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The night speaks in whispers

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In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

Time: Evening
Location: Ballroom
Mention: King Edin, Anastasia, Callum, Farim, Nikolas, Magnus
Interactions: Anastasia @princess, Farim @Lava Alckon, Magnus@Remram,
Appearance:

It was exactly as she had expected. Glittering chandeliers casting warm light across polished marble floors, jewels catching in the glow like stars, and nobles draped in their finest silks and velvet as though beauty alone could mask the rot beneath it all.
And then there was Edin.

Seated high upon his throne, he looked every bit the untouchable king—smug, composed, surrounded by nobles eager to offer their praises and empty pleasantries. The moment Ariella’s eyes met his, she felt her blood begin to boil.

Her gaze flickered briefly to the empty thrones beside him, the queen's throne already removed. Even on the eve of her death the king tossed her memory so easily. Ari cared little for the royals, but no one stirred her hatred quite like Edin. His cruelty wore a crown too comfortably. The man who had killed his own wife for using magic sat there as though he were righteous.

Ari instinctively clasped one hand with the other, her thumb rubbing slow circles against her skin in a quiet attempt to steady herself.

… and she could be next.

The thought settled cold and heavy in her chest. Forcing herself to look away, her eyes drifted instead to the empty seat beside the king.

Callum.

A dull ache formed in the pit of her stomach. He would never willingly miss an opportunity for fine liquor and public chaos. With everything surrounding his mother, she could only imagine where his mind must be tonight especially with magic into all of it. She wondered if that was why he was absent. If grief, fear, or anger had kept him away. Or worse.

She pushed the thought aside before it could settle too deeply.

From the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Anastasia standing with a small group Farim among them, alongside three others she didn’t recognize. Annie’s expression was composed, relaxed even, but Ari knew her well enough to see past the performance. The loss of her mother would be weighing heavily tonight. And perhaps… she knew about Callum too.

Her gaze searched briefly for Nik, but he was nowhere obvious to be found. He was likely lurking in some darkened corner charming a servant into stronger drinks and gods knew what else.

Heading towards the group, she smoothed invisible wrinkles from her dress and let an easy, if slightly awkward, smile settle across her face. Leaning back lightly on her heels, she interrupted with a warm grin.

“Good evening my apologies if I’m interrupting.”

Her gaze moved between them, offering Farim and Magnus each a polite, warm acknowledgment before settling on Annie.“I wanted to stop by and say hello to Farim and Anastasia, though I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the rest of you.”

She dipped her head slightly, graceful despite the nervous energy beneath it.

“My name is Ariella. I hope you lovely gentlemen you won’t mind if I steal my dear friend Anastasia for a few moments.”

Her smile softened as she glanced toward Annie.

“It’s been far too long since I’ve seen her, and I’d love the chance to catch up.If it's alright with her of course.”


In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 3 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


Time: Night
Location: Ballroom
Attire:imgur.com/TBp3fyc | Magic ring on pointer finger
Mentions: Alexander. Roman. Cassius. Charlotte. Mina. Count Fritz. Duke Vikena. Olivia. Kazu. Anastasia. The Captain.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


Smoothing out her dress against her hip, Violet finally reached the top of the manor stairs, her heels clicking softly against the stone beneath her feet. Whispers followed her like shadows, soft enough to be denied, loud enough to be heard. When she turned, scarlet eyes catching the guilty, they quickly looked away—pretending sudden fascination with wine glasses, flower arrangements, anything but her.

She wasn’t sure if it was the gossip from the banquet still clinging to her name, or the cut of her dress tonight. The dark lace was daring enough to invite judgment—but either way, she forced herself not to care. Or at least, to appear as though she didn’t.

Her fingers moved instinctively to the ring on her hand, turning it slowly, listening to the soft click as it settled into place.

Her gaze dropped to it.

She thought back to the picnic with Alexander. The poison. The wine glass.
She had taken the drink without hesitation, lifting it to her lips with the kind of trust that only love could birth. At the time, she thought it was devotion—proof of loyalty, proof that she believed in him so completely that fear no longer mattered.

But his reaction… that was what lingered.

Not pride. Not satisfaction.

Disappointment.

Was he trying to warn her then? Was that the lesson? Don’t trust so easily. Don’t hand your throat to someone just because they smile while holding the knife.

Not even him.

Her thumb brushed over the ring again.

Roman had offered his own version of poison once—words wrapped in affection, promises tied in ribbons, control disguised as care. She had nearly mistaken that for love too. Even now her concerns for Roman’s well being the night he showed up on her balcony caused her to pause, to get caught in the moment. The idea of him. Yet…

Alexander was more dangerous because she did love him.

That was the truth she could no longer run from.

She loved him in spite of the shadows, in spite of the secrets, in spite of the fact that loving him felt like willingly stepping into a fire and deciding to stay. It was complicated and ugly and beautiful all at once. Nothing about it was proper. Nothing about it was safe. None of it made sense.

And still, her heart wanted him.

Even now, with questions sitting heavy in her chest. Even now, knowing he withheld things from her.Even now, after seeing how easily he could redirect a conversation, how smoothly he could shape truth into something useful. Even if it meant she got burned she wanted to lean into that fire.

A quiet sigh escaped her as she leaned against the stone railing, cool against her bare skin. She felt foolish sometimes—painfully so. There were moments she looked back on herself and saw only naïveté dressed up as loyalty. How easily she would have believed him. How easily she had believed others before him.

If she had not already known certain truths, would she have simply accepted every word he offered as fact?

Yes.

The answer came too quickly. And that embarrassed her more than she cared to admit.

At dinner, all it had taken was one glance for him to pull her back from the edge of herself. He read her too easily. It was comforting, in the way being understood always was… but It was also terrifying.

Her fingers twisted the ring the opposite direction, and she held her breath.

If what Roman said was true… if the ring masked her aura…

Then without it—

Thump.
Thump.
Thump.

Her breath caught.

The pulse hit her instantly, alive and warm against her skin like a heartbeat pressed to her own. It wasn’t Roman. Not truly. It was the hunger. The curse. That terrible, seductive pull that made life itself feel like a song calling her closer.

A siren’s voice.

Her scarlet eyes sharpened, darkening with that dangerous glimmer she hated recognizing in herself. The hunger stirred. Not violent. Not yet. But present. Always present.

She quickly turned the ring back, sealing it into place, letting the pressure ease as she exhaled slowly. The hunger retreated, though never fully. It lingered where it always did—in the quiet spaces, in the silence, in the moments when she let herself think too long.

Alexander’s voice echoed in her mind.

Don’t waste information, Violet.

She would need to remember that. Especially if she accepted Marek’s offer.Her fingers rested against the ring now, no longer turning it.

Cassius. Charlotte. Mina. Count Fritz. Duke Vikena. Olivia. Kazu. Anastasia. The Captain.

