Banishment had been... unexpected. Weeks prior to now, he'd lingered outside the portal between his own, smoldering and dead world, and the blazing bright light of an unknown new one. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't afraid of what might have laid on on the other side. Unsure if death might have been vastly preferable to being cast out and away. Surely, surely the incensed Charred Council wouldn't do anything that might bring any level of happiness or comfort to a traitor, even if the act had been borne from deceit.
... Weeks later though, well. He'd had his answer about which was preferable the second he arrived here.
A strange new world, with a familiar, but still foreign Greater Power, full to the brim with humans. With life. He'd have tried to find a way to send a thank you back home if he hadn't been sure it'd be seen as passive aggressive.
Aside from a singular mishap, he'd not yet been seen by anything sapient. Oh sure, one human had stumbled home, breathless and awestruck at the sight of a tall and winged entity in the park, but he'd taken great care not to let that happen again. Moving invisibly was simple for him after all, and direct interaction was... iffy still. Didn't want to make any mistakes.
But it was so difficult to pass by that shop, for a multitude of reasons, really. How could a scholar just waltz past a bookshop? How could an angel just ignore the feeling radiating behind that door? Not a powerful being, no, but there was no denying the comfort it brought to linger by the door itself for a time, little more than dust motes in a sunbeam and the faint scent of freshly turned earth just barely touching the air.
Like a specter did he finally enter, silent and careful, taking care to adjust to the size of the shop itself. Smaller, far more human sized, wings pulled tight as he fully manifested in the furthest most part of the shop. Away from the windows and doors.
After all, it was very hard to flip through pages when one didn't have any hands.
There had been something different in the last couple of weeks. He couldn't quite put his finger on it - just a change in the air, something new and strange and...despite it all, he didn't quite felt like it was a threat. He couldn't explain why. In fact, he'd talked it over with Crowley, and the demon had felt it too. It was hard not to feel defensive or concerned, however, considering the last time things were happening on an ethereal level.
So he's been a bit on alert. Weeks are barely a breath for someone several eons old, but it was enough for him to find some distractions after a while. Distractions that stop serving him the moment he feels something has stepped foot inside the shop.
...well, that might be the wrong word choice. He didn't hear any steps. Or the door opening or closing, for that matter. But he sits at his desk, head suddenly raised, an overwhelming feeling of deja vu washing over him.
He stands up carefully, puts away his glasses, and quietly, carefully, steps out into the shop, and begins looking among the shelves.
The feeling in the shop would be... calm. Supernaturally so, really. The air was clean, the sensation light, almost sleepy. The light filtering in, while not brilliant, had taken on a hazy, almost rosy tint. Full noon it might damn well be, but for just a moment, it'd feel more like a summer twilight.
It wouldn't be hard to follow him, at least. As the shadows grew longer in the back of the shop, the light of the archangel's wings grew all the brighter, casting an otherworldly, cool blue glow across the books. The rustle of feathers gently skirting across the floor and past book shelves, the gentle sensation of the air in a church yard after a thunder storm.
Azrael was indeed well aware at this point that he wasn't going to remain unfound for long. He'd speak moments before he could be seen, not wanting to startle the other angel too terribly.
"I apologize, for not using the door properly. I fear I'm not quite in any state for most humans to see, yet."
Edited (usin words right the first time woo) 2019-09-09 00:29 (UTC)
As peaceful as the whole change might be - in fact, it kind of complements the whole aesthetic of the shop, he would definitely appreciate it had it not been very sudden and unnatural -, it startles him that it happens at all, of course. And the moving lights and growing shadows, and definitely the voice - that last one causes him to jump, quickly turning to try and find its origin.
Whatever is in here, it feels...angelic. Divine. Which, when most would think that would be comforting, it is very much the opposite. One could thank his history.
His back is pressed against the side of a shelf, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
Sorry, Zira! If he'd known the other angel's history, he'd certainly have left well enough alone. There was absolutely no desire to make the other uncomfortable by any stretch of the imagination.
