Rayzeel

Rayzeel was blessed with the Sight of the Arcanist, lending her the ability to visually see the flow of magic with her third eye. One could be forgiven for thinking that this gift would lead her to study magic. Her professors, growing up, used her Sight to fine tune theories about the workings of magic. They said it was a waste to want to study biology, when she could be one of the greatest witches this generation had ever seen.

Of course, this only made the stubborn and hot-tempered young coatl more determined. Her vision made her road rougher, but she persevered all the same. Her studies naturally drifted in the direction of how certain forms of magic interact with biological systems. This led her to the beastclans. Dragons were so innately tied to magic that one could not study biology without a bit of magic, but the Beastmen were not that way.

There were a few amenable to study. Most, however, were not. Rayzeel treated the "civilized" ones who let her study them with kindness, dignity, and respect. She gained sort of a reputation as a Beastclan doctor; if dragons had Beastclan allies, they could take them to Rayzeel for healing. She knew that magic impacted their systems differently, which was why strong healing magic used on some kinds of kamataichi could kill them outright. She knew how to set delicate harpy bones so they could fly again once the cast was off. She knew that grievously wounded Serthis tended to take poison to avoid being killed by their fellows, and administered a suite of antidotes first as a matter of course.

Rayzeel was good at what she did. A preeminent scholar in her field. She knew how to heal and put together beastclan species that nobody else did. She even picked up the common beastclan languages, hard as it was with her Coatl hearing. She came to Clan AXQU to partner with their chemist, developing medicine and tonics for this underserved group. Of course, Rayzeel has to protect draconic interests too. There are uses for the tonics that don't work out.

"Be Polite to Mother Death," reads a small inscription in one of the holding cells of her facility, scrawled there by desperate Harpy talons.

Best not to think about what happens to the ones who aren't polite.