Daryush Olan
Fighter
Daryush Olan
Species
Human
Appearance
A full-grown human infantryman with a narrow, weather-hardened face and a compact, work-built frame. He wears a long blue gambeson whose quilted ridges have been rubbed smooth at the elbows and darkened by pine resin. Over it sits a dull steel breastplate, carefully oiled but marked with pale scratches from branches rather than blades. His tall steel chapel-cap helmet has a teardrop-shaped crown and a narrow brim that throws his eyes into shadow. He moves with an unexpectedly quiet, patient gait, placing each foot as if the ground might answer back. The contradiction is striking: his armor makes him look like a marching soldier, but he carries himself like a man trying not to wake a sleeping animal. Within a minute of meeting him, most people notice that he rarely looks at faces. His attention goes instead to door hinges, rooflines, boot soles, and the nearest path into cover.
“Low, measured, and economical. He speaks as though every sentence must be useful during a storm.”
Ability Scores
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
His gaze continually maps exits, high ground, and concealed approaches instead of settling on people's faces.
He unconsciously taps the butt of his spear twice whenever someone mentions fire.
The blue gambeson carries faint pale stitching in repeating geometric patterns inspired by his mother's household embroidery.
His helmet brim is lined with a strip of red wool that is visible only when he turns his head.
He smells faintly of pine pitch, wet leather, and crushed mint.
Voice
“A low baritone with a dry rasp from years of cold air and camp smoke. He rarely raises it. When genuinely angry, he becomes quieter rather than louder.”
Clothing
A long indigo-blue gambeson reaches nearly to his knees beneath a scratched steel breastplate. A brown leather belt holds a plain utility knife, waxed cord, and small wooden tokens used for marking trails. His trousers are charcoal gray, tucked into high boots wrapped with strips of green cloth to silence loose buckles.
Body Language
He stands with his spear vertical and one hand resting lightly beneath the shaft, never gripping it tightly unless danger is immediate. His head tilts toward distant sounds, and his eyes keep drifting toward exits and elevated ground. When embarrassed, he smooths the blue gambeson over his stomach as if checking for a missing stitch.
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