He certainly doesn't go pushing the matter, allowing Aziraphale to take all the time he needed to collect himself.
There, between the shelves, stood Azrael, looking... mildly uncomfortable. Seemingly calm, yes, but the entire feeling here seemed roughly on par with peeking in on a skittish cat. Not precisely the same atmosphere as it was in the front of the shop. Well... yes he'd rather hoped to go unnoticed for a little while at least.
Certainly dressed a touch more anachronistically than what would normally be wandering in here.
"... An exile." Not entirely keen on trading names quite yet. "One not of this creation, forgive me for intruding."
It's hard to be subtle when not only are you affecting your entire environment, the only other creature, and owner of the establishment, is a similarly ethereal being. And one that takes great care in maintaining his shop, of course.
The atmosphere changed the moment Aziraphale sensed something divine. Tension, confusion, which certainly don't change the moment he turns to look past the shelf and finds himself staring at Azrael, without a trace of familiarity or recognition.
But that's certainly an angel. A powerful one, as far as he can tell. But he looks entirely out of place, and he can't remember to ever have seen him. He would have heard about an angel this powerful, before he had ever been assigned to the gate.
So, he stares.
"....what--" He stumbles in his words, stops to try and gather himself. "I'm sorry, who exactly are you?"
If Death could have come here in his stead, he certainly would have, and Azrael would not have argued otherwise. Not for lack of interest or a fear of what lay beyond this veil between worlds, but simply because of duty. He had things to do, projects that required his presence, work that demanded his touch. But this particular passage between realms was different. The "veil" more as a wall, the distance further than any the Horseman would have ever traveled before, and in spite of the nephilim's undiluted rage, no amount of cursing, threats and violence was going to warp the laws of reality; he could not make that trip.
And so it fell to Azrael to do it. The weapon couldn't be left there, after all. The matter of how it had gotten so far away to begin with was a mystery that was best pondered upon later, when he had the vile thing in his possession. For now though, as he emerged into this strange, subterranean world, the focus was locating help. He couldn't really hope to find it alone, handle it alone, as much as it personally galled him to admit it. He'd need resources and manpower, and it would take a little time to locate both of these. At least everyone expected this to be no short trip nor small feat, though it didn't really ease him very much. The sooner he could be out of here and back within the Argent Spire, the better.
The angel went through a series of shapes in order to gather the necessary information, he wasn't about to just talk to anyone here in his true form after all. First a small lizard on the wall, listening to conversations whenever he happened upon intelligent beings. Then a deep gnome, awash with odd questions and never in one place for very long. From there, a drow, strangely mute and painfully average looking, visible one second and gone the next as he worked his way through the streets of the sprawling city his information gathering had led him to.
All leading up to this moment, to petition the most likely candidates for this entire affair; a house of mercenaries, renown for their ability and their... eccentric leader, who seemed far more interested in this job the very second the uncomfortably plain drow brought up the matter of ancient, powerful artifacts lost on this world somewhere.
And as much as this colorful character of a leader seemed to so desperately want to accompany him personally to locate the lost Abomination, everyone else seemed a bit too keen to not let him do that in any capacity. Oh it was agreed that it would be found of course, their Too Average employer was more than able to prove that he'd the means to compensate them, but Jarlaxle would not be going.
So, there Azrael stood, still in the shape of that utterly non-descript drow with supernaturally forgettable features, waiting patiently for what he was told would be the co-captain of the house to accompany him upwards. Right at the path that would lead upwards and out of this dark, miserable place, the angel desperately wished to leave these caves as soon as he could manage, almost positive he'd soon forget what the damn sun looked like at this rate.
When Azrael's patience is finally rewarded, he's greeted with the sight of a small drow in plain, nondescript clothing, stepping out of a blue portal that he neatly closes with a gesture. He's nothing special to look at; the most interesting thing is his eyes, and the fact he carries himself with an air of quiet competency - and in a city that is quite clearly hostile to not only outsiders but seemingly anyone they find easy pickings, he wears no armor and carries no weapon.
