SilverSpring

Beyond The Veil Interest Check

Sooo much interest. Hope I'm not too late!

@Dark Light

Not too late! Feel free to apply!

✨Beyond The Veil✨

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Location: Noahs bedroom
Time: Dusk
Interactions: None
Mentions: @helo Noah, ??? Someone else.

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“Pretty little baby…Pretty baby…I’m so in love with you…”

The sheets were soaked crimson where she sprawled, pale limbs tangled in black linen stained with the early night work. Her long white hair, streaked red at the ends, fanned around her like a broken halo. One bare foot swung lazily off the bed’s edge, toes tracing invisible circles above the body lying still beneath her.

The knife danced between her fingers, its blade glinting wet and red, singing a soft metallic hum as it spun.

“Poor, poor little lamb” Wren whispered, dragging the tip across her lips, leaving a smear of thick blood. “Not even a scream left in him.” She giggled, soft and sharp, a sound that didn’t quite belong to joy. A gurgling sound echoed in the room. “I wrapped him up all pretty, Noah. All for you. But you’re so sleepy, and now he’s spoiling.”

With a playful pout, she slithered off the bed, landing beside the body. Her white nightgown fluttering around her as she laid on her belly, her arms propping her up as her feet kicked behind her playfully. “Let’s see, let’s see…” she sang, fingers ghosting over cold dead skin. Her nails traced the jagged line she’d carved across his throat, admiring the depth, the artistry. “Oh, look at that color… like crushed berries on snow.” She bit her lip with a grin.

She pressed her cheek to his chest, listening for a heartbeat she knew wasn’t there. “Hollow, hollow, hollow…” she whispered, closing her eyes, savoring the stillness. “The music’s gone out. But I can still hear the echo.”

One delicate finger dipped slowly into the sticky wound, swirling lazily in the blood before painting a sigil across his sternum. “A lock without a key,” she mused aloud. “A door without a handle. He wasn’t meant to last, poor thing. Just a lamb on the path.”

She leaned closer, nose brushing his neck, inhaling deeply. “Mmm… going sour already.” She sighed, disappointment lacing her voice. “You’ll miss him, Noah. I made him perfect for you. But flesh fades, doesn’t it? Like promises. Like prayers. Disappointing.”

Then her face lit up, childlike and radiant, as she scrambled back onto the bed, dragging a tarnished silver tray from beneath the blankets. On it lay a crystal goblet filled dark and swirling, a cracked teacup, and scraps of something raw and red arranged like a grotesque charcuterie.

“I brought you breakfast in bed, Noah!” she chirped at no one, swaying side to side, tray balanced on her knees. “Aren’t I clever? Aren’t I good?” Her smile stretched too wide, too eager, shining with adoration as if he were really there. “See? Warm and fresh—well, mostly.”

She picked up the goblet, swirling its contents until the liquid licked the glass. “I saved the best part for you. His favorite vein. I know you like them sweet.” Her tongue darted out to taste the rim, eyes fluttering shut with bliss. “Mm… but you’re late, darling. He’s cooling now.” A pout tugged her lips, the goblet trembling slightly in her hands.

She set it down gently, fingers lingering on the stem. “You’ll miss him, love. I made him perfect. I wanted to watch you drink.” Her voice dropped to a soft croon, stroking the empty pillow beside her. “Wanted to see your fangs in his throat. Wanted to watch your pretty mouth stain red for me…” Grabbing the pillow, she shoved it into her mouth, biting down as if tearing into flesh, her eyes wild with hunger. A scene so vivid in her mind as she watches Noah hunt his prey.

A tarot card flutters from the bed—the Tower—landing across the corpse’s face, sticking to the tacky stain. She stopped peeking over to the edge of the bed. She threw the pillow finding herself on her stomach hanging her arms over the edge of the bed. Her purple eyes watching the card “It all falls down, love” she sang softly. “Brick by brick, bone by bone, until there is no more home.” Her feet kicked wildly

Another card—The Devil—she pulled it up from the ground, the card soaked in blood that had pooled around the body. “She thinks she’s righteous. But sin sings sweeter than salvation.” Her grin widened, as she grabbed the knife tapping it gently against her teeth. “Oh, how she bleeds for you, Noah. Twisting herself in pretty knots of guilt and glory. An Angel with no wings..” she grinned licking the blood off the card before she tossed it onto the body.

