when one can wield the fire of stars,
what use is flesh and bone?

His birth was a reflection of the Starry-Heart. Swaddled in the silk of the Ancestor Moths so he may remember his bloodline and his first breaths sucking in the incense of the chanting priests of Mara and the hundreds of cults dancing in arcane firelight, the blood of his sickly mother still upon his brow. It was in the decaying and decrepit halls of the Varia domus he was taught the way of the Hierophant and the mage, titles still desperately clung to as wealth and glory faded. The father lived his life as if the days of Empire still were golden and not faux and decayed, even as his wife wasted away from sickness. Four were their number, the brood of Varia, Arethas the runt of them all and the last to remain - the cost of ambition in the days where the Starry-Heart beats in languished, mournful cries; poisoned in its once divine veins by men like Arethas Varia.The now-Lord and Hierophant of Varia finds himself with only a name, poverty-stricken prestige and scorched lands. And so, he finds himself dancing in the dark recesses of the Arena, bearing the spear-staff of his ancestors to cut apart the seams of the forbidden and folklore. The occultist, even as the blackened hairs upon his head are struck with silver and his brow creases, still holds to his eyes an obsessive look. ‘Hexbreaker’, he calls himself: battling what comes from the Void with its own spawn, its own lessons, which he has heeded well by the burns upon his back that mark him as a failure of a conjurer in his youth. Perhaps it is out of some manner of empathy borne of his own sins he does not wish to see others suffer the plague of Oblivion as he has, or perhaps to take from them the crooked power they suffer - both, some say.The Niben is prideful of his heritage and wraps himself in moth-silks and adorns his flesh with ink. In spite of his decaying laurels, he still rests them upon his head as if they still shimmered golden and bright: a combative tongue, the tastes of a hedonist, an adherence to all things obscure and cultish as befitting one of the East. All of it is only adhering to the lessons taught to him when he inhaled in his first incense-filled breath, ones he desperately tries to forget: to cling to the past, when all was lit by starlight.

common

☬ Hexbreaker - It is in the firelight of the hearth his features are illuminated as he looks upon the writhing figure strapped to the bed. The flame dances and cackles with them, before being snuffed out entirely: the small hut turned to naught but a feasting ground for all things that hunt inside it. A curse placed upon one for a deal made in desperation; something he knows all too well. The Niben holds his hand above the head, the other working in the dark to reach for the light still held within the soul: to break the chains runed in Voidish tongue. They will be cured. They must be.
→ are you or a loved one afflicted by a mysterious, uncurable curse? the temple priest at their wits end? Arethas may be able to help. Maybe. He could just as well make it worse - but he is better than nothing.☬ Hierophant of Nothing - The Varia's were once a strong family, or so the annals say. But now their domus is home only to ghosts and faded memories - the occasional forward camp, or bandit hovel. Or worse. The lands of Varia were always prone to... unwelcome visitors. Their lands lay fallow and decrepit, their lord, Hierophant Varia, rules only in name alone. He sits in a private room in Leyawiin, his quill dipping into an inkwell as he writes the letters to change that, the skeletal hand of an ancestor forlorn guiding his hand, whispering into his ear: 'They will never return to you. And they will mock you until you are ash and forgotten.'
→ broke Lord seeking help in getting his haunted, broken estate back. interested parties may put in applications. or other nobility can just laugh at him. deserved.☬ Scholar of Something(s) - He sits in front of a man bearing the owl mask of Jhunal, runes carved into his pallid flesh as he tosses bones upon the ground again and again. The fire is warm, the room is as cold as the Hold outside. The Niben's teeth chatter, his fingers frigid and he documents the Cleverman's accounts: urging, coaxing as many secrets as possible of this dying tradition. For his own benefit, of course, he does nothing out of charity - but the account will be published, if nothing else to enjoy the looks of his colleagues and the arguments. The Cleverman huffs, runes peeling from his skin to become tangible magic, and the southerner begins to paint upon his own arms.
→ do you belong to a weird, esoteric magical tradition or group? have some folklore to share? Arethas wants to hear it. There'll be some wine in it for you. Or a publication with your name; provided its useful, or funny enough.