Kimmuriel is not pleased to know there's some other absurd artifact that has somehow made its way here. The ones Toril already has are bad enough. But it's not as if this stranger has made it happen, so he supposes he can save his ire for the thing itself.
It was a face he remembered, the man just to the side of the ostentatious leader he'd petitioned. A shadow in comparison, but truthfully... that made him a little more comfortable. By the looks of it, the angel wasn't entirely sure if he could trust the other to remain covert. This one, the co-captain he'd been told, struck him as better cut out for this particular job. The lack of armor or weapons didn't escape his notice either, and this too brought him some odd comfort.
After all, it was a bit familiar to him, wasn't it?
Azrael nodded, gesturing upwards towards the path ahead. "I have. There is a city to the east of here that sits close to where the weapon was supposedly abandoned, I was hoping to begin our search there. The battlefield it was lost upon is sprawling, to say the least, so any chance we may get to narrow that field would be best taken advantage of." Considering the weapon's abilities and... aura, there was little doubt in his mind that there would be a few legends surrounding its existence.
"I will explain more on the way. Forgive my need for haste, I would feel more comfortable continuing this conversation above ground."
He gives him a searching look, and then simply nods.
"You are a strange one, to prefer the sunlight," he remarks, but he doesn't feel the need to press him. The man's tale had been outlandish enough that he can accept other strangeness as well, for the moment - and it's not as if Jarlaxle doesn't prefer the sun, himself.
"If you wish to hurry to the Surface before you say more," he says, sweeping his hand through the air, leaving a thin blue line that opens into a portal to a surface entrance, "we will take the quickest way. It would take several days' travel from here, otherwise."
The idea of portals, serpent holes as he knew them, when they appeared as this one did now, was not an odd one to him. That a being such as Kimmuriel might have access to such potent magic however, was. There was a clear moment of hesitation, not out of any obvious trepidation about entering the portal, but rather of surprise, and an instant and overpowering curiosity. Maybe he didn't spend enough time down here...
No, no, no he'd have his own questions to ask later, he could in fact learn some things pleasantly. And not hanging around a city full of murderous elves underground. Kimmuriel might just see the strange, plain drow's mouth open briefly, before shutting sharply once again, the man's red eyes bright and inquisitive in direct contrast to how his jaw tensed.
"Of course. Thank you." And with that, he stepped through, slipping past the boundaries of the portal to... simply appear again above ground. An empty clearing upon a road set within a sparse forest, not another soul to be seen.
"How expedient..." No passage through the space between openings, not even briefly, it was for all intents and purposes just a door to another 'room', so to speak. And speaking of well, speaking-
With a sigh that suggested some great unburdening of a tedious weight, the illusion simply fell away. All in one piece, the magic dissipated like fog burning away in the sun, accompanied by the swift and frankly explosive apparition of enormous snowy wings, runes glowing a faint blue. The "drow's" meager five feet too exploded upwards, seven, eight and then a full and imposing nine, only to drift higher still as he happily left the ground behind him to float weightlessly in the air.
Much better.
"My apologies for the deception, as I stated prior I required some discretion." You know, normal stuff, as one does.
Kimmuriel doesn't flinch, exactly, but the sheer amount of magic being suddenly released is impossible for him not to feel - especially since it is magic not of this plane. He knows that - it is strange in a way he cannot quite describe even to himself - from the moment the man in front of him sheds all his...bindings? Illusions?
He raises his eyebrows when the aasimar...? in front of him is done.
"You did mention that," he says. "But I question if the form you are most comfortable with counts as discreet." Really, it's terribly gaudy...
He thinks about it for a moment. "If anyone we might encounter asks, you would do well to say you are a very strange aasimar. They are not so common around here, if I recall."
"You misunderstand, I do not intend to remain as this. I have a multitude of shapes and illusions to choose from, and a profuse well of power from which to draw from, rest assured that I am well aware of how indiscreet my appearance is. I wished only to have no secrets kept from you." That and well, he really needed the break. The shape was confining after all, and after a while it became uncomfortably tight. Crammed into such a small space, walking everywhere...