She pushed up to sit cross-legged atop the bed, knife resting in her lap, blood drying in thin rivers along her skin. “I hear them…” she murmured, voice lilting, distant almost a whisper. “The shadows in the glass towers. They’re coming…All of them…Run, run run” she bit her lip giggling softly.

Her head tilted slowly, a shiver crawling down her spine. “But me?” Her smile turned knife-sharp, eyes dark as a violet storm. “I’m the spider in the silk. The blade in the garden. We don’t run Noah… no no no silly.”

She leaned forward reaching for something off the nightstand before slinking back to the ground. Holding a rectangular shaped object Wren laid next to the corpse in the bloody mess.

In her hand was a photo of Noah, one of many he had sent to her. She grinned boldly “Look Noah, I made you breakfast in bed.” She smiled happily resting the photo frame on the body as she wrapped her arm around the frame and the corpse. “I’ll keep it warm for you” she whispered.

And beneath it all, a soft hum rose—a lullaby spun from madness.

Her soft voice began again as her feet kicked slowly along. “Pretty little baby…Pretty baby…I’m so in love with you…”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

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Location: The Ravens Nest •
Time: Dusk
Interactions: None
Mentions: None

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The low growl of the motorcycle echoed down the rain-slick streets, blending with the neon hum of Halcyon’s restless night. Her leather boot adjusted itself against the peg bar as her fingers gripped around the bars tightly. Pulling up against the sidewalk, Vex kicked her leg over the seat as the heat of the engine warmed her leg.

Wiping her hands on a rag, grease and ink staining her fingers as she stood outside the Ravens Nest, her tattoo shop that was nestled between a boarded-up pawn shop and a flickering dive bar. The last client was long gone, the machines silent, the air inside thick with the lingering scent of disinfectant. Her employees managed the shop during the day but Vex far preferred the evening shift. It was quite.

Her shaggy blonde hair clung to her jaw in damp waves, pushed back beneath a cracked pair of aviators resting on her head. A cigarette dangled from her lips, the cherry flaring red as she took a long drag, eyes glowing feral yellow beneath the shadow of the neon sign above. Tattoos snaked down her arms—blackwork,old scars inked over, stories woven into skin. Some hers. Some not.

Tonight, the city felt different.

Maybe it was the way the sky hung low and heavy, like a bruise waiting to break. Or maybe it was the way her chest tightened every damn time she looked at the empty stool in the corner of the shop—the one Bear used to claim, boots kicked up, smart ass grin sharp as a knife.

Bear.

Her best friend. Her brother in arms. Her ride-or-die. Gone now. Dead because this city always took more than it gave. His laughter haunted the cracks in the brick, the creak of the shop’s back door. She hadn’t moved the helmet he left hanging by the register. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

She flicked ash onto the sidewalk, her lips curling into a smirk that didn’t reach her eyes.

“You’d be pissed if you saw me sulking like this, huh?” she muttered under her breath. The smirk spread on her lips, her blacklip stick staining the butt of her cigarette as she lifted it back to her mouth. She took another long drag before flicking it onto the ground crushing it under her boot.

Somewhere out there was a beer with her name on it. Perhaps she would even find a bruise, a bloodied lip, something to remind her she was still alive. Vex reached for the door handle giving it a slight tug to ensure it was locked up. There were no bookings this evening which never bothered her. She was normally so stacked with clients she rarely left the shop.

Pulling out her phone the screen lit up.

3 missed calls.
Dom
“Vex, Where the fuck are you.”
The text message appeared on her screen.

Letting out a drawn-out sigh, her eyes unbreaking from the screen she pulled a fresh cigarette to her lips, lighting it up as the cherry sparked its vibrant red. Her yellow eyes watched as if the words would just disappear if she stopped looking. The trail of smoke from her cigarette danced around her.