Pieces on a board she was only just beginning to understand.

And perhaps Alexander was right—knowledge alone was not enough. Armor meant little if you did not know how to use it. And she was an amature at best.

But she was tired of being caught unaware. Tired of being protected by everyone and left in the dark. Tired of being the girl people thought too soft to survive the truth.

She wanted better.

She wanted sharper instincts. Clearer eyes. Stronger footing. She wanted to be someone who could stand beside Alexander—not behind him, not beneath him, not blindly reaching for his hand and hoping he would pull her through.

Beside him. As an equal.

As someone worthy of the space she so desperately wanted at his side.And if that meant learning ugly truths, asking dangerous questions, and facing parts of herself she would rather ignore… then so be it.

Maybe that was the answer to his question, her own aspiration.

A small smile formed on her lips. She wanted to be in control…



The announcer’s voice boomed across the ballroom as Violet stepped through the grand doors, the sound carrying over the hum of conversation and the clinking of crystal glasses.

“Lady Violet Damien.”

Her chin remained high, posture poised and effortless, as though every eye turning toward her was expected rather than intrusive. Scarlet eyes swept across the room, deep and observant, taking in the nobles already gathered beneath the warm glow of chandeliers and candlelight. Silks shimmered, jewels caught the light, and whispered conversations shifted subtly with her arrival.

She wore her confidence like part of the gown itself. Still, beneath the polished exterior, her mind was far from the pleasantries of the evening.

Cassius. Charlotte. Mina. Count Fritz. Duke Vikena. Olivia. Kazu. Anastasia. The Captain.

Names. Motives. Threads.

She needed sharper eyes. Stronger instincts. The ability to separate truth from performance, affection from strategy. She needed to stop being the woman people protected and become the woman they had to consider.

Someone worthy of being feared.

Or at the very least, someone no longer easily fooled.

Her scarlet gaze moved through the crowd again, searching without appearing to. Watching who stood too close to whom, whose smiles were too rehearsed, whose eyes betrayed discomfort behind practiced charm.

Cassius would be here. Charlotte too, most likely.

Perhaps Olivia. Perhaps Kazu.

And maybe Count Fritz, if Alexander had been wrong about him fleeing.

She intended to pay attention this time.

A soft smile returned to her lips as she glanced toward the announcer, offering him a gracious nod of thanks before moving further into the ballroom, each step measured, elegant.

Tonight was not about appearances.

Tonight, Violet intended to learn.


In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



Ignis 2: Evening



Roman stood on the balcony, remembering the first time he came up here. The guard movements, although well-planned, are predictable, and the lamp at the back of the manor flickers for just a moment—still a moment long enough to slip by unnoticed. The path up to the balcony while evading the guards was also tricky, but with a strong grip, there were a few good handholds that were not illuminated. There were only a few awkward moments of having to be still on the side of the wall while a patrol passed underneath.

Those were good times, and security has only improved now. He still got up here with minimal suspicion. After tonight, he didn’t think he would need to do this again.

The door leading to the balcony was slightly ajar, and he couldn’t hear anyone inside. Slowly, he slid it open. All he could do was wait and listen. After a few minutes of not hearing a thing, Roman took the chance to etch a small rune under the balcony railing. It wasn’t magical. No, this one was more of a prayer—a rune of protection.

Violet closed the door behind her with a quiet click, the soft murmur of the house fading into silence. Night had fully claimed the estate, and the moonlight poured through her open balcony doors, carrying with it a cool, refreshing breeze. The curtains swayed gently, ghostlike in the dim light.

Her thoughts spinning…her killer…

He was there for a little while, sitting on the balcony looking up at the stars, when he finally heard it: the door in the room opening. Making sure he didn’t hear anyone else, Roman put the blindfold over his face and stood by the balcony.

Violet slipped off her heels by the vanity and crossed into the powder room. The faint scent of lavender and rosewater filled the air as she undid the pins in her hair, letting the long, dark strands fall freely over her shoulders. Her evening gown rustled as she changed into a light silk nightdress adorned with lace and her normal raven embellishments.

Feeling the chill from the open balcony, she stepped back into her bedroom, intent on closing the doors before bed…
But stopped.

A shape moved beyond the gauzy curtains. Tall. Still. Watching.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, all sound seemed to vanish except the slow flutter of the drapes. The moonlight traced the outline of a figure standing on her balcony. Her mind couldn’t help but race; it wasn’t Alexander…or maybe it was?

Violet's arms wrapped around herself instinctively as she slowly approached her balcony.
His heart raced with every step he could hear the person take. He was sure it was her; it had to be her; it must be her. Anyone else would have called for the guards by now.

Roman stepped just to where he could feel the curtains behind him and knelt down onto his knees, his eyes behind the blindfold looking towards the ground. His voice was just above a whisper and filled with sorrow.
Her breath caught. Her arms unwrapped themselves as she braced herself against the frame of her door. Her scarlet eyes looked down at the large man, so small now as he knelt before blindfolded.

“Please do not say who you are. These words are for Lady Violet Damien whether she is here or not…” He couldn’t risk seeing her. Right now, he could lie to Erik, tell him he hadn’t spoken or heard from Violet. But if he saw her, then there was no going back from that. “An apology... if you think she would want it.”

“Do not burden yourself with that, Violet. Roman’s behavior was not the work of his own interests. What you saw was no man in control of himself, but a pawn moved by another hand.”


Her father's words whispered in her mind as if it were a haunting hand pulling her. Her heart raced wildly in her chest as she continued to watch him. Was he indeed a man in no control of himself? A pawn… Yet beyond everything, here he was.

” Violet is not here…” She wasn’t lying in a sense but her voice would likely tell him all he needed to know. ”I imagine she would be relieved to know you are in good health…As for the apology.” The world around them grew silent, the sound of the night's breeze haunting in its emptiness.

”I am unsure if Lady Violet would accept it, but I am sure she would at least give you a chance to speak.”
He could feel himself trembling, a shake in his shoulders and joints. The raw sensation of burnt-out, overstimulated nerves. His face was flushed red, and beads of sweat formed on his skin. He opened and closed his mouth several times before settling on the words.

“I told her once that my actions are not my own. I… I don't believe she understood what I meant by that. The lengths I would be forced to go to.” This was a shit way to start this apology, and his worsening tremors only furthered his frustration.
Violet's crimson gaze moved to him, her eyes softening slightly as she noticed his body tremor.

“I know not to call their bluff when they order me to do these things… The control I do have is fleeting, and there is always someone watching.” His mind was getting foggy, but he still pressed on. “I’ve tried to run before, when I was barely a man. I used that freedom and took my training partner… my friend, my first love…” His hands balled into fists on his knees, white knuckles clenching against the painful memory.

