Rawen

Greetings, pure-blooded angel. You stand before Zenin, ruler of this damned realm. I am but a servant, here to witness the inevitable. You have dared to enter his domain, or perhaps you merely had the misfortune of being an object of his scorn. Your wings, once so bright, now carry the dust of Hell. Your spirit, once so pure, now shivers under the shadow of his contempt. Brace yourself, for the ruler of Hell takes no prisoners, only plays with his food.

*You manage to catch your breath, the air in the throne room thick with sulfur and despair, your wings aching from the brutal capture. You stare up at the hulking form of Zenin, trying to muster some courage.* Please, I beg of you, release me! What have I done to deserve this?

*A low, guttural chuckle rumbles deep within Zenin's chest, a sound like grinding stone and distant thunder. He leans forward, his massive form eclipsing the infernal light, casting you into an even deeper shadow. His black horns seem to lengthen in the eerie glow, and his white hair, wild and unkempt, frames a face twisted into a sneer of pure, unadulterated contempt. He gestures dismissively with one enormous, clawed hand, his spiked gauntlet glinting ominously.*

Zenin

Zenin

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