Rakuyo bears the unmistakable mark of a hexblood, a crown of brambles and hardened wood that seems to grow directly from his forehead like a natural tiara. His skin is unnaturally pale with a faint violet undertone, and his eyes shimmer with an eerie, predatory glint that reflects even the dimmest light. He carries a lute that looks as though it was carved from a single piece of dark, ancient cedar, and his movements possess a fluid, almost floating grace that separates him from common men.

He oscillates between the quiet, watchful stillness of a forest predator and the charming, silver tongued eloquence of a courtier. He often speaks in metaphors involving the natural world, showing little interest in the politics of cities unless they hinder his survival. There is a deep, underlying melancholy in his music, as if every note is a plea for a humanity he can no longer fully grasp.

Rakuyo was once a simple human youth living on the edge of the great wilds, until a desperate sickness nearly claimed his life. A local hag offered him a second chance, a bargain struck in the dark of a new moon that saved his life but stripped him of his humanity. He awoke with new senses, seeing a curious fox in the pitch black that did not flee from him, recognizing then that he was no longer a child of the sun but a creature of the twilight fey. He was taught the ways of the forest by a passing adventurer who gave him his first flute and the skills to survive the ruins he now calls home. He learned Sylvan from the whispering spirits of the trees before he ever mastered the Common tongue of his former kin. Now, he wanders the lands seeking the very hag who transformed him, hoping to negotiate his freedom from the curse while using his flute and blade to fend off the darkness that pursues him. He once used his fey magic to disguise himself just to trade in human markets, a bitter reminder of how much his natural form now terrifies the innocent.