A lean, broad-shouldered tiefling with deep crimson skin, swept-back black horns, amber eyes, and a long tail marked by old battlefield scars. His dark hair is cropped short beneath a weathered green cloak. He wears scale mail beneath a soldier's coat, carries twin shortswords at his hips, and keeps a longbow wrapped in oiled leather across his back.

Dryly observant and fiercely self-reliant, Veyran has the calm demeanor of someone who has survived too many bad plans. He is quick to mock pompous officers and slow to accept praise. Beneath his guarded attitude, he is protective of ordinary people and unexpectedly patient with frightened animals, recruits, and anyone who reminds him of his younger self.

Veyran Ashmark was born on the edge of a frontier garrison, where his infernal heritage made him a target for suspicion before he was old enough to understand why. The army gave him a uniform, a purpose, and a place where obedience mattered more than bloodline. He became a scout and skirmisher, learning to read broken branches, muddy tracks, and the silence that falls before an ambush. His horns and fiery eyes never stopped drawing stares, but his skill with a bow eventually made even the cruelest sergeants trust him in the wilderness. During a disastrous border campaign, Veyran discovered that his commanding officer had deliberately sacrificed a patrol to conceal a smuggling operation. Veyran survived the ambush, but refused to falsify his report. Branded insubordinate and quietly cast out, he now travels as a sellsword and wilderness guide. He hunts monsters, bandits, and anyone who preys upon the helpless, though he refuses to swear loyalty to another banner. He still wears his old insignia beneath his armor, not out of devotion to the army, but as a reminder that orders are not the same thing as justice.