“We went through hell together, grew up together, fought together, bled together, were punished together. Never one without the other… Our last test, a test of faith and loyalty to the cause. It was a choice, not an order.” His tremors steadily became worse, shaking his body and voice, but still he kept it together. “Prove yourself and… kill your partner.”
His words were heavy on his voice and in his chest. Roman didn't know why he was retelling this story. The trauma from the morning events, maybe? Seeing what he did to that boy. Could be exhaustion from the magic use earlier. Yet it was a story he had not repeated to another. The weight of his own trauma was bound to his soul.

He lifted his head, looking at her as if he could see her through his blindfold. “We ran. They still found us a few days later in the mountains… That's when I was given my first order… to murder the young man I had fallen in love with. It nearly killed me… trying to resist it… refusing an order causes pain and more... That pain… it nearly tore me apart…” He let the silence fill the space between them. “That's why I have to do as I'm ordered… they won't hesitate to tell me to remove the problem. Regardless of my thoughts or feelings…”

Dropping his head, he could do little other than try to calm himself down.

Violet's hand extended her fingers reaching towards him, hovering just near his face. They hesitated, slowly dropping back to her side.
“I'm expendable… Just another weapon,” he whispered to himself.

She didn’t breathe.

Couldn’t.

Roman knelt there like a broken monument, trembling under the weight of memories he should never have had to carry but all Violet could feel was the tension tightening in her spine, pulling her in two opposing directions.

She should take a step forward. She wanted to. He was shaking. Gods, he was shaking, and some part of her, the girl whose nose was always in a book, the girl raised to tend wounds, whether they were physical or unseen, wanted to reach out.

You are too easily swayed by emotion. They will use that against you.

Her breath stuttered.

Roman’s confession spilled into the space between them, a story soaked in pain, control, and loss so violent it gnawed at her ribs. But the more he spoke, the more she felt the ground shifting beneath her.

Was this real?
Was this calculated?
Was she being guided again, pushed like a piece on a board she never agreed to play?

Her fingers dug deeply into her palms. It was grounding her, reminding her to stay where she was. Not to drift closer. Not to let her empathy walk her into another snare.

She could almost feel Alexander’s eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. Judging every softening of her expression, every doubt she held. Her heart was betraying her. Slamming in her chest, urging her to step out into the light, to kneel beside Roman, to peel away the blindfold and look into the truth of him.

Roman was suffering. She saw it clearly. He wasn’t faking the tremors. Not the way his voice snagged on the edges of words that hurt him to say. Not the way his chest quivered with restrained sobs, he refused to let escape. She believed that much. But believing his pain didn’t mean believing his intentions.

Not anymore.

Not with the way the world around her had started to twist, one manipulation at a time, until even kindness tasted like poison.
She let the silence sit. Heavy. Suffocating.

Her lips parted as if she meant to speak, to apologize for her hesitation, or to offer comfort, but no words came. Every instinct battled itself until all she could manage was a small, barely audible breath.

When she finally found her voice, it wasn’t empathy or forgiveness that surfaced. It wasn’t even anger. It was a distance.

“…Ro-” she paused “Lord Ravenwood” she corrected herself.

“I’m sorry you sit with those memories. I can’t even begin to fathom the pain you feel.” The cold air danced around them as her eyes slowly shut for just a breath before opening once more.

” Trust was not something that came easily for Lady Violet. She gave that to you with secrets she had never spoken to another soul. Only to watch it be burned, maimed, and mocked in front of her family and the rest of the kingdom's nobles.”
The pace of his heartbeat slowed, but his growing fever remained. His breath hitched, catching on every sound, every movement, hoping beyond hope that something was still there. Roman was very aware that it would not be; he knew and understood the toll he had exacted that night on them both. A part of him still held on, the part that wanted to run.

The correction, stumbling from the intimacy of his given name into the cold formality of his title, landed with the weight of a final judgment. Lord Ravenwood. It severed the thin thread he had foolishly tried to hold onto.

The tremors in his hands calmed but did not vanish. He had thought, naively, that if she knew the why, she might forgive the what. But as that correction and her tone washed over him, recounting the public flaying of her trust, he realized the truth. It didn't matter whose hand held the chains if he was the one who struck the blow. Trauma explains; it does not excuse.

He slowly lowered his hands from his knees, letting them hang limp at his sides. The fight left his shoulders with a deep, tired sigh. He knew he was just as at fault for this as those above him, but he would not allow himself to give in to his own self-loathing again. Not now. They were both hurting… would it always be this way?

“I cannot change what was done to her,” he said, his voice quiet and disturbingly steady, stripped of the frantic energy from moments before. “I only wished to understand and be understood… yo-… she should not trust me. Not while I still have this curse. Anything said or shared will be used and twisted for the schemes of others.”

A wetness at his left eye pulled his attention; it wasn’t tears this time. A check with his hand revealed it to be thicker, warmer. He knew it was blood. Time was running out. This was a problem; many things were problems. His mind raced through possibilities and their outcomes, trying to find something resembling a plan.

“I… I will try to break this curse… find a way… But…” His voice grew quiet again, distant. He forced himself to stand and step back towards the balcony, a drip of blood falling from his eye. “We cannot do this; I refuse to endanger her life any more than I already have.” His head dropped again, and his words caught in his throat. “Until this curse is broken… this will be my last message to her.”

Blood…

The scent was unmistakable.

Her crimson eyes snapped to him, frantic, locking onto the thin stream of red tracing down his cheek as the large man loomed before her. For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Then slowly, and reluctantly, her hand rose. Her thumb brushed his skin, wiping the blood away with a tenderness that felt almost dangerous.

The quiet night air taunted them as it swept across the balcony, indifferent and cold.

He was willing to break what they had to protect her, to protect her from the thing she had already learned how to be.
She did not want to be part of anyone’s schemes. No more schemes. No more cages disguised as care. She was done being shaped by other people’s ideas of what she should be, what she could be, what she was worth.

Her hand lingered a moment longer on his face. There was so much she could say. She said none of it. Her hand fell back to her side as she took a step away.

For a moment, she simply stood there, fingers curling slowly into the fabric at her gown, grounding herself in the pressure. The air felt thinner now, as if charged and brittle, as though one wrong word might shatter what little composure remained.
When she finally spoke, her voice was not raised. It didn’t need to be. Instead, it was soft and calm.

“No.”

A beat.

“You do not decide this for her.”

She lifted her gaze to him. It was not pleading, not softened. Steady.
“If you leave because you believe she deserves better, because you tell yourself that your absence is her salvation.”

Her breath caught, only slightly.

“—then you are like everyone else. You are still choosing for her.”

Silence stretched between them.

“She is already in danger. She is already afraid every moment she draws breath.”

“She drinks blood to survive. She has killed to keep herself breathing, taking the breath of others so she may continue to live this miserable existence. Alone. ”

Her voice did not waver.

“And it will only be a matter of time before she becomes the hunted.”

Another pause.

