Ravenfolk
Mysterious, cunning, and cloaked in omens, the Ravenfolk are a shadowed offshoot of the Birdfolk, embodying the essence of ravens, crows, and jackdaws. Their glossy black feathers shimmer with violet and indigo hues beneath the moonlight, and their keen, expressive eyes seem to hold centuries of secrets. Where other birdfolk look skyward with hope or might, the Ravenfolk peer into what is hidden—into fate, memory, and the dying breath of prophecy.
Born under a moonless sky and believed to be touched by Vaeril, the God of Birds, during a time of sorrowful introspection, the Ravenfolk emerged as quiet stewards of forgotten knowledge and whispered truths. They speak in riddles and half-remembered stories, never lying—but never revealing the full picture either. To many, they are eerie and unnerving; to those who seek truth, they are invaluable allies.
Ravenfolk dwell in mist-shrouded forests, windswept ruins, and crumbling stone towers, often close to ancient sites where the veil between worlds is thin. They maintain murder-halls, communal roosts of lorekeepers, scavengers, and silent sentinels. These places echo with low chanting, the flapping of wings, and the crackling of lanterns fueled by cold blue flame. Despite their somber nature, Ravenfolk revel in wit, storytelling, and clever games, treating intelligence as the finest form of currency.
Natural diviners, spirit-talkers, and omen-readers, Ravenfolk are highly attuned to the cycles of fate and death. Many serve as oracles, mourners, or emissaries of ancient covenants. Their presence at births or funerals is seen as a sign of transition—of something ending and something else beginning. They often carry relics, bones, or talismans woven with threads of fate, and they are known to collect fragments of stories and truths like others gather gold.
Ravenfolk value cleverness, memory, and loyalty. While not physically imposing, they excel in guile and insight, and their ability to see patterns in chaos makes them dangerous foes and invaluable allies. In combat, they favor quick, precise strikes and unsettling magics that confuse and manipulate. Some practice forbidden arts, speaking to the dead or slipping between shadows like a whisper.
Their speech is often laced with metaphor, their names with double meanings. They rarely give their true names, instead using epithets such as Ash-Mouth, Feather-Eye, or Those-Who-Return. These names are earned, not given, and tied to life events, visions, or stories they’ve told.
Despite their eerie nature, Ravenfolk are not inherently grim or cruel. In fact, many are deeply compassionate—guarding ancient graves, helping souls pass on, or preserving the last words of the dying. They understand sorrow and find strength in it, carrying memory as a shield against the silence of forgetting.
Their culture holds that knowledge must be carried, never hoarded, and thus Ravenfolk often travel far and wide, recording stories, secrets, and songs. Some are chroniclers of war; others are companions to great heroes, or the quiet voice that guides a king through darkness. They rarely take center stage—but when they do, their words can unravel kingdoms or save them from ruin.
In Aigusyl, the Ravenfolk are watchers at the edge of twilight, keepers of endings, and stewards of what lies beyond the veil. They are the feathers on the wind that carry the truth, no matter how bitter.
