⛧Trouble's Brewing⛧
{{{{{{{ Aura Hex }}}}}}}}
{{{{{{{ Aura Hex }}}}}}}}
Stage Name: Aura Hex
Real Name: Aurora Lynch (Not public information)
Age: 24
Birthday: October 18th
Hair Color: Red
Eye Color: Golden Yellow
Height: 167 cm/5’6”
Weight: 61 kg/135 lbs
Alignment: Tweener
Nationality: Irish (Billed as "From Parts Unknown")
Fighting Style: Sensual Submissionist/Acrobatic High-Flyer
⛧Appearance⛧
Wrestling Gear
Casual
An Invitation
Black Sheep - Metric (v/Brie Larson)
⛧Signature Moves⛧
Bump in the Night - Standing abdominal stretched locked in tight to leave her opponent open for a nice spanking.
Witch's Cauldron - While bent over the tops or pinned up against the corner posts, Aura grinds her opponent's head and chest.
Hex Press - Showboating side headscissor.
Eclipsed - Rear naked choke accompanied with body scissors and a few playful kisses and nibbles.
Full Moon - Sultry face sit and grind.
Siren’s Seal - Aura wrenches her opponent back into a long, suffocating kiss that doesn't need to end so abruptly if her opponent is enjoying it.
Love Potion - A drop, a spray, a mist, a powder. Any one of her concoctions she can expose her opponent to in the ring, so they will expose themselves to her.
⛧Finishers⛧
Crescent's Curse - Springboard moonsault from the tops or corner onto a prone opponent.
Hex Lock - Reclining Romero Hold into a suspended dragon sleeper or breast smother.
⛧Likes⛧
Borrowed Clothing: She insisted they are somehow comfier when they smell like someone else. The roomier, the better.
Brewing Beats: Listening to lofi beats when she is working her mixtures or side projects.
Mood Lighting: Dim the lights, add a splash of color.
Women: Duh.
⛧Dislikes⛧
Cold, Sterile Spaces: Boring white lights, pale painted walls, dull elevator music, the smell of cleaning chemicals… she doesn't like to be places that lack a sense of character.
Feeling Ignored: Being overlooked is so much worse than being disliked.
Judgmental Prudes: While it's fine to know passions and desires, it's boorish and dumb to try and shame others for theirs.
⛧Personality⛧
Aura is a playful hedonist and unapologetic party girl, living for the thrill of feeling sexy, free, and adored. She dresses in ways that let her body breathe and flaunt her curves, reveling in the attention it draws. Flirting comes as naturally as breathing, and she delights in teasing touches, especially with the shy or timid, coaxing them out of their shells, savoring every blush and flustered reaction like it’s a prize all its own to be savored
No matter the match, Aura makes the encounter saucy, always skirting just within the boundaries of the rules. She carries a collection of aerosol mists and liquid aphrodisiacs, subtle “witch’s brews” designed to stir desire and make her opponents more pliable.
Rumor has it that those who find themselves booked against Aura should take extra care before their matches. She is said to have no qualms about slipping a dash of her concoctions into an opponent’s meal before a bout, or ambushing them backstage with a powdered mist. Perhaps most dangerous is her handmade lipsticks laced with the very same mixtures that turn every match into a battle against the inevitabilities of her kissing her victims into sultry submissiveness.
Every close moment in the ring is an opportunity: a tender peck, a teasing nibble, every hold an invitation for a wandering caress or playful grope. Aura believes her opponents deserve the same adoration and desire she craves for herself. To feel loved, wanted, and undeniably sexy under her gaze. Guiding the weak-willed into a blissful end is a thrill, but bending the strong, the defiant, and the formidable to her whim is what makes her heart race. For even the mightiest of combatants can be made to give in to temptation.
In the ring, Aura blends indulgence with competition. She adores the female form in every sense, to admire, explore, and entwine with. Her submissions are sensual by design, maximizing body contact and blurring the line between fight and intimacy. While she relishes taking the lead and dominating the pace, she isn’t above letting go and enjoying being taken for a ride when the opponent, or the moment, feels right.
Every match is more than a competition; it’s theater, indulgence, and a stage for her boundless passion. Aura thrives on the spectacle of touch, closeness, and allure, turning wrestling into both contest and celebration of pleasure.
Outside the ring, Aura’s appetite for intimacy is no less ravenous. She slips into personal spaces with ease, always testing the boundaries of closeness. Unlike the ring, however, where competition is expected, she respects firm and clearly stated rejections. She may play, tease, and press her charms, but she knows when to withdraw. To those who give her an inch, expect her to take a mile… and have you begging to take more.
⛧History⛧
The Midnight Masquerade was no empire of tents or glittering fairgrounds. It was a ragtag caravan of wagons, patched-up pavilions, and wooden platforms cobbled together wherever the troupe parked their wheels. The name promised mystery and forbidden wonder, but the reality was far humbler. A modest traveling carnival moving through the towns and countryside of the United Kingdom. The title was a mask in itself, a clever bit of advertising that made the smallest sideshow feel like something dangerous, decadent, and worth sneaking out to see.
