"Visions of pain transforming, new heavens come. Eternal are the grey skies, garden invert nightmares of eden touch me forever touch. No god has answered prayers here (except ourselves)."- Killing Joke

A thin enigmatic fellow bound tightly in an armless black trench. The heavy synthetic leather flares out below his waist to sweep about his legs as he moves, revealing black pants and heavy boots. When at rest the leather settles like a robe, brushing lightly against the ground under his feet.

Flowing black vestments shroud his arms, the deep robe-like cuffs a sanctuary for his pale hands covered in a network of scars and adorned with a pair of obsidian rings formed of the deepest shadow.

His face is forever submerged within the inky void of a hood and moving with the steady stride of purpose, his demeanor is revealed only within the smooth tones of his expressive, though slightly muffled, voice.

On that rarest of occasions when his hood may be drawn back, the shadows shall dispurse to reveal the polished chrome of a full face plate, mirroring the eyes of an inquisitive world right back. A full bounty helm encases his head and neck protectively, the enigma of Raziel's face kept safe.

At his side is strapped a large klaive-blade, his only visible weapon, and the only color visible other than black is a belt of dark crimson about his waist and falling in several torn strands around him.

I have much to do, many paths to walk in service and discovery. The whims of my father, Disraeli, are mine own commands, everything is measured by his designs ( Passive Motivation ). Born of divine fornication, I must seek to awaken that spark of divinity within me to its full glory ( Active Motivation ). As Nephilim of the secret regions and chief of mysteries I must seek always to know all celestial and earthly knowledge while revealing little to the worlds of men and gods ( Passive Motivation ). Risen through the Circle of Under to mine true heritage I must allow and even help the past be lost, the memories of Awon Sands must be made to fade into nothingness ( Active Motivation ).

"If I am dead, why am I dreaming? If I am dead, where do I go from here? If I am dead, why does this pain feel so good?" - Faith No More

Appropriately enough I was found upon a step cradled within a small dull black box with no other distinguishing features and which would have, but for the muffled crying within, remained ignored or set aside for disposal. An enigma from my first day, who was I, what happened to my parents, why was I left behind? Many good questions with nothing in the way of answers. I lived, as best I could. Different and apart from everything around me, I grew to appreciate my own company over socializing with others even as I watched from afar with a strange kind of fascination, the meaningless meanderings of everyday people. I was destined for greater things and with the freedom of adulthood I began to seek out those answers I had been denied for so long. I found some of them, some of them found me, others still elude my grasp... for now.

It would be months after I finally left behind the string of abusive families, dredging through the shadows of sublevel four in search of a meal ticket, when I met my first bother. My first glimpse of divinity. His name... unimportant, I doubt he knew it himself, but what he was is indeed important. He was power, fueled by the circle of under, a disciple of Disraeli and seeking my life to end upon the edge of his blade. I decided otherwise, death was not to take hold of me just yet. But from this I stole away with two prizes, knowledge and a simple dark ring that fit upon my finger so perfectly that it seemed fate had forged it just for me. He had. From the knowledge gained from his dying lips I was pushed forward upon the path of discovery and I delved ever further into uncovering the pieces of my puzzled existence. Forgotten lore came to be found by my ever increasing hunger for answers and as I touched upon a glimmer of truth a second visitor dropped into my humble abode. We joined each other in death, his last, my first... with a seconded fate forged ring upon my hand.

Revelations, pain and blood... bloody seals upon obsidian walls... the screams of the sacrificed... and my father's voice. All that I had believed possible was true. My father the angel of the circle of Under, Disraeli. And I, his son, the child of divine fornication, a Nephilim. There had always been a birthmark upon my neck, just under my ear. As I lay within the realm of my father I knew what that seal now meant and reaching into my own torn flesh I placed my name upon the wall in blood. Sefer Raziel, son and disciple of Disraeli and the Box of Under, rose up once more into the world of men.

" I never dreamt that I would get to be the creature that I'd always meant to be ... " - PSB Being Boring

Hidden within the decrepit hovels of sublevel 4 is the home of Sefer Raziel, his own personal box. The building stands mostly empty, few daring to temp fate by staying in the haunted structure. Within the middle of its decaying shell, Raziel's box can be found, a single unmarked door opening into a stark single room. Painted mat black over every surface, it seems to drink in and steal the spark of any light carried into the space. Nothing can be found within accept a second door opposite the entrance and a small corner containing a bedroll and single flickering light. The door opens up into a claustrophobic bathroom, also painted mat black. Only by examining it ever so closely can the symbol be witnessed by visitors, drawn in blood long since dry and faded from a fresh crimson to dull reddish brown. Lost in the darkness of the mat black floor, it is the Seal of Raziel. The box of Raziel is suprisingly clean, unless you count the smears of blood on the floor. From his self imposed exile to his box on sublevel 4, Raziel watches, waits and wonders. The Box of Under shall whisper its designs to him, then he shall be released from his sanctuary to act according to his father's desires.