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Revision as of 07:49, 11 April 2015
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.
Contents
UNLIKELY BEGINNINGS
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 return 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 gaze. A hand shifts from that book and the fingers twist upwards like a set of claws. Between those arched fingers an orb is born and light fills her window as the orb of pale yellow light floats 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.
FAMILY
"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.
Mother
Inquisitor
Name: Kaena
Age: 1503 Years
History
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.
Father
Warlock of the Inner Council
Name: Theramus
Age: 2462 Years
History
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.
Sister
Magister
Name: Angelita
Age: 472 Years
History
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.
EXILE
"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.
HIDDEN HOME
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 Liaison Officer with the Millennium City Police Department she helped this still relatively underfunded force counteract the magical forces at work in their city. Summoning gone wrong; they called 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."
This working relationship began to fall apart when Seth found her. Strained and eventually cracked because you can only be pulled in so many directions at once. Eventually a choice had to be made and, she chose Black Sun. Waltzing away into, if not a sunset, pastures new that might at least have some form of grass she could bare.
BLACK SUN RISING
Black Sun Rising. First impressions of the company were interesting to say the least. Thrust into a department that neither wanted or cared for this usurper to the ruling throne. Yet she persisted and with her eternal pride and outward cool they fell at her ruthless efficiency and actual fairness. Some even found they liked this strange, pale traveler that had reached them from other dimensions. Even if she was unorthodox and, mostly because she was unorthodox.
The first to fall to her 'charms' was Francois. A Roman Catholic monk by profession his desires for the occult and his determination in investigating them had led him first astray then to a hasty excommunication. An extreme measure in this day and age but no-one, especially not the Catholic Church, wants anyone to know one of their number burnt down a building because they summoned a demon. It doesn't look good on their record. With her own determination that rivaled his own Varel swayed him to her cause then schooled him on just what it was that had first made him a liability waiting to happen and now made him their best records keeper and Personal Assistant.
The next were more unusual. Twins Marco and Alexia. Yet they were nothing alike and often at arms, fighting from two ends of the spectrum. As were their magics. Perhaps the truest representation of yin and yang. Delightfully anomalous and just as intelligent. The one thing they had agreed on was that Varel knew what she was talking about and with them on her side the research department fell into Varel's clutches; and the twins fell further. Falling for that power that so drew people to Varel. Becoming more than just employees but apprentices. They are her voice, especially in the London branch, and they terrorise everyone they meet. It's only fair in their eyes, Varel terrorises them when she is around.
All this happened years ago and now the Magical Research Department is just as tight and efficient as its technological counterpart. A tentative alliance between the two sections that had been at war has yielded some interesting results. One can only hope, or fear, what this continued alliance between two once opposing branches could produce.
POWERS
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.
A MATTER OF SYN
The heels of Varel’s high boots clicked with cold force onto the chilled floor of the foyer as her magic stretched out around her in an icy wave that darkened the halls and deactivated the security cameras as she went. She moved in a well of secrecy towards the wing of the building that was all hers. This was the London office and the main research building for Black Sun Rising and the one place that feared and loved her arrival in equal measure.
One sleek sign announced that she had made her way to the Magical wing and she passed through the barrier that defended it as if it were naught but the air she had travelled through before. Her magic fell into a darkened robe about her; a swirling mark of her status that made the leather shimmer with her power and affect an appearance so like an older self she tried so hard to deny.
At this hour few of the researchers were about as sleep called even the most obsessed to their beds when the hour of the wolf arrived. Yet a few offices were still lit along the strangely ornate corridor and a hooded figure stood waiting to meet her.
"Director," the man greets her and his bow is the creak of old tomes, "We have been expecting you."
"Yes Francois I know," Varel’s tone as cold as her step, and somewhat distracted, as she falls into step next to the monk. She knows she should not be prejudiced against him because of his profession, yet some old hang ups never leave her. She still remembers the way the monks of her world had once viewed her, and the monks of this one come to that.
