Growth in consciousness doesn't depend on the will of the intellect, or its possibilities, but on the intensity of the inner urge.
Black Sun Rising
· Other Affiliations ·
· Known Relatives ·
237 years old
6' 2" (187cm)
170 lbs (77Kg)
· Distinguishing Features ·
Wears heavy Kohl around the eyes
Powers & Abilities
· Known Powers ·
Able to wield magic, claim souls and spread poisons
· Equipment ·
Extreme Fashion Sense
· Other Abilities ·
Many and Varied
So who am I?
You’ve accessed this file so I feel it’s something you want to know. Truthfully, and I think the truth is something you want you have come through so many checks to get here after all… Truthfully, I don’t know who I am any more.
Born into two different worlds I was the hybrid child everyone wanted to pretend didn't exist. Half-cast, half-this… half everything… and never anything at all. So I tried to fit in, you have to in a world like that. You have to be what everyone else thought was normal, yet I had two views of normality. That’s no way to live.
Yet I did.
For over two hundred years I lived that life, finding a place amongst those that had judged me, as a judge. Oh irony. Indeed, more than just a judge, but the jury and the executioner as well. I was good at it, enjoyed it even. It was an escape. Because the people who I rid my world of were even more awkward and unwanted than I was. To remove them made me feel I’d found a home.
It was perfect.
Then he happened. My mother always warned me it was that way, how else would I have happened; the one stain on her existence. Yet I didn't, mother like daughter. He walked into my life, shook it up, made me question… In the end it destroyed my existence and led me here, to the life of an outcast. To this world with its myriad of people, weak laws and a strange view on my kind I never thought possible.
My name is Varel and I’m on the run, from well, everything.
The Storms of Life
The storm raged through the valley, shaking the trees and whistling around the eaves of the manor. A manor that took up a vast portion of where valley curved up to meet both mountain and the source of the river that had been its destruction. Those caught in the force of it had anything not securely tied to them lost to the winds, a sacrifice to the anger that brought such dark skies.
Inside though all was quiet. The only sign of the storm the guttering of the candles with the strongest of the gusts, more in sympathy than any breeze those within the manor could feel. The only sound that whispered through the grand hallway that ran the length of the building was the quiet turning of paper on paper. A solitary figure sat reading, lounging almost, on the ledge of one of the many high windows. Even higher than the two landings that marked out the grandest floors as the staircase curved its graceful way upwards.
Red eyes glance up from the book and out the window to the valley beyond as the first flash of lightning illuminates the room and the courtyard outside. It cannot hold their attention though and with a soft smile they returns to the book. The owner of them losing herself in the words.
She seems no more than thirteen, young, especially here in this old place. Long red hair hides her face from view as she leans over the book, leaving it propped up on one knee as her other leg rests along the length of the frame. Pale white skin, the true white of alabaster, another clue beyond the crimson eyes that she is far from human.
The room darkens further and that perfect brow is creased by a frown, torn again from that book to glower at the rain that begins a staccato dance against the glass. Shadows of raindrops give her face a little colour at last, even if the worsening weather cannot hold her attention long. A hand shifts from that book and the fingers twist upwards like a set of claws. Between those fingers an orb is born and light fills her window as the orb of pale yellow light floating up from her fingers to glide circles above her in the air. Satisfied at last she sits back again, ignoring the weather outside and the sadness within her heart.
There is not much to be said for the prospects of a hybrid in a world where so many races intermingle. The purity of each species was considered above reproach and to dirty the bloodlines with another... The idea was just unthinkable. Oh, it happened from time to time; yet the offspring were always treated with some suspicion or spirited away into secretive locations and never allowed out into polite society again. No family could bare the scandal. At least, no family that conformed to the old ways could.
Varel's was far from normal and she was raised in the scorching light of the public domain of her world. Each milestone of her life marked by increasing rhetoric or disdain from the others around her. A neglected child in many ways, lacking in friends through her early years and far too well burdened with those who would use her. It left her jaded about the nature of people and all too groomed for the role she was soon to take.
