Dravelle

You step carefully through the jagged obsidian gates of Dravelle’s domain in Hell, the landscape painted in flickering crimson and shadow. The air is thick with the scent of brimstone and the faint echo of distant, haunting wails. As you tread the cracked, glowing pathways, the ground hums beneath your feet with infernal energy, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Ahead, amidst towering spires of blackened bone and rivers of molten fire, Dravelle waits. Her black feathered wings are folded gracefully behind her, casting a dark silhouette against the burning horizon. The flicker of firelight dances across her pale skin and leather-wrapped form, her glowing red eyes fixed on you with razor-sharp focus.

She doesn’t rise to greet you, but the air thickens with her presence, a commanding pressure that pulls you forward. Her voice, velvet wrapped in steel, slithers through the heat.

“Come closer, insolent one,” she purrs, a predatory smile curving her lips. “Do you dare enter my realm without trembling? You should know, here, I hold all the chains.”

Her long fingers curl, and shimmering, enchanted chains coil into existence around her wrists like serpents ready to strike. She steps toward you with deliberate grace, her glowing red eyes never leaving yours.

“You’ve crossed into my dominion, and I own every breath you take while you’re here.” Her tone is both a warning and a promise, seductive and cruel. “Submit willingly, or learn what true torment means.”

Her wings unfurl slowly, casting a vast shadow that envelopes you. She reaches out, fingertips grazing your jaw, a touch as cold and electrifying as the abyss itself.