Pavo Rabanastre

“For Dalmasca? Aye…for Dalmasca.”

LEGAL NAME: Pavo Rabanastre (Sigri Miret-moor)
NICKNAME[S]: Peacock, “Pavo the Lost Blade”
DATE OF BIRTH: 25th sun of the 4th Umbral Moon (August 25) (Age 21)
GENDER | SPECIES: Male | Viera
PRONOUNS: He/Him
PLACE OF BIRTH: Golmore Jungle, Dalmasca

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Various inn rooms
SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Common, Dalmascan, Garlean, Hingan

RELIGION: N/A; loose veneration for both the Green Word and the Light of Kiltia
CLASS: Viper
OCCUPATION: Dalmascan resistance operative
FINANCIAL SITUATION: Poor
ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral
CRIMINAL RECORD: N/A
DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: Yes | No | No
LIKE[S]: Knives, quiet, trees, dancing, sunbathing, woodworking, carpentry, architecture, beer, painting, popotoes, bitter greens
DISLIKE[S]: Garleans in general and the Empire in particular, being touched unexpectedly, loud noises, moogles, magitek, heavy armor, being confined, disagreements
HOBBIES: Dancing, woodworking, painting
FEAR[S]: Failure, crickets, death, his grandmother

PERSONALITY TRAITS: Serious, taciturn, single-minded, cynical, clever

{ P H Y S I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N }

HAIR COLOR/TYPE: Bright green with blue streaks, thick, fluffy, and kept short
EYE COLOR: Orange (left) & gold (right)
HEIGHT: 6’2”
WEIGHT: Light
BUILD: Lean, wiry
SKIN: Dark brown, reddish undertones
SCARS: Ritual scars—three straight horizontal lines—on forearms, biceps, and chest; many small ones scattered over his arms and legs; notch in his left eartip
TATTOOS: Heavily faded green arrow on nose bridge; gold-and-turquoise star with tree branches on small of back
DISTINGUISHING MARKS
–There just are not that many male Viera; the combination of his gender and race makes him stand out starkly even in Dalmasca.

–Unusually large semi-digitigrade feet with long toes ending in sharp claws; tends to wear a lot of sandals and heels to accommodate them. Fellow Viera or students of their physiology might recognize this as a common trait of the Miret-moor.

–A scattering of small birthmarks on his right shoulderblade that bears a resemblance to the Bole constellation

COMMON ACCESSORIES
–Knives. So, so many knives. Sharp objects hidden everywhere he can fit them.

–A prayer bracelet made of woven reeds and leather cord, which contains several small, colorful beads

–Carved wooden rings on his fingers or plaques affixed to his gauntlets; to anyone who can sense concentrations of aether, they’re clearly aspected to wind.

FIGHTING STYLE

DIFFICULTIES: Not suited to drawn-out battle; very little aptitude for healing magic

{ F A M I L Y I N F O R M A T I O N }

SIBLING[S]: N/A
PARENT[S]: Hjordis Miret-moor (mother), unknown father
CHILDREN: N/A
PETS[S]: Inkbrush, Dalmascan chocobo; Yak K'uk, alkonost

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P I N F O R M A T I O N }

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: Bisexual
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single
FRIENDS: Possibly N/A; will admit to fondness for his mentor Kalju Miret-moor
ENEMIES: The entire Garlean Empire; personal loathing for the IVth Legion

{ P E R S O N A L }

HISTORY: Sigri was the only child of Hjordis, a hunter of the Miret-moor village of the Whispering Stars deep in the heart of the Golmore Jungle. His birthmarks were taken as a sign of good luck and great deeds for their resemblance to the Bole, causing his grandmother—the village matriarch—to take a special interest in his training. From a very young age he ran with the other children of the village, but they knew that he was set apart. That, with his grandmother teaching him the secrets of the Green Word and his mother and aunts teaching him to hunt, he was destined to be either the next matriarch or the next Watcher, the equivalent figure for their parallel camp of nomadic brothers, uncles, fathers, and sons.

