Fallen Down (P)

[Salzem]

Azazel grew increasingly bored with the nomad he toyed with. He hung in paralyzed in front of the kid as he sat on a nearby stone, propping his head up with his hand. The angel stared blankly as the man squirmed and whimpered, pleading for mercy in a tongue Azazel didn't spend the time to learn. He glanced at the ground below where the man hovered, sharp stones shooting up from the ground and shredding themselves across the man's flesh. His screams were growing more and more tiresome, the adverse effect to what was intended. With a sigh, Azazel stood from his stone, a knife manifesting in his hand. The mortal realm was so boring... it was always boring... it never changed enough, nothing was ever going on, he might as well have been staring at a wall of drying paint for all the entertainment it gave him. Even inflicting pain was starting to lose its allure... On the average human anyway. They never really fought back.

The kid jabbed the knife upwards into the man's heart and, before he could even mutter a gasp of anguish, his body faded to dust, leaving only his soul impaled on the edge of his knife and a pile of white on the ground in front of him It was a small, bluish orb with a flickering head, akin to that of a fireball... Azazel stared at the embodiment of creation, showing some amount of minor enjoyment in it's vibrant color and the irony of an angel taking a mortal's soul for himself. It wasn't anything he needed, but demons bargained with those things... and Demons usually provided some entertainment... Stuffing the soul into his front overalls pocket, Azazel raised the knife to his face and sliced at least a third of his head right off, including his eye. The knife cut through him like steel through the air and, instead of blood and organs becoming exposed, all that was visible was a black mist, flowing from the wound as smoke would a fire. The knife disappeared from his hand as he took that piece of his face, holding it, looking over the detail before raising it to his mouth and taking a bite. His own energy filled his stomach, the material reforming back into dark mist with each gulp. Azazel sighed in something resembling contentment as the dark mist leaking from his head slowly coagulated around the wound, reforming his face.

[drunkensarah]

Azrael had been wandering for sometime. He missed his home, his brethren. That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy the mortal plane, or the many people that inhabited it. It simply wasn't home. He looked up at the sky and brushed a bit of hair out of his face. The warmth of the sun on his face only a mocking reminder of home and his creator.  He could still sense his brethren, they were just beyond his sight. Unlike others of his kind, he was banished, not fallen. He could, one day, return. He had angered his creator, but not cut the bond that connected them. It was now the butting of two heads, one trying to prove to the other, trying to teach one lesson or another. As perfect as his creator was, he believed that even the high divine could make a mistake.


The screams are what pulled him from his thoughts. They were faint and distant, and filled with anguish. Azrael stood, his dark brows furrowing. The plains had been at least a relatively peaceful place, so that sound protruded through the usual quiet.  He moved to his feet in a fluid, one could even say graceful move. His feet pushed him forward and his long legs carried him quickly towards the sound. It wasn't long before he could see their origins. He had undoubtedly made it their much too late to actually help. The mortals body had already been reduced to nothing more than dust. He barely contained his gasp as the young boy, who was clearly not just some boy, cut his own face. That was something he hadn't seen. Not as an Angel, nor on the human realm. He was in shock, it was, simply, odd. Who was the boy, he wanted to understand. After seeing his dice the human and even cut off part of his own face, he knew better than just to walk up. The boy was obviously dangerous and undoubted unstable.

He couldn't see himself letting the boy go either, killing wasn't something he could easily condone. It hadn't appeared the mortal had done anything to have deserved such a fate. He stepped out so the boy could see him and so he could look over the boy better himself. An odd one no doubt, and most definitely not mortal.

[Salzem]

As the unknown male stepped out into the open, standing in his way, the boy's severed face reformed, his eye flashing a malevolent red before returning to its normal, boring self. He stared up at the man, his arms hanging limply by his sides as the fallen child assessed the guy trying to be a hero. Azazel hated heroic types. They were always so predictable... do something bad, they come to the rescue. Do something good and they stay out of your way. Be neutral and they do nothing but talk and talk and talk... Mr. scruffy-neck brownskin over here didn't say a word, though and simply stood and stared. Great... he was even more boring than the average human, not even giving the kid something to listen too or laugh at. All he did was stare with those tendrils of light emanating from his back making the area around him shine in holy light. The fallen child shook his head and sighed, continuing to walk forward, actually passing through the man's physical form, exploding into dark mist on contact. A foot or so behind him, the dark mist would reform in a whirl of black, coagulating into the shape of the child. Color and detail faded into the dark cloud before Azazel took his form once again, continuing his walk into gods know where.