"Have all the arrangements been made?"
"Yes... They have," and the hesitancy in his tone is undeniable.
"You do not approve I take it?" she asks, her grin cold and as icy as all her actions that evening.
"No, I do not." and his tone is hissed, low, as if the corridor can hear them, "You are going to sully our work!"
"I'm sure the Vatican will be pleased to know you just practice magic in a good way," and her gaze is as pointed as her tone as she glances to him. Varel does not mention his excommunication, she does not have to. The old man breathes in sharply quite obviously feeling the slap, going quiet as they approach the main lab, though some of the researchers insisted on calling it the Hall of Carathusa.
It was called the Hall of Carathusa after the man who had both set it up and created the web of circles that covered its floor. The magic of the world was enhanced here, swept around the circles and brushed up; the power of it bullied to become something like the magic Varel remembered from her world. This room was used but rarely, the power in it feeding the rest of their work out in the further labs beyond, not to be toyed with, but not today. The great oak doors swept back at their approach to reveal the vast open area that was the Hall of Carathusa, and hall it was. Vast open columns filled the windowless space, stretching back before them at the bottom of a sweeping staircase. Arcing lines of marble and gold swept across the floor filled with the power this room called upon and coiling along the metal traceries into the air. Even Varel had not dared to push such power through circles in the air. Yet Carathusa had, it made her wish that she could have met such an innovator.
Varel was always a creature of pride. It had been her shield growing up against those that would have scorned her for being such a dirty thing as a half breed. It was her defense against those that continued to deny her for those who were weaker, more middling. With Syn, it was to become her offense. A being of pride with an edge to cut and drink it down from enemies a bond was forged between Varel and the greatest of Sins. Warned of such deals it took the vicious pull of anger and revenge to have her go against advice she had nurtured from birth, yet it was the skills she had cultivated and grown in that same time which ensured she came out the Mistress of such a weapon.
So far she has managed to do what few other wielders of the sword have done. To control her pride, to temper it and to force it to conform to her rules and whims.
Whether this deal will remain as needed or as accepted by Varel as it is now when her anger cools is unknown. If so then she will continue to wield a blade that is both a danger to its enemies but also will be to Varel should she ever fall from such prideful grace. Yet if she turns from the power she now holds will she ever be allowed to go free?
All that lies in the future. For now they stalk the rooftops of Millennium City together, tracking down many an unwary criminal to fall to Syn's prideful clutches. Training together and learning as much about the other as they can both for their own survival and any future battle that may take place between them. At times though they disappear from even the reach of the Shadow Nexus, stepping from this world to another and always they return smiling. What can two so disparate and prideful beings find that can so appease them both? All that can be known is every time Varel comes back just that little bit stronger.
The Cutting Edge
At first glance the sword may appear a simple Katana, an innocuous weapon on the hip or in the hand of someone who should surely know more magic than martial skills. A white scabbard with white hilt laced in black. The blade itself though is something different, something beyond the mundane. Wrought in a shade of black that the eyes seem to slide away from as if the surface were an oil so slick not even a gaze could hold. So dark it seems to eat up the light as readily as the pride it is fed when it has been very, very good.
This blade is always good.
Indeed it thinks itself the best and with such skills as it possesses perhaps it is. It is enough that such great pride creates an aura about both it and its bearer, an unsettling aura. A creeping sensation you might be hard pressed to put a name to; except for the purest knowledge that you are being watched. And judged.
Kahi
Please feel free to add here my friends.
TROPES
General
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 - A Detective after a fashion but freelance, and once she worked for the MCPD.
Was It All a Lie? - Has been in love, once. It did not end well and ended on just such a moment.
Live Interest Traitor - Relates to the point above. In her story, her love interest was indeed a traitor.
Characteristics
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.
Personality
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.
Powers
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.
Morality
Chaotic Neutral - I am sure Freud would have a field day, but in this case she is a solid Type 4 Chaotic Neutral.
MISC
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.