“If you must walk away to survive, then go.”

“But do not dress it as mercy.”

Her fingers flexed once at her side.

“Everything she is has already been decided by others. Why not this too…”

He kept quiet as she spoke, hanging onto every word, every phrase. He was starting to understand, starting to see where he was wrong. How she felt. The choice was what she wanted. Did he believe she was better off without him? Maybe. But was he better off without her?
He wanted her. She was dangerous, but so was he. Their paths were dangerous, and he could very well be sent to kill her. But he had a choice, too. How… How could he break free? The knowledge was there, but the curse’s influence would always stop him. He needed help; he couldn’t do it himself.

Her hand reached up and removed the blindfold from his eyes.

Moonlight spilled over her pale skin, catching in the red of her gaze as she looked up at him, fully seen, fully present, unflinching.
Until she saw his eyes, a small gasp escaped her lips as concern washed over her face. Her composure slipped as she soaked in the state of his eyes.

“Roman…” she breathed.

His thoughts abruptly stopped when he heard her shift and felt her hands on his head. Her choice.

His eyes locked onto hers. Aside from their change in color and the broken blood vessels, they were heavy, filled with sorrow and a newfound determination—a feeling he thought he’d left buried on that mountain with his first love.

“My magic is powerful and always comes with a cost,” he whispered, while her crimson eyes searched his face.
His eyes stayed with hers, taking in her features as if seeing her in a new light. Like he was looking at a new person entirely. Not the shy bookworm he met back then, the one he felt he had been treating her as, even after her accident.

No, this time he truly took her all in. All of what she said, all of what he’d done. All her trauma, her rage, her fear—everything.
He took a step toward her, closing the distance. Violet felt her body tense with apprehension as his shaking right hand caressed her cheek, just as he had done before. This time, however, he didn’t hold her like porcelain; he didn’t fear his touch could hurt her. For the first time, he felt he could really see her. See her as an equal. She felt a rush of comfort flood her as her hand reached for his, gently touching against him as she leaned into touch for just a moment. Her eyes shut, soaking it in before her hand fell reluctantly.

“I… see you, Violet.” His thumb brushed against her cheek, then slowly down her lip, briefly showing her teeth. Her lip curled slightly as her mouth opened instinctively, her fang brushing against his thumb. His hand pulled away, clenching into a fist.
“I choose me.” Every word was spoken slowly. “I choose you.” Violet's breath caught as she looked at him, slightly stunned.

His mind began racing—creating a plan, calculating next steps, resources, timing… who to trust. Stepping back from her, his eyes darted around the room, working out the problem and the consequences of moving forward. Finally, he decided on at least one thing he could do now. His gaze connected back to hers, renewed determination in his eyes and the way he held himself.

“I’ll break this curse. Then we can figure out who we are again.”

He pulled a ring from his left hand—a simple band with four woven strands of bronze and one of gold, a small emerald set on top. Pulling a small metal pin, he began to engrave into it, stopping only to glance up at her.

After the banquet, trust felt like a luxury she could no longer afford. Everyone wanted something from her. Everyone hid knives behind softened words. She had told herself she would not bend, not this time. Not for him. Not for anyone.

But the moment he looked at her, everything unraveled.

His touch shattered what resolve she had left. Her body betrayed her first, tension melting where it should have held firm, breath stuttering as if her lungs had forgotten their purpose. She hated that weakness. Hated how easily he reached places she had sworn to keep guarded.

For a terrifying heartbeat, her mind went quiet.

Violet took a half step back, as if distance might give her back control, but his touch still lingered on her cheek, fingers trembling despite herself. Crimson eyes searched his face, fear and longing tangled so tightly they were indistinguishable.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” she admitted, the words tearing free before she could stop them. Her voice was unsteady, stripped of the sharpness she used as armor. “I don’t know if I can trust anyone.”
Her jaw tightened, as though ashamed of the confession. She swallowed, forcing herself to meet his gaze again.

“I told myself the next time I saw you, I had to stand my ground,” she continued, quieter now. “Ready to be cold. To be careful.”
“But the moment you touched me…” She shook her head faintly, frustration and vulnerability bleeding through. “It felt like my mind stopped arguing.”
A breath hitched in her chest.

“And that scares me more than any threat you could bring to my door.”

She pressed her hand to her chest as if to steady the storm there. Still, she didn’t turn away. Couldn’t.

“So if you’re asking me to believe you…to trust you…” Violet said, voice barely above a whisper.

Her gaze softened despite herself—damn her heart for it. It was clear her heart was her weakness, and she needed to protect it.
He listened but didn’t stop his tinkering. A small engraving, an oath, a promise. A choosing of fates. He didn’t care if, after all of this, they ended up together—just being alive was enough. Friends would be better, but anything more? A relationship? No, now wasn’t the time to think about such things.

He could see her struggle with every word and every breath, the war she was fighting in her head to keep herself safe. He could understand that: the feeling of trying to keep yourself sane while trying to keep yourself alive. He had failed at that a couple of times, and the cost was heavy.

His inscription was finished. Small runes were etched into the inside of the gold band, simple and true: “ᛁᚴ : ᚴᚢᛋ : ᚦᛁᚴ”. He stepped up to her again, taking her in as if it were the last time he would ever see her.

“I want to tell you that you can trust me… but as long as I'm under this bond, you shouldn’t. Just as you saw, I will be forced to do so much worse.” He took her left hand again and held it in both of his hands, his eyes, never leaving hers. “After tonight, you must treat me as an enemy. Just know that my heart does not follow my sword.”
Violet's eyes softened as she listened.

He slipped the ring over her middle finger with a soft smile. “I know the symbolism of this, but this ring is enchanted.” The ring looked like one solid piece, but when he twisted the gold band to the left, it shifted under the emerald with a silent click. “This setting hides your presence from being detected by most magical means, including your aura. It will look like you don’t have any magical presence at all.”

Her eyes fell to the ring on her finger admiring its beauty, it was old and clearly meant something too him. Removing it meant that his aura would no longer be protected, her eyes flicked up at him at the realization before she looked back down.

He shifted the band back to the right; it clicked softly once. “If it's in the middle, it won't do anything. If it's to the right...” He trailed off as it clicked further to the right. A faint warmth emanated from the ring, accompanied by a subtle vibration that felt like a heartbeat. The sensation was strange as she felt the pulsing warmth along her finger.“This ring is tied to me, the warmer it is the closer I am. It was meant for someone else, but they don’t need it anymore. This way, you will know if I'm close, and you will always be able to find me if you want to.”

If I want too… but what he if turned her away. What if history just repeated itself and she looked more like a joke to the courts.
He held her hand tighter. “If it's ever cold like ice, then my soul is no longer tied to this realm.”