The kid clenched his fist and, between his fingers, his knife manifested, its silver blade sick with the taint of his sin. Though he did not show it, Azazel had detected the holy radiance coming off of the man, leading him to believe he was either a very powerful human paladin or one of those angels that WEREN'T discarded by their god was he was. A pang of jealousy ran through him, the angel's mouth curling into a callow frown. A blackish aura radiated all around Azazel, flickering and dancing like a fire in the wind. He felt the soul squirm and shiver in his overall's pocket, the sensation almost making him smile. Almost.

[drunkensarah]

Azrael looked at the boy, a large broad sword forming into his hand. The sword was at least four foot from end to end, if not longer. It was forged with silver and gold colored material and was beautifully elaborate in design. The glow that radiated off the sword was bright, the weapon undoubtedly holy. Azrael didn't take aim at the lad immediately though, instead, lowered it and looked hard at the boy. Bright light emitted from Azrael's eyes, making them appear more like glowing suns for a moment rather than eyes. This is when he finally spoke.

"I know you are afraid, you feel alone, you miss your home in the heavens. At the core, you are not evil, just lost," Azrael began to speak, his voice deep, but also, almost soothing. The sound filling the space around them with warmth.

The light faded from his eyes, returning to the sea foam green. He took a deep breath. Though he doubted he would ever turn to killing from the bitterness he felt inside, he could understand the emptiness the boy felt. For an angel who has basked in the heavens, the earth was a cold and dull realm when one had to walk it alone.

"You are not alone, we all deal with the absence of our creators differently. Though we are not mortal men, we all have weakness. As powerful as our creators are, as infinitely wise, they still make mistakes. Do not underestimate the power of mortals or the treachery of demons young one. If not for both I would be cut off completely from the light of the heavens as it appears you are. Free yourself of your self inflicted damnation, plead to the many gods, you might be surprised your welcome," Azrael spoke, feeling not only empathy for the boy but kinsmanship.

[Salzem]

To his surprise, Azazel actually listened to what the other man had to say, his words heavily implying that he too was cast out but not twisted and cursed by his own corruption. He had not become a blight upon mortal land, instead, retaining his holiness and his faith in the many gods. Slowly, the little boy would turn his head to look back at the man, his only visable eye (at that angle) now glowing an angry red and with... tears bubbling up underneath...? Azazel raised an open palm, the angel's soul springing from his armored chest, hovering just outside; A signal that the child had him in his soul telekinesis. With a grunt, Azazel raised his hand in the air, the soul rising into the sky quickly, dragging his body with it before thrusting his hand back down, causing him to slam back down into the earth.

"Shut up..." the boy muttered, his other eye fading to nothing but a black socket leaving only one glowing a deep red. Keeping his hand down low, he swept it sharply to the right, causing the other angel to to be dragged across the ground brutally, dirt and stone ripping at his flesh. Grass and earth were torn into the air, almost digging a moat around him so intense was the force of his telekinetic grip.

"You don't know what you're talking about..." Azazel tossed the other angel over his head, causing him to slam face-first in front of him again. "You're pure..." The ground exploded beneath the angel as his soul continued to be dragged downwards with that much force. It was almost as if the gravity in that one spot increased by several times. "You weren't cast out for reasons you didn't understand." Azazel stomped up to the pure, knife point facing downward. The little boy clenched his free hand, painfully increasing his grip on the other angel's soul as he raised his knife upward to plunge it into his chest. Slowly, a single tear ran itself down the cheek under his glowing red eye.

"You shouldn't talk about things you don't know..." He mumbled as he plunged his knife downward.

[drunkensarah]

Azrael never cried out as he was picked up, thrown and dragged around. He had been a warrior from the beginning of time, a warrior by design. This, though unarguably painful it did not peak his pain threshold. He clenched his teeth tight, taking the beating in relative silence, keeping his sword in hand, careful not to impale himself upon it. The sword might have been holy, but it could cut angel, mortal and demon alike.

Finally at last the boy seemed tired of dragging him around and was ready to try to end him. He flipped over, so he was laying on his back, facing up.

