Azrael
*Angel*
Fallen Archangel
Death is the LAST person you want to mess with. Period.
Posts: 33
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Post by Azrael on Aug 4, 2009 15:32:22 GMT -5
He'd found her.
Or rather, he hoped he was going to. One might imagine that an angel would be able to find almost anybody they wanted, no matter what. And yes, while that generally might be true, certain implications made this search generally harder than most.
First of all, he didn't even know who the hell it was he was looking for. As per his "source", all he had to go on was that he was looking for a woman and her son, both of which apparently shared his blood. He didn't even manage to get a name or anything out of that filthy scum of a demon. Second, normally an angel would be able to tap into Heaven's resources, look back in time, etc. And taking into consideration the fact that Azrael was, well, barred from Heaven and a self-descriptive outcast, that option was practically impossible.
Torturing a few demons hadn't got him much farther either, especially since most of them were just the low-life foot soldiers that didn't know shit. It took a while for him to finally make up his mind resort to some, well, some rather dangerous old powers.
Simply put, he was going to tap into some of his angelic grace.
When angels spawned nephilim, these nephilim would inherit their grace, so to speak. It was almost like they held a trace of the angel's powers, now having spread and blossomed within the soul of another. If Azrael could connect with his grace, now hidden within the souls of his two descendants, then he would be able to find them. But to do so required utilizing some hazardous practices. If he wasn't careful, the connection could very well cause his grace to rip apart his descendant's soul.
Breathing deeply, Azrael kneeled down on the damp earth of the cemetery. He'd chosen to do it here because of the power this place held for him; as Death, all the graves here held a trace of his touch, and that small spark, multiplied by the number of bodies, made this place a nexus of strength for him. He could use that extra power, considering the complexity of the ritual.
Ancient runes had been carved into the earth, and religious relics were arranged in intricate designs around each of the runes. In the middle of everything was a weathered stone basin, its outer surface covered in runes similar to the ones on of the ground.
Summoning his scythe, Azrael brandished the weapon, and holding it's edge before him, used it to cut open the palm of his left hand. Dark red blood immediately began to flow from the wound, dripping down steadily onto the ground and down his arm.
He held the hand out and turned it over, allowing some of the blood to flow freely into the middle of the stone basin. As he allowed the stone basin to fill, he set his scythe down at his knees, allowing it to rest there. Since his scythe was connected with his grace, its presence would help guide the ritual.
After a moment, he withdrew his hand, the deep laceration healing almost immediately. By now, the bowl was filled to the brim with his blood.
Bowing his head, he motioned the sign of the cross into the air with his right hand. "E nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti," his voice chanted, his tone wrought with concentration. Almost immediately. He could feel the night air stir, and the trees shudder.
With quick and nimble movements, he unbuttoned his shirt, exposing his bare chest to the cool night breeze. Even in the dark Azrael could see the seal tattooed on his chest; it was a testament to his betrayal of God, which in turn bound most of the powers he once possessed as an archangel. The seal appeared on every human body he'd ever taken on his own, as a permanent sign of what we was and what he'd done.
Disregarding those thoughts, he dipped his finger in the blood, and used it to trace several more runes and glyphs, this time on his body. In this specific instance, he was using his blood, his body, as a conduit to channel the connection.
And then he began, citing the ancient ritual in a tongue long forgotten. "Cruor of meus cruor, dico vos. Permissum iunctio intus nos exorior, quod exsisto prognatus iterum. Permissum venia intus nos convenio, quod vinculum una quis eram quondam lacer seorsum. Permissum verum adveho, quod pario quis eram pallium."
Once again, Azrael could feel the atmosphere around him changing, almost churning and with the energy that filled it. He knew that this was it; if he did this, and chose to go through with the ritual, there was no going back. Once the connection was forged, once he found his descendants, he couldn't undo it. He'd be able to sense them, know them.
Before he could have any second thoughts, he finished the incantation. "Patris, dico vos. Venia, dico vos. Commodo mihi vestri vires!" The wind began to blow, almost violently, as the power reached its height.
Now, all he had to do was wait.
Translation:
Blood of my blood , I call you. Let the connection within us come forth, and be born again. Let the grace within us come together, and bond together what was once torn apart. Let truth come, and bring forth what was stolen.
Father, I call you. Grace, I call you. Give me your strength!