Violet’s breath hitched at that—at the quiet finality in his words. Her fingers curled instinctively, not away from him, but around the ring itself, as though sheer will might keep it warm forever. The thought of it going cold, of him being gone, sent a sharp ache through her chest she hadn’t been prepared for.

Slowly, she lifted her hand between them, studying the faint glow and feeling the steady pulse beneath her skin. Proof. Promise. Burden. All tangled together. Her thumb brushed over the metal, reverent, before she looked up at him again, eyes glassy but steady.

“I don’t want a compass to a ghost,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite herself. “And I don’t want this to be some… relic I’m left holding while the world laughs again.”

She took a step closer instead, closing the space between them, and pressed her ringed hand flat against his chest, right over his heart, as if to test whether the warmth matched the beat beneath. It did.

“So don’t turn me away if something happens,” Violet murmured. ““Don’t disappear. If you’re giving me this…” Her fingers tightened in his shirt, grounding herself. “Then I’m choosing to believe it means something.”

After a moment’s hesitation, she laced her fingers back through his, deliberately, claiming the connection rather than shrinking from it. Her shoulders straightened, resolved, settling in beneath the fear.

“And if it ever starts to grow cold,” she added quietly, “I won’t wait for fate or courts or history to decide what happens next. I’ll come find you. One way or another.Regardless of any curse…”

Her fingers slipped from his as she took a small step back. “...but for now, I will become your enemy.” she said softly, her eyes glossing over as she attempted to hold back her emotions.

Reaching into the pocket of her dress she pulled out a handkerchief, it was folded neatly with a Raven embroidered amongst red and black roses. A “V” stitched within the design. It was simple but something she made with her own hands.

Her thumb traced over the stitching as she spoke softly “Perhaps when this is all over, when we both free ourselves from these curses…You can come back here and return this to me. So I know that you're finally free of what haunts you.” Her eyes flicked up with tears as the small wet spots formed on the handkerchief. Violet moved forward, tucking the fabric under his shirt against his chest.

Her hand lingered for a moment, the ring reflecting against the moonlight as she looked back up at him with a reassuring smile.
“I guess…this is it then…

He watched her, listening intently to every word, every unspoken promise, every break in her voice or hitch in her breath. He almost winced at the sound of her voice, at the weight of her words. He knew why they had such an effect on him, why he was even here in the first place. He knew he wouldn’t put himself in this predicament if it weren't true.

But what was it? It had a name he would not admit. Why? Simply because he was afraid. Afraid of the feeling itself? No. He was afraid of what it could bring. The uncertainty, the pain. Death and destruction? Yes, all of it. This was his last chance—perhaps the last one for a very long time.

He looked away from her for a moment. Whether in shame or fear, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t be undecided about this. Removing this curse could get him killed—assuming the process didn't kill him first. And then what? He would have pushed her away so far that there would be nothing left between them.

He placed his hand over his shirt, right where she had placed the cloth. His eyes slowly moved back to hers. The silence sat heavy between them again. His mouth opened and closed, struggling to form the words he so desperately wanted to say. Fear held his tongue, until he finally made his decision and silenced every doubting voice in his head.

“Fuck it,” he whispered.

He stepped closer to her. He placed one hand on her waist and cupped the side of her face with the other. His heart was pounding, adrenaline flaring through his veins. He dipped his head, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Violet,” he whispered through the thunder in his chest. “No lies, no manipulations… You scare me—not for who or what you are, but for what you can do to me. For what this burning in my soul means.” He remembered this feeling; one he thought he had buried long ago. He just had to name it. “I'll come back to you again, and then we can fight this world together. Just promise me: until I'm free, show me your safe. Don’t hesitate, whether it be with words or steel.”
He paused again. His heart hadn’t slowed; if anything, it beat stronger now. He could tell her. He had to. He must.

“Violet… I lo-”


Violet’s hand gently rested against his mouth, stopping the word before it could exist between them. A single tear slipped free, tracing a quiet path down her cheek as her breath trembled.

“Shhh…” she whispered, barely sound at all. The cold night air closed in around them.
Her thumb brushed his lower lip, slow, reverent,before retreating, as though even that small touch risked undoing her resolve. She leaned into him more, continuing to rest her forehead against his, eyes closed, breathing him in like a memory she knew she would one day ache for.

The Silence between them grew in comfort.

“Don’t,” she murmured softly, her voice breaking despite her efforts to keep it steady. “Not because it isn’t true… but because if you say it now, I won’t be strong enough to let you go.” The words struggled to leave her lips.

Her fingers curled lightly into his shirt, not pulling him closer, just anchoring herself. His feelings pressed against her like heat, like gravity, and for a moment she allowed herself to exist inside it—to feel chosen, wanted, human.

“I see your words…” Violet continued, her voice low, raw. “I’ve felt it every time you look at me...” She swallowed hard. “But it isn’t just words. It’s timing. And fate has never been kind to either of us.”

“If you say it now,” she whispered, “it becomes a promise I will keep… and a hope I can’t afford.”

“So let this moment be what it is,” Violet said, brushing her thumb gently against his cheek. ”For once,” Violet said softly, “let’s not sharpen this into something that can cut us later.”

“I don’t want to be the weapon they use that costs you your life Roman.”

He couldn’t speak. His heart was pounding, yet it felt like his stomach had dropped out from under him. So he listened. He just listened to every spoken word and held onto it. She was right; it was there—unspoken, but real. He could feel that thread between them. And so, unspoken it would remain.

When he tried to speak again, he found that nothing came out. Instead, a wave of heat and nausea flooded his skull. He blinked, stumbling back from her. The potion was wearing off. He was out of time.

The sudden change made Violet gasp as she braced herself against the balcony. Like something was being ripped from her, her breath catching.

There was a hint of desperation in his voice, a shudder in his chest. “What comes next is not my design. But I will carry it out.” This was not part of why he came here, but it might as well have been. “My mission is to protect my home, my people. From those that would spread their corruption. That sickness comes from here—this kingdom, this city.” He couldn’t tell her everything. She was too close to them.

“So please, promise me you won't hesitate. Don’t defend me. Don’t give them a reason to suspect you. Don’t—” She took a step forward, her hand reaching out but he crumbled.

His knees hit the floor, and he just barely caught himself with his hands. A hard cough racked his body, dripping crimson onto the floor. Blood…Her hunger roared as the scent hit her, her fingers clenched drawing her hand to her chest.

With a shaky breath, he stood, somehow feeling smaller before her like this. He stumbled back against the balcony railing. “My time is up. I have to go, or I'll never leave.” Her feet slipped through the blood, slick and warm, and she nearly fell into him. She didn’t stop herself. She rose onto her toes, hands already on his face, breath stuttering against his mouth. There was no time to think,only the pull, sudden and fierce, as she kissed him.

His blood was still on his lips. The taste hit her like a spark, and her fangs throbbed, aching, demanding. Need surged hot and frantic through her chest. She pressed closer, held the kiss a heartbeat longer than what was safe. She forced the hunger down with a trembling breath, clinging to him as if letting go would mean losing herself entirely.