"You are right, I don't know what is like to be cast down for unknown reasons, but I know the resentment in your eyes, I know the sense of betrayal. I might know why I am here, true, I made my choice but my creator let the one thing I loved other than him give up her soul, to be forever damned and beyond my reach. So I know being lost, and utterly alone," Azrael spoke, his voice almost gentle despite being so harshly thrown around. He grabbed the boys wrist, keeping him from plunging the knife into him. Azrael clenched his teeth at the pain from the boy dragging him around, looking dead into the fallen angel's eyes.

"I know screaming to the heaven's for answers and hearing nothing."

"Inside, at your core, you are pure too. Fear, loneliness, anger, those things you keep locked behind your facade, that is what has began to twist you. You must find mercy and forgiveness, find a purpose other than inflicting pain, and you too might find your light again," he spoke as he continued to keep the boy from stabbing him.

[Salzem]

As Azazel attempted to plunge his knife into the other angel's chest, a move that would surely have ended quite fatally for the holy being, Azrael thrusted his hand upward, wrapping his far larger hand around Azazel's smaller wrist, preventing the knife from reaching it's target. Before he could faze out of his grip and try again, he began to speak, telling him EVERYTHING Azazel had kept to himself. The sheer truth of what the holy angel spoke made the fallen child gasp in surprise, staring with wide eyes, the red glow disappointing as the black irises took their place in his head once again. His telekinesis lost his potency as more tears began to form under his eyes, a red blush forming around his cheeks. Like the child he was, Azazel was starting to cry, much to his surprise. His inner persona being brought forth by the penetrating truth that was his words. It was as if he understood everything, knew all about him before they even met... It would have almost scared the callow angel if it didn't bring forth the tears he held in for so long.

Azazel crumbled to his knees, the knife falling from his weak grip, disappearing before it could clatter to the ground. With his weapon-hand still being held by the larger angel, the fallen child tried to use his free hand to wipe away the tears that would never stop coming, pitifully and weakly at that.

"H-how do you k-know that..." He asked through his sobs, his eyes still clamped shut in an attempt to keep the tears at bay.

[drunkensarah]

Azrael's sword dissipated into thin air as he looked up and released the boys wrist. He sat up slowly, taking in a sharp breath. He could already tell he had a few broken ribs. His eyes remained steady on the boy though, he wasn't yet ready to put down his guard.

"All angels, as you know, have abilities. Yours are undoubtedly mighty. My most powerful gift is to see someone's heart, soul, the very core of their being. I can see the good and bad in their intentions. I can see through the corruption you have allowed to consume you, you still have a good heart," Azrael spoke soothingly. Azrael had learned a long time ago, that sometimes one never had to wield a weapon to win a war.

"It is also okay to cry," He added, his deep voice resonating, "I find tears can be the most purifying substance on this realm and in the heavens. Sometimes certain emotions are too big to hold inside, the more you try to contain them the more they destroy you, like a mighty storm. Sometimes you simply have to release them, and sometimes that involves tears, so there is nothing shameful in it," Azrael added as he watched the boy try to hold back the wave of emotion that had washed over him.

"What is your name?" Azrael asked after another moment of silence, letting the wave of emotion the boy felt settle first before beginning to speak again.

[Salzem]

The other angel released Azazel's hand only for it to go back up to his face in some vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing. They weren't nearly as bad as when they first started, more of a steady trickle than the waterworks, but they won't stop coming. Thats what several centuries of disappointment would do to a person, a child, apparently. Suddenly, the little boy lunged forward and wrapped his tiny arms around the older angel's torso, nodding silently as the man claimed that there really was nothing wrong with him crying, that he had to release his emotions sometime or they would destroy him. On the contrary, he had to release them or he'd destroy someone. Not simply kill, that would allow their soul to go back to the ether. No, Azazel destroyed people. No soul, no body, no reminiscence of who the once were.

When the man he held asked what his name was, Azazel didn't say anything for several minutes, simply wanting to be held and comforted, akin to all those mortal children left alone for too long. In that way, he supposed, angels and humans were so much alike... They were both so similarly vulnerable, but the difference between him and them was that being down here was the worst possible torture for him... Corruption at every turn, his body addicted to self consumption... and looking himself in the mirror was a great effort on his part... The fallen child hated it here so much...

"Azazel..." He muttered, his tears slowing just a bit more as he clung to the man for dear life.

