#like deliberately pretty much an opposite of wren

[dutyworn]

me about to play the endgame for wren this playthrough: were fine everythings fine all fine this is fine everyones fine,

[bloodline-rpg]

WREN MOREIRA // 26 // ORIGINAL WITCH

❝ I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd❞

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BIOGRAPHY

Wren Velasco was born dead, a baby without a heartbeat until a spell shocked it into working. Or at least that was what her coven liked to whisper amongst the ranks, a pretty lie to fit into her mythology. No one had any way of knowing. To her coven she first existed as a bright spot on a map, a five year old oprhan being raised by human caretakers. They actively sought out Original witches without other magic or family to turn to, located by an old form of blood scrying. After being talked through the tears and guilt, the couple gave up their adopted child without much fuss. Wren had never spoken a word to either of them. When left alone, she would have full conversations with the walls. Superstitious to the bone, they assumed her cursed.

Wren studied every scrap of magic she was given and tried her very best to fit in with the other children in the tiny village coven. Afraid of being called odd, she avoided eye contact with the shadowed strangers in her peripheral vision. When they whispered things to her, she tried her best to block them out. When spirits sought her out, she ignored them. Every time she didn’t need to actively talk or listen to a member of the living, she had headphones on at full volume, drowning out the voices with eyeliner bands and belting women. She learned to sing, her voice strong from the constant humming, vocalizing, making any sound she could to keep in constant motion. The rituals that benefited from some sort of sung incantation always flowed naturally, and sometimes the older witches would call her in to help. She tried to be a dutiful Original witch. If she exceeded expectations in other ways, she could earn her keep and forget about her innately forbidden abilities. Those dark waters that frightened her would remain unexplored, just like the witch council wanted. Wren caused no trouble.

Until the day the coven leader’s daughter died during a ritual gone tragically wrong. In an act of comfort, Wren found the grimoire hidden under the floorboards of the girl’s closet and returned it to her mother, apologizing for the theft and passing on a few final words. The coven leader gently suggested the idea of relocating to a school that could help her in suppressing her darker talents, but Wren begged and fought her way into staying.

Everyone had an eye on her after that. Witches of her type were exceedingly rare and they tended to bring misfortune upon a coven in the form of hauntings, possessions, even garden variety demons. She was quiet and determined to keep to herself, until she met a witch that wouldn’t give her peace. He started as an academic rival - a cocky bookworm with a form of omnilingualism that the elders used to decode dead or obscure languages. They were only a few days apart in age. He used his words deliberately and like daggers and picked fights with anything that moved. Within the year, the were inseparable. Wren and Jakob claimed to be brother and sister when anyone asked, sometimes twins.

Wren spent so many early childhood days being scared of the ghosts in the corner of her eyes that she didn’t stop to wonder what could possibly terrify her more.  A riptide pulled Jakob out to sea at the edge of the ocean. His body washed up waterlogged days later. And so at seventeen, Wren started talking to the spirits willingly. Some ghosts haunted individual places, some haunted people, and some caught wind of the changing current in the supernatural energies and came to find her directly. She mentally exhausted herself for sleepless months on end trying to hunt him down, searching every inch of this plane and calling his spirit forward, but he had either moved on or he didn’t want to be found.

Now that she had opened herself to it, Wren couldn’t redo the stitches to close her mind back up again. It was the only thing that saved her when hunters stormed the high walls of the villa where her coven sat defenseless. The spirits gave her a four minute head start, and the rest of the witches were slaughtered.

Grifting with her ability was pretty easy. She only needed enough money in whatever town she passed through for a suite, a few good meals, and a few devastating outfits. Her magic paid for all of that and more. Turns out, people always wanted to talk to their departed loved ones. When a spirit didn’t feel like cooperating, she made it up, using an uncanny ability to read people to patch in the missing details and some light telekinesis to move a pointer around a Ouija board. Levitating a few inches off the ground was always a good visual trick, too. When the hunting got exceptionally bad, she picked her way up and down the west coast sleeping in mausoleums, knowing that there was always at least one friendly spirit willing to give her warning if a hunter was around. Malevolent spirits came for her too, but her mental wards were usually strong enough to keep them out except in sleep, leading to some pretty vicious nightmares.

Wren couldn’t avoid detection forever. What she was doing was the witch council equivalent to high crimes. By twenty four, she found herself in the walls of their sanctioned school to ‘learn the proper control’. They wanted her to block it out. She played along, but kept wanting to push in the opposite direction. What was she truly capable of if she were ever allowed to fully embrace her ability? She took all the magical instruction they were willing to give her, always looking for a little more power for self preservation’s sake. But she wasn’t an easily moldable child anymore. Eventually Wren fled from the boarding school. To her shock and utter delight, Angelina followed. The tightly buttoned up older witch that endlessly fascinated her. She was imbued with some of the most archaic magic in the universe and she refused to use it for anything fun. By the very nature of her otherness, Wren felt tethered to her.

They travelled together for two years before they made the fortuitous mistake of cutting through the loudest town Wren had ever set foot in. All of the voices competed for her attention at once, an overlapping pattern with the same message about a creature deep below the earth that sounded like a bad myth. She got to ask Lina her pivotal question after one too many shots in the local dusty bar to calm down. Want to see a dead body? They dug up the coffin and gave the female vampire inside blood, performing an act that felt eerily close to raising the dead.

______________________________________PERSONALITY/TRAITS

Thrill seeking, impulsive, and mercurial, the rules of nature itself don’t seem to apply to Wren. Other rules by extension only need to be followed when she feels like it. Social contracts seem so thin and arbitrary when the dead are so free with their secrets. For every single moment of peace or message from the beyond she gives to someone, she’ll tell three lies. Some spirits can sense her intent and won’t engage. Seeing others twist in pain over a loved one is like a cathartic release, a tiny balm to sooth over the cracks of knowing that she wasn’t worth coming back for, and that she’ll never truly belong in either world until she dies herself. Though indulging in an occasional cruel streak, she’s usually a carefree chaotic neutral over anything truly evil. She trusts Lina to be her moral compass, pulling her back in the correct direction if she veers too far off course. Her recklessness is form of not knowing or caring what things can hurt her or what her magic could eventually bring forth, but she isn’t the only one who bears the costs of such risks.

DETAILS

STATUS: Taken

Related bios: Angelina Zavala, Carmen de Leon

Species/Family info: Original Witch

Faceclaim: Priscilla Quintana