Raine Euphemia

An au'ra not from the Steppe, Raine materialized from the death of Ingrid Gaal in Garlemald as an entity of hate. The loss of her own sense had left her open to the eldritch horrors beyond the veil of existence, until she had come across the fae and found herself drawn to a devotion of humanity.
Raine now spends her time in Eorzea atoning for her atrocities, imbibing in pleasures of the flesh, and seeing the lands for what they are now.

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Loveless Rise

Raine was not born; she materialized. A being not of the Steppe, nor of Eorzea, but of something else entirely; an echo of vengeance, shaped by the death of Ingrid Gaal. The moment Ingrid perished in the bitter, war-torn snows of Garlemald, Raine took form, ink pooling and molding itself into pale flesh. She stood atop a steel-clad corpse, the body still warm beneath her, red-stained snow biting into the soles of her feet as the black ichor of her birth dripped from her skin. She did not know what she was. She did not know why she was. Only that she existed. And that she had to survive.
Shivering against the cold, she scavenged clothing from a fallen soldier, fastening the thick coat over her trembling frame. The name tape read Euphemia. It was a name, a history she did not remember but one she could wear. Driven by a distant pull, an echo of a life she never lived, she trudged through the snow toward Camp Broken Glass. The Garleans did not recognize her, yet when they searched their records, they found traces of a soldier by the name of Euphemia;a woman who had been marked dead. They assumed injury, memory loss. They believed Ingrid had betrayed her own men. Raine took their assumptions as truth. She was a soldier left for dead. And Ingrid was her enemy.

A Siren in War

Raine did not know love. She did not know softness, or warmth, or the delicate threads that wove people together. But she knew power. She knew hunger. And she knew control. Her beauty was a weapon, her voice a melody that ensnared. The Garleans who doubted her fell to their knees with a whisper, their wills bending like reeds in the wind. She played the role of the siren well, luring, deceiving, destroying. The Empire rewarded her ruthlessness.
When the eldritch beings beyond the veil whispered to her, offering gifts beyond mortal comprehension, she accepted them eagerly. They marked her as their own, lacing her body with sigils of metal and ink. Each piercing, each ring, was a conduit to horrors unseen.
She plucked a black ring from her nose, and before her manifested an entity of writhing limbs and whispers. "Speak your demands for my pay, inked child."
Raine did not flinch, the wind curling unnaturally around her form, a force only she could feel. "Lead me to where Ingrid Gaal of Eorzea lived, and the friends she had." Her voice was steady, demanding. The entity shuddered in delight before vanishing.
As time passed, Raine honed her power, twisting it around her like a lover’s embrace. She became a ghost in the halls of power, a specter in the dreams of men. She did not love. She did not need to. She was the tempest, and she brought ruin in her wake.

Fall of Eldrich

But power is a poison. And Raine had consumed too much.
Her dreams rotted, filled with the faces of the ruined, their silent screams clawing at her mind. The whispers, once a comfort, turned cruel, reminding her of every life she had broken. Injustice slithered into her soul, and with it, something foreign: regret.
Raine sat in the dim glow of a Garlean study, chest heaving, fingers trembling as they reached for the ring in her nose. A small tink echoed as the metal hit the marble floor. Tears burned her skin, streaking through blood and ink, as she clawed at her own reflection. "Fuck… YOU!" Her scream shattered the silence, followed by the crack of glass as her fist met the mirror.
She shed the sigils, one by one, until only scars remained. Then she fled, abandoning the snowfields of Garlemald, leaving the path of death in search of something…anything else.

Serpentine Aid

Raine had lost herself in the wilderness of her own making. She wandered, no longer siren nor soldier, but something incomplete. She had shed the eldritch, yet its stain lingered, whispering that she would never be free. That she would always be the sum of her sins.
Then, she met her.
Stheno’s presence was not a strike of divine judgment, nor a command wrapped in gilded words. She did not arrive in fire or fury. She simply was, standing beneath the silver glow of a moonlit glade, golden horns catching the light like ancient scripture. Her voice, a melodic hiss, curled through Raine’s fraying mind.
"You wander, little one. You ssssearch, but do not know what for."
Raine stiffened, every muscle coiled tight. She had fought gods before. She had defied the will of things far older than herself. Yet Stheno did not strike. She only watched, unblinking, as if she already knew the answer Raine refused to see.
"I do not want to be found," Raine muttered, voice hoarse.
A warm hum, low and knowing. "Then why do you linger?"
The question sank into Raine’s bones. She had no answer. Or perhaps, she had too many.
Stheno stepped closer, light radiating from the glowing tattoos across her skin, weaving patterns of clarity, of truth. Her presence did not demand, did not crush. It simply offered.
"There issss a way forward. But you musssst choosssse to walk it."
And for the first time in her existence, Raine hesitated.

