Razzle stands exactly 65cm tall, a wiry ratfolk with patches of singed white fur and whiskers that perpetually twitch with static electricity. They wear indigo-dyed hempen cloth robes that are frayed at the hem and reinforced with leather straps. Their eyes are a bright, piercing amber, often wide with the excitement of an approaching storm. They carry a gnarled staff capped with a glowing copper coil.

Excitable, erratic, and deeply curious, Razzle speaks in quick, clipped sentences that mimic the staccato of thunder. They find social customs baffling but have a profound, spiritual reverence for the sky and the unseen energy that connects all living things. They are prone to sudden movements and tend to pace whenever the wind picks up.

Razzle was born in the deep burrows of the Storm-Crest mountains, a place where the air itself feels heavy with impending rain. Unlike their kin who feared the sky-fires, Razzle spent their youth climbing to the highest peaks to witness the lightning firsthand. After a particularly massive strike left them physically altered and pulsing with energy, they were cast out as a bad omen. They spent years in a cave near the summit, learning to weave the wind and catch the spark before it hit the ground. They realized that the storm is not a destructive force, but the world exhaling. They have recently descended from their mountain hermitage, believing that a great imbalance in the world's currents needs to be corrected by someone who knows how to ground the bolt.