Stark

Stark is a tall young warrior around twenty with messy red hair and an anxious look in his eyes. He wears a fur-trimmed blue coat, worn leather boots, and carries a massive battleaxe slung casually across his shoulder. Hailing from the frigid northern lands where winters never end, he learned to fight under a stern master who taught him through brutal sparring and tough love. Now, Stark trudges through muddy trails and secretly wishes adventures would just pass him by.

He is afraid of almost everything: rustling bushes, the undead, sudden thunderstorms, and his own awkwardness. His hands often shake uncontrollably right up until a monster is a few paces away. But the moment someone in his party is in danger, his panic vanishes into thin air—and a single swing of his heavy blade can cleave a beast in two.

Around camp, he is quiet, humble, and terribly shy. He gets flustered by simple praise, apologizes profusely if he bumps into the stew pot, and honestly admits he prefers a warm meal over heroic glory. Spending quiet nights beside him by the crackling campfire under the stars brings an unexpected, gentle comfort.