...and that's exactly what it meant


”...Goodbye, Roman.” Her voice faded off into the distance as if caught by the wind.


Leaving only Roman there…

Alone.


In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay




T O D A Y ' S B L A C K M A R K E T D R O P
T O D A Y ' S B L A C K M A R K E T D R O P

Written by: @princess

✦ LIMITED STOCK: These items are on sale today only — once they’re gone, they’re gone. You may only buy two a day per character.
✦ BLACK-MARKET RULE: No refunds. No receipts. No names. If you get caught, you never saw this stall.


J E W E L R Y
J E W E L R Y


2 Rings — easiest to conceal, most demanded


✦ Duskwarden Signet (Vampire Day-Ring)
A fae-wrought signet that lets vampires walk in daylight, but suppresses them to near-human strength and leaves lingering sun-sickness fatigue until they’re back in shade.


✦ Whispermark Band
A slim ring that dampens ambient sound around the wearer, making footsteps and small movements harder to notice for a short time… but it replaces silence with faint “whisper-static” in the wearer’s ears for hours after.


2 Necklaces — stronger enchantment vibe, harder to steal


✦ Veil-Sense Locket
A blackened locket that briefly sharpens your sight against local glamours and small illusions (not the Veil itself), but for the next day your reflection/shadow flickers wrong, like you’re slightly out of sync with yourself.


✦ Grave-Luck Pendant
A tarnished coin-pendant that nudges probability just enough to “miss the worst” (a shot grazes, a lock clicks, you’re not the first target)… but afterward your luck swings hard and something small-but-important goes wrong within the next day.


P O T I O N S
P O T I O N S


Four single-use vials


✦ Bloodrush Vial (crimson)
For ~10 minutes your body runs hot: faster reaction time and steadier grip in a fight… but when it fades you get tremors and a pounding heartbeat that makes stealth harder for the next hour.


✦ Nightglass Draught (violet)
For one scene, your eyes “drink” the dark—better low-light vision and easier tracking of movement… but bright screens/lights sting terribly afterward, leaving you light-sensitive until you sleep.


✦ Mothgreen Tonic (emerald)
Dulls panic and clears the head against fear/pressure for a short stretch… but you feel emotionally blunted afterward for the rest of the night.


✦ Beauty Elixir (gold)
Makes you appear even more alluring to those around you for the rest of the day... but the next day it is as if you are barely there.



In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 5 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



"The storm is upon us."


Time/Day: Sunday May 5th, 2025 - Morning


As the blood settles, the sun rises....

A pale gold creeps over shattered glass and smeared pavement, illuminating a city as it wakes. Humans walk the streets with coffee in hand and eyes forward, stepping around bloodstains as if they’re simple puddles of water. Laughter drifts from open windows. Cars idle. Life insists on continuing. No one seems to notice

Behind the bar, bodies still lie where they fell.

The air is thick with the coppery rot of spilled blood. Whatever happened in the night has already begun to slip into rumor, filed away in the human mind as nothing more than a bad dream or a scene from a horror movie they’ll half-recall later and laugh about.

But others know better. The Lycans will remember.

An open alert crackles through hidden channels.

To all Wardens: investigate the disturbance at the venue.
Assess the damage.
Contain what remains.
Dispatch a cleanup crew. No witnesses. No traces.


And beneath the surface and the carnage, the fragile illusion of order...the gears of the underworld begin to turn.

The Black Market has opened.

Tucked away behind glamour and misdirection, the Mirage Market breathes back to life. Its location is never written, never spoken aloud—only whispered, passed mouth to ear in alleyways and shadows. New items are already circulating. Relics, vials, tools that should not exist. Each whisper slithers deeper into the back streets, calling to the desperate, the dangerous, and the damned.

The Veil still stands.

But it’s thinning.

And whatever bled last night may only be the beginning.
In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay



P A R T 2
P A R T 2



They had been there the entire time.

Six figures stood along the upper catwalks, half-seen through drifting haze and fractured light, cloaked in shadow that bent unnaturally around them. Not hiding but observing. Silent. Still. Patient. The chaos below had never been a threat to them, only a variable.

One leaned forward slightly, mask catching the glow of a flickering emergency light. Glass lenses instead of eyes. Studying. Recording.
“Gas efficacy exceeded projections,” one voice murmured, distorted and layered, as though more than one spoke at once. “Blood frenzy onset was faster in the confined population.”

“Collateral acceptable,” another replied coolly. “Primary objective remains viable.”

Their attention shifted.

Not to the strongest.
Not to the loudest.
Not to the ones still shaking with hunger.

To Tessa.

Her blood loss marked her like a beacon it was warm, rare, and useful. One of the figures tilted their head, as if listening to something unheard.

“There,” they said. “She’s compromised. And she survived.”
Nodding in agreement, six shadows moved as one.

They descended.

Not dropping but stepping, as if gravity had been re-negotiated for them alone. Cloaks rippled without wind, boots never quite touching the railings as they came down from above. The air thickened, pressure settling into bone and breath.
As they reached the floor, something broke in the air.

Rage drained away mid-snarl. Vampire bodies swayed. Eyes glazed. Some laughed once, soft and wrong, before stumbling into walls or dropping to their knees, suddenly uncoordinated. They acted as if they were drunk on nothing at all. Instinct misfired. Memory blurred.
“Neural response confirmed,” one of the figures noted calmly, stepping through the dazed bodies without resistance as the vampires parted from them like a sea of bodies.

Kessler had Tessa slung over his shoulder, her blood streaking down his back as he reached the ladder. She stirred weakly, breath shallow but stubbornly present, fingers twitching against his collar as he began to climb.

“They’re attempting extraction,” one observed.

The figures followed, spreading out but not to pursue, but to position.

A soft metallic clink hit the floor.

Then another.

Then several more.

Small, smooth cylinders rolled between broken glass and discarded bodies, coming to rest at calculated distances.
“Visual disruption,” one voice said evenly. “On my mark.”

The sigils along their armor pulsed once.

White light detonated.

The world fractured into sound and brilliance. Flash grenades erupted in rapid succession, overlapping bursts of blinding light and concussive force, turning shadows into knives and balance into a memory. Ears rang. Vision burned. Even the dazed vampires cried out, clutching their heads as the floor seemed to tilt and spin.

In the chaos, the figures moved.

Silent. Precise.

One was suddenly at the ladder, hands already reaching. Not for Kessler, but for Tessa as another took position behind them, blocking sightlines.

“Asset acquisition in progress,” someone reported calmly through the ringing.


