[i]"I will not be judged by you.."[/i]

[u][color=red]tl;dr: Fantasy femdom Big Bad. Body and kinks are all you really need to know.[/color][/u]

[color=green][i]Light from beyond the living world, a vile, shifting glow of emerald illumination cast and filtered through twisting crystalline facets offered all the light those within the audience chamber required, bathing the inner court with an uneasy glow that seemed to crawl from the darkness to grasp and scrape at those who relied on it's baleful gift. Seated high upon a rigid and angular dais upon a throne of dark stone, its surface a blasphemous map of hard angles within whose confines countless tiny runes seethed and pulsed. Lit from within by a chilling azure glow that threw its occupant into stark relief. Zeryani Ealoeth, merchant-queen, warlock and undisputed lord and ruler of these lands, loomed over her subjects like the graven image of god, staring down at the writhing creatures groveling in darkness before her.

Clad in robes of deepest midnight that swelled like living shadows against the light of her throne. Cut after the male bare chested fashion no more then an inch of fabric to either side concealed the lewd details of an impressive bust, shape and definition came only from lines of cold jade worked into the blackened fabric. Geometric lines wrought into a repeating pattern of blunt tooth-like squares, between each a single point of jade light. This pattern she kept repeating across the hems of her robe while across her shoulder and back the sigil of her house and power. The great eye rested, fashioned of three wide V shapes, one to form the bottom rim while the remaining two inverted to finish the socket and lid to house and contain a harsh spiral of straight angles that formed the pupil. From the end of her sleeves metal-sheathed hands rested. Overlapping plates of dark steel that tapered down to form cruelly edged fingertips. Fine talons that drummed an absent tattoo of lingering patience.

Kneeling before her throne yet another mewling supplicant. But one of hundreds packing the vast hall in tightly-condensed islands of flesh and steel, they each needed something of the tower's mistress, and here, at the culmination of the Hanil Khar, the presentation of tribute and the renewal of the oath of fealty each awaited his or her turn to beg at Zeryani's feet, some came seeking protection from enemy's. Others to barter agreements of trade or to rouse the scourge of her power against there foes. All came seeking a boon and through long years of failure and pain those who sought Zeryani out had discovered how best to turn the self-styled witch queen's temper to there favour. Fine, exotic wood shipped from exotic Sujilk, ivory. Dwarf-cut stone and marble. Raw materials of fine quality served better then gold. Incense, replicas of rare tomes and examples of exotic arms and Armour. These things all served well and supplicants had ridden themselves into the dirt to procure them in the past. Of course for those seeking a shortcut to favor there existed one final method. Flesh. Imported from all corners of the globe Zeryani's harem was a thing spoken of in hushed whispered throughout the land.

Souls from the length and breath of the world have all found there way to the Tower of Chains. Slaves and chattel, entertainers, warriors. Men and woman of every conceivable talent and calling culled and offered up to sate the various hungers that stir within the tower's mistress. Those without merit are discarded, cast aside for Karazhan is not a place to rebel, there is no solace for the disobedient within it's walls an Zeryani has no patience for those who still harbour illusions of control or freedom.

Throughout the day it continues, an unbroken line from dawn till the fingers of dusk began to encroach upon the sky. Those who succeed in buying her favor left exalted, secure for the following year while those who met with failure were sent from The tower of chains in disgrace. Few who did not succeed ever lasted to try again, like a pack of wolves let loose from the master's leash those beneath her protection frequently turn upon the failed for to leave the failed and disgraced alive is to invite only trouble when next the time of tribute comes.[/i][/color]

[collapse=Personality][i][color=blue]Much has changed since the day Zeryani first assumed dominion over the earthbound. Time and experience have since blunted the bitter edges of a once scornful and unfeeling temperament, transforming the pale queen into something that resembles her erstwhile subjects, rather then a graven and judging goddess. Put simply she has softened- much of the languid, hyper-sexual state induced at the hands of her enemies, tempered by the giddy rush of power. Today she juggles the spheres of the leader and the hedonist. Often putting one aside that she might devote her full attention to the other, during the daylight hours she is Zeryani Ealoath, the pale queen. Who demands much of her subjects, yet never more then can be given, who has given her people the tools to conqueror and grow and now demands that they do. Plain-spoken and forthright to a fault with the confidence that only absolute power can bring. She is queen for life, empress and soverign and knows it.

