A man who looks younger than his reputation suggests, Vareth moves with soldierly economy and the deliberate grace of a practiced duelist. His robe of the archmagi is white, threaded with black and red runic trim, tailored to hang like a banner and yet cut to allow running, climbing, and sudden movement. The fabric ripples like the surface of a still pond when he moves, and its collar is high and sculpted like a glacis, nicked faintly at one side from an old blade strike. He keeps his staff of the archmagi clipped in a leather loop on his hip, and when he walks his boots whisper as if reluctant to disturb anything; he favors a small, antique soldier's cloak beneath the robe that is stained faintly with the rust of old battle. Unexpectedly, he wears a battered feed cap from his soldier days beneath a hood, a trivial, human touch in the midst of iconography and impossible artifacts.