[drunkensarah]

Azrael hadn't expected the child to cling to him. Of course he hadn't expected a child to possess such power. Azrael had never been a comforter, it wasn't in his nature, it wasn't what he was designed to do, to be. Still he gently patted the child on the back, trying to offer something. He couldn't imagine, anyone forsaking a child, mortal, angelic, or anything else their was out there. It had to be rough on the boy, he had no doubt. The child's name shocked Azrael for it was so close to his own. Maybe it was a coquencadence. Maybe this was some grand design.

"My name is Azrael, it is nice to meet you," Azrael spoke, knowing it was custom to introduce oneself. He pondered silently. He had to help the boy, he couldn't just leave the boy now, alone, to manage alone. He had already seen the agony in the child's face. Agony he could understand all too well.

"I might know someone who can help, if just a little.  She is a mortal enchantress. She might have some wisdom or brew that could at least soothe you for a while," He spoke softly, seeming to be speaking more to himself than to Azazel. 

[Salzem]

Azazel still clung to the man's lower torso as he patted his back, vaguely aware of the discomfort the older angel harbored. He could feel it in the way his body tensed up at his touch, the way he didn't reciprocate the embrace the child craved from him. He looked up into the eyes of the large tan angel as he introduced himself as Azrael. To his surprise, Azazel laughed, giggling in a soft gentle manner as if he had just heard a joke he didn't already know. It was funny how similar their names were.... In another time and place, perhaps they would have been father and son... Perhaps... But that was simply wishful thinking. Nonetheless, the fallen child had never before seen another fallen angel nor had he met someone who knew what it was like to be down here so long... among all these mortals and their sin. He smiled up at Azrael, the last of his tears pouring from his eyes and down his chin. One could see in his eyes that the child harbored no more malice or hostile intent, only a forming attachment, a connection that children from with the first adult they see. When the angel stated that they were going to a mortal enchantress' abode, Azazel nodded obediently, his smaller hand reaching up to wrap around the older angel's index and pointer fingers.

"Okay..." he said, his voice shaky and nervous. He may have not been his god, but Azrael was all he had... the child could afford to be a child... He could afford to let his guard down and be protected.

[drunkensarah]

It took some time for Azrael to get use to the small hand around his own. It was, in the many life times he lived, like nothing he had experienced. He could feel Azazel already growing to trust him, forming a bond. It made him think of Donatella, the only being he had ever loved as much as his creator. Had the fates been weaved differently, would they have had a child? He shook his head, effectively clearing the thoughts away. at least for the time being.

It took half the day to make it where they were going. There in the doorway stood  of a caravan stood a woman with hair the color of fire and eyes the shade of gold. The caravan was covered in runes, charms, ancient writings, along with other things that added a sense of magic to the mobile shop. It was clear the woman was getting impatient, had she been waiting on them?

The short woman looked up at the angel who towered over her with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow.
"I expected you over a half an hour ago, you act as if I can't see you coming!" She spoke, though her voice chastising it also held a musical note.

She walked down the three steps that lead to the ground, meeting the two angels several feet in front of her caravan. She looked down at the child, it was clear in her eyes she was still deciding what she was going to do. If she was going to trust him. She bent down so she was eye level, which wasn't that far for her.

"You should set that soul in your pocket free, stealing souls isn't very polite," She spoke, her voice warm, almost soothing. She then stood back up, giving Azrael a sharp look before poking a hard finger at the large angels armored chest.

"And you should have asked him to set it free miles ago. We both know their are demons in these woods that would attack the two of you for it."

Azrael, who had forgotten about it, gave an apology and a quick nod.

The woman then once again turned her attention back to the child. Azrael watched her with sharp eyes. While Luminitsa had never given him a reason to think ill of her, she was a powerful enchantress, and he didn't know how she would react to someone she knew was a killer. The woman reached down slowly, gently cupping the side of the child's face that he had cut off earlier.

"Poor dear," She spoke as she closed her eyes, her head swaying back slightly as visions passed through her mind.

"Let us go inside, there is much we must discuss," She spoke softly before turning on her heels and leading the two into her caravan.

Azrael gave Azazel a gentle nod, urging him to follow the enchantress.

