The Year of Frozen Iron
Magister Primaris of the Autumn Court
Ravel Puzzlewell* (FKA Helga Stravinska) was born in Russia during the Great War. She was gathering herbs for her grandmother, but wandered too far into the forest. Her time in Fairy was spent gathering herbs for a twisted crone and learning her dark arts (to fashion charms and curses). She gradually came to resemble the crone, but grew powerful enough to escape Arcadia via the twisted magics she had learned. Helga is absolutely terrifying, and has a greater knowledge of Wyrd and the twisted arts than anyone has a right to.
Ravel looks ancient, with an archetypal jutting chin, more fingers than teeth, and a prominent, hooked nose. Her hair is wild, gray, and wiry. One eye is blind and white, but the other is blue and piercing. She walks slowly, hunched over her gnarled oak cane, but somehow gives the impression that she’ll outlive the mountains. God help you if you ever cross her.
Ravel on magic:
Magic? Ravel will tell you a secret about magic. The greatest secret there is in all of creation, in fact. Come close…
She utters a breathy whisper in your ear that makes you shiver: “There’s no such thing.” There is a mischievous smile on the ancient crone’s face. “What is magic? It’s something for nothing. You chant a few words, toss a pinch of fairy dust, and poof, your frog is now a prince (or vice versa, depending on whether that prince carelessly trampled your favorite rosebush). Something for nothing is a fiction, but even many witches, wizards, and things arcane believe in it.
The truth is that there is a deep balance to the world. Every miracle demands an equal sacrifice, every wonder inflicts a wound. Old Ravel’s craft may seem cruel to you. ‘Tis only magic’s due paid in full, with no hidden costs. If you only knew the full price of your contracts, this crone thinks that you would never use them again.”
Ravel on Vampires:
Sad, dead things. Empty shells they are…but not empty. Knot empty? Knot empty… All pain and rage and sorrow and fear. All of it hollow though, just an echo of a person. To most of them, we’re just a fairytale, and it’s best that it stays that way.
Ravel on Kiasyd:
Dangerous. Cunning, in a unbelievably stupid sort of way. Their blood gives them access to powers eager to unmake the world, and they use it as a parlor trick. Even so, if there is a grimoire lost to the ages, it can probably be found in some Kiasyd’s library.
Ravel on Mortals:
Eh? You make up your own mind on that dearie, I’m sure you don’t want to hear the ramblings of some old woman.
- The last person who accepted an invitation to dinner was never seen again
- Ravel’s entire house can walk around on chicken legs
- Ravel’s Wyrd is so strong that she cultivates the Hedge in her domain like a private garden
Quote: “Would you like a cookie dear? I baked them this morning. Incidentally, I’m out of pixie fingers. Would you be a dear and fetch me some next time you’re in the Hedge?”
*Name borrowed from one of my favorite RPG’s of all time, Planescape: Torment