Her eyes lingered for a moment longer before she slipped the phone into the back pocket of her ripped jeans, her thumb lingering a moment longer over the screen before killing the call.

She swung one leg over the gleaming black beast beneath her, the motorcycle’s chrome catching the last burn of the setting sun. Leather creaked as she settled into the seat, her fingers curling around the handlebars with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what kind of trouble they were steering toward.

With a flick of her wrist, she dragged her aviators down over those wild yellow eyes, hiding the quiet storm beneath. The faintest smirk ghosted across her lips as she kicked the ignition.

The engine snarled to life—a deep, throaty growl that vibrated up her spine like a promise. She revved it once, twice, louder, a challenge thrown into the night. And without another look back, she peeled out of the lot, tires spitting gravel, the roar of the bike drowning out the ghosts chasing her.

She needed a fucking beer…

✨Beyond The Veil✨

"Built by blood, bound by lies."

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The sun bled out behind the horizon, its last breath painting the jagged skyline of Halcyon in bruised red and molten gold. For a fleeting moment, the city seemed still—its towers gleaming like cold glass spires, streets slick from an earlier rain, glinting beneath the fading light. But Halcyon never truly rested.

As the sky darkened, the city awoke. Neon signs flickered to life with a stuttering pulse, casting electric halos across cracked sidewalks. Hot pink, venom green, cobalt blue—colors bled into the night, reflections rippling in puddles like fractured dreams. Steam coiled from sewer grates, swirling in languid spirals around lampposts, clinging to alleyways like restless spirits.

And from the shadows, the real Halcyon emerged.

From behind darkened windows and the low hum of basement doors sliding open, they stepped out. The vampires. Pale silhouettes draped in silk and leather, their eyes glinting like molten embers as they blinked into the neon haze. Hunger curled in their gaze as they watched the bars across the street flick their OPEN signs on, their pupils shifting—narrow, then wide—as the first wave of unsuspecting humans stumbled in for their evening nightcaps. For the living, it was the end of a long day. For the predators, it was the beginning of their breakfast.

Elsewhere, shadows moved—lycans prowling the side streets, their hulking forms cloaked in hoodies and leather jackets, muscles rippling beneath torn seams. Their eyes glowed faintly, scanning the crowds for the scent of blood, of fear, of something to sate the gnawing hunger beneath their skin. A low growl rumbled in a throat. A broken streetlight buzzed overhead. Somewhere down an alley, a scream rose, then cut off abruptly.

Along the curving avenues, beneath archways dusted with moss and forgotten magic, fae waited with sly smiles. Their lips painted like rose petals, their eyes shimmering too brightly beneath the flicker of neon. They held out gilded trinkets, whispered promises of dreams fulfilled, debts erased, pleasures unknown. “One favor,” they’d coo, their voices as soft as velvet and sharp as thorns. “Just one.” Behind their grins lurked teeth. Behind their bargains, chains.

And high above it all, perched on rooftops with long shadows stretching behind them, the Wardens watched. Silent silhouettes against the starlit sprawl, their coats billowing in the breeze. One holstered a pistol at their hip, the metal gleaming beneath a sliver of moonlight. Another tightened a grip around the hilt of a blade. Their eyes swept the streets—calculating, unyielding. Guardians or executioners? In Halcyon, the line blurred.

Below them, the city pulsed—a living, breathing labyrinth of neon and shadow, temptation and danger, predator and prey. Deals will be struck. Blood will be spilled. Lies will be whispered.

A deep, shallow scream echoed through the alleys…

Welcome to Halcyon.

Where the sun sets on innocence.

Where every bargain has a price.

