Raven Lacrimaine

Beneath a mop of matted black hair, the woman's features might almost seem serene if not beautiful were it not for the tight, black leather bands cutting her face into quarters. Her eyes are obscured, none of the expected sickly golden glow lighting her features from beneath her tresses. Instead, only shadow looms behind the curtain, and a small black painted smile. Raven carries with her the remnants of her first life; a weathered priestess’ gown, torn at the hem where the fabric grazes the ground. The gown has been darkened by weeks, months, perhaps even years seated in dirt and damp, many of the holy symbols embroidered into the fabric faded or torn, the grave itself having devoured much of the iconography. There is a sorrow in the immediate image of a woman clinging to a life to which she cannot return. Yet, beneath the shroud that death has granted her, in this new and changed body, Raven has found a strange freedom in accepting death and rebirth as one in the same. She has since found sisters in her suffering, comfort in her Forsaken comrades, and a new sense of purpose in guiding others through those first terrible moments beyond the grave. Where once she shepherded the living through matters of faith, Raven now offers a hand to those still not yet attuned to their reawakening, through the darkness, and toward what yet remains for them beyond the grave.