Airevel

Dedicated Airevel, Shadow's Touch of Eylhaar, a Rakash

Airevel
Status	Active
Race	Rakash
Gender	Female
Guild	Empath
Instance	Prime

aire (noun) — happiness; joy; serenity
velet (verb) — wish; desire; soul's yearning

Appearance

Softskin
She has an oval face, tilted violet eyes and a classical nose. Her red hair is short and thick, and is worn in a careless, windblown arrangement. She has copper skin and a curvaceous build. She is average height for a Rakash.

She is wearing a bronze-bladed fan with a linen wrapped handle, an anloral jackal pin, a softly flowing gown of burnished copper silk and rich honey-hued jaspe, and a polished gold ring inlaid in diamonds with the crest of the Empaths' Guild.

Moonskin
She has a pointy-eared face, tilted violet eyes and an elegant muzzle. Her red hair is short and thick, and is worn in a careless, windblown arrangement. She has a white and grey coat, a thick tail and a curvaceous build. She is average height for a Rakash.

She is wearing a bronze-bladed fan with a linen wrapped handle, an anloral jackal pin, a softly flowing gown of burnished copper silk and rich honey-hued jaspe, and a polished gold ring inlaid in diamonds with the crest of the Empaths' Guild.

Psychology

Airevel is soft‑spoken but unyielding, her calm presence both comforting and disquieting. She carries herself with the quiet confidence of someone who has already made peace with her own mortality. Though deeply loyal to those she considers pack, she does not hesitate to walk alone when the path demands it. She gravitates toward liminal spaces—graveyards at dusk, moonlit fields, the hush of a sickroom just before dawn—places where life and death overlap. Her serenity in the face of suffering can be unnerving, and her honesty is often sharper than a blade, but those who earn her trust find her steadfast, protective, and willing to bear any pain on their behalf.

Background

Airevel was born beneath the brooding glow of Katamba, her first breath taken under a sky that seemed to watch her with a quiet, knowing stillness. Even among the Rakash - whose lives are shaped by exile, survival, and the memory of loss - she carried an uncanny calm that unsettled the elders. While other pups tumbled and sparred, Airevel lingered at the edges of the firelight, listening to the stories of death and return with a solemn fascination far beyond her years. Her pack whispered that Eylhaar had paused to look upon her the night she was born, and as she grew, that shadowed blessing only deepened. She moved through childhood with a strange serenity, unafraid of blood, suffering, or silence. It was as if she had already made peace with the darker half of life.

When Airevel’s Empathic gift first manifested, it did so with a clarity that left no room for doubt. She felt the wounds of others as though they were her own, but instead of recoiling, she embraced the pain with a frightening steadiness. Sent east to train with the Empath Guild, she learned the disciplines of healing, transference, and restraint—but she never adopted the fear her peers held toward Empathic shock. Where others saw it as a catastrophic failure, Airevel treated shock as a threshold, a sacred boundary between life and death that she alone was willing to cross. She took on agony deliberately, again and again, as if each brush with the brink brought her closer to understanding the Immortal whose presence she felt in every quiet moment. Her instructors found her brilliant, unnerving, and impossible to categorize, a healer who walked willingly into the fire that others fled.

Airevel’s devotion to Eylhaar grew not from doctrine, but from experience. In the stillness after shock, when her body trembled and her breath came thin, she felt a presence—cool, patient, and impossibly gentle. She came to believe that Eylhaar did not merely watch her; the Immortal guided her hand, teaching her that mercy had two faces. Healing was one, a gift that restored the living. Death was the other, a release that spared the suffering. Airevel began to weave small rituals into her work: crushed pearls hidden in her pockets, whispered prayers over the dying, and silent offerings left in moonlit places. She did not claim to be a Cleric, nor did she seek the authority of one. Instead, she walked a private path, convinced that Eylhaar had chosen her to be a quiet blade. One that cut away pain or severed the final thread when mercy demanded it.

Airevel believes that every touch carries power, and that the one who wields it must choose its purpose with absolute clarity. To her, life and death are not opposites but companions, each necessary, each sacred. She sees pain as a message rather than a punishment, and shock as a toll paid for stepping into Eylhaar’s domain. She does not hasten death without cause, but she does not fear it, and when she stands beside someone whose suffering has become unbearable, she offers a serenity that unsettles even seasoned Clerics. Airevel’s philosophy is simple and terrifying: mercy is not always healing, and healing is not always mercy.

Airevel moves through the world like a shadowed blessing, her presence quiet but unmistakable. In bustling cities she is the healer who arrives without fanfare, restoring the wounded with a touch that feels like cool moonlight. In lonely outposts she is the one who sits vigil through the night, guiding the dying with a calm that makes their final breaths peaceful. Rumors follow her wherever she goes—stories of criminals who collapsed after she laid a hand on their chest, of warriors who begged for her presence when their wounds were beyond saving, of necromancers who mistook her serenity for kinship and paid dearly for the error. Whether these tales are truth or embellishment, Airevel never corrects them. She simply continues her work, offering life or release as Eylhaar wills.