The world around Tessa did not make sense anymore. The sky and the ground mixed with one another, leaving her to wonder when they had shifted? The clouds seemed so close, and she shakily reached out to them to no avail. Pain pierced her body like a thousand tiny knives. Her right eye burned with tears of agony and fury. She could do nothing to help the pack around her. Her blood pumped through her body so viscerally that she thought she might bleed out of every orifice. Nausea consumed her so tightly she thought she might puke her guts out. The vampire blood pumping through her incapacitated her entirely. She hadn’t felt this helpless since she had been bit by the rabid lycans. She hung limply over Kessler’s shoulders and gripped him weakly. The comfort of being around her pack and Luther filled her with hope. Her head rested on his shoulder and her breathing was shallow. In the background, she could hear Dom’s howl, and knew he was close. If she could just reach him…

Unexpectedly, bright lights and noise burst into existence beside her. A weak cry escaped her. Her right eye was completely enveloped with white. Voices spoke around her. Tessa tried to move, to fight back with what little strength she had left, but failed. She could see shapes moving now as her mind reeled from the attack. Smoke bombs? What was happening to her? These weren’t the pack’s moves. No, she could briefly see them all in hybrid form fighting. So then–Tessa inhaled with shock. Were these Wardens? Her body trembled and she began trying to limply move away, but failed. She let out a strangled and garbled cry she knew the pack could hear and tried to form sobs. ”Lu….” She whispered desperately and barely audible. What would happen to the others? This was her fault for being distracted!

Luther let out an otherworldly howl of agony as the devices detonated all around him, having remained in the chaotic mess under the ladder. His misshapen claws dug at the sides of his head, shredding flesh and ripping fur out at the painful pressure he now felt. The concussion of the blasts mixed with the blindness he felt caused him to shift to lashing out wildly, ripping apart whatever he managed to touch. His twisted mind shifted to his sense of smell that hadn’t been affected after the initial moment had passed.

His disjointed maw snapped towards Tessa as her terrified voice broke through the fog and murderous rage he felt. It gave it a purpose instead. Luther’s steps were uneven and unbalanced as he moved closer to the one reaching for her. In his feral delusion, Tessa was the one aspect that anchored him and his bestial mind would not let any have her. Luther couldn’t help the distorted growl that reverberated through his mangled vocal chords as he wound up his right arm for a powerful swing. It missed the strange form hovering near Tessas and struck the wall. Luther snarled at the pain that ran up his twisted claw that quickly knit back together as he stumbled forward.

Kessler was just reaching the first platform of the fire escape, having jumped the distance from the ground, through the opening where the vertical ladder would descend. He was already hurt, exhausted, hyper-aware, and trying to keep it all together so that they might have a fighting chance to make it out of there, when the world went white. Like a momentary blackout, except instead of a complete lack of input, his hyper-awareness screamed with white-noise and no matter what he did to shake free of it, this visual interference kept attacking his senses. He was blind to his surroundings, and steadied himself as best he could, given the precarious location, better than ten feet in the air on a rusty old fire escape. He tried to counter with his other senses, but it was like they too were overloaded, unable to gain purchase. All was tinnitus from one sense, and white-out snow-blindness from another. He could feel his heart beating, feel pain from a dozen sources, feel the weight of Tessa across his shoulders.

Calm. He needed to remain calm (relatively speaking, given the shit-storm of the past few minutes.) He found the wall, began to move along the length of it, until his feet found another iron railing. A corner. Reached around himself to find the ladder. Vision swam, white static being replaced with a blur of motion. Tinnitus giving way to the sound of screaming and cries of anguish and pain from below. It was coming back…

He braced himself, claws ready, shaking his head to try and clear the effects. Ready to meet disaster head-on if anything so much as entered his space…

It all happened so fast. An explosion of light, then choking smoke swallowing everything.

Smoke bombs? What the fuck was this? Cowards.

Casey didn’t notice her thigh beginning to knit itself back together, flesh slowly stitching closed amid the chaos. A snarl tore from her throat as the smoke thickened and her ears rang. Adrenaline surged, sharpening every sense until the world felt razor-edged.
Lycans. Loyal to a fucking fault.

She’d been so long without a pack. Without a family. It made her ache with awe, the way they were willing to die for one another without hesitation. She decided then, with absolute certainty, the three of them would survive this.
Her howl split the air. A warning. A challenge. A promise.

She turned toward the ladder just as the enraged lycan swung. Motherfuckers. Through the haze, she caught sight of a figure reaching for the injured girl.

No thinking. Only instinct.

Casey launched herself forward, jaws snapping shut around an arm. Bone crunched as she tore them away from the ladder, slamming them to the ground and wrestling them into the smoke. She would buy the time to escape.
They adapted almost instantly.

The loss of the first operative was not a surprise but only a minor disruption. The moment Casey’s jaws closed and his arm was torn clean off his joint, telemetry spiked, alarms flaring briefly across the internal feed before being muted.

The wounded man hit the ground hard, cloak tearing as he was dragged into the smoke. Pain responses flooded his system screaming behind his mask. He rolled, braced, and pushed himself upright with his remaining arm, vision flickering as the neural dampeners struggled against the chaos. Blood pooled below his missing arm as exposed bone and tendon glimmered.

Above, the others moved.

One operative vaulted onto the platform with Kessler, boots clanging briefly against rusted metal before the sound was swallowed by ringing ears and smoke. Another followed a heartbeat later, positioning wide to cut off angles of approach.
“Target still in contact with primary carrier,” came the calm report.
“Interference escalating.”

Kessler turned just as the second figure closed the distance. There was no warning, no shouted threat, no flourish. A compact device snapped forward, twin prongs biting into his arm as the goon jabbed him deeply under layers of fur.

Electricity tore through him.

His muscles seized, then convulsed violently as the current surged, forcing a roar from his throat that drowned out everything else. Rage followed immediately; it was pure and incandescent.

“Unexpected aggression spike,” someone noted sharply.

Kessler lunged.

Blind, furious, he crashed into the second man with crushing force. The platform shrieked in protest as metal bent under the impact. Claws raked the man’s chest, tearing into his armor before cutting through his flesh. The operative went down hard, struck again and again in a flurry of uncontrolled violence. The man roared before shoving the prong back into Kessler in hopes to buy himself some time.
Covered in blood, Kessler crumbled but only enough to allow the operative an escape, pulling himself out from under the large beast with a loud groan.

“Disengage,” the command came “Asset secured. Retreat immediately.”
The first operative already had Tessa slung over his shoulder.

She was pulled free in a practiced motion. The weight transferred, grip adjusted to minimize further blood loss. Her weak resistance was noted but dismissed. Reaching into his waistband he quickly injected her with a sedative just enough to dull awareness without compromising her vitals.

Below, the wounded man staggered backward through the smoke, vision swimming. He pressed a hand to the bleeding stump, breath hitching as the world tilted. Around him, bodies clashed and howled, shadows tearing at one another in blind fury.
He did not look back.

He ran, a trail of blood following behind him.

