Loveless Crown

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Emery Hayes

Location: Firehouse/ Interactions: Co-workers
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No smoking. No drinking. No drugs. Those had always been Mark’s rules spoken softly but enforced like law. Even now, years later, Emery could hear his voice as clearly as if he were standing beside her, arms crossed, brow furrowed in that familiar way that meant he wasn’t angry, just disappointed. The thought alone made her chest tighten.

The cigarette burned low between her fingers, the ember glowing brighter as she inhaled one last time. Smoke scorched her throat, bitter and grounding all at once. She held it there for a heartbeat longer than she should have, then exhaled slowly, watching it dissolve into the air like something she wasn’t meant to keep. Her fingers lifted the cigarette to her lips in a quiet, private farewell before she pressed it into the already-crowded ashtray. Her body leaned against the decaying wooden railing of the porch, its age evident in every creak and groan beneath her weight. The wood bowed just slightly, as if considering surrender. “Not today,” Emery murmured, smoke still clinging to her lips.

Her emerald gaze lingered on the splintering boards, cataloguing the damage out of habit. Another thing to fix. Another problem waiting its turn. In a world that never stopped breaking, even the house seemed determined to remind her it wasn’t immune. She straightened and reached beneath her shirt, fingers closing around cold metal. The dog tags slid free easily, familiar in their weight. A weak smile tugged at her lips as her thumb traced the raised letters of her own name etched cleanly, untouched. Then she switched them. Her tag dropped back against her chest with a dull clink, while the other remained between her fingers.

Her smile faded. Dried blood stained the steel where his name should have gleamed. She swallowed hard, breath catching just enough to hurt. A sigh slipped free as she tilted her head, letting the tag sway gently back and forth. Sunlight caught its surface, glimmering in a way that felt cruelly beautiful. “I wish you were here with me,” she whispered. For a moment, a distant smirk curved her lips habit more than humor. “But no,” she added softly. “You decided married life wasn’t for you.”

The laugh that followed never quite made it out. It clogged in her throat, sharp and bitter, as her jaw clenched tight enough to ache. Her fist curled around the chain, knuckles whitening as anger and grief surged together, inseparable and overwhelming. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. She fought them. And then, she didn’t.

The tension drained from her body all at once, leaving only exhaustion behind. Emery closed her eyes. The tags collided with a quiet metallic chime as she let them fall back into place and pushed herself away from the railing. That was when the wood finally gave up. A brittle crack split the air as one of the railing bars snapped clean off, tumbling to the porch with a hollow thud. “Gods damn it,” she growled. “Nope.” She turned sharply on her heel. Out of sight, out of mind.

The screen door slammed behind her as she marched back inside, wincing only slightly at the noise. “I’ll fix it later,” she muttered, to no one in particular. Inside, the house greeted her with its usual stale stillness dim light, cluttered surfaces, and the faint smell of old alcohol that never truly went away. Emery brushed her fingers through her hair, gathering loose strands into a messy bun out of sheer habit. She moved through the space like a patrol, collecting empty bottles and lining them neatly by the sink. Another reminder to fill them with water. Another promise she’d probably have to make again tomorrow.

The soft clink of glass disturbed her mother just enough for her to stir. A slurred complaint began to form, lips parting but it never finished. She slumped back into sleep, the rant dissolving before it could begin. Emery didn’t linger. Instead, a quiet groan drew her attention down the hall. Jamie leaned against his bedroom doorframe, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded with sleep. She smirked. “Studying or gigs?”

Jamie shuffled toward the counter, rolling his eyes as he sat. “Does it even matter?” She slid the jelly and peanut butter onto the counter. He sighed, defeated. “Gigs. Just like you did when you were my age.” He grinned at his freshly made sandwich right before Emery snatched it out of his hands. “Hey!” He reached for it, but she lifted it just out of reach, height firmly on her side.

