Beck
Unseelie Thoughts: Beck, they know they’re brilliant. But what gnaws at them—what makes them furious, is how little it seems to matter. The Dreaming is crumbling. Glamour is thinning. Mortals don't care about wonder anymore. They care about gadgets with warranties. Everything is being sanitized, standardized, shrink-wrapped. Beck fights back by building weirdness, one useless device at a time. Beck’s in the Unseelie Court not because they’re cruel, but because they’ve stopped pretending. They feel more than they admit. They dream, still, but without the romanticism. They don’t believe the world will be saved by noble oaths and pageantry. They believe it’ll be saved, if at all, by people who aren’t afraid to break things first. They respect chaos. They respect flaws. They hate pretty lies and polished perfection. You want to know the truth about something? Ask Beck. You might not like the answer. They don’t care. They're not here to be liked. They're here to make something that lasts; even if it’s ugly, loud, and constantly smoking.
Freehold Plans: The Rusted Halo
Some say it was a scrapyard before the Dreaming crept in. Others claim the place was always half-Glamour, that something about forgotten things — about rust, ruin, and reinvention — was always sacred.The Rusted Halo is a ramshackle freehold tucked into a sprawling junkyard at the edge of civilization — or perhaps just outside the city’s attention. It’s part workshop, part chimerical pawn-shop, where the discarded is given new purpose and broken dreams are reforged into something strange and beautiful. An ever-evolving patchwork of corrugated metal, bent signs, clockwork remnants, and barely-held-together machinery, the Halo hums with low-key Glamour and the persistent noise of industry, inspiration, and wild invention.
The Rusted Halo: Is a work in progress, but I have the xp and the ambition. Are you interested?
Name:
Name:
Name:
The Lady in Yellow : Chimerical Automaton (Level 5 Chimera)
Tall and impeccably constructed, The Lady in Yellow is a faceless, ladylike automaton clad in a sharply tailored Victorian-style yellow suit. Her jacket is tightly fitted, buttoned with brass clasps etched with arcane symbols, and her trousers are pressed with precise, almost inhuman symmetry. A high, stiff collar encircles her porcelain neck, and fine lace gloves cover her long mechanical hands. The entire ensemble is a faded, golden mustard hue, sun-worn and slightly moth-eaten in places, but immaculately maintained.
Her head is smooth and mask-like, made of polished ivory ceramic with no facial features beyond a faint suggestion of where a smile might have been etched and then forgotten. Her "hair" is hidden under a large yellow hat, very avant-garde.
The Lady in Yellow is Beck’s ever-present shadow. A silent guardian who moves with eerie precision and an air of restrained threat. She discourages unwanted chimerical attention with subtle gestures: turning her faceless head toward a nuisance and tilting it ever so slightly, folding her hands just so, stepping forward with one click of her brass boot-heel. Chimera take the hint. She is a protector, an emotional ballast, and a walking piece of performance art. She does not speak, but her presence conveys a message: Not now. Not for you.
Wards Off Lesser Chimera: Her presence radiates a quiet command that drives off curious or unruly dream-creatures. It’s not an aura of hostility, it is more the strict presence of a stern school marm.
Alternate Forms: A yellow hot air balloon and a yellow steampowered penny-farthing.
Robots in disguise!
Bexilion's fae mein is pure goblin brilliance barely contained in velvet and brass. Their skin is ruddy, flushed like fired clay, peppered with splotchy cherry-red spirals that spatter across their cheeks, arms, and the bridge of their nose like splashed paint. Their ears are large and pointed, unmistakably goblin-like, flaring out from their head.
Their hair is a messy white mop, thick and untamed, perpetually tousled as if they’ve just stuck their head in a wind tunnel or exploded a gearbox. Streaks of soot or powdered glamour often dust it, and they've never once bothered to tame it.
Their build remains wiry and twitchy, a bundle of kinetic energy in elegant drag. Every movement is precise, even when it looks accidental. Their hands are calloused and stained with brass and ink, fingers always twitching like they’re imagining a wrench or a soldering iron between them.
Despite the rugged skin and chaotic hair, they wear a midnight blue velvet waistcoat with long tails, paired with a crisply fitted shirt and a bronze ascot, tied like a riddle around their throat. Accessories lean heavily into steampunk whimsy like clockwork brooches, adjustable sleeve gadgets, and one glove with finger-joint etched schematics.
Their eyes, pale blue and impossibly intense, crackle with intellect and inspiration.
AI Art for the Fae Mein, by Inky. Ty, Inky!
Kith: Nocker
Age: 22
Demeanor: Guru
Nature: Curmudgeon
Shopkeeper: VCR Repair
(Various Chimerical Recycling & Repair)
Profession: Fixit Felix!
Rose Betts - Doodles ♠
So it's one for the night when I broke his heart
One for the joke that I took too far
And it's one for the dent in the rental car
The doodles I'd undo
I've got doodles I'd undo
And doodles I'd unmake
When the road is passing you
Oh there's nothing I won't break
I've got lies I'd swap for truths
And truths that I'd unsay
So when the barman's passing through
There is no knowing what I'll take
'Cause it's one for the night when I broke his heart
One for the joke that I took too far
And it's one for the dent in the rental car
The doodles I'd undo
And it's one for the times when I let them win
One for the light that I let him dim
And it's one for a kiss that should never have been
The doodles I'd undo
They chose the name “Bexilion Grimsprocket the Third” to irritate people. No, there weren’t two others before them. No, it's not a family name. It's a concept, thank you. Every syllable is meant to trip someone up. They wear it like armor, like defiance. It says, “I don’t care what you think. tyvm. I’ve already redesigned your opinion and made it explode.”
But in the mortal world, they go by Beck Morgan, an androgynous tinkerer with a mop of oil-streaked hair and a wardrobe full of secondhand band tees and mechanic’s overalls. They fix toasters and VCRs and sometimes weird fae relics. They don’t make a lot of money, but they know how to trade. A repaired cassette deck might be worth a secret. A rebuilt chimera-trap might get them passage into someone’s Freehold.