own making, is always within reach, slung across his back when not in use. At his side, his brother’s dwarven axe hangs secured but never forgotten, a constant reminder of the past. Harsk’s movements are quiet and efficient, his presence more like a predator than a warrior, and though his expression is often stern, there’s a deep wisdom in his gaze, shaped by loss, patience, and years of watching the world from the shadows.

Harsk is gruff, pragmatic, and deeply disciplined, valuing self-reliance and patience over idle talk. He prefers solitude, finding comfort in the quiet of the wilds, but will ally with those whose goals align with his own. Though he may seem cold and distant, he is deeply loyal to those he respects and will fight fiercely to protect the innocent. He carries a quiet but unshakable sense of justice, shaped by the loss of his brother, and has little tolerance for cruelty or senseless destruction. Unlike many dwarves, he disdains drunken revelry, drinking strong tea instead to keep his mind sharp. He is patient and methodical, striking from the shadows rather than rushing into battle. Despite his hardened exterior, Harsk is not without humor or warmth, but his trust is hard-earned, and his companionship is reserved only for those who prove themselves through action, not words.

Harsk was never meant for the stone halls of his kin, preferring open skies and quiet forests. A gifted hunter and tracker, he crafted his own heavy crossbow, favoring solitude over dwarven tradition. In 4687 AR, his brother Sigur, a dwarven captain, invited him to battle giants from the Mindspin Mountains. Harsk declined, only to regret it when he arrived too late—Sigur and his warriors had been slaughtered in an ambush. Overcome with rage and grief, Harsk hunted the giants one by one, striking from the shadows until none remained. Taking Sigur’s axe, he vanished into the wilderness, vowing to be a guardian of the wilds and prevent such sacrifices again. Now a solitary wanderer, he keeps his brother’s axe close, using it only when necessary, while his keen aim ensures justice is carried out from afar. He drinks strong tea over ale, keeping his senses sharp as he hunts those who bring ruin. Ezren, Valeros, Merisiel are in his party.