And where the night always collects its due.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

@helo approved

✨Beyond The Veil✨

WREN

__________________________________________________________ Basic Information __________________________________________________________ • Name | Wren Full name unknown • Nickname(s) | ”Little bird”, “Song bird”, “Pet” • Age | Unknown • Gender | Female • Birthday | Unknown • Race | Fae • Rank/Status | Under Noah’s control

Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Singing ✦ Collecting strange items ✦ Watching over Noah ✦ Drawing strange images ✦ Toying with Noahs victims • Likes | ✦ Rain hitting glass ✦ The smell of death ✦ Cold Nights ✦ Smell of burnt wood|ash|fire • Dislikes | ✦ Cages ✦ Needles ✦ Mirrors ✦ When people die to quickley ✦ People who insult or harm Noah • Fears | ✦ Losing Noah ✦ Abandonment ✦ Mirrors ✦ Cages • Habits | ✦ Talking to herself ✦ Sleeps in small spaces ✦ Collecting dead things ✦ Echoing Phrases ✦ Zoning out • Vices | ✦ Obessession(Noah) ✦ Lies and minpulates ✦ Being bitten ✦ Watching others hurt Core Motivation After being stolen, caged, and reduced to a commodity, Wren’s deepest fear is not death—it’s abandonment. Her entire identity was once defined by being wanted only for her blood, her magic, her rarity. Now, with Noah, she has found someone who not only rescued her—but claimed her, obsessed over her, bled with her. That twisted bond gave her purpose. She wants to stay essential. To his plans. To his madness. To his world. She wants to be his. Personality Overview Wren is a deeply mystical and emotionally complex fae seer, shaped by trauma, captivity, and a powerful bond with the vampire who freed her. She is intuitive, eerie, and otherworldly—often speaking in riddles or to things no one else can see. Her childlike innocence is laced with a macabre fascination with pain and death, born from years of suffering. Though fragile and soft-spoken, her devotion is fierce—especially to Noah, to whom she is obsessively loyal. Wren is both unsettling and enchanting, a tragic soul who walks the thin line between prophecy and madness, craving love, safety, and meaning in a world that once sold her as a commodity.

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Background
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• Current Occupation | Noahs “pet”
• Level of Schooling | None
• Past Occupations | Seer
• Socioeconomic Status | None
• History Summary | Among the fae, the gift of The Sight is rare—feared by some, coveted by others. It is not something taught, not something passed cleanly from parent to child. It is a birthright born from chaos, woven deep into bloodlines touched by ancient, volatile magic. Wren was one of the unfortunate few—a child of the Sight.
From the moment of her birth, there were signs. The midwife who delivered her whispered that the room had chilled when she took her first breath. That her eyes,purple in color, not yet focused, had darted with uncanny precision toward the shadows in the corners of the room—as if she saw something no one else could. Her cries quieted not with warmth or touch, but with silence—when the room grew still and heavy, as if listening.
But Wren’s gift would never be nurtured in safety.
Before she could even speak in full sentences, she was torn from her family and sold into a human trafficking ring, her fae blood a priceless commodity. Her captors did not understand her powers—only her value. She was locked in a too-small cage, her growth stunted, her body weakened by tubes and blood draws. But her mind? That was something they could not cage.
In isolation, her gift matured in strange and haunting ways. The voices came first—soft and unintelligible at first, then clearer over time. They were not hallucinations, but echoes—ghosts of futures that had not yet come to pass, or souls long dead trying to warn her through riddles and rhyme. They would come to her in fever dreams, in flickers between moments, in the vibration of the blood bags hanging beside her.
She began to see flashes—a man’s face, always distant, always watching. A hand soaked in blood. The burning of silver. Sometimes she saw herself—eyes glowing like starlight, standing over bodies, whispering forgotten names. The images made no sense at the time, but they repeated enough to become truth.
The more she was drained, the more disconnected she became from the physical world—and the clearer her visions became. Pain was a trigger. So was blood. And suffering. Her captors unknowingly honed her gift with every cruel act they inflicted.
Her captors were cruel, more so than most. They confined her to a cage so narrow her legs could never stretch, stunting her physical growth, denying her everything but pain and sedation.
IV lines crisscrossed her fragile arms, draining her slowly, methodically—keeping her barely alive so that her blood, potent and shimmering with Fae magic, would not go to waste. Hidden in dark corners of the black market, she became little more than a phantom — eyes wide, skin pale, and lips stained with unspoken riddles.
From her cage, she saw things that weren’t there — shadows of people she’d never met whispering poems and warnings. Ghosts, memories, possibilities. She began to decipher their meanings, tuning her mind to the strange rhythms of fate. She spoke in riddles, murmuring a prophecy over and over again:
“When flame-haired death walks cloaked in night,
The girl shall bleed, yet be set right.”
Then, one moonless night, a man with fire-red hair and eyes like death’s promise found her. He stepped through the gloom toward her cage, and before he spoke, her voice—weak, ethereal—met him with a single word: “Death”The word rolled off her tongue slowly like a soft breath.
What came next was slaughter. She doesn't much of it only flashes of blood, broken bones, and firelight. When it was over, she was limp in the vampire's arms, blood dripping from her veins where he had pulled the IVs with a tenderness that didn’t match his carnage. He had come. The flame-haired death cloaked in night. And she bled, as the prophecy had promised. She was finally free…
Since that night, Wren has belonged to Noah in every twisted, sacred way a soul can belong to another. She loves him the way wild animals love their cages after too long—without question and without hope. She would bleed for him a thousand more times just to see him smile, to make him happy and proud. Their bond is an obsession veiled as devotion, violence cloaked in intimacy. She dances through his destruction like it’s a lullaby, and he protects her with a jealousy sharp enough to kill. His blood fueled carnage was like a garden of wild flowers.
Wren no longer bleeds for gold, but for him.
Her visions have grown sharper. Her riddles more cryptic. She speaks in tongues and sings to ghosts, guiding Noah toward truths he seeks while she slips deeper into the fragile madness of their understanding of love twisted and obessive.

Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ▸ Fae ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Element Affinity | Seer • Glamour Specialty | Reality Distortion | Glamouring • Views on Mortals | Neutral • Views on Vampires | Neutral • Views on Lycan | Neutral

Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Theme Song | Change Closer • Favorite Food | unknown, she doesn’t care much for food. • Favorite Animal(s) | Anything writhing in pain • Favorite Music Genre | Anything she can dance too • Favorite Haunt | Wherever Noah is • Signature Weapon | Her mind • Preferred Vices | Noah • Pet Peeve | People who try to tell her what to do (unless its Noah) • Guilty Pleasure | She doesn’t feel guilt for anything that brings her pleasure

Beyond The Veil Interest Check

Link to the main thread?

@deegee

roleplayerguild.com/topics/195286-bey…

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Time: Nighttime Sola 28th
Location: Dinner event
Interaction: Roman @ReusableSword Alexander @FunnyGuy
Mentions:



The evening dragged like a blade across Violet’s skin—every tick of the clock a cruel reminder of how exposed she was, how hollow the walls she had built truly were.
Alexander’s voice cut through the tension with sudden urgency, snapping her attention toward him. Her body sank back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her lap, brows drawn not just in anger but in something far deeper—something broken. Violet was unraveling. Scarlet clawed at the edges of her soul, trying to hold the seams together, but pain bloomed like rot in her chest. All Violet wanted was to scream—to release the poison coiled in her throat, choking her silent.
Alexander’s apology landed like cold ash on her skin. “Especially you, Violet. I apologize for betraying the trust we have built so far…”

The nerve.

She recoiled, shrugging his hand from her shoulder like it burned her. She turned away, refusing him the satisfaction. But then her eyes caught Roman’s—and she couldn’t look away.

He was the crash she saw coming and still couldn’t avoid—the slow, inevitable destruction she had braced for and still couldn’t survive. Her walls cracked. Shattered. And for the briefest, most fragile moment, she saw him hesitate.

Her breath caught.

She knew that look—had memorized it so many times but never dare speak aloud.
And then it was gone.

He looked away.

Her eyes dropped to her plate. The food sat cold and untouched, but her chest heaved like she was drowning on dry land. Her fists clenched tightly in her lap, the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

“As the king decrees I acquiesce. I shall not pursue courtship with Lady Violet Damien until it is otherwise allowed by the powers that be.”

The tiny, trembling hope she had clung to—so desperately, so foolishly—crushed to ash in her hands.