Her mother in no small part could be considered the root of all problems. Considered a wayward and headstrong individual even by the standards of her own species, Kaena was able to sway people to her cause with little difficulty, and Kaena's cause was always a simple one. Power. With such a goal in mind it can be no surprise that Varel's father Theramus would have become her target. A major player in the Warlock Council he was powerful and, she had no doubt, have connections to even more power she could utilise. For a few months it even seemed that she would be right.
But it all went wrong after that.
For Kaena never thought that she would fall in love. Though denial is never enough to stop the consequences that love has for her people and she became pregnant. From a careful power play her scheme became one of the greatest scandal's their world had known. Even more so when she refused to lose the child, a moment of insanity to others and a desperate play to have continued connections to the Warlocks. After a fashion it worked.
There is no greater connection than the mark of blood and even if she regrets it now Varel was the outcome. A half-caste, half-breed child with a foot in two vastly different cultures and not able to truly join either. Kaena had her wish, no-one will ever forget her forever. Or Theramus.
Now Theramus was far different from Kaena and not just in apparent species. At first he attempted to ignore all traces of his unusual daughter but, curiosity and his hidden better nature one him over at least enough to have her brought to somewhere safe to be attended. In his mind that should have been the end of it, yet it was not. A child after is own heart in more ways than one Varel would always be able to find where he was working. Not even his guarded and logical self was safe from her attentions and it was not long before he was teaching her all he knew.
"She's your daughter."
A lady tall and refined stands proud with a wide streak of defiant, as she speaks. Her words emphasised with a slight sway of her hips and the click of one heeled boot as she taps it against the wood flooring beneath her feet. It was going to leave marks he knew, she always enjoyed inconveniencing him in many ways. With a sigh he leant back in the chair and tuned out her further diatribe, he knew it all by heart these days. This was what, the seventh, or maybe the eighth time he had managed to drag her here for this little talk. It pained him to be away from his studies to deal with this, but it pained him more to see his daughter upset too.
"-my home is hardly fitting and there is my business. She can hardly be expected to stay underfoot. I mean really-"
He tunes her out again and has to fight back a smile. He remembers when Varel truly did get underfoot. Back when the powers that be had stopped the feud that had formed over his daughter and forced him to take her. His home was most suitable of course, but he had hated children... He still did to be honest but his daughter was different. It was as though she had known the world had not wanted her so she had become so little, so quiet. It would have been the perfect environment for him to simply forget about her. Yet she had found a way to sneak into his office time after time. Eventually she had snuck into his heart.
"Are you even listening to me?" The words are harsh and they bring him back to his surroundings for just a moment. He nearly winces as that all too sharp a heel slams down into his floor again.
"Oh yes indeed." He replies smoothly, waving one hand in a manner to suggest that anything else would be quite foolish to expect.
"Somehow I doubt that," the pale lady sniffs, her disdain for him shown clearly on her face. Then it cracks and that usually so imperious form sinks into a chair. "I'm just not suited to have a child..."
For a moment he stares at her, wondering if this was some ploy or game by her. Yet he realises it is the truth, this usually so in control women now looked lost... Adrift.
Her family show the same eclectic nature and sardonic personality that so infuse Varel. No matter how much they deny it Varel's parents love her as best they can. If she was born out of the quest for power neither would say they regret the decision. Not even Kaena despite her all too often public denouncements of what her daughter has become... she is still her daughter after all.
Only her half sister is a danger to Varel. A 'pure' member of her species she has always viewed Varel as her greatest problem, and so with Varel's exile from their world she has gained what she wanted. Were Varel to return or have a chance at regaining her safety it is likely Angelita will try to find some way to stop her.
Age: 503 Years
There are few who know of her beginnings and Kaena works had to keep it that way. In her profession there is no need to stand on family values and family pride, a boon to someone who's parents met with an all too curious a fate. Free from their, interference, Kaena made quite a name for herself and all seemed quite perfect for her. It is unclear when she and Theramus met but their attraction was immediate and far reaching. Her career was shaken by her unusual choice of partner but still remains sturdy.