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Fey Acceptance

Raine’s wandering took her far. She searched for meaning, for penance, for an answer to why she even existed. And then, when she had nearly collapsed from exhaustion, she found herself in a land unlike any other.
Pink flowers swayed beneath skies of deep azure, sunlight filtering through crystals that gleamed with impossible brilliance. Her breath hitched. Where… am I?
"The land of dreams!" A voice giggled, disembodied yet everywhere. "Now, wouldn't you like to dream? You seem so tired…"
Raine staggered, blinking rapidly, fighting against the lull that seeped into her bones. "I-I’m not…tired…" But the moment she uttered the words, she collapsed into slumber.
When she awoke, she found herself surrounded by candy-colored fields, a playground stretching in the distance. A young pixie hovered above her, staring in shock. She had been found. And, in time, she would find her own purpose among them.

New Devotion

Raine knelt at the threshold of a world between worlds. The remnants of eldritch power clung to her, but they were dying embers now. She had defied her god, fled its grasp. And yet, its presence lurked, waiting.
But she was not alone.
Stheno stood before her, a presence vast and warm as the night sky, her golden horns glinting in the dim glow of this liminal space. Light pulsed in the tattoos woven into her skin, a rhythm steady and patient. She did not demand. She did not force. She only waited, her voice slipping into the corners of Raine’s mind like a serpent finding its den.
"Fret not, little one. You are unssshackled. The weight you carry is not yoursss to bear. Let it go."
And this time, Raine listened.

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Return to the Wilds

The fae wilds stirred as Raine returned, not as an outsider, not as a guest, but as one of their own.
She had once been something else… something twisted between mortal and eldritch, a woman caught in the jaws of a fate she had not chosen. But that was over. The god that once sought to claim her was no more. The ink that had bound her was fading. She had cut away the chains, and now there was only the raw truth of what remained.
Stheno watched from the dreamlight, her golden horns gleaming as she coiled around the moment. "Sssshed your old sssskin, little one," she murmured, her voice curling through the air like a warm tide. "There is no more need for the weight of before. You will be made anew."
The fae did not ask permission. They did not need to. They did not change Raine… they revealed her.
She felt it before she saw it; magic threading through her bones, unraveling every mask she had worn. The air crackled with something ancient, something waiting. The past, the choices, the burdens, none of it could be hidden here. The fae wilds knew the truth. And they would make sure she did too.

Ivory Rebirth

Glowing filigree traced the curves of her horns, runes of ancient fae script shimmering against the obsidian keratin. The ink that had once stained her fingers, the remnants of eldritch corruption, bled into radiant white, curling into runic sigils. No longer a curse, but a mark of passage.
Her raven-dark hair paled like moonlight spilling over water, stripped of the weight of past disguises. The brand at her center, once a scar of subjugation, shifted under Stheno’s touch. No longer a symbol of possession, but of rebirth. Not a shackle, but a seal of her own making.
Stheno’s hand brushed against her cheek, warm as a summer’s breath. "Yesssss... you were never meant to be caught between. You were never meant to beg for belonging. You are no warlock. No runaway. No plaything of gods or men. You are fae, as you alwayssss should have been."
But even as the transformation settled, the weight did not lift. The past had not vanished—it had only been woven into her new form, etched into the runes, whispered through the fae wilds. She was not bound to them, nor beholden to their whims. And yet, the echoes of what had been still clung to her, a shadow beneath the ivory light.
She had been remade. But she had not yet learned how to be whole.

Quiet Spark

The first time Raine saw him, she had only observed. He had entered the bathhouse, silent and deliberate, moving with the kind of presence that did not demand attention yet could not be ignored. His white eyes unseeing yet all-seeing were eerily still, a stark contrast to the swirl of steam curling around him.
She did not speak much then. Neither did he. But something about him held her attention. The way he carried himself, the way his ears twitched at the idle banter of patrons, the way his fingers adjusted the strap of his camera with a quiet, practiced ease.
She had marveled at him.
And in time, that marvel turned into something else.
Saky had never been one to speak of his past. Even when Raine had asked when she had traced the contours of his scars with her gaze, when she had brushed against the warm rise and fall of his skin he had given her little more than vague truths. His father had left him. That was all she had known.
And then, one day, he left too.

Lingering Memory

She had woken to absence, to silence where his presence had once lingered. He had not told her why. Had not given her the chance to argue, to demand explanations, to insist on standing beside him as she always had. Because she would have she would have followed. And he had known that.
But his path had not been one for her to walk.
The journey had been long and cruel, a descent into the remnants of a past he had never wished to unearth. He had hunted a man he had never known, chased ghosts through war-torn landscapes, through Garlean ruins and bloodstained histories. The empire had twisted him, augmented his body for war, reshaped him into something sharper, stronger less his own. He had endured it, survived it, knowing that at the end of it all, his father was waiting.
Raine would have fought alongside him in her own way. He had known that too. But the thought of it unsettled him.
He had seen the way she wielded her presence, the way her gaze could be a blade, the way she turned the weight of her beauty into a weapon as sharp as any steel. That she would let herself become something untouchable, something desired but never reached. He had wanted more for her. He had wanted her safe.
And so he had left her behind.
But she had never truly left his mind.

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Pricing

Basic

^{3 million gil}

Standard

^{5 million gil}

Stellar

^{10 million gil}

Who

Raine Euphemia does all of the gposes!

Hooks

Pricing

1.5 million gil per hour

Roleplaying

Links

• Raine's F-list
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