“Except at my age,” she said calmly, “ I still got B’s and C’s.” He groaned. She relented, placing the sandwich back down before crossing her arms in her lecture stance. One he knew all too well. “You got a D,” she continued, “on one of the easiest books known to man. Animal Farm.” She leaned against the counter beside him, expression softening just slightly. “Your education comes first when it comes to the hustle. Can’t let people trick you, dumbass.”

She flicked his forehead gently. He laughed, batting her hand away. “Like you’ve never been tricked before.”

She paused, then smirked. “Yeah, well. Maybe if I was smarter I would’ve become a doctor instead of a paramedic.” She winked and headed toward her room, pulling out her uniform with a tired sigh. “Speaking of which, I work afternoon and night. You okay staying at Jack’s?” Jamie shrugged, then pouted. Emery caught it immediately.

“Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll buy you a skateboard. Just don’t break it again.”

“That’s more like it,” he grinned.

She stepped closer, leaning down to his level. “And read that study guide your teacher gave you.” She offered her hand. He shook it solemnly. Deal made.

Emery pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment, her arms tightened more than necessary—muscle memory flashing back to nights spent shielding him from shouting, from flying objects, from fear. Her fingers ran through his hair once, protective and gentle. Then she pushed him back with a smirk. “Alright. Go get ready.” Jamie rolled his eyes and disappeared into his room. Emery dressed quickly, shrugging into her paramedic uniform like armor. She brushed imaginary dust from her shoulders before pausing at the door, eyes settling on her sleeping mother.

Fourteen years. And nothing had changed. She exhaled slowly, then stepped aside to let Jamie out, watching him walk down the street toward Jack’s. Only when she saw him safely inside did she turn away.
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The walk to the station was familiar automatic. Cars roared past, engines echoing in her ears, her heart picking up its pace as she crossed the street with practiced precision. Sirens wailed somewhere nearby. Too close to ignore. Too far to claim. No matter how heavy grief sat in her chest, the world kept moving. Storefront lights blurred past her vision. Laughter spilled out of a bar she refused to look at. Smoke still clung faintly to her jacket, and she resisted the urge to scrub it away. Nathan would’ve noticed. “Sorry,” she murmured.

The firestation rose ahead of her, brick worn smooth by time. The bay doors glowed softly, the emblem above chipped but proud. Relief settled deep into her bones as she stepped onto the concrete apron. Here, she didn’t have to pretend. She pushed inside, greeted by fluorescent hum and the familiar scent of oil, coffee, and antiseptic. Voices echoed deeper within—laughter, boots against tile, life continuing. Emery paused just inside the door, resting her forehead briefly against the cool metal. Eyes closed. One breath. Then another. She straightened.

Her fingers brushed her dog tags instinctively before tucking them away. She moved to her locker, spinning the dented lock without looking. Inside sat her gloves, trauma shears, and a folded photo worn soft with age. She didn’t take it out. She didn’t need to. Here, she was a paramedic. A protector. A constant. And as she stepped fully into the station, ready for whatever came next, the doors behind her remained open waiting for the moment someone else would walk in and change the rhythm of her night.

Ꭼꭲꭼꭱɴꭺꮮ Ꭲꮋꭱꮻɴꭼ

[hider=Rue]

C H A R A C T E R S H E E T T E M P L A T E

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Rue Nightengale

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_Appearance

Dark oaken hair normally tied into small braids that rest on her shoulders. Her hair naturally drifts against the right side of her face, yet through the strains her emerald eyes still shine twice as best. On her caramel skin she bares white painted lines on both sides of her hips going up towards her shoulders.She has a rather athletic body, a faint set of abs and broad shoulders on a slight curvy body. Luscious lips of faint crimson but always full of mischief and cunning. For clothing, she tends to wear a barmaiden outfit but modified that added bits and pieces of leather. Leaning more towards flexibility, mobility and style, though armor is more secondary than anything. Around her neck is a slightly tarnished choker carrying an old crest and adorned on her head is a silver fillet.