“Am I of the understanding that these wishes apply to Lady Crystal Damien as well?”

The sound that escaped her throat was barely human.

Suddenly, Violet shot to her feet, the chair scraping sharply against the floor. The table clattered from the force, silverware jumping, her wine glass nearly tipping over. Her napkin floated to the ground.

Her hands slammed down onto the table, her body rigid with rage and devastation.
Her scarlet eyes locked onto Roman—piercing, burning, accusing.

And then—

Her hand shot up.

It hung there—half-raised, trembling violently in the air.

Her fingers twitched, her entire arm quivering from the desperate, visceral urge to strike him across the face.

The weight of betrayal, humiliation, and heartbreak screamed through her bloodstream, begging for release.

But she couldn’t.

Her hand shook harder, suspended in air like a sword caught between fate and choice.
Her fingers curled inward—slowly, painfully—as if each joint fought her.
Bit by bit, she closed her hand into a trembling fist, nails digging into her palm.

Her chest rose and fell in frantic rhythm, her eyes wide and glassy but unblinking.

She wouldn’t hit him.

No—she would make him look.

She would make him see the ruin he made—and know it was his.

Tears welled up, hot and helpless, blurring her vision.The heartbreak spilled over as her fists quivered against the table.

Her body, exhausted from the restraint, sagged slightly. Her hand fell slowly to her side, curling against the fabric of her dress as if holding herself together by force of will alone.Still she stared at him. Still she burned.

Violet reached for her glass with a trembling hand, lifted it to her lips, and drained the wine with a slow, deliberate motion. The tears fell freely now, each droplet striking the table like tiny daggers.

Setting the empty glass down with a soft clink, Violet found her voice—shattered, raw, but hers.

“Excuse me...”

It cracked in the middle, barely a whisper, but it carried every ounce of her devastation.
She turned on her heel with a grace too furious to be called delicate, her black hair whipping behind her like a final blow.

“You don't scare me, you're still just as beautiful as the moon, my Raven.”

Tears blurred her vision as she stumbled toward the exit, desperate for air, for distance, for something—anything—that didn’t feel like bleeding out while still breathing.

Lilianne stood, pressing a hand gently to her husband's shoulder—a silent promise—and followed.
She found Violet slumped on a stone bench in the gardens, hands covering her face, body racked with sobs so raw they sounded like dying.

Lilianne sat beside her daughter without a word, simply there.

Violet raised her face, flushed and broken, her soul laid bare.

Lilianne brushed away the tears with a hand as gentle as a whispered prayer.
“We don't need to talk,”she said softly. “I just don’t want you to be alone.”

And Violet, for the first time that night, allowed herself to fall apart completely.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

VEX

__________________________________________________________ Basic Information __________________________________________________________ • Name | Vexa “Vex” Thorne • Nickname(s) | Vex • Age | Unknown • Gender | Female • Birthday | Unknown • Race | Lycan • Rank/Status | Packless

Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Tattooing ✦ Art ✦ Music • Likes | ✦ Motorcycles ✦ Fist fighting ✦ Training • Dislikes | ✦ Politics ✦ Small Talk ✦ Being told no • Fears | ✦ Losing Control ✦ Abandonment ✦ Being Vulnerable • Habits | ✦ Late night fast rides ✦ Chain Smoking ✦ Avoidant behaviors • Vices | ✦ Adrenaline ✦ Weed | Whiskey | Drugs ✦ Gambling Core Motivation Driven by a deep-seated desire for revenge, freedom, and self-worth. Haunted by the brutal murder of her parents by the Wardens, Vex relentlessly hunts them down, fueled by a need to avenge their deaths. This vengeance is intertwined with her craving for freedom—a need to break free from the shackles of her tragic past and the expectations of others. Her independence is her lifeblood, and the open road on her motorcycle is where she feels most alive and in control. However, beneath her tough, solitary exterior, Vex battles with a constant longing to feel accepted—to be a part of something, even though she’s long given up on the idea of finding it. Despite her hardened persona, Vex secretly yearns for a sense of belonging, but she’s resigned herself to the idea that she’ll always be on the outside, never truly able to fit in. This complex mix of motivations—vengeance, freedom, and the desire for acceptance—drives her every decision, making her both a fierce survivor and a deeply conflicted individual. Personality Overview Vexa "Vex" Thorne is a fierce, independent woman with a tough, no-nonsense attitude. She projects strength and sarcasm like a shield but is capable of shocking tenderness when she lets her walls down. Her loyalty is difficult to earn but unwavering once given — though most never get close enough to even try. Beneath her badass bravado lies a deeply wounded girl, still yearning for a place to belong, and furious at the world that denied her one.