"And to start, I will admit I've never heard of an aasimar before, strange or otherwise. I am not from this realm, no where close to it in fact, this place is completely alien to me. Which is why it is all the more important that I retrieve this lost abomination as quickly as possible, I cannot abide the idea of realms untouched by the sins of our own suffering from our mistakes."
"I thought as much," Kimmuriel says, without a hint of fear or even trepidation. "You are not like anyone I have ever seen before - anywhere." He was curious about the other man's world, he'll easily admit. He's always hungry for knowledge. But there would be time for that later.
Then, he looks at him with some curiosity. "If you are so far from this realm that you have never even heard of it, then how did such an artifact from your realm come to ours?"
"If you have any questions regarding my home, I would be more than happy to answer them, of course. The process of locating and collecting the weapon may prove to be a long one, after all, and there is only so much I know about it and it's history. Hardly enough to fill all the time we may spend together."
There's a slight downturn at the corner of his mouth at the question. It was expected yes, but it didn't make answering it any more pleasant. Ah, but it was quite literally ancient history here, wasn't it?
"Eons ago, no doubt long before much civilization even flourished here, it seems that this realm was in the path of what has been referred to as the Nephilim Rampage. Those aforementioned peoples traveled from realm to realm, conquering and destroying every world they fell upon with reckless abandon, with few able to withstand them. Undoubtedly, they battled here with the same intent, though considering that this world still lives they must have been handily repulsed.
It would not be the first time an Abomination has been abandoned at a battle site, though I do hope that one this far flung will be the last."
He looks curious. Perhaps a more outwardly enthusiastic person's face would have brightened; Kimmuriel is definitely not that person. "That is something I have never heard of, even in records...strange that it should be so momentous and yet gone unnoticed. Perhaps the ancient empires that used to exist on Toril fought against such a threat as you describe." Or even the gods? He's not a religious scholar, though. Gods are not of particular interest to him.
"You clean up the mess of your...ancestors, then? These...Nephilim." He pronounces it strangely; he has never heard the word before.
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... Weeks later though, well. He'd had his answer about which was preferable the second he arrived here.
A strange new world, with a familiar, but still foreign Greater Power, full to the brim with humans. With life. He'd have tried to find a way to send a thank you back home if he hadn't been sure it'd be seen as passive aggressive.
Aside from a singular mishap, he'd not yet been seen by anything sapient. Oh sure, one human had stumbled home, breathless and awestruck at the sight of a tall and winged entity in the park, but he'd taken great care not to let that happen again. Moving invisibly was simple for him after all, and direct interaction was... iffy still. Didn't want to make any mistakes.
But it was so difficult to pass by that shop, for a multitude of reasons, really. How could a scholar just waltz past a bookshop? How could an angel just ignore the feeling radiating behind that door? Not a powerful being, no, but there was no denying the comfort it brought to linger by the door itself for a time, little more than dust motes in a sunbeam and the faint scent of freshly turned earth just barely touching the air.
Like a specter did he finally enter, silent and careful, taking care to adjust to the size of the shop itself. Smaller, far more human sized, wings pulled tight as he fully manifested in the furthest most part of the shop. Away from the windows and doors.
After all, it was very hard to flip through pages when one didn't have any hands.
well he sure just waltzed in there
So he's been a bit on alert. Weeks are barely a breath for someone several eons old, but it was enough for him to find some distractions after a while. Distractions that stop serving him the moment he feels something has stepped foot inside the shop.
...well, that might be the wrong word choice. He didn't hear any steps. Or the door opening or closing, for that matter. But he sits at his desk, head suddenly raised, an overwhelming feeling of deja vu washing over him.
He stands up carefully, puts away his glasses, and quietly, carefully, steps out into the shop, and begins looking among the shelves.