[Salzem]

It took half a day of pure walking to get where they were going, but that was more or less the same general time Azazel spends walking around anyway. Throughout the whole journey, never once did the fallen child let go of Azrael's hand, finding some amount of comfort in feeling his palm encased in his. It was a safety he never felt before, like his holiness was keeping out the insecurities of the mortal realm. It made him wonder how this guy ever got cast down in the first place if he was able to keep himself normal under all these circumstances. It was growing late by the time they got to the caravan, the sun dipping behind the horizon and the sky turning it's blazing orange. Speaking of blazing orange, there in the doorway of said caravan was a woman with her hair  matching the sky and her eyes matching the currency of the time. She was a petite woman, short, but beautiful in her own way. Azael towered over her and she over Azazel. As the two adults chatted, the child looked up at the woman with a mild curiousity, ducking behind the older Angel's leg, peeking out from around the limb. Seeming to notice his hiding, the woman squatted down so that she was eye-level with him, giving the child a warm, soothing grin before asking for him to set the soul in his pocket free.

The angel's eyes lit up with curiosity at her question, wondering how exactly could she know he had a soul in his possession. Slowly, he scooped the blue orb out of his pocket, revealing it to the woman. She began to chastise Azrael for not having him get rid of it earlier and as they spoke, the child released his grip on the soul, allowing it to float back into the sky as if it were a balloon. Then, her golden eyes fell back on Azazel, a confusing look on her face. She placed a hand on his cheek, the side he had cut off earlier that day. The child seemed even more confused when she seemed to mourn him, calling him a "poor dear", her head swaying gently, rhythmically. It was actually very disturbing to the child, unnatural, but he didn't say a single word, watching the woman closely.  When she suggested they go inside, Azazel's eyes immediately flicked up to Azrael's questioningly. He seemed to encourage the young angel to go with her... Well... if he trusted this person, the fallen child saw no reason not to as well. Making sure Azrael was right behind him, he followed the enchantress inside, a tad of worry evident on his face.

[drunkensarah]

Luminitsa waved her hand towards the small assortment furniture for them to sit on. She headed towards the back of the Caravan, which seemed larger on the inside then it appeared on the outside, no doubt magic. She disappeared behind a curtain for a moment.

Azrael sat down, switching his gaze between Azazel and the woman. He leaned down a bit closer to Azazel. He could sense the child's discomfort, it had been evident on his face before they had walked into the caravan.

"She is no one to fear, she has her own burdens to bear, she is the only human that I have met that can begin to understand. She is the Lady of the five rings, rings that have been known to corrupt mortals for centuries. She is their keeper, and has been for most of her life," Azrael spoke softly. Azrael had been charged with over looking the rings before he fell.


Luminitsa returned a moment later, carrying a couple of bottles. She sat down, a small table between herself and the angels. She offered both of them a gentle smile, though it was clear there was a bit of strain there. She seemed to let out a sigh of relief as she sat down the first bottle. It was glass and the shape of a lions head and the size of an apple. Inside the pitch black liquid stirred and swirled as if it was living. The next bottle seemed to be empty other than the ambient golden glow the filled the room. The third and last bottle was the largest, being about the same size of her gazing ball and held what appeared to be blood.

She leaned back heavily in her seat, taking a deep breath, for a moment looking much older, as if whatever was in the bottles had just sapped some life out of her. After a quick moment she seemed to recover and become her youthful bubbly self once more. Her eyes fell on the child once again.

Her face was pleasant but it was clear she was deep in thought.

Azrael's eyes were locked on the bottles that sat in front of them, he pondered how she got her hands on such things. Angel's corruption, holy light, and god's blood. He looked up at her questionly.

"You think you are the only higher beings that come here?" She responded as if she already knew what Azrael was thinking.

"Can I see your hand?" She asked the child with a bubbly smile.

[Salzem]