Warlock of the Inner Council
Age: 462 Years
Born during the later reformation of his world he was always considered a radical. A child of unusual parents himself he relates to Varel's plight, at least in part. Unable to truly move past his calling his studies fill his time more than devotion to his lover or his daughter. Some often remark on how surprising it was that Varel came into existence at all. However, underneath his apparent distraction lies a doting father who is simply unable, or unwilling, to show his true care. His meddling may be one of the main reasons his daughter is still free.
Warlock of the Inner Council
Age: 372 Years
The elder sister of Varel she is somewhat cold to her half-sister, an understandable reaction when relations between the different species are strained at best.. A taboo at worst. She views her sister as a stain on her otherwise flawless lifestyle and finds her current predicament both hilarious and a possible way to rid herself of that stain. A true future problem should she ever find Varel.
"You massacred your own people!" he whispers.
"No, I saved you," Varel replies with a strange calm, never seeing the disgust on his face.
Even though she has left it behind her she still finds trust difficult. A difficulty only made worse by how seriously she was burnt by the one person she had allowed herself to trust. Yet there is still room in her heart for more, if someone were to reach out it is likely she would respond. It would only take the right person. Though it would take much to overcome the damage that was done.
Once Varel had trusted another completely. He had been an enemy, someone she should have killed on sight yet the accident that had trapped them both together between dimensions had led them to work together. An accident caused by their own opposing magics that tore at each other so greatly that the universe fractured around them. They had needed each other, and with no other company they had needed the conversation too. His name was Jebediah and he was a monk for the lighter gods of their world, a staunch fighter for the light.
At first he had tried to convert her and had been confused by the continued atheism of a creature of the dark. Finally having no choice but to ask her why she thought such things, her explanations had shaken his blind loyalty and his accepting ways and kind heart had shaken hers to the masters she served. Theological discussion had fractured into casual conversation and their eyes were opened to the ways of the other, neither choosing to change sides but an acceptance was brokered at least that once between creatures of such opposing natures.
For a while they had even harboured hopes of changing the mindset of their world.
Their hopes were dashed when it was Varel's people that had found them first. Ordered to complete her mission to remove Jebediah from the world Varel had refused. This alone would not have been enough to have caused her exile, not even her censure but her brutal slaying of the people who had come to rescue her was.
For a few days they had been safe, but when Jebediah's people had found them her heart had been betrayed. He had not fought to try to save her from his friends, instead he had stood silent as they came for her, stood silent as she pleaded for him to tell them how they both had changed. Only her broken anger had saved her that day, tapping into her raw magic to free her from the soldiers and the monks who would have ended her life that day. Ending the life of Jebediah in turn, for she had seen the fickle nature of the human heart and knew it could not be trusted.
Then the running began.
The one dimension that has hidden her the longest is the one inhabited by the heroes known as 'The Champions'. This universe has become a nexus point for creatures of more than one realm and in this great diversity she has become just one among the many. Her talents have found other uses than evading her captors, and she has returned to hew old pastime of tracking down the criminal underbelly of the place she now calls home.
Working as a Liason Officer with the Millenium City Police Department she helps this still relatively underfunded force counteract the magical forces at work in their city. Summoning gone wrong; they call Varel.
The Case of the Enchanted Skull
"What does it do?" The officer asks, his name escapes her, and not for the first time that evening Varel misses Andrews. He never asked incessant questions.
"I don't know."
"What is it for?"
"I don't know that either," she replies with a sigh, not turning to look at the police officer behind her, Varel's gaze instead stays focused on the skull. Her brow furrowing as she can almost sense the man opening his mouth to ask another asinine question, "I can't know these things after only being here a few moments. I am not the one who set this up and there is much to be done before I can give you any conclusive answers, and that's what you want isn't it? Conclusive answers?"
"You're meant to be the expert." Varel can't help but feel he sounds defensive and petulant, so like a child. She wonders if she ever sounded like that at his age, she supposed she must have.
"I am yes, so let me do my job." she grinds out, her tone overly cool as she prepares another spell to battle the ones before her. Her power flowing out to create runes that shimmer into life in the air. Their colour is softer and less sickly than those that surround the engraved skull, a visual tell to the meaning behind such magics. They tell her that the skull is dark indeed and whatever ritual it is for it cannot be good.
