"Why should we trust a jerk like you anyway, eh?"
"What are you, daft? Get behind me or yer all gonna be dragon food!" The old Elezen barked as he raised his shield. The elder dragon opened its maw, preparing to breathe a fireball over the group of young adventurers, and Varneaux.
"O Halone, bless mine shield that I may protect these souls from untimely demise," a voice that was once harsh and angry became forlorn and solemn, speaking words of prayer with longsword held to forehead. Almost as soon as the words left his lips, Varn's shield erupted in a glowing blue light. Stabbing his blade into the snow-packed earth, he braced himself against the oncoming dragonfire, the holy light of his shield erupting into a massive barrier, forming what looked like a pair of wings in front of him. The younger adventurers, though initially distrusting, cowered behind him all the same, as if they weren't certain his shield would hold.
The fire breath clashed against the barrier, and Varn almost seemed to physically struggle against its strength, but eventually the dragon recognized its assault as futile and flew away. Varn released a heavy breath as his posture relaxed, pulling the sword from the ground and wiping its blade with his inky blue cloak.
"Th... Thank you, Sir Cresoir." One of the adventurers he'd protected, a meek-sounding mage, spoke up.
"Yeah," came the bolder voice of a pugilist, "you might seem old and crotchety but seems like all that's just a cover for a heart of gold, heh."
Varneaux growled and grumbled at that notion, turning back and fixing the younger ones with a piercing glare. "Get yer arses back to Falcon's Nest, or next time I'll let 'em eat ya."