Azazel entered the caravan, surprised only somewhat to see that the interior of the caravan was far larger than that of the interior. Instead of it being some cramped space with everything getting in the way, it appeared to be more along the lines of a living room or bedroom size, with enough in it to make the place not seem too empty, but enough space as well to make it not too crowded either. With Azrael's encouragement (though not too encouraging), he sat down beside the larger angel, watching curiously as the enchantress disappeared for a moment behind a curtain. Before the angel could inquire what these "rings" actually were, she returned with three bottles, each containing a different substance. One contained a thick, syrupy dark liquid that swirled in the center all on its own. The second possessed a light in it's center, its immortal glow radiating through the glass as if the sun itself rested within its confines. Finally, the third bottle possessed a red fluid, appearing to be nothing more than mortal blood. Nothing about this setting was the least bit comfortable, not even the cushions they sat on when faced with the contents of the bottles. The first was evil, through and through, as consentrated and vile as he was himself if not more-so. It made him hunger for it as a child might hunger for a lolipop in a shop window. The second was no doubt holy, feeling the light pierce his flesh at very uncomfortable angles. So thoroughly corrupted was he, the light literally repulsed him, causing small holes to form through his body, needle-like pinpricks with the black darkness that was his insides writhing in pain. It was as if he was being jabbed with pins wherever the light touched him. The third was what perplexed him the most, though. The other two were extremely potent (un)holy artifacts and the third appeared to be nothing more than a simple vial of mortal blood. She seemed to be more of a witch than an actual sorceress, making the angel writhe in his seat. Witches often possessed spiders as pets... big ones with huge black souless eyes and fangs that can rip flesh from bones. They also tend to use salt in their rituals, a spice that the fallen child CANNOT stand for the life of him. When the enchantress spoke, Azazel's eyes jerked up, focusing on her once again. She asked for his hand and, needless to say, he was very hesitant about someone who potentially handled both spiders and salt. He looked back a Azrael, his frame shaking. But then slowly, he offered his upturned palm, ready to turn into black mist at the first sign of his weaknesses.

[drunkensarah]

Luminitsa covered the bottle of light with a delicately detailed handkerchief once she noticed it was causing the boy discomfort. She then reached down, taking the boys hand in her own. Her touch was gentle and kind. If she had handled salt, it had been completely washed from her skin. She ran her index finger lightly over the lines in his palm, her eyes fixated on his small hand.

"Poor thing, what a hard life you have lived," She spoke softly, her voice sincere. Leaving no doubt she felt pity for the child. She shortly thereafter looked up, her eyes meeting his.

"Still, consuming yourself is both unsightly and in the end will end your life. It will not be a pleasant end either I am afraid," She spoke. The small fallen angel might be in a form in a child but she knew he had lived longer than she could ever dream to.

"Your body is addicted to the horrid act though, I will be able to mix up something that will ease the discomfort, but you must try your very best not to eat yourself. I suggest you go to the fountain of Nyx. It is the closest alter that will do you good. The corruption that runs in your veins is deep, and I doubt it would ever be possible for you to be a creature of light once more. She is the Goddess of the night, so you can bask in the darkness without falling to evil and corruption. Not to mention, she is very motherly, and though you are ageless, everyone needs a mother, she is the only one I know of that might be able to completely cure your dependencies."

She stood up, grabbing the three bottles and carrying them back behind the curtain. It was clear as soon as she picked up the bottle of corruption it pained her. There were some clicks and clanks and suck, making it clear she was mixing something up behind the curtain.

She leaned back, looking around the divider, "Any questions, comments or concerns?"

Azrael remains a silent source of comfort for the boy. When it can down to it, only Azazel could decide what he wanted to do with himself. Did you want to stay fallen in this place, or would he seek out this goddess for refuge. Azrael didn't know. He just hoped something would be done to ease his suffering.

[Salzem]

The angel only watched her silently as the enchantress ran her fingers along his palm, commenting on the life he lived. It was obvious she held ample amounts of pity for him. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, feel it in the way he allowed her to touch his skin. His black eyes locked onto hers as she noted that his self-consumption was both unsightly and would end up killing him one day. What would she know about him? He regenerates his energy and power far faster than he would consume himself. And even if that weren't the case, what could he do? He relies on devouring his own energy. What started as minor nail-chewing evolved into arm and entire HEAD consumption. He couldn't help himself anymore. He needed it to survive today, tomorrow, next week and so on. Akin to the alcoholic that is so addicted he requires it to live, if Azazel doesn't devour even a bit of himself once a day, he will cease to exist. Stopping would only end in him withering and dying as his soul wouldn't be able to support his ever-growing corruption.

The angel didn't say a word as she slipped behind her curtain, bottles in hand, just listening to them clink and clank as she worked on some twisted brew. And, on top of everything else she said, she claimed that a goddess would be able to help him. A GODDESS! If his creator, the person that loved and cared about his wellbeing above all others cast him out to die, what made her think some stranger name Nyx would help him? Nevertheless, Azazel seemed visibly puzzled and disturbed, obviously more aware of the difficulties and hardships he was going to need to go through to become less of a monster than he was. The enchantress peeked around the divider separating them from her and she asked if he had any questions. He had one at the very least.