The Masquerade was a family of sorts, though not always the warmest one. Jugglers and fire-breathers mingled with pickpockets and shell-game hustlers. Fortune-tellers sold glimpses of the future while clowns sold cheap hash and giggled at their own tricks. To some towns they were harmless fun, to others a nuisance to be chased off with proverbial pitchforks and local constables. But to Aura, it was home.
Like most children born under canvas roofs, she was raised communally. Discipline came from whoever caught her misbehaving, meals were shared around smoky campfires, and school lessons were stitched together from half-remembered knowledge of whichever adult had the time. She grew up learning that “family” wasn’t just parents and siblings, it was anyone who traveled beside you, fed you, or made sure you got up again when you fell.
Her first act was as a contortionist. Aura could bend herself into impossible shapes, twisting into knots that made audiences gasp. For other children it might have been just a trick, but Aura’s curiosity ran deeper. She wanted to know why her body could move that way, why her joints stretched, why her muscles obeyed. That fascination with her own form would later bloom into an appreciation for anatomy in general, especially the feminine body, which she came to admire with playful obsession and endless curiosity.
Performance was survival, and Aura learned that as quickly as she learned to breathe. Theatrics weren’t optional; they were the line between eating well and going hungry. A decent act entertained, but a great act made people forget they’d spent too much on a ticket. She learned to exaggerate her movements, to command a stage with her gaze, to transform herself into whatever mask the Masquerade needed. The Serpent Girl, The Woman Without Bones, or any other exotic thing the barker could dream up. Those lessons in spectacle stayed with her, shaping the flamboyance she brings to the ring to this day.
But carnivals of that nature rarely outlast suspicion. One cold autumn night, the law descended. Authorities raided their camp, citing fraud, theft, and worse. Wagons were overturned, tents ripped apart, performers scattered into the night. Aura, barely into her teens, was swept along with the few she could cling to. Among them was Bram Doyle, the troupe’s strongman. He was a towering presence whose feats of strength had drawn crowds for years. For Bram, the carnival was over, but not performance itself. He drifted into a traveling wrestling federation, where brute strength and showmanship were worth their weight in gold. Aura, with nowhere else to turn, followed in his shadow.
At first she carried crates, patched costumes, set lights. The rhythm was familiar: a show every night, an audience hungry to be awed. Later, old enough to be seen, she became Bram’s manager, ringside flair to gild his brute strength, a throwback to the flamboyance she’d honed under striped tents. Inevitably, the pull of the ring claimed her too.
Her act was marketed simply: The Girl Who Couldn’t Be Broken. Match after match, opponents tied her into pretzel shapes, cranked her limbs into angles that should’ve ended careers. But Aura never tapped. She always slipped free, always smirked in the face of pain. Crowds adored her resilience, half-impressed, half-unsettled. She thrived on their awe and on the unmistakable impressions she left behind.
Life with the federation stretched into years, a blur of arenas and endless roads. The constant movement soothed her; it felt like the carnival again, only louder, bigger. But wrestling wasn’t her only pursuit. Nights not spent performing were spent studying, her curiosity widening from anatomy into broader sciences. What had begun as an obsession with how the body worked turned into an exploration of chemistry, biology, and botany. She started small, grinding herbs, blending oils, tinkering with recipes, carrying with her the old habits she had picked up in the Masquerade, where illusion and atmosphere mattered as much as substance.
Her childhood hobby of making scented candles and perfumes evolved into something more serious. First, she experimented with herbal remedies and tonics, using her traveling lifestyle to gather knowledge from new age medicine practitioners, spirit healers, and herbalists she met along the way. Soon, what she once sold to friends and locals as trinkets at the booth, candles, perfumes, and sachets of herbs became stocked items on her own online store for alternative medicines, stimulants, and aphrodisiacs. To Aura, there was no true difference between a tonic that dulled pain, one that sparked desire, or one that intoxicated the senses. All were ways of manipulating experiences and bending perceived reality to her whim.
As her confidence and knowledge grew, so too did her theatrics. Aura leaned into the mysterious aura that had followed her since childhood, adopting the persona of a modern witch, not one hunched over cauldrons, but a decadent enchantress who blurred science with sorcery. She began calling her concoctions witch’s brews. Things vaguely named like bottled desire and powdered temptation, mists that could ignite passion or cloud judgment. In the ring, these became as much her calling card as her submission holds and slithering escapes. She was no longer just “the girl who couldn’t be broken.” She was Aura Hex, the hedonist witch, turning every match into both a contest and a smoke show..
So when LAW came calling, Aura didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t just a chance to perform, but a beacon. She had found her calling after all these years, broadened her mind beyond her imagination and become more successful than she believed was possible. There was only one thing left, one goal to shoot to the sky for.
Family.
If her lost family from the Masquerade still lived, she was stepping onto a global stage with more reach than ever. She hadn’t found them in all her travels, but all she needed to do now was become so popular or so infamous that it would light a beacon broadcast across the globe that she was still her and they could find her.