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Post by Lexi Blair on Aug 4, 2009 19:47:00 GMT -5
Sitting alone with Sebastian in his room, Lexi cooed to the infant as she rocked him and thought about how drasticly her life had changed in the last few years. Her dark haired little boy gazed up at her with big blue eyes and seemed to read her thoughts as he wrapped a finger around her thumb and held on. She would swear the baby was far more advanced than he should be for his age but who was she to judge? Maybe all mother thought that of their infants.
Suddenly, as if a buzz of energy swamped her, Lexi's head shot up and she glanced around as if searching for an attack. The feeling of something happening made her leap to her feet and place Bastian in the crib. Although she could find no threat nearby, there was a jerking sensation that forced her to close her eyes and seek out that which was pulling her.
What she found made her cry out in astonishment. An angel stood alone in a ritualitistic circle and there were symbols drawn everywhere. His own eyes were closed until he opened them to gaze right at her.
In that moment, as their souls connected, visions of her past flashed through her mind in a calidescope of images. Her as an infant being abandoned on the bus stop floor, the foster homes she'd been forced to stay at, the abuse leveled on her young shoulders,her determination and pure stubborn will that kept her trudging along, her first date, the beatings she'd taken for things she had never done, the scared run away hiding in the back of Eriks car, the ragged teenager on Bobby's doorstep, the hunteress she had become with Pops' help, and finally all the current events of her love for Max, their marriage and the birth of their son.
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Azrael
*Angel*
Fallen Archangel
Death is the LAST person you want to mess with. Period.
Posts: 33
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Post by Azrael on Aug 4, 2009 20:34:07 GMT -5
Azrael was just kneeling there, expectant and patient, when it finally hit him. He felt the pressure driving itself through every inch of his human body, pulling at his essence, expanding it. For a moment, he felt like he was existing in both forms of existence; he was both the archangel Azrael, the angel of Death, as well as the human, Jasper Moretti. It was the strangest sensation, and yet, not even the strangest.
The rush that grabbed him, which suspended him all the while it pulled and tugged at him, seemed to bring with the sensation of another mind, almost like an extra appendage. He instinctively knew this was the other...his descendant, Elizabeth's descendant.
As his reached for her, desperate for answers, his ice-blue eyes flew open. He could see her, feeling her, sense her. She was every bit as lovely as Elizabeth had been, almost a perfect reenactment of her. And then the memories...suddenly the memories filled him.
They first came in only sporadic flashes, flitting across his consciousness. The most prominent aspect however was the unbridled emotion attached; Azrael could feel the sadness, the loneliness, all the pain. It took of a large part of her, almost like a cancer that had festered all to long. But then there were also flashes of happiness, of friendship, and of love. Despite the darkness in her mind, the light seemed most prominent, represented by the image of a small baby boy.
It was as though Azrael's grace had bound them together, and was was merging their consciousnesses, making them one. He needed to be her, in part, if he was going to find out who she was. Already he could sense a name, but to him, a name wasn't enough. He needed her, all of her.
Just as it seemed that they had merged, and her full memories and existence were about to be open to him, he felt a agonizing pain shoot through his human body. Distracted and once again conscious of reality, he looked down, only to see the seal on his chest glowing a vicious red. He tried to fight it, tried to regain control, but the seal's power seemed to eclipse the strength of his grace.
Suddenly, the searing agony erupted in his chest again, and as though a bomb had gone off in front of him, Azrael was blown backward, his body crashing through several gravestones and tombs. In the one instance, he felt the bond between the grace he held and that within the girl shatter, and all awareness of her seemed to slip away into nothing.
Coughing amongst the cloud of debri, Azrael slammed his fist down on the remains of a stone wall beside him, cracking it even further. "Fuck!" he cursed aloud, wiping away some blood from a small cut on his face with his hand.
Heaven had interfered. He knew that the seal was meant to only block away his higher powers, keep him in check. And yet any angel should have been able to do this ritual. His seal acting up...it meant that someone up there didn't want him to finish the ritual. Someone was trying to keep him away from the girl, from his descendant. It came to him at the same time, that all those years ago, he'd left Elizabeth because angels had been after him. Did this conspiracy actually go back that far? Had Heaven really been manipulating him that long, keeping him and his blood separate?
Despite their attempts, they apparently hadn't bargained on Azrael's strength. He hadn't been able to access all her memories, but a two important things had slipped through; a name, and a place.
Lexi Blair. WICKED.
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