"What are you making?" He inquired, a sort of defensive gaze in his eye.

[drunkensarah]

"I am making something that at best will stave you from self-consuming and at worst simply allow you to consume less of yourself. It will be something similar to your own makeup but less corrupting or at least the hope is that it is less corrupting," Luminitsa spoke, she could see the doubt in his eyes, could tell he was troubled. It made her sad. Someone who had seemed to have lost all hope for themselves. She stepped back behind the curtain to hide the sadness in her eyes. She was doing all she could for the fallen angel, but she didn't know if it would be enough. 

She soon stepped back from behind the curtain, holding a bottle. The contents looked like dense black smoke. She set it on the table but walked around it, once again moving in front of the smaller angel, putting herself at eyes level.

"I don't know if you doubt why I help or if you yourself doubt that you are worth or capable of redemption. I am sure my realm can't compare to the heavens but it isn't all corruption either. Have courage, and be kind on your journey. You my be surprised how purifying kindness in and of itself is," She spoke, trying to offer the small angel something. He needed hope, he needed drive, he needed to be lifted out of the despair he seemed to wallow in. She stood swiftly, grabbing the bottle and handed it to the small angel, "Try to drink it as slow as possible if you choose to accept my help, it is concentrated."

"You should be on your way, I do expect others to be arriving soon. I always despise having guest when someone comes seeking one of my rings. It doesn't always go smoothly," She spoke softly, still offering a smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.

Azrael looked questioningly at Luminitsa as if asking if she was sure. He had been watching over the girl and the rings for so long he instantly felt protective. She waved the larger angel off, as to say she would be fine. Azrael gave a nod before standing, his head less than an inch from the ceiling of the Caravan.

"Then we should be off, my Lady," He spoke before turning to Azazel allowing him to lead the way out of the Caravan.

[Salzem]

It wasn't as if the child wasn't grateful for the mortal's efforts, but he wasn't overly convinced at all. He had been doing this same routine over and over, day after day, month after month and so on, any deviation from the regular either seemed completely hopeless or dangerously improbable of being a good thing. Azazel secretly had a fear that whatever she was cooking up in that back room really WASN'T in his best interest actually. In fact, he imagined that she was pouring salt into her mixture right now, straight from her nefarious salt shaker she keeps on her apothecary table, right next to the condiment/ingredient drawer. His face went green as he imagined her face contorting into a nefarious smile, jagged teeth and sunken eyes as her body fell away to reveal that of an old hag-witch, tossing in spider eyes, hairs legs and such, all lightly salted into her mortar and pestle. He thought he was going to be sick as his fallen fantasy continued, the bottle she would present to him as his "substitute" being a mix of arachnid gore suspended in some disgusting slime of an indescribable shade of green, the bottle dusted with the cursed fractals of the vile spice salt. He almost looked like he was going to faint as he saw the rustling behind the curtain that separated him, perhaps even ready to barf all over the inside of the caravan. 

Then, she came back in. There was no salt on the bottle, nor severed spider-parts suspended in vile green goo. What floated around the confines of the glass actually looked like a severed part of him, almost a perfect replica of the shadows that made up the fallen-child's form. He stared at the bottle as she presented it to him, lecturing the young angel about something or other before telling him to drink as little as possible before practically shoving them both out her door. Azazel looked up at the older angel once they were outside, staring up wide-eyed and almost scared.

"Azreal...? Where do we go now...?"

[drunkensarah]

"Well, Azazel, that is up to you. If you wish to go to the altar of the Goddess she spoke of, we can go there. If you wish to go somewhere else, we can go else where, if you think it will help your condition. She wishes us to leave, so we should, she doesn't want us to get involved with her burden. Those who come seeking the rings she possesses don't always come in peace. I am sure she wishes us to leave so you don't get involved. Depending on what is seeking them, you could find more corruption if you stay.  She will be fine, she somehow always manages to be, she is an incredibly resourceful mortal," He spoke as he momentarily reminisced of the days he was high in the heavens watching over the different keepers of the rings.

Azrael could feel the air changing, he had a feeling in his gut that what was coming was bad news.
"We should be on our way," Azrael suggested, his wings appearing and spreading wide.