A tall, broad-shouldered tiefling with deep crimson skin, swept-back black horns, amber eyes, and a long tail marked by old pale scars. He keeps his dark hair cropped short in a soldier's style and wears a weathered leather coat over a faded military uniform. A black iron insignia hangs at his throat, and faint ember-like motes sometimes drift from his fingertips when he speaks with conviction.

Calm under pressure, intensely observant, and protective of anyone he considers part of his unit. Varrek is slow to trust but quick to defend others. He has a dry sense of humor and treats mundane chores with military seriousness.

Varrek Ashmantle was born beneath a bad omen, or so the villagers claimed. His horns and crimson skin made him an object of suspicion long before he understood why, so he learned early to answer fear with discipline. He joined the city militia as soon as he was old enough, discovering that a uniform gave people a reason to judge him by his actions rather than his blood. Varrek became a reliable scout and shield-bearer, the soldier who stayed behind when others withdrew and who carried wounded comrades through fire-scorched streets. During a disastrous campaign against raiders from the Ashen Marches, Varrek's unit was trapped in a ruined fortress. With their commander dead and their supplies gone, he answered a voice that spoke from the fortress well. The presence offered power enough to break the siege, demanding only that Varrek never refuse a desperate soul who called his name. Varrek accepted, and hellfire answered. He saved his surviving comrades, but the voice has continued to whisper from dark corners, claiming that their agreement is more intimate than a simple bargain. Now Varrek travels as a mercenary and adventurer, seeking a way to use his patron's power without becoming the weapon it believes it purchased.