_{Personality & Reputation}

Rue is a very cynical woman. Kindness is a front and intimidation is a mask, both worn by frightened souls. Yet that doesn't stop her from being the source of joy for whoever needs it. A comfort for those who want it. An arrow for anyone that is willing to pay. Because, if everyone wears masks, why wouldn’t she? So, in a world full of masks, why not pretend. She offers smiles, honeyed words, all in order to get closer towards her prey and target. For her lies are her own armor. It’s a way to feel safe and in control of everything. She carries a reputation for being a beautiful dancer and a charming woman, but for those who know the truth she is a frightening huntress.Yet, as she got older lies falter and something mystical took place.

_History

History

Rue was born in Silach, though she never truly belonged to it or to any city at all. Her home was the road: dust beneath her boots, wind tugging at her sleeves, and always, always her mother at her side. Together they traveled from town to town, never staying long enough to grow roots, never lingering long enough to be missed.
Her mother was many things, depending on who asked. A fortune-teller with knowing eyes. A healer with vials of cloudy liquid and soothing words. A temptress who whispered promises into the ears of lonely men and vanished before dawn. What mattered was that people paid. Coin flowed easily when wrapped in hope, desire, or fear, and Rue never lacked for food, shelter, or the small luxuries of childhood. Every birthday came with a new dress. Every winter passed without hunger.
To Rue, it seemed like magic. But Rue was curious in a way that made her dangerous to herself most of all. As she watched her mother spin fortunes and cures, she asked a question that would shape the rest of her life: “Why do we lie,” she asked, “when we could just tell the truth?”
Her mother only smiled, adjusting her rings, eyes sharp and fond all at once. “Because,” she said gently, “people listen better to what they want to hear.” Rue remembered that sentence. She carried it like a charm and like a warning.
From then on, Rue learned to lie deliberately. At first, they were small things: exaggerations to draw a crowd, reassurances whispered to the frightened, promises she knew no one would return to collect. She helped her mother sell miracle cures that cured nothing, fortunes that foretold whatever the listener most desired. Rue learned how to smile just enough, how to tilt her head, how to sound sincere even when she felt nothing at all.
As she grew older, Rue stepped into the spotlight. Her voice carried farther than her mother’s now; her presence drew attention effortlessly. While her mother wove elaborate tales, Rue anchored them encouraging customers, laughing at the right moments, nudging doubt aside with warmth or confidence. It was a good life. A profitable one. And for a time, a happy one.
She even fell in love.
A lesser nobleman’s son became a regular visitor. He brought coin at first, then gifts, then excuses to linger. Eventually, he brought her a necklace bearing his family’s crest. He fell in love not with the girl beneath the masks, but with the story she told him and Rue, disastrously, fell in love with being believed.
When he asked for her hand, Rue’s mother surprised her by agreeing. Perhaps she was tired of the road. Perhaps she believed this lie could become a truth. His parents did not.
The noble family tore through Rue’s past with practiced cruelty. Old rumors resurfaced. Witnesses came forward. The performances were rebranded as fraud. The cures as poison. The fortunes were heresy. They were called deceivers, liars who led honest people astray. Guards were summoned. Rue and her mother ran.
Years on the road had not been kind to her mother’s body. She stumbled. She slowed. The guards caught her before Rue could turn back. Rue still heard her mother’s voice screaming at her to run, to live, to survive even as hands dragged the woman who taught her how to lie into chains. Rue fled Silach with nothing. No lover. No mother. No coin. Only her lies.
She survived as she always had: by adapting. She rebuilt herself town by town, face by face, mask by mask. She stayed hidden, stayed clever, stayed alive. In secret, she trained for combat, for thieving, for the day she would be strong enough to return and free her mother. She learned how to be feared when kindness wasn’t enough. How to sell comfort without attachment. How to become useful.
And then she met a mage. They spoke of magic not as power, but as compromise. Of gods not as benefactors, but as accountants. Nothing was given freely. Everything was paid for. That night, Rue made the only offering she truly possessed. She offered the gods her lies. Not symbolically. Not partially. Completely.
She promised to surrender her ability to lie to never again speak falsehood, no matter the cost. In return, she asked for magic. Not fire or glory or dominion. She asked for conjuring: the power to summon what was needed, when it was needed, and send it away when its purpose was done. The gods agreed.
Rue gained magic and lost the one tool that had kept her alive since childhood. Now she walks a world still full of masks, unable to wear the one that once protected her best. She speaks carefully. Conjures solutions instead of excuses. And somewhere, in a cell or a grave she has not yet found, her mother waits, still bound by the lie that truth will someday be enough.