uncommon

☬ Circumstances of Carnage - The firstborn of Varia died of a rather fatal disease: decapitation by Colovians. The second born burned alive in her own cloak of flame on the field of war - an uncommon mistake for a Shadow Legionnaire. The third, well, you can ask any person that was in the Elven Gardens on the day of Varen's arrival how long that Lordling screamed when the mob got their hands on him. Somehow, Arethas, the runt, the one who never served, survived; tucked away in the Arcane University, recovering from a failed experiment.
→ looking to investigate a thus far unsolved mystery? or just trying to discredit Arethas for whatever reason? best get digging, bub. this will require a lot of OOC communication, but welcome to it.☬ Walker of the Gray - The Wheel is comprised of many spokes and connections. Uncountable, unfathomable - realms beyond imagiation and beyond reach. It is in the Celestial Palanquin that an unremarkable and rather unlikeable (he denies such claims) mortal makes his way about, underneath a sunless sky, so he may walk about the Gray and the Black, to know its secrets, to document. It will drive him mad - a child lifting up a rock to find what is underneath, to find only a black pit of nothing staring back.
→ inter-planar hijinks. Fargrave, Oblivion, all that good stuff. welcome to ignore, not everyone's cup of tea, but I like TES not-Sigil and getting up to Daedric nonsense.

• rumors.

• skills.

common

"The Imperial? Dressed in all those fancy silks? Can't say he was charming company, but he was... Helpful. My daughter, see, wandered too far into the woods. Saw, met, something or someone she shouldn't. Became more beast than girl. Then comes this dandy, does a few rituals, my daughter returned. Tried to offer him a bit of gold, but he said he was already paid in full - whatever that means."
High Rock, 2E 590"Conjurer Varia is a most unorthodox and infuriating mage. Whilst he is a member of our Guild, and a longstanding one at that, his methods oft toe the line of witchery and tampering with powers far outside his control. And his scholarly acumen is... Well, I wonder how much is done simply to get a rise out of our more mainstream members. One has to wonder how much of it is influenced by his hedonistic habits."
Leyawiin Mage's Guild, 2E 588"Don't like Cyrods. My father served the Longhouse Emperors, aye, but me? I'll stay here in the crags, where the Spirits are - they killed Leovic for their hate of 'em. So imagine my shock when this lanky shit of a Cyrod asked our Clan to tell us our stories, to meet with our Clan Mother. Funny lad, so we entertained 'em, and gave us wine, so we didn't gut 'em."
The Reach, 2E 591

uncommon

"The man is a Daedra worshipper, I swear it by all the Divines! Listen, I know those Niben's are... Lax. But how can you relax when you hear sounds no one should hear coming from his room? See him skulking about in night, then vanishing without a trace? Has every manner of strange magical trinket you can think? No, I don't know which Prince... Does it matter?! That man is insane, send him to a ward, or prison, or something!"
Anvil, 2E 587The House of Varia was one shrouded in mystery and tragedy. Financial errors placed them in the lowest rungs of aristocracy, with large amounts of debt owed to the merchants of Nibenay. That is to say nothing of the deaths of three of the four heirs of the House, whose passing is shrouded in superstition and the blame at the feet of the current patriarch, Arethas. Their Domus in County Cheydinhal lays in ruins, and without miraculous intervention, they will be like many bloodlines of our Heartland - broken, forgotten, extinct."
Records of Hierophantic Houses, 2E 586Arethas was never the chosen heir. The prodigy, the destined one to bring Varia back from the brink. Always envied his siblings, always wanted to be better, our masters always thought he was a firestorm waiting to burn everything around him. Now, he's helping people - or however Arethas 'helps' in his way. Like he's making up for some mistake, or just a wasted youth; man was an animal, still is, just can't recover from the drunken nights as well."
Skingrad Mage's Guild, 2E 590

• hooks.

• skills.

strengths

☬ Conjuration / 'Dark Magic' - Master
☬ Illusion - Expert
☬ Mysticism - Adept
☬ Polearms - Adept
☬ Destruction - Adept

weaknesses

☬ Stunted Magicka Regeneration (Sign of the Atronach)
☬ Most Forms of Martial Combat
☬ Migraines
☬ Hedonism
☬ Horrific Reputation

• hooks.

• rumors.

name

relationship

tba

Anicius Varia

father †

"A man clinging to the glory of days that never happened, right up until the death bed. You'd be proud - I'm doing the same, just better."

Latona Varia

mother †

"The smell of sick covered by flowers and incense. A fading touch, a languished smile. I've forgotten your voice, but never your love."

Amiel, Sidonia and Lukas Varia

siblings †

"Pitted against one another like wolves in the arena. A pity, that it was the runt that survived."