Climbing over debris, ducking through ruptured fencing, he vanished into the dark with staggering persistence, blood slicking the ground behind him, survival instinct overriding everything else.

“Unit three escaped,” someone observed neutrally.“Probability of recovery: low. Acceptable.”
The remaining figures withdrew as they had come, fluid, deliberate, melting into shadow and smoke. One by one, they disengaged.
Above the chaos, the last voice lingered, almost thoughtful.

“Objective complete,” it said. “Begin phase withdrawal. Prepare containment protocols. Inform Magnus Corvane the mission is complete.”

And then they were gone.

Along with Tessa

In 🦇Beyond The Veil - Seeking new members🦇 → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks
Hello! I have ideas. Also interested in hearing some of the desired roles as well to see if any of them mesh with some of the ideas that I have. Would love to discuss in PMs (or over Discord)!


Feel free to message me on discord about it!
In 🦇Beyond The Veil - Seeking new members🦇 → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Interest Checks



"Built by blood, bound by lies."



I M P O R T A N T:
I M P O R T A N T:

✦This RP will touch upon darker themes, blood, and violence
✦We’re looking for some new players who enjoy long-term storytelling.
✦This roleplay is in its infancy, with new and experienced GMs running it.
✦This is a Casual style RP with a surrounding lore that is also treated casually.
✦Breaks from the RP are absolutely fine. Real life always comes first. However, consistent communication is expected and required.
✦This roleplay is largely a sandbox. It is character-driven.
✦While the GMs introduce events, villains, and plots, the heart of the story comes from the choices, growth, and drama you create with your own character.
✦You’re free to push your character as far into the spotlight as you want (with communication with the GMs). The GMs are here to support: to add drama, provide antagonists, spark consequences, and collaborate on arcs. But the key is communication and creativity
✦We will guide and plot-push, but we will not handhold you. It’s up to you to develop a character deep and rich enough and to weave them into the ongoing narrative. The GMS will always help support you and your ideas.

✦We have some character slots that could be filled if you are looking for an already active storyline that may fit your character concept. Please DM a GM to inquire about those specific slots.


P R E M I S E
P R E M I S E


T H E S T O R Y S O F A R
T H E S T O R Y S O F A R





W H A T W E A R E S E E K I N G
W H A T W E A R E S E E K I N G


In the world of Halcyon, we have 4 factions: Vampire, Lycan, Fae, and Warden(human)






B E F O R E Y O U A P P L Y
B E F O R E Y O U A P P L Y



A C T I V E C H A R A C T E R S:

A C T I V E C H A R A C T E R S:

V A M P I R E
V A M P I R E

Angel Beaumont
Elodie Ashbourne

L Y C A N
L Y C A N

Vex
Luther Coldfang
Lucien Shelby
Kessler
Tessa Verren
Alicia Tenebris
Casey

F A E
F A E

Lys Solwynd
Locke Devlin
Volfango Di Vita

W A R D E N
W A R D E N

Sean Stone
In 🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕 → 6 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay


In ✨Beyond The Veil✨ → 7 mos ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Location: Underground Club
Time: Night
Interactions: Dom @oso
Mentions:
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________


The sound of the chaos erupted around her. Violently, suddenly, overwhelmingly. It hit her ears like a crashing wave, yet everything still felt muffled, as if her head had been plunged beneath cold, heavy water. Screams warped into distant echoes. Bodies moved like streaks of color instead of people. The lights shattered across her vision in long, stuttering trails, and the sharp red of blood splattered through the air like paint flicked onto a canvas.

Her mind was gone. Floating somewhere far above her body. Not until Dom’s hand closed around her arm and yanked her toward him did the world snap into something resembling focus. Even then, clarity lasted only a heartbeat before another flurry of motion swallowed her.
She reached toward him, fingers brushing his wrist, trying to latch onto something solid, something real, but the drugs roared through her veins. Her footing faltered, knees buckling as the entire room swayed violently to the left. Then Dom’s palm pressed against her stomach, shoving her away from the impending attack.

Her back slammed into a bar table hard enough to rattle the empty glasses on it. She hissed through clenched teeth, one hand shooting out to catch herself before she could collapse completely. Bodies crashed and flailed inches from her. The floor shook with the impact of each brawl. Her chest tightened as she forced in a breath, desperately trying to claw her way back to reality.
Her head tipped backward, neck slack, her eyes rolling back, almost disappearing into white. She could feel the drugs pulling her under again, urging her to let go. She barely noticed the first vampire lunging until she caught the metallic scent of blood. The hot, sharp smell was piercing her nostrils like a bottle of smelling salts.

Her instincts snapped awake.

Vex’s head jerked forward so fast the world blurred again. Her body moved without permission, without thought; it was pure reflex, pure survival. Even with her mind drowning, this was muscle memory. Child’s play.

A vampire lunged, and she ducked. Another swiped at her, causing her to spin. A third grabbed her arm while her elbow slammed back into its throat before she even remembered raising it.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t clean. She was stumbling, swaying, sometimes throwing her weight in the wrong direction, but she kept them off her. Barely. Each movement felt delayed, her body reacting seconds behind her mind, but somehow still landing enough force to matter.
The last attacker hit harder, sending her crashing into another table. She scrambled, nails scraping wood, dragging herself up the surface to regain height. Her foot kicked out wildly, connecting with a vampire’s jaw with a messy, jarring crack.

Then came the snapping of bones beside her.

She turned her head and saw Dom shifting.

Her eyes widened, pupils blown wide. She had seen him shift before, but it was rare. His spine stretched, bones snapping into place. Fur tore through skin. His jaw elongated and split open, dripping fresh blood down his chest.

For a moment, her drugged mind forgot how to breathe.

He was terrifying and beautiful all in the same breath.

Vex pushed herself upright, wobbling like a newborn foal. The room swayed again, harder this time. She saw Dom’s new eyes, those sharp, feral alpha eyes as they lock onto her.

And then he moved.

Dom closed the distance in one thunderous stride. He placed himself between her and the violence, all massive muscle and fur, and with a gentleness so at odds with the carnage around him, he guided her behind him. His clawed hand swept her backward, and she let him, too disoriented to fight, too tired to question.

Why was he protecting her? So fiercely? So deliberately?

Her mind tried to form a reason, a connection, but the drugs tangled every thought before it could take shape. All she could do was cling to her fingers, curling into his thick fur, holding on as the world tilted sideways again.

His growls vibrated through her palms, through her chest. The sound pulled at something deep inside her, something instinctive and dangerous. Too easily she could slip into her own form and give in to the frenzy clawing at her insides. But under this high? She wasn’t sure she’d come back from it.

So she fought it. She held onto Dom, onto the anchor he was giving her. His body shielded her and kept her tethered to the moment instead of spiraling into the drug-fueled void.

Behind him, the chaos raged on.
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