<3
It wouldn't be hard to follow him, at least. As the shadows grew longer in the back of the shop, the light of the archangel's wings grew all the brighter, casting an otherworldly, cool blue glow across the books. The rustle of feathers gently skirting across the floor and past book shelves, the gentle sensation of the air in a church yard after a thunder storm.
Azrael was indeed well aware at this point that he wasn't going to remain unfound for long. He'd speak moments before he could be seen, not wanting to startle the other angel too terribly.
"I apologize, for not using the door properly. I fear I'm not quite in any state for most humans to see, yet."
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Whatever is in here, it feels...angelic. Divine. Which, when most would think that would be comforting, it is very much the opposite. One could thank his history.
His back is pressed against the side of a shelf, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts.
Then he leans, looking between the shelves.
"Who are you?"
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He certainly doesn't go pushing the matter, allowing Aziraphale to take all the time he needed to collect himself.
There, between the shelves, stood Azrael, looking... mildly uncomfortable. Seemingly calm, yes, but the entire feeling here seemed roughly on par with peeking in on a skittish cat. Not precisely the same atmosphere as it was in the front of the shop. Well... yes he'd rather hoped to go unnoticed for a little while at least.
Certainly dressed a touch more anachronistically than what would normally be wandering in here.
"... An exile." Not entirely keen on trading names quite yet. "One not of this creation, forgive me for intruding."
sorry for the wait!
The atmosphere changed the moment Aziraphale sensed something divine. Tension, confusion, which certainly don't change the moment he turns to look past the shelf and finds himself staring at Azrael, without a trace of familiarity or recognition.
But that's certainly an angel. A powerful one, as far as he can tell. But he looks entirely out of place, and he can't remember to ever have seen him. He would have heard about an angel this powerful, before he had ever been assigned to the gate.
So, he stares.
"....what--" He stumbles in his words, stops to try and gather himself. "I'm sorry, who exactly are you?"
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And so it fell to Azrael to do it. The weapon couldn't be left there, after all. The matter of how it had gotten so far away to begin with was a mystery that was best pondered upon later, when he had the vile thing in his possession. For now though, as he emerged into this strange, subterranean world, the focus was locating help. He couldn't really hope to find it alone, handle it alone, as much as it personally galled him to admit it. He'd need resources and manpower, and it would take a little time to locate both of these. At least everyone expected this to be no short trip nor small feat, though it didn't really ease him very much. The sooner he could be out of here and back within the Argent Spire, the better.
The angel went through a series of shapes in order to gather the necessary information, he wasn't about to just talk to anyone here in his true form after all. First a small lizard on the wall, listening to conversations whenever he happened upon intelligent beings. Then a deep gnome, awash with odd questions and never in one place for very long. From there, a drow, strangely mute and painfully average looking, visible one second and gone the next as he worked his way through the streets of the sprawling city his information gathering had led him to.
All leading up to this moment, to petition the most likely candidates for this entire affair; a house of mercenaries, renown for their ability and their... eccentric leader, who seemed far more interested in this job the very second the uncomfortably plain drow brought up the matter of ancient, powerful artifacts lost on this world somewhere.
And as much as this colorful character of a leader seemed to so desperately want to accompany him personally to locate the lost Abomination, everyone else seemed a bit too keen to not let him do that in any capacity. Oh it was agreed that it would be found of course, their Too Average employer was more than able to prove that he'd the means to compensate them, but Jarlaxle would not be going.
So, there Azrael stood, still in the shape of that utterly non-descript drow with supernaturally forgettable features, waiting patiently for what he was told would be the co-captain of the house to accompany him upwards. Right at the path that would lead upwards and out of this dark, miserable place, the angel desperately wished to leave these caves as soon as he could manage, almost positive he'd soon forget what the damn sun looked like at this rate.
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Kimmuriel is not pleased to know there's some other absurd artifact that has somehow made its way here. The ones Toril already has are bad enough. But it's not as if this stranger has made it happen, so he supposes he can save his ire for the thing itself.
"You have made all other preparations?"
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After all, it was a bit familiar to him, wasn't it?
