My name is Raum.
I was an angel of the Erelim order before I was thrown out with those that followed Lucifer, believed corrupt even though I was only young.
Lucifer hid my angelic nature from me and had me believe I was a demon, giving me place and power as an Earl and commander of 30 of his legions in Hell.
Not that it matters anymore as I have neither title nor legions to command.
Broke a few rules on my voyage to earth and got dragged back down to get reacquainted with the rack. Now little more than some dog on a demon's leash.

((SPN OC RP blog.
Based on canon up to season 6-ish. OOC has seen up until mid season 8 though and is happy to play along with anything really.
Face Claim is Milo Ventimiglia. Not him etc.))
theme by itsniall

The Angel With No Memories (and The Witch With Too Many) 


A rare few days of freedom topside had the angel following tangents of memory, wandering through streets and popping around the country. When he materialized on the large front lawn of the hauntingly familiar house he didn’t move forward towards the door or move on to the next location. He just stood, trying to figure out why it felt safe, staring at the building.

The house sensed him, just as Alex did. The angel who had lurked so awkwardly, yet endearingly, and had been missing for so long was now standing in the yard just as awkwardly.

If Raum was anything, he was consistent.

She crossed the kitchen quietly and, ever so gently, opened the front door. She could sense confusion within Raum, more than normal, and the last thing she wanted to do was startle the poor man.

“Hey there, Raum,” she greeted calmly, still in her pajamas, looking him over carefully. He was…very different, poor guy.

He takes a moment, still staring up at the second floor, before he slowly eyes over. Yet another person who knew his name. He blinks and takes in the woman’s appearance. Some sting of recognition but nothing more than he’d had with others.

"You know me." He frowns and tilts his head barely. It was a horrible sensation, the people he’d known, who knew him still. Guilt and frustration with a big old serving of complete confusion.