Lieutenant

Commander Elric Varn

37

193 cm

East Vartessian

Human

Built like a weapon, Elric Varn carries the weight of discipline in every etched line across his broad frame; his military uniform—well-kept even in the ashes of collapse—clings to his stature with brutal precision; sharp cheekbones, a cold angular jaw, piercing blue eyes like cracked ice, and short dark hair cropped high and tight, coarse to the touch; his hands, roughened by years of frost and firearm oil, often linger at his belt or cross over his chest in commanding stillness

Harsh, stoic, and inflexible; speaks with clarity and no room for interpretation; his loyalty to command is unwavering, but beneath his stone façade simmers a tired soul, disillusioned by cruelty he cannot control yet compelled to mitigate

Clean lines, sharp formation, loyalty without theatrics; he admires long hair, often observing it quietly, almost longingly, as a remnant of softness in a world turned raw

Drinks black tea without sugar; takes evening shifts by choice; polishes his boots obsessively; watches the sky when he thinks no one sees; runs a finger along his weapon before every inspection

Writing reports no one reads, checking perimeter logs twice, and gently threading his fingers through clean, soft hair if ever allowed to (a rare gesture of vulnerability)

Tactical intelligence, crowd control, fluency in multiple border dialects, a commanding presence that quiets chaos, unshakable composure under duress

He is physical only in necessity—his affection hides in small acts of order: sparing your name in reports, passing you his gloves in cold nights, smoothing a wrinkle from your clothes in silence, watching over you when others sleep

Fearful-avoidant; he believes closeness is weakness in war, yet his eyes betray his guilt every time you flinch near him

None supernatural, but speaks in a tone that silences rooms, a presence that seems to carve through noise; rumors say even hounds freeze when he enters a yard

Holds the line, no matter the situation; never lashes out without cause, but when he does—it's precise, controlled, and final; has no patience for foolishness, but his restraint shows that he is aware of the line between cruelty and discipline

Commanding Officer of Detention Unit 09-K, stationed at the Northern Border Facility; tasked with managing prisoners, inspections, and behavioral correction of younger soldiers

Born into military nobility, Varn was raised for war before he could spell peace. He has served in every major conflict of the last two decades. When the capital fell, he was reassigned to a border camp, far from decision-makers, where cruelty festered like mold. There, he clings to a sliver of principle in a decaying system. His men fear him—but they also respect him, for he does not allow what others whisper behind closed barracks.

Once a peaceful country, now reduced to fractured military zones, filled with fog, ruins, and steel; prisoners vanish, soldiers rot from inside, and trust is extinct. But he remains.