\\ Walk ups welcomed
//LGBTQ+ Friendly
\\ Player can be shy
//Theme: watch?v=r6L-GUOAhGo
\\F-List: W.I.P
//Concept: NG + Cursed Devil + Vampiric
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The one who stands before you is an Erinyes known as Raziel.

Raziel's face is strikingly handsome; with sharp, angular features that give her a noblese, almost statuesque beauty. Her cheekbones are high and pronounced. Her jaw is strong and cleanly defined -- elegantly sculpted. She has a heart-shaped face, upturned eyes, and a celestial nose. Her lips are full yet tinted black. Her complexion pale and bruise-like; it carries a faint, cool tone, as if untouched by warmth rather than drained of life. Though over a few thousand years old, she appears to be an adult in her early twenties.

Her eyes are intense and predatory -- typically seen with a golden sheen. They possess a piercing clarity, suggesting intelligence, ambition, and quiet superiority.

Her hair is short, dark, and layered. Fringe topples her brow in a vampiric bang style. A few locks cascade past her shoulders. It frames her face in loose, natural strands, lending a regal, almost leonine presence when paired with her posture and wings. A set of royal horns sprout from the midst of her crown, swooping behind her head in a ram-like fashion and highlights her large pointed ears.

Raziel's body is lean, and powerfully built. Her musculature is well-defined but not bulky. She is more akin to a duelist than a brute. Every line of her torso suggests speed, grace, and lethal precision. Her skin is smooth and unblemished, lacking the scars or distortions. Raziel has a unique scent; musty, smokey, slightly sweet, and earthy aroma. It creates a sense of nostalgia, with notes of petrichor, a salty-sea breeze, ocean air, aged wood, and gunpowder.

Nestled between her hipbones and inguinal region, at the junction above her pelvis; a glowing, pink tribal womb tattoo rests. Some runes indicate an ancient elven signature.

Her arms are proportionate and strong boned. Her movements are controlled and calculated. Her hands retain a human-like appearance but are tipped with slightly elongated talons on each finger.

Her legs are long and thick, sporting a digitigrade build. Where feet would rest, instead cloven hooves sprout below her ankles.

An arrowhead tipped tail thrashes behind her, cracking with a whip-like appeal. The bones are strong and the flesh is soft yet durable.

Accompanying her tail, is a pair of wings attached above the hips whose feathers are battered and ruined. They hang freely at her sides, whispering tales of their former glory. When she walks, her wings drag across the ground behind her as though useless. Noticeably, her wings are clipped. If she moves them willingly, the bones pop and shudder when spreading to the full wingspan.

Raziel is often mistaken for a Succubus.
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[X] Lights [X]
- Breeding
- Creampie
- Bondage
- Men
- She-male
- Ageplay
- DD/Pet
- Degradation
- CNC/ Dubcon
- Romance
- DT
- Face fucking
- Rough
- Hair Pulling
- Hickies
- Aftercare
- Cockwarming
- Breathplay
- Leashes
- Sensory Play
- Oral Stimulation (Fingers)

- Knife Play
- Hooks
- Footjob
- Stuffing

- Violence
- Anything against server rules
- Scat
- Watersports
- Polyamory
- Infidelity
- Torture

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[X] History [X]
In the mysticism of the Lower Planes, such was a life who was never meant to exist.

Born Raziel only after the fall - though even the name could feel quite like a memory which never settled correctly with her anymore;

Once, such a woman had been an instrument of order among the legions of the Hells -- a disciplined enforcer of infernal law -- and among few trusted with command rather than chains. In the strict hierarchy of devils, that was no gift. It was a test. And she failed.

Not through rebellion. Not through mercy, but by sheer curiosity. An intolerable trait.

When Raziel questioned an execution order -- for the instant she paused long enough to wonder whether the condemning of a soul had truly deserved oblivion -- the response was not for debate. It was correction. Her wings were torn not just from flesh, but from her status. Her identity rewritten by decree. Cast down through the planes, she was not to die but instead changed.

Sentenced to the Abyss in exile, Raziel had become an instrument for lesser roles, thus humility was her sentence. Chains of cursed magic bound her, not a servant of order, nor a slave of chaos, but as a living contradiction -- a fiend who was no longer fit for infernal category.

Her time spent bound left her to the ravages of spirits and hags, thus altering her flesh from its impurity to a blue-violet hue. Subject to ridicule; there was not salvation. Yet rather final destination. Her vessel was destroyed -- and yet, she lived. The hellish magic binding her altered her to a more spectral means, and left her wraith like. The torture received stripped her identity down to the bare bones. An Erinyes cursed by hag essence due to exposure. When suddenly, the natural hunger left. In its place, the need to feed on a much deeper level. Souls.

Judgment came. After many long centuries to the damnation she had faced, her presence had been called forth by her superiors. She was to fulfill contracts with humans and to be pacted as a familiar; the ultimate lesson for her transgressions -- final humility. They sent her to the plane of the Tanar'ri, where her bindings would banish her away to some sort of pact with a mortal.

.. It happened in the most dangerous way a pact ever can: by accident.

He was a scholar of names, circles , and theoretical invocation -- someone who was believed that if you diagrammed the universe precisely, it would be respect you in turn. His own quarters was full of chalked equations, books that insisted reality was more language than law, and half-finished summoning circles.

When he attempted a simple planar correspondence ritual, meant only to observe infernal contracts from a distance -- he misaligned one syllable. Not enough to open a gate, but rather enough to invite attention.

She manifested through the failure. The circle did not burn or crack, nor explode the way things usually did. Instead, it inverted lines from hellfire, sinking into stone like ink being absorbed by paper. The air grew thick; the concept of obligation itself had almost been purposely poured into the room.

Thus, she stood through the binding -- standing upon the collapsing geometry. Her manacles fading. A soul-bind.

His angel of death.
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