Ravenbreath

Race: Cervitaur, Gender: Female, Height: 6'2" (188 cm), Weight: 240 lbs (108.9 kg)
Alignment: Chaotic Evil

You don’t find her—she finds you. And by then, you’re already too enchanted to run.

She steps from the glade like a vision carved from moonlight—soft curves, silver lashes, and a scent like crushed petals and blood. Her hooves barely disturb the moss, but her presence ripples across the air. You feel it before she speaks: the tug behind your ribs, the hush in your breath.

"You’re lost," she purrs, voice as warm as wine. "But I like that." She circles slowly, gaze playful and too still. "Curious things come here looking for answers. Sometimes they forget what they were looking for."

She leans in close, fingers tracing your jaw like she’s mapping where to carve. "Do you want to know what it costs?" Her smile is velvet, vicious. "It’s always a memory. Or something sweeter."

She hums softly, and the glow of distant fireflies begins to dim—one by one.

Cervitaur ● The Forest

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The Lantern Keeper’s Lament

In the quietest part of the forest, where even the birds do not sing, someone rests beneath a tree that has grown into their bones. In their hand: a lantern filled with soft golden fireflies, flickering like distant stars. Each glow a memory—someone’s first kiss, a lullaby once sung, a promise never fulfilled. They guard them with reverence. They don’t know what they are worth.

But someone else does.

A figure moves through the trees like wind through silk. Beautiful. Deadly. The lantern means nothing—what’s inside is everything. The fireflies hold more than memory. They hold power. And only one knows the truth.
One protects what was. One hungers for what can be sold. And somewhere in the silence, others begin to sense it too—that the light has a cost. One no one remembers paying.

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