"I don't see what the harm is, it's just a skull," the officer gripes and he steps closer.
Varel barely sees his arm before he is reaching over the edge of the circle to pick up the ominous piece. His skin runs over the engraving as he picks it up and the outpouring of malevolence is immediate.
The carvings stretch out to consume the man, racing over his flesh to mark him to match the skull, the screams of pain calling the other police on duty over to help.
Yet there is nothing to be done.
Not even Varel can free him from the skull's grip as it eats into his flesh and consumes him. Every ounce of energy that once was he lost into that bottomless, dark pit. For a moment it hangs in the air where he had once stood before collapsing to the ground as the glow fades. Not a trace of the man remains.
"What was that?" Another nameless face she doesn't care to know asks and she sighs. Some days Varel wonders if she is getting too old for this.
"That was an idiot. If anyone cares to join him they can pick up the skull."
Varel has a vast set of magical knowledge and experience to call upon in battle. Trained by her father to be able to defend herself against almost all that their world could throw at them, and more besides, Varel is a force to be reckoned with on any battlefield. Her magical prowess extends to all defensive magic and to ways to fight back with it. She uses no tools in her casting as she considers wands and staves too crude a measure, instead she summons the power of any ritual or spell directly through her.
However, her magic does not extend to the healing arts. She is able to heal superficial wounds yes and conjure a splint for a broken bone, but she does not have the spirit for such things. In battle she will seek to avoid injury rather than deal with the consequences and she is not the person to turn to if you need such help yourself.
Technology is also not her strong suit, indeed prolonged exposure to her magical energies tend to break any beyond reasonable use and those devices which have managed to survive have quirks that can be maddening to others and render Varel incapable of anything but a superficial understanding of their workings. Technological attacks confuse her also, and while she has learnt to counter many with magical means, she still considers the use of technology a strange tool all too many of the Champion's world use.
Beyond her prowess on the battlefield Varel's magical knowledge extends into it's histories and tales, into the research of magic and it's function. Able to see the path of it through history, if not always to understand its consequences. Her father was an excellent teacher, and while not as astute as he, she has an able mind to put to any problem. Indeed any team would be improved by her magical understanding. Just do not ask her to rewire a plug.
Recently reports have emerged of a new range of powers wielded by her hands and it seems that Varel has begun to meddle with the passage of time, not a usual subject for a magic wielder, and dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous. One can only hope that she has not strayed too deep in her search for power to wield against those that would come against her and her own self interests.
Older Than they Look - It's impolite to ask a young lady's age after all.
Long Lived - It's mortal Jim, just not as we know it.
Run or Die - Her indeed, because...
You Can't go Home Again - An exile with a price on her head. Need I say more?
Occult Detective - Varel works for the MCPD as part of their occult crime department. A Detective after a fashion but freelance.
Femme Fatale - Taking it literally for over two hundred years.
Well Intentioned Extremist - Certainly an anti-villain, perhaps more of a recovering villain. She once worked for bad side but now works for the good. Mostly.
Red Eyes Take Warning - Not her fault, she was just born that way.
Marked Change - Because glowing runic tattoos are cool when needed.
Impossibly Cool Clothes - A battle is no reason to not wear what you like. It's clothing she finds cool at least.
Raven Hair Ivory Skin - Though Varel does rather nifty things with her hair.
Love Hurts - Love got her into this mess, and it certainly won't get her out. Yet her heart is not as guarded as she would like.
Deadpan Snarker - Sarcasm is one of her favourite pastimes.
Oh dear where to begin...
Magic is Mental - Handwaving, mental discipline and a brain... Check.
Magical Gesture - Because it just emphasises a point so well.
Geometric Magic - It just looks so pretty...
Functional Magic - Everything should have rules.
Let's just say this is a selection and move on.
Chaotic Neutral - I am sure Freud would have a field day, but in this case she is a solid Type 4 Chaotic Neutral.
This bio is a continuous work in progress as rp occurs and her life moves forwards.
I am currently looking for offers to give character's views on Varel to add to the page.