Roland Varrow – A Soldier Without a War

The Eastward Estate is being rebuilt, but Roland Varrow still feels like a man without a home. The party has a cause. The Baron has a vision. Even the mercenaries from the Moving Mountain Clan have something they are fighting for.

Roland? He fights because he knows nothing else.

The Midnight Routine

When most of the camp is asleep, Roland is awake. His boots press into the cold dirt of the training yard, the makeshift space where soldiers and warriors prepare for the battles ahead. But Roland is alone tonight.

His sword cuts through the air in precise arcs—drills, movements from a past life. A mercenary’s reflexes. His strikes are efficient, but they lack intent. There is no rage, no fear, no urgency—only the repetition of muscle memory, the body moving where the mind does not.

And then he hears a voice. Low. Measured. Watching.

“You fight well.”

Roland turns, sweat cooling on his skin despite the night chill. Alcaster the Sentinel stands at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, his towering form cast in half-shadow beneath the moonlight.

The goliath doesn’t step forward, doesn’t intrude. He only watches. Weighing. Measuring.

Roland exhales. "Could say the same about you."

Alcaster tilts his head slightly. Then, after a long pause, he says:

“You fight like a man who doesn’t know why.”

The words land heavier than Roland expects. He doesn’t answer right away. He isn’t sure if he has one.

Alcaster lets the silence stretch, then continues:

“I have seen warriors with nothing to fight for. They swing their blades, but they have already lost.”
“You are still here, Roland Varrow. But you are not standing for anything.”

A challenge, but not a condemnation. A question left unanswered.

Roland grips his sword, eyes flicking to the empty space before him. The drills feel pointless now.

“So tell me,” Alcaster says. “What keeps your sword in your hand?”

Roland doesn’t answer immediately. Maybe because he doesn’t know. Or maybe because he’s afraid of what the answer might be.

The Sentinel waits.

And Roland knows that, sooner or later, he will have to find his own answer.

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