Barristan is a thickset hill dwarf with a barrel chest and massive, corded arms. He has a wild, bushy black beard and matching hair that seems to crackle with static. He wears nothing above the waist, exposing a canvas of thick white scars that map out a dozen battles. His only clothing is a pair of rugged, oil-stained leather pants and heavy boots. He carries a remarkably thin, elegant rapier that looks like a needle in his calloused hand, paired with a battered but clean iron shield.

Barristan is surprisingly soft-spoken and disciplined until the heat of combat breaks his composure. He believes that true defense is an art form, viewing every parry of his rapier as a calculated insult to his enemies. He is fiercely independent and mocks those who hide behind heavy metal suits, claiming they have forgotten the feeling of the wind on their skin.

Barristan served for decades in the Ironguard Legion, the premier defensive force of his mountain home. While his peers specialized in the heavy turtle formations of the phalanx, Barristan found the suffocating weight of plate armor intolerable. During a subterranean collapse that killed half his squad, he survived only by stripping off his broken armor and squeezing through a fissure that would have claimed a clad soldier. He emerged with the belief that flesh and willpower are the only armors a dwarf needs. He abandoned his warhammer for a confiscated rapier, realizing that a faster blade could deflect what thick iron could not. His superiors viewed his refusal to wear a uniform as madness and a breach of tradition, eventually resulting in his dishonorable discharge. He did not go quietly, leaving the mountain to find a life where his unconventional skills were valued. He has spent the last years wandering as a mercenary and defender, seeking to prove that the most dangerous dwarf is the one with nothing to lose and a quick enough hand to stay alive.