Dwal Varrekson

Dwal Varrekson is old enough to distrust speeches and scarred enough to know when a young commander is about to die for one. He stands where plans are weakest and makes that weakness expensive. In Dovarim, such men are not merely bodyguards; they are living repairs to pride. Dwal has watched heirs mistake bronze for invincibility, watched gate crews fail from one missing brace, and watched beautiful orders become funerals because nobody blunt enough survived the council. His loyalty is practical, almost rude, and usually expressed by shoving someone out of the path of a blade. He smells of old mail, smoke-cured wool, bitter ale, and the leather polish used on shields long past their ceremonial days. Dwal does not make glory larger. He makes survival heavier, closer, and harder to waste.