_{Strengths & Limitations}

Strengths

”Vowbound Conjuration.”

Weapons of Conjurations: Rue can conjure tools or weapons perfectly suited to a task. The form depends on truth: a blade, a bow, a binding chain. The weapon cannot be used outside its declared purpose. If she attempts to misuse it, it vanishes.
Vowbound Entities:Rue can summon Nonverbal entities created to fulfill protective or observational roles. Watchers that alert her to danger, Guardians that intercept harm,Barriers that exist only where needed, etc. These conjures do not think deeply. They act on literal instruction.
Shifting Perspective: Rue can create little changes in the world. A warmth that eases shock, A presence that absorbs grief, A stabilizing force for the panicked. Anything to help ease anyone she believes that needs it. However it is always minor and these are dangerous for Rue because they expose emotional truth. Overuse leaves her emotionally drained or hollow for a time.

”Crowd Reading & Social Pattern Recognition.”

Rue can read groups as easily as individuals. Identifies leaders, followers, skeptics Anticipates emotional swings in crowds Knows when to escalate, distract, or withdraw, knowing exactly what makes a person tics and how they break.

”Performance & Persona Control.”

Rue learned how to become what people expect. Controlled posture, voice modulation, eye contact, Seamless shifts between warmth, neutrality, and menace, Awareness of how masks affect others. After all, the best performers are the ones that give exactly what you want from them.

”My weapon is my word.”

Rue is adept with most of her weapons she conjuries, however she prefers to use words or threats to break her opponents, or even better let her enemies fight one another on her behalf. (Kinda like charm and vicious mockery from D&D.)

”Adaptablity.”

Rue has lived without stability her entire life. New cities don’t unbalance her, loss doesn’t paralyze her, it redirects her. She can rebuild identity quickly.

”A Dancer’s Vigor.”

Rue moves like a dancer whose stage is the world itself. Years on the road have honed her body into a living instrument of precision, agility, and grace. She climbs walls and obstacles effortlessly, negotiating surfaces with balance and economy rather than brute force. Her flexibility allows her to twist, roll, and recover seamlessly, turning slips and falls into controlled movement. In combat, Rue is fluid and evasive. She does not meet force with force, but redirects it, exploiting momentum and rhythm to incapacitate or escape rather than overpower. Every strike, parry, and step feels like part of a dance

limitations

.

”Cannot Lie.”

Rue cannot lie, she cannot lie to herself, others, not even her magic. Everything must be true to her best ability. Whenever she does lie, the lie never escapes her mouth and rather makes her silent. If her magic was based on a lie, it would not come into existence nor would it work properly.

”Physical Limitations.”

Despite her agility, Rue is human. She tires, can be restrained or trapped, and is vulnerable to prolonged physical conflict. Rue excels at fluid, evasive combat, but she struggles in straight, sustained brawls or against overwhelming numbers where mobility is limited.

”Limited Conjurations.”

Entities she summons act literally and without independent thought. Complex strategies requiring initiative cannot be delegated to them. Shifting Perspective conjures: comfort, warmth, presence: drain her emotionally. Frequent use leaves her hollow, fatigued, or vulnerable.

”Social Manipulation Limits.”

Her greatest weapon is words and implication, but she is less effective against irrational, indifferent, or highly reckless opponents. If enemies ignore consequences, her psychological tactics can fail. Reliance on indirect manipulation may backfire if opponents recognize her approach.

”Pychological restraints.”