When the sun sets however, and the demands of her people are stilled she becomes simply Zeryani- Yani to favoured pets. Shameless in her pursuit of pleasure and the indulgence of her vast sexual hunger. Softer-spoken, a lover who gives, then takes this veneer of restraint is just that. Beneath the surface Zeryani is a woman ruled by her lust, ridden by all-consuming obsession. Her poison is anal sex- for an ass tailored to her obscene tastes she will forgive much. This is not to say that all has changed, the pale queen still holds no patience for unwilling pets- whose existence is to serve or for the spark of rebellion. Zeryani no more tolerates the mouthy and unwilling within her harem today then she did then.

Lastly the habits of hatred and cruelty remain. Man-beasts suffer the majority of her irrational ire, what remains is doled out for those who meddle in her affairs and the bold few who, protesting her efforts, seek her out with murder in mind. Zeryani is not a woman inclined to balance. Her retribution is overweening mired in the cruelty of a woman scorned.[/color][/i][/collapse]

[collapse=Goals and ambitions][i]For as long as mankind has walked the earth other, elder species have held dominion. Arrogant elves and beings stranger still look upon the race of man with scorn. Decrying their crude words and fickle gods with the wilful ignorance or the unworthy, even as they strive to shackle humanity and deny their ascension. As one of the few humans possessed of the might to challenge this Zeryani has spread the web of her influence far and wide. Laying claim to vast swaths of land beneath the shadow of her tower and erecting in the shade the first of her envisioned bastions. Here, parasitic feeding off the great ley lines has allowed the witch-queen to birth an echo of greatness. A black citadel of magic and might- its inhabitants tainted by the raging influx of mystic energy those humans who call Zeryani queen may sport blackened souls and cruel hearts- but they bring culture and education in their wake, and every year more human land falls beneath the sway of her tainted armies.[/i]

[i]Lastly, personally Zeryani wishes to sustain her shattered husk. Ruined by ancient harm her broken body is only able to function by virtue of harvested sexual fluids- she must bathe, daily in the spent cum of others least her flesh falter and fail. To that end her hunger for slaves is unending. For every day dozens of unwilling supplicants are wrung dry. Compelled to cum time and again until there is nothing left to give. This process, wasteful though it is blesses Zeryani with the vigour of long-forgotten youth, and a libido that seethes with the insatiable fury of hot iron. Burning day and night for the quenching touch of sweet release.[/i]
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[collapse=Body] [i]"I do not fear these scars. Each is a memory. A victory I wear with pride"[/i]

[color=cyan]Standing near eight feet in height- a quirk of mystic tampering there are few beings alive able to invoke such a conflicting mesh of spoiled desire and abject dread as Zeryani. Clad in lengthy vestments of emerald-edged midnight, worn after the fashion of her younger, male counterparts she makes little appeal to modesty. Work open at the chest near to noting is left obscured while billowing sleeves provide a pleasing bulk and baggage to the affair. At the waist and below the illusion of decency continues unabated, held together by little more then a vague knot of blackened silk broad, bare thighs flash freely with every step, high collared her robe bears little by way of ornamentation. Simplistic, geometric designs encircle rigid shoulders. A pattern of basic shapes suggestive of strength and protection. The lines continue on from there, hemming without further alteration. Zeryani never did take pleasure from decoration beyond her outlandish tastes or needlessly elaborate dress. That said however, it was never the coverings that would concern an onlooker but instead what lay beneath. Granted a certain bulk by virtue of sheer size alone the gift of genetics and- an unfortunate lack of demanding physical activity have left the witch-queen with a build that could only be called “well curved” without irony or justification. From the swell of heavy breasts, fat, swollen orbs that dominate her chest through to the thick curve of broad, child-bearing hips Zeryani is a women manufactured after the classic model. Past her hips full thighs await, thick with muscle that fails to find definition and so instead appears only alluring , yet it is above this that her pride waits. Full, soft- easily the most feminine of her attributes, her ass. Often hidden away this prize is a lovers reward, her weakness and joy- one valued even over the treasure that lurks between her thighs. For while her sex is a thing of beauty. Full, plump with blood and heat, pristine- near virginal in its preservation it is overshadowed by its owner's backside.