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Background
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• Current Occupation | Tattoo Artist
• Level of Schooling | The Streets
• Past Occupations | Thief (still dabbles)
• Socioeconomic Status | Low Class
• History Summary | Vex’s earliest memories are a haze of blood, screams, and terror. She remembers her parents being murdered in front of her—torn from her life by the Wardens—and then being dumped like a stray dog in the woods, left to die without a second thought. The Wardens assumed the wilds would finish what they started. But where others might have perished, Vex survived. Instinct and raw willpower kept her alive, growing stronger and sharper in the shadows of the wild.

As a young girl, desperate for connection, she tried to find a new pack—seeking out other Lycans in hopes of finding a place to belong. But fear ruled the Lycan community; none would risk taking her in, afraid the Wardens would hunt down any who sheltered her. Again and again, she was shunned, the rejection cutting deeper than any wound, hardening her heart into something fierce and unyielding.

Vex drifted into the city's dark underbelly, surviving as a thief before falling under the wing of Bear, a gruff old tattoo artist with a soft spot for broken things. Bear taught her how to wield ink like a blade and ride motorcycles like a demon unleashed. When he died, Vex inherited his parlor — *The Raven’s Nest* — a place for outlaws, misfits, and strays like herself. Alone again but never beaten, she keeps riding — hunting revenge, carving her own legacy into the city, and daring the world to try and tame her.

Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ▸ Lycans ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Born or Turned? | Born • Reaction to Full Moon | Her abilities are stronger • Pack Loyalty Level | Packless • Views on Mortals | Despises Wardens, wary of others • Views on Vampires | Distrustful • Views on Fae | Neutral but cautious	Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ • Theme Song | Song Link • Favorite Food | Ribs with all the fixings • Favorite Animal(s) | Rats • Favorite Music Genre | Rock | Metal | Old Classics • Favorite Haunt | The Local bar | Her Tattoo shop • Signature Weapon | Shotgun • Preferred Vices | Adrenaline rushes • Pet Peeve | Loud chewing | Small talk | Bike issues • Guilty Pleasure | Jane Austen movies

Relationships
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• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 2
• Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3
• Romantic Preferences | Trust above all else
• Current Romantic Interests | None
• View on Forbidden Relationships | Interesting
• Biggest Turn-ons | ✦Alpha ✦Banter ✦Agression
• Biggest Turn-offs | ✦Softness ✦Stupidity ✦Liars
• Known Friends | Bear
• Known Enemies | The Wardens
• Known Family | Unknown

Beyond The Veil Interest Check

Is there an overarching plot to adhere to? Does each of us need a reason to know / be working together with others in the cast? Or is this more of an emergent sandbox situation?

@enmuni Contemplating playing a Blooded using a petty arms-dealing racket to try and prove his usefulness to the Elders, and find an "in" into the vampiric political big leagues, when he realizes the real money to be made is in securing a renewable source of, and constructing a clientele for, Fae blood. Mooks, business partners, and (yes) protégés inquire within.

@TokyoPewPew

Great question. We outlined the basic synopsis of the plot with some points on key factors for the RP more towards the bottom if you would like to review however this is a creative playground so while there is a plot regarding the veil and the basic heiarchey within the groups we are pretty flexible. There is no real working together with anyone per say however we did outline why you may or may not work with another race. The fae being the important one do to their magic and the glamour.

Hopefully that answers your question. Based on your idea here it would certainly fit into the RP :)