Garret Vane
Fighter, Battle Master
Garret Vane
Species
Human
Appearance
Garret Vane is a heavily weathered, physically imposing man whose presence fills a narrow walkway before he says a word. His iron-gray hair is cropped close on the sides but left long at the crown, where it lies in damp, rope-like strands after a shift beside the spillways. His face is broad, scarred, and permanently drawn tight around the eyes, as if he is always watching a distant disaster approach. His sharp gray-green eyes move constantly, measuring hinges, exits, hands, and water levels. He wears dark security plate armor scarred by salt, rust, and impact, with every Directorate insignia deliberately filed away. Rubberized seals ring the joints, and a heavy wax-treated canvas cloak hangs from his shoulders like a collapsed sail. Despite his massive frame, he moves with unnerving quiet, placing each boot as carefully as a cat on wet metal. The contradictory impression is that of a brutal iron statue performing the delicate work of a locksmith.
“His voice is low, rough, and controlled, with the clipped cadence of a former command officer. He speaks more softly when discussing the dead and more clearly when issuing orders.”
Alignment
Distinguishing Features
A pale, branching scar runs from his left ear down beneath his collar, caused by scalding canal water.
The knuckles of his right hand are permanently blackened from a failed emergency lever.
His armor bears dozens of tiny white tally marks, one for each person he personally escorted through a dangerous lock.
A brass school token hangs beneath his gorget, polished daily but never shown deliberately.
He carries himself like a soldier but handles delicate instruments with the gentleness of a watchmaker.
Voice
“A weathered baritone, quiet as a locked room and carrying the faint rasp of someone who has spent too many years shouting over turbines.”
Clothing
Dark, water-stained tactical security plate armor with filed-away insignia, rubberized joint seals, steel-toed canal boots, a wax-treated canvas cloak, insulated gloves, and a utility belt crowded with flood-gate override keys, chalk, cord, wedges, and pressure gauges
Body Language
Garret stands with his shoulders squared and his weight balanced over both feet, as if the floor might tilt without warning. He rarely turns his back fully on anyone. When angry, he becomes almost motionless, resting two fingers against the shaft of his polearm. When grief breaks through his discipline, he rubs the inside of his left wrist where an old restraint cuff once burned him.
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