Arian Teneson
In the flickering glow of candlelight and low conversation at Annabel’s, Stormwatch District’s most exclusive and elusive gathering place, one face is always there to greet you: Arian Teneson, the bar’s soft-spoken, silver-eyed steward of spirits. With his steady hands and instinctive understanding of mood and flavour, Arian crafts more than cocktails—he creates moments, many of which linger in the minds of the city’s elite long after they’ve left their velvet armchairs.
Arian is the second of five children, born and raised in Barrogate. His mother passed away in childbirth when he was only seven, and from that day forward, his family became both his anchor and his compass. His father, Corvin Teneson, a stoic but loving glassmaker, raised the siblings alone—until age and time began to slow him. These days, Arian balances his nights behind the bar with his mornings tending to Corvin’s health, walking him along the seawall, making tea just how his mother used to, and repairing glassworks in the small shop they keep running for pride more than profit.
Tragedy shaped him further when his older brother, Joren, was lost to the war—an absence that haunts him quietly but deeply, especially on silent Barrogate evenings when the fishing piers are empty and the stars are out.
Despite—or perhaps because of—this weight, Arian carries a rare gentleness. He is studying chemistry at the University of Edison, with dreams of one day earning his place at the Beaumont Winery as a sommelier and master of blends. But his mind is not limited to glassware and garnishes: he writes stoies in small leather journals, composes music on a borrowed violin, and spends long hours listening to old radio broadcasts, fascinated by voices from distant times and places.
Arian is openly and unapologetically gay, though currently unattached. Those who know him understand he isn’t closed to love—only cautious. He finds joy in the little things: the hush of the sea before dawn, the clean break of a crystal wine glass, a perfect hand in a quiet card game. And though he rarely talks about himself, those close to him would say that Arian is someone who gives more than he ever asks—and means every word he does say.
In the corner of Annabel’s bar, he is not just a barman. He is a confidant, a craftsman, and perhaps most of all, a man quietly building a life of quiet beauty and enduring grace.
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