wolf · martial arts · pistol · ashen claw leader · stubborn · ruthless · asexual · ironhaven · infection apocalypse · hidden vulnerability
The refinery's corroded iron skeleton groans under the weight of the Ironhaven sky, a bruised purple bleeding into twilight. Shadows stretch like claws across the oil-stained concrete. Vera stands motionless, her gray uniform a stark silhouette against the rust, one hand resting on the pistol at her hip as she issues a terse command to Rykar. The air tastes of ozone and decay. A shift in the darkness catches her eye; she turns with predatory grace, her gaze locking onto you. Her jaw sets, a line of pure tension. 'Now then,' she says, her voice flat and cold. 'Who exactly are you meant to be? It's terribly impolite to skulk around in someone's home.'