Azrael nodded, gesturing upwards towards the path ahead. "I have. There is a city to the east of here that sits close to where the weapon was supposedly abandoned, I was hoping to begin our search there. The battlefield it was lost upon is sprawling, to say the least, so any chance we may get to narrow that field would be best taken advantage of." Considering the weapon's abilities and... aura, there was little doubt in his mind that there would be a few legends surrounding its existence.
"I will explain more on the way. Forgive my need for haste, I would feel more comfortable continuing this conversation above ground."
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"You are a strange one, to prefer the sunlight," he remarks, but he doesn't feel the need to press him. The man's tale had been outlandish enough that he can accept other strangeness as well, for the moment - and it's not as if Jarlaxle doesn't prefer the sun, himself.
"If you wish to hurry to the Surface before you say more," he says, sweeping his hand through the air, leaving a thin blue line that opens into a portal to a surface entrance, "we will take the quickest way. It would take several days' travel from here, otherwise."
He motions for Azrael to step in.
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No, no, no he'd have his own questions to ask later, he could in fact learn some things pleasantly. And not hanging around a city full of murderous elves underground. Kimmuriel might just see the strange, plain drow's mouth open briefly, before shutting sharply once again, the man's red eyes bright and inquisitive in direct contrast to how his jaw tensed.
"Of course. Thank you." And with that, he stepped through, slipping past the boundaries of the portal to... simply appear again above ground. An empty clearing upon a road set within a sparse forest, not another soul to be seen.
"How expedient..." No passage through the space between openings, not even briefly, it was for all intents and purposes just a door to another 'room', so to speak. And speaking of well, speaking-
With a sigh that suggested some great unburdening of a tedious weight, the illusion simply fell away. All in one piece, the magic dissipated like fog burning away in the sun, accompanied by the swift and frankly explosive apparition of enormous snowy wings, runes glowing a faint blue. The "drow's" meager five feet too exploded upwards, seven, eight and then a full and imposing nine, only to drift higher still as he happily left the ground behind him to float weightlessly in the air.
Much better.
"My apologies for the deception, as I stated prior I required some discretion." You know, normal stuff, as one does.
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He raises his eyebrows when the aasimar...? in front of him is done.
"You did mention that," he says. "But I question if the form you are most comfortable with counts as discreet." Really, it's terribly gaudy...
He thinks about it for a moment. "If anyone we might encounter asks, you would do well to say you are a very strange aasimar. They are not so common around here, if I recall."
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"You misunderstand, I do not intend to remain as this. I have a multitude of shapes and illusions to choose from, and a profuse well of power from which to draw from, rest assured that I am well aware of how indiscreet my appearance is. I wished only to have no secrets kept from you." That and well, he really needed the break. The shape was confining after all, and after a while it became uncomfortably tight. Crammed into such a small space, walking everywhere...
"And to start, I will admit I've never heard of an aasimar before, strange or otherwise. I am not from this realm, no where close to it in fact, this place is completely alien to me. Which is why it is all the more important that I retrieve this lost abomination as quickly as possible, I cannot abide the idea of realms untouched by the sins of our own suffering from our mistakes."
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Then, he looks at him with some curiosity. "If you are so far from this realm that you have never even heard of it, then how did such an artifact from your realm come to ours?"
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There's a slight downturn at the corner of his mouth at the question. It was expected yes, but it didn't make answering it any more pleasant. Ah, but it was quite literally ancient history here, wasn't it?
"Eons ago, no doubt long before much civilization even flourished here, it seems that this realm was in the path of what has been referred to as the Nephilim Rampage. Those aforementioned peoples traveled from realm to realm, conquering and destroying every world they fell upon with reckless abandon, with few able to withstand them. Undoubtedly, they battled here with the same intent, though considering that this world still lives they must have been handily repulsed.
It would not be the first time an Abomination has been abandoned at a battle site, though I do hope that one this far flung will be the last."
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"You clean up the mess of your...ancestors, then? These...Nephilim." He pronounces it strangely; he has never heard the word before.