Elsewhere some measure of physical strength remains, lines of abdominal muscle peer out weakly from her belly and squirm along the lines of her arms when bared and flexed. Not enough to inspire fear, or even obedience her limited muscle simply is. No- what compels others to dread lurks much closer to the surface...

Zeryani is scarred, ruined, a shattered husk of alabaster flesh savagely torn from any promise of beauty and thrust instead into stark ruin. No shallow cuts, no lingering wound the map of her harm tells a hateful tale of devastation that has left precious little untouched. Four such lines gash at her face. Above the left eye a crude X lurks while across the bridge of nose and below burning sockets a second line rests, near to touching the final slash torn across the curve of her right cheek. From there on the damage grows only more and more severe, ragged, screaming rents torn from her flesh yaw and simmer with the memory of pain, great strips of meat- a finger's length deep in places have been peeled from her breasts and belly. Ragged wounds course from shoulder to fingertip and across her lower body without remorse. All that has escaped harm is the mound of her sex itself, somehow spared the mottled grey stain of ancient wounds poorly healed. Such damage has, naturally taken its toll upon the woman. Zeryani lacks the strength to move at any speed for long, the power of her grip is all but gone without magical aid and the simple pleasures of flexibility have been denied to her as muscles torn apart by this harm will no longer endure such demands.

Completing the image are lips stained a cool shade of purple, hair like a nest of tangled snakes. Thick lengths of snowy white that fall to frame the woman's most terrible feature- that which has driven away all but the most daring of individuals. Her eyes- pools of depthless midnight surrounding an iris of blazing yellow light. The mark of great and consuming power these burning orbs all but smother the pupil, lending Zeryani a singularly piercing gaze. Prone to throwing fat, burning sparks of golden fire when aroused or angered few can meet her eye for long- for they are not made to convey emotion and even her smiles carry with them a silent weight of unkind judgment. But, for the brave soul able to master this creature. To endure her gaze and find beauty in the shattered halls of her flesh there awaits a final reward- though her body may be broken and torn where her flesh matters most there has been no damage, the puckered ring of her asshole is a pliant, thick thing of obscene promise. Elastic and ever-willing, greedy even for intrusion. Capable of clenching tight and welcoming a guest into the fat velvet passageway of her bowels without so much as a whisper of complaint- and her sex remains near as tight as it first did. Thick, full and active the pale lady produces a burning nectar, silver-white and charged with its makers potency while within, her snatch quivers with muscle and talent rarely used. For it is a fortunate soul indeed to be invited to take her womanhood.[/color] [/collapse]

[collapse=FAQ]
[i]"You say X here but over there it's Y, what gives?"[/i] Generally if you notice a discrepancy it's either something I've missed or something that's getting changed now or in the near future. Just ask, sometimes I know about it

[i]"Why did you ask me to not play a herm/futa?"[/i] Because you approached me. If I need to ask you to change something then I won't message you, unless I'm also willing to compromise. If you've come to me, my feelings are well documented so it will come up
[i]
"How come your listed as a lesbian if you take girlcock?"[/i] Because F-list doesn't have a "Typical rp female" sexuality that covers females and situational shemales. I understand this bothers people however it's closest to the truth

[i]"I don't like anal, at all. Can we play?"[/i] No.

[i]"Will you ever play your character with a dick?"[/i] Only under a handful of circumstances. A very, very good partner and session. Or if my partner wants to experience harrowing rape, unwilling pregnancy and birth play. In both cases her cock is twelve inches, roughly the same girth as a coke can and sports a row of silver studs. It exists purely to be a sexually agonizing experience and invoking it transforms Zeryani into a sexually aggressive rapist[/collapse]