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.
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.
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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
<3
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sorry for the wait!
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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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