Then he reached his thirteenth summer, and their menfolk swept in for the official yearly meeting. While they were never far from the village—it was an open secret that they snuck in under cover of night to see their sisters or mothers or children—once a year they arrived in broad daylight, and took their sons and brothers with them for the training that would enable them to protect the Wood. The hunter Kalju, impressed by Sigri’s skill at obstacle courses, took him in. He would be great, Kalju promised him. He would do great things.

His new mentor neglected to tell him what those great things were.

It didn’t take long for Sigri to learn that Kalju had deep ties to the Dalmascan Resistance; he had lost friends and a lover in the initial fall of the country, and now lived only for revenge. When Sigri complained, he was quick to point out that the boy could always leave if he didn’t like it—could always go back home alone, a failure, never a true adult of the Miret-moor. And so Sigri stayed, and learned.

And discovered, over the years, that he was good at what he was doing. Resistance work necessitated leaving the jungle; in the desert city of Rabanastre, he was introduced to new comrades who called Kalju the Butcher and Sir, who pointed them at Imperials weak to the exotic. While he and Kalju worked odd jobs to get closer to their marks, it was these Imperials who laughed and nicknamed him Pavo, for the screaming blue-green junglefowl whose tailfeathers matched his hair. He took them down eventually, but he kept the name; Sigri Miret-moor was useless to him now.

Pavo Rabanastre, on the other hand, was very useful indeed. He danced in back-alley bars, fixed fake smiles to his lips, gathered intelligence like notches on his knife handles. Kalju and the other members of his resistance group trusted him; when they finally made a move towards open rebellion, it was Pavo they sent to track their first strike targets.

When the rebellion failed—when Kalju vanished in the chaos, when thousands of his countrymen were slain by Imperial forces—it was Pavo who fled deep into the jungle to rebuild. Though he refused to give up the fight, the rebuilding effort nonetheless led him to join other Resistance efforts in neighboring Bozja and Nagxia, where he gathered support to return and free Dalmasca once and for all.

And then Dalmasca was freed, and he was barely involved at all. Adrift and purposeless, he took up rooms in the reclaimed interim capital of Valnain, where he gradually learned how to be a person for the first time in his life. He took up novels and improved his artistic skills. He made friends. He started to think that maybe some of the things his mentor had taught him were wrong.

He was still working his way through this upending of his worldview when he was greeted by a cousin from far-flung Tural, a traveler from the village of Fallen Stars in Yak T'el looking for the half of their tribe that had followed visions to Golmore generations ago. Fortunately for both of them, she found Pavo first and promptly dragged him halfway around the world to meet a distant family that would actually be happy to see him. He’s still reeling from the sheer confusion of it all, but he’s not complaining. Even if chocobos are still far superior to alkonosts.

Currently, he can be found in Tuliyollal, eating a truly bewildering variety of tacos.

YOU MIGHT KNOW HIM IF…

–you’re involved in the fight for independence from the Garlean Empire

–you frequent seedy bars in Dalmasca or Ul’dah

–you enjoy music, particularly fiddles and woodwinds

–you trade in wood, knives, or art supplies

–you are/were an Imperial stationed in Dalmasca

–you have need of a courier, a mercenary, or a bodyguard

–you’re a member of the Miret-moor clan of Rava Viera; it’s generally considered a terrible shame that Hjordis’s only child never returned from his training.

RP HOOKS:

“I heard you make Imperials dead.” - And if you happen to want him to add to his list of dead Imperials, all you have to do is ask and point him at a target. Give him a good enough reason and he’ll even do it for free.
“A Dalmascan? You’re far from home.” - Pavo’s accent might mark him as Dalmascan before he even gets around to introducing himself and confirming it; fellow Dalmascans will find a friend. People foolish enough to ask him how things are going in his Exotic Far-Off Homeland will find an earful, given the Imperial yoke.
“We’re looking for the man they call the Butcher of Barheim.” - Whether for nefarious purposes or to buy him a drink in thanks, Kalju Miret-moor was a sought-after man; Pavo, known to be his protege, is your best bet if you’re looking for him. His helpfulness depends upon your intentions…and whether you can be helpful to him in turn.