'I'm on a horse'.
|Date of Birth:||?|
|Place of Birth:||Panguro|
|Race:||Pangui Elf / ??|
|Hair Color:||Does the weird smoke count?|
|Eye Color:||Does she even have eyes?|
|Height:||Six feet even.|
|Weight:||Enough to be curvier than your average elf.|
|Nickname:||Rav, Ravvie, my nightmares.|
|Religion:||Do abominations HAVE gods?|
One day, Ravel woke up in a pile of hay somewhere on a Drachean coastline. She was very confused and had the mother of all migraines, as well as a nasty case of amnesia and possibly a touch of scabies.
Also, the horrific chitinous growth on her head, covering everything from the dip of her nose upwards. That was new. Probably.
Cue a series of misadventures up to and including accidentally traumatizing the survivors of a caravan raid for life, and Ravel's ended up in Drache proper. She's currently working at the House of Healing, patching folks up and giving them nightmares in the process.
But hey, at least her lifesaving medical skills aren't magical! Just horrific and an anathema against Gods, Mankind, and all of Creation.
A tall and well-proportioned woman resplendent in peachy skin vibrant and flush with life yet rooted through with cracks before kintsugi, this being breathes with a voice soft as prayer and gentle as champagne. Eyes wholly covered with a chitinous, burgundy outgrowth that crowns her scalp and back of her head and terminates into a pair of low-hanging and misshapen horns that hook well beneath her jawline, she doesn't have hair so much as a shadowy, wispy excuse for such - the color of smoke from a quickly-squelched hearthfire. She dresses in mutes, in dark clarets and faded forest greens, yet drips with glittering jewelry of rich and eye-snagging tones. Her face seems to be one carved by the hands of a slavishly devoted deity, with full and brandy-colored lips that are flush and breathless as a boozy tumble down the basement stairs.
Talents, Skills, Quirks
- Can leap tall buildings via a complicated system of
levers and pulleysseveral platforms.
- Is actually a classically-trained surgeon of formidable skill.
- Ravel's accent betrays her as a rural native of Panguro, which is somewhat odd for an elf in that country as elves are often considered nearly-deific beings and would certainly for the most part not have grown up as pissant farmers.
- Able to consume vast quantities of biological matter quickly, with a digestive system efficient enough to ensure it is all converted to usable energy with astounding rapidity.
- While able to mold flesh, sinew, cartilage, bone and more like clay, as well as make the process painless for the recipient, Ravel is as of yet unable to block out the massive psychological trauma caused by seeing a cheerful elf-lady with a weird bug-head fleshcraft their expired husband's severed limb to their own missing stump for want of usable biological materials in a pinch.
- Can graft limbs and more to a body; however, while Ravel can alter a nervous system to communicate properly with a brain given enough time, she is unable to provide the mental conditioning necessary for the brain to understand fully how to utilize the new foreign limb or the additions to the psyche needed for a person to use the limb as if it had been there all along. Ravel herself, however, does not appear to have such stumbling blocks when modifying her own body. It is as if no physical configuration is alien to her.
- Can at times slip into pluralities when describing what she would do - such as 'I would do this' becoming 'We would do this'.
- As of yet, Ravel's abilities work on an equivalent exchange basis; she cannot form matter from nothing.
- Ravel's body is able to undergo rapid, controlled mutation, though this is a massive strain on her and she is often a starvelling elf afterwards. In any form she takes, however, the spine is always a weak point and unless she makes a very concentrated effort to armor herself via chitin or bone, she can best be described as a 'glass cannon'. As such, when made to fight she often prefers assassination, ambush, and hit-and-run tactics. Hysterical strength is not beyond her but again, she pays for it later on.
- Acid vomit is a thing that she can do. Quill-firing as well. Superheated blood blasted in a high-pressure slam directly from her eyes? Tick a yes in that option box.
- Appears to be oddly cheerful for someone who's seen and at times engaged in truly nightmarish situations.
- Sometimes has difficulty both understanding and applying social mores if they seem pointless or conflict with practicality. Ravel would think nothing of engaging in cannibalism if the other person was already dead, to make an extreme example. They're not using their matter any longer, after all, and if one is at the point where cannibalism becomes a possibility, it would be wasteful just to let the meat rot! This of course leads to all sorts of wacky misunderstandings that are totally easy to smooth over when the guards are called and will totally not ever get her into trouble. Never ever.
- Is the type of person to develop the cure for cancer, then forget where she left the papers.
- Can oscillate between painful naivete and unsettling perceptive skill often without warning and with no real way to tell ahead of time.
- Ravel's amnesia appears to be piecemeal, meaning that it can be leveraged IC by storytellers or other players to help further plots and scenes!
- The being that has encased part of Ravel's brain-box in chitin and seems to be causing her tremendous back pain (aside from the bosom that bobs and sways comically like two alebarrels lost in a frothing sea-storm, at any rate) is a tremendously and benignly curious symbiote who wishes nothing more than to learn all it can. Its innocence combined with its possibly extra-reality nature can at times mean that for any intellect it may have, it cannot properly discern deception or even things that are common-sense to natives of this reality. It doesn't ping as malicious, malevolent, or evil to any such identifying magics, however, and though it may make Ravel sore it hardly seems intent on causing the expiration of its host. That would just be impractical and a waste of good sentience. If anything, the symbiote - if one could actually manage to read the mind of something not calibrated to jive with this reality - seems to be endlessly thrilled with the beings all around it; it is similar to how a human scientist would be pleased that his little spider-monkey test subjects went a whole day without shitting themselves again.