Azrael Scheiss

She's the holy reverend mother of scat-films; she's the prettiest face to ever be plastered on the most disgusting and dehumanizing of acts imaginable by man; she's the ultimate plastic dream-girl of every basement-dwelling fecalphiliac and sweating extreme-fisting enthusiast with a web connection and a credit card in the world.

For a price, she'll make private appearances just about anywhere. For twice the price, she'll dress up like a concentration-camp victim. That same price will get you a tailored Nazi uniform, which you get to keep. One for each of your friends is $100 apiece. For only $10,000 more, she'll let you touch. For three times that, she'll let you do anything you want, just short of killing her. And for three times that, she'll tell you things about Hell that nobody on this side of the grave has any business knowing.

Oh, and for about the price of a pack of smokes, she'll get any form of information out of anything alive, assuming that you don't care what condition the informant ends up in. Her fake-German accent occasionally slips. Sometimes, she answers to the name 'Nick'. And there's a still-ticking 1950's alarm-clock embedded right in the middle of her back, surrounded by infected scabs.

And she keeps killing people. And she's not good at covering it up, which is why she hires so many people to 'take care of things'.

Azrael Scheiss, the Angel of Shit & Death, is one of the Nether Realm's meanest survivors, and she wasn't born a girl.

In 1993, a skinny man without a dime to his name died somewhere in Buffalo County, South Dakota. He went un-mourned and un-missed, fermenting in a trailer in his own vodka-scented urine and a whole lot of bizarre, racially-charged rape/snuff-fantasy porn. In his belongings were found a handgun, a collection of dildos that had to be handled by a hazmat team, and pretty extensive plans to kill and/or sodomize a whole lot of people. That much has been tracked down a confirmed by a bevy of curious crashers. What happened next is up for debate: some say that the Shit-Angel was reborn in 'her' current form in the depths of some unnamed torture garden, where she promptly killed her way out. More conservative estimates project that 'she' was shipped here and there across the Bad Ending and slowly cut into the shape of a pretty little thing to be passed around like the Devil's Own Party favor over the course of the next decade.

Either way, a very timid, lost and lonely woman with a sick sense of humor and skin made out of what appears to be regenerating pink rubber hitched a ride out with a team of 'Crashers in 2002, and she's been putting her knowledge of torture, self-mutilation and the cartography of the Hot Spot to good use since.

Neither as famous as Legend Kligrapp or as feared as Detier, the fact is that Azrael Scheiss simply isn't particularly interested in crashing. She's over-priced by the standards of work-a-day Joes, she has no real information on entrances or exits, she won't go near a cherry for any price, and she can't be trusted. That bears repeating, actually: SHE CAN'T BE TRUSTED.

But there are a few facts about the Great Letdown that only Azrael is willing to sell. And when certain Cheneys like Filthy Walter want a private audience with a self-declared expert, they often call up Schiess for a formal sit-down. Most teams of crashers only work with her tangentially, meeting her in the company of a smithers or being sent to get a description of a particular phenomena from her, personally. There are a few crews that keep her on speed-dial to loosen the tongues of people who piss them off, and she occasionally hires crashers she's met to clean up her messes when a "date" goes badly.

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