Rue’s reliance on timing and precision makes her hesitant in unpredictable or chaotic situations where careful planning is impossible. She can falter when forced into situations demanding outright deception. Overuse of her performance/persona control can blur her identity and slow decision-making.

”Emotionally Vulnerable.”

Rue absorbs the emotions of others when helping or calming people, which can overwhelm her. Overexposure or betrayal can destabilize her focus and magical precision. She struggles with attachment loss or betrayal hits harder because she keeps most connections at arm’s length.

_{Miscellaneous}

Rue loves gossip and interesting people. If you have a story she will do anything to hear it.
Despite her manipulations and cold acts, she absolutely loves kids, always offering something to them.
Rue never really shows her true self, mainly afraid to be truly seen, which she tries to ignore the questions about how she really feels. Though she has a soft little laugh that can’t be faked.
Even though she is a dancer for both fights and manipulations, she always fall in love with dances and the story it tells.
She hates alcohol.

[cell]_{^{____________________________________________________________________________}}

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◤ _{“I offer warmth, a blade, or silence. Choose carefully; all three are sharp.”}

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Full Name: Rue Sarah Nightengale
Age: 27
Voice Claim: Alanah Pearce
Race: Huma
Birthplace: Silach
Occupation: Performer
Affiliation(s): None

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^{Until I get the primer up, which will better explain things about the world and the people in them, I would refrain from working on your character sheet too much.}

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~ BLACK FLAGS OF THE ABECEAN ~ (A TES pirate and privateer RP…) (Interest Gathering/Potential)

Hi!! Interested!

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

@Sugar and Spite I would most definitely appreciate your help with the coding lol! I got a little loss when I was using Google Docs. And you are correct, the actress is Vandervoot and I didn't know until it was too late. Thank you so much and I'll get right on that!

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Emery Hayes

_{Faceclaim: Elena Michaels // Color Code: HexCode 932ABD}
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_{Full Name:}

Emery Madison Hayes

_Nickname(s):

•Em- Friends and Family
•Angel- Nickname from her second family
•Sunny- The nickname her fiance used
•Little Fox- Her Mother and Birth Father

_Age:

30, January 30th

_Gender:

Female

_Sexuality:

Bisexual

_Occupation:

Part time Paramedic, and late night bar server.

_{Place of Residence:}

613 Rainwater Hallow

_{Family and Close Connections:}

•Madison Sarah Peterson-Mother Age 58 (Alive)
•Eric Christian Anderson- Birth father Age 64 (Alive but fled town when Emery was 7.)
•Msrk Micheal Hayes-Step Father Age 42 (Deceased)
•Jamie Micheal Hayes- Half brother Age 12 (Alive.)
•Nathan Eric Brooks- Fiance (KIA)
•Nichole Emma Hailstone- Friend (Unknown)
•Mason Whitemore- Friend (overdosed)
•Grant Wilson- Old boss (Alive and Emery’s Sponsor)

_Appearance:
>list][*]Height: 5feet and 8inches
[*]Hair: Dirty wavy blonde hair normally resting on her shoulders or tied into a messy bun.
[*]Eyes: Emerald
[*]Body Type: Emery has a slight, athletic build, emphasizing cardio and flexibility over raw strength. Her muscles are subtle, often concealed beneath long sleeves.
[*]Clothing Style: Emery usually wears cargo pants or jeans paired with long-sleeved shirts. When she’s relaxed or warm enough, she switches to a loose tank top tucked in, paired with her military boots.
Clothing One
Clothing Two
Clothing Three
Clothing Four
[*]Body Markings:
•Angel WingsOn her back, she bears long, angelic wings, runes etched along each spine. Once a playful remark about being the angel of her team, they now weigh heavily upon her.
•A skeleton hand holding a rose. Under her forearm lies the team’s tattoo. Somewhere on each of them, a white rose is held, a gentle reminder that the team is never far—always just a phone call away.
• Her body bears the varied wounds and scars of military service, including a vertical scar over her right eye that has left her blind.

