Razgrizel

Image is mine.

I also have permission from Vorry to use . Love ya, you edible dragon-thing. :3

'Amidst the eternal waves of time
From a ripple of change shall the storm rise
Out of the Abyss peer the eyes of a demon
Behold the Razgriz, its wings a black sheath

The demon soars through dark skies
Fear and death trail its shadow
Until men united wield a hallowed sabre
In the final reckoning the beast is slain

As the Demon sleeps man turns on man
His own blood and madness spread throughout the earth
From the depths of despair awaken the Razgriz
Its raven wings ablaze with majestic might.'

At least, that's how it was supposed to go. She couldn't remember the poem entirely, much less how much it really applied to her. The 'she' in question, an apparent combination of features from raptors and sharks--in short, a sergal--was supposed to be a goddess. An Angel of Death first; then, after a phoenix-like self-immolation, and lead the Children of Men to victory against their foes, united at last.

She would sleep then, waiting for the time when she would return a hero. When she did return, though, only the memories of bloodshed and war stayed with her. None of the good things of humanity--the bonds that tied them together, the joy of the after-battle vigor that kept them from turning on one-another. ONLY the war. ONLY the pain. ONLY the suffering that she felt as her own forces died under the onslaught of the enemy.

When she awoke again, her body exploded into existence. It didn't simply coalesce, like it had the thousands of times beforehand. Her rage drove her over the edge, and she forced her way into this plane of reality with such force that it blocked out the sun, ashes from the mountain she slumbered in streaking the sky and spreading dirt along the earth in a crescent that stretched from one hemisphere to the other before settling back to the soil it had spread from. You might recall the explosion of Mt. St. Helens. This is an effective equivalent.

Her head, Sergaloid in nature, with the long-eared, long-and-thin-snouted features of the southern subspecies, bears a long, crescent-shaped tattoo on its muzzle; that is, on the top of her triangular head, from the tip of her nose to just in front of her eyes, there is a long tattoo of a silver, jagged-bladed scythe that seems printed onto the inverted-color, blue fur, even moving as one with it in the wind. The right side of the scythe's haft appears to have a stylized daemon wing drawn onto it, spread, like it was flared and trying to stop all forward motion. The sides of her head, black-furred, seem to flare out slightly with the tufts of fuzz that her race possessed, the color lightening slightly as it moved along her ears. The entirety of her long, lithe, and dangerous body was black-furred, in keeping with her legend.

Her wings, possibly the most important part of herself to the ones who followed her legend, were feathered. Raven-colored, the feathers mimicking the rest of her body in their thin, long and dangerous shape, her wings even looked hawkish, like they belonged to a predator.

She wears sergal battledress, even when not fighting. Her helmet, chest, and loincloth are all grey, as though they were never colored by some sort of lazy artist, but were instead shaded in differing tones of graphite from a leaded pencil. Across her chest is a bra-like contraption, only really serving to keep her covered. Its coloring is as black as her fur, the shade as impenetrable as the night. Her eyes, on the other hand, represent the sun in its glory, golden-red and burning with an internal, fiery passion stoked by war and bloodshed.

Her weapon is a long-hafted spear ten feet in length, steel, forged in the fires of the core itself, folded to the point that its length is tinged blue from the ore's chemical makeup. The blade is three feet of razor-sharpened steel, capable of cutting through plate and chain mail if enough force is put behind it. On the blade is a series of runes, only small enough for the wielder to really see in detail, that state the poem given at the beginning of this profile.

Razgrizel, standing at roughly 16'5", her digitigrade legs providing most of that height, is whip-thin in appearance, with muscles cast for enduring hardship and physical activity. She's at least three times as strong as the world's strongest man, and can outdo most in physical activities. What else would you expect from a demi-goddess?

Work in Progress, Alt of Prophanti. Any sliders not present may be discussed with the player. Due to recent events, though, I feel it necessary to say that I will not do unwilling vore if I haven't discussed it with you beforehand, in either an IC or OOC manner. If you haven't read this far in the profile, then whatever limbs you lose and whatever injuries you gain are your own fault if you choose to not listen to the three or four warnings I will give you before I go nuts with the hurt. Thank you for your time. :3