_Personality:

•Resourceful
•Distrusting
•Stubborn
•Opportunistic
•Sarcastic
•A little sassy
•Observant
•Tenactious
•Loyal
•Protective
•Emotionally Numb
•Cynical
•Clever
•Unforgiving
•Independent
•Rebellious

_History:

•Known in early childhood as “the Little Fox,” a nickname given during a time of warmth, stability, and wonder.
•Raised by a loving father who taught her that survival depends on resourcefulness and recognizing opportunity, not brute strength.
•Her father vanished without warning when Emery was young—no goodbye, no explanation.
•In the aftermath, her mother spiraled into alcoholism, and the household fell into neglect and instability.
•Emery learned to hustle early, taking on odd jobs, running errands, and doing favors for neighbors and classmates to earn money.
•Used her earnings to buy food, clothes, and school supplies, believing the rest went toward bills—never questioning where it truly ended up.
•Became observant, guarded, and self-reliant, losing her childhood in exchange for survival.
•A brief period of stability came when her stepfather entered the picture, pulling her mother away from alcohol and refusing to take Emery’s money.
•The birth of her younger half-brother gave Emery a renewed sense of purpose and someone she vowed to protect at all costs.
•Began to believe in the possibility of a future beyond survival—school, escape, and peace.
•That stability ended when her stepfather died in a tragic accident in the woods.
•Her mother relapsed, becoming more volatile and abusive as her drinking worsened.
•Emery endured physical and emotional abuse while shielding her brother from the worst of it.
•At eighteen, she realized staying would destroy them both.
•Enlisted in the military immediately after turning eighteen, arranging for neighbors and acquaintances to watch over her brother while she was away.
•Planned to serve one contract, save money, and return to take her brother away from their mother and the town.
•Trained as a combat medic, finding purpose and identity in saving lives under pressure.
•Formed a deep bond with her unit, who became her second family.
•Fell in love with a fellow soldier and became engaged, planning a future together.
•Her fiancé was killed in an ambush while she was serving as a medic; she reached him in time to hold him, but not to save him.
•The loss hollowed her out, pushing her deeper into the chaos of war and self-destructive habits.
•During a later engagement, she was shot across the face and left partially blind, believing she had died.
•Survived and was honorably discharged from service.
•Spent a year drifting, traveling, and searching for meaning after losing nearly everything she cared about.
•Eventually returned home to find her mother chair-ridden and her brother heading down the same dangerous path she once walked.
•Once again assumed the role of protector and provider, a responsibility she never asked for but never abandoned.
•Now works as a part-time paramedic and bartender, doing whatever it takes to support her brother and keep him on a better path than her own.

_{Extra Facts // Headcannons:}
>list][*]REQUIRED: How does your character feel about the expansion/growth of Pines Holler? When she was younger she believed it was a good thing, progress as her father would say. Until he left, and she had bigger problems. Right now all she could hope for was the slow progress of the industries until she has enough money to ger her brother out of town. Though it could change.

Pines Holler [Not Accepting]

Character Reservation:
Emery Hayes/ 30/ hex code color: 932ABD/ Face claim: Elena Michaels.

Emery was a Hustler from the start. Always trying to make a buck during, before, and after school. Trying to live out her dreams as a nurse. Though didn't have time to study as she helped out with her baby brother and mother. Yet at age 18 she Joined the military as combat field medic, making the military pay for her school while she learned on the job. Lost her fiancé under her care when she was just 25. Then finally was discharged when a bullet scarred her eye. Came back to town with the soul purpose of getting her brother out while making some money.

Pines Holler - A Small Town SoL Sandbox RP [NOT Accepting]

Definitely using Elena Michaels for a face claim. Still trying to pull strings together to make a half decent backstory, but the overall idea, returning to the town after being honorably discharged to take care of her alcoholic mother and her teenage little brother. Doing anything and everything to make ends meet.

Pines Holler - A Small Town SoL Sandbox RP [NOT Accepting]

Hi! Would love to join if you still have any slots open!