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neutral_omensDate: February 20, 2000
Setting: Mostly Uriel's Room
Status: Uriel (Private, complete)
Summary: Uriel receives an order.
As soon as Uriel entered his room he noticed that something wasn't right. Something about the Presence there was wrong. It didn't mark the current or recent visit of a demon -- very few beings of demonic origin could feel even somewhat comfortable in his room, which was soaked with the Presence -- but rather there was more of it. And that did definitely mean something.
His eyes suddenly caught the sight of a softly glowing object lying on his unused bed. With an icy sense of dread he realized that it was a letter. And the feeling of Presence was coming from it.
Very slowly Uriel made his way to the bed. All other thoughts had left his mind, the only thing in his head being the repeated mantra of, ‘No, no, not this... Anything but this, please...'
His hands were shaking slightly as he took the letter and carefully broke the seal of purest white. The silvery ink glowed even more than the parchment it had been used on, and the letter in whole felt warm. Still its contents made him freeze as his eyes danced from a line to another.
-- For continued unangelic behaviour --
-- Ignoring clear warnings and advice from several sources --
The letter fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He still stared at the spot where it had been, however, the words still echoing in his mind.
-- Lies, manipulation, unprovoked attacks --
He closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them again, his eyes searching for a very particular object. Finally they fell on his sword, which was still resting in the corner of the room. His steps towards it were even slower than those he had taken towards the bed and the letter. The daggers in his sleeve felt suddenly more heavy than ever before, and with a quick thought he banished them onto his bed. With sheer force of will he managed to force his fingers to grasp on the hilt of the weapon and lift it.
He quietly looked at the sword, caressing its smooth blade with the fingertips of his free hand. It appeared almost unused, no mark left on it from its millennia of use. Although he used it only rarely nowadays -- something he was truly thankful of -- it still felt familiar in his hand, like an extension of his arm. It was his, made for him, meant to be used by him. Meant to channel his powers.
The mere thought made him feel ill.
-- It has been deemed best that --
Again moving slowly he made his way to the door of his room and opened it. After a moment's hesitation he stepped outside, closed the door behind himself, and closed his eyes in concentration. Outside the Manor, he knew that -- how he knew it, nobody could tell. Well, nobody but Him, anyway. He had been given his orders, and he thus knew his destination, where, and who, it would be.
-- The Archangel Raphael is to Fall --
Somehow -- was it luck, His will, or mere coincidence, he would never know -- he managed to make his way out of the Manor without running into anyone. Once outside he spread his wings, taking off to the direction his every instinct was drawing him to.
Had anybody been close enough to see his face, they might have noticed the lost look on the angel's face, the fear that was mixed in the determination in his eyes. However, nobody was there to see it.
To the ground fell a single feather from his wing, pure white.
-- THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL IS TO FALL --
Setting: Mostly Uriel's Room
Status: Uriel (Private, complete)
Summary: Uriel receives an order.
As soon as Uriel entered his room he noticed that something wasn't right. Something about the Presence there was wrong. It didn't mark the current or recent visit of a demon -- very few beings of demonic origin could feel even somewhat comfortable in his room, which was soaked with the Presence -- but rather there was more of it. And that did definitely mean something.
His eyes suddenly caught the sight of a softly glowing object lying on his unused bed. With an icy sense of dread he realized that it was a letter. And the feeling of Presence was coming from it.
Very slowly Uriel made his way to the bed. All other thoughts had left his mind, the only thing in his head being the repeated mantra of, ‘No, no, not this... Anything but this, please...'
His hands were shaking slightly as he took the letter and carefully broke the seal of purest white. The silvery ink glowed even more than the parchment it had been used on, and the letter in whole felt warm. Still its contents made him freeze as his eyes danced from a line to another.
-- For continued unangelic behaviour --
-- Ignoring clear warnings and advice from several sources --
The letter fell from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He still stared at the spot where it had been, however, the words still echoing in his mind.
-- Lies, manipulation, unprovoked attacks --
He closed his eyes briefly. Then he opened them again, his eyes searching for a very particular object. Finally they fell on his sword, which was still resting in the corner of the room. His steps towards it were even slower than those he had taken towards the bed and the letter. The daggers in his sleeve felt suddenly more heavy than ever before, and with a quick thought he banished them onto his bed. With sheer force of will he managed to force his fingers to grasp on the hilt of the weapon and lift it.
He quietly looked at the sword, caressing its smooth blade with the fingertips of his free hand. It appeared almost unused, no mark left on it from its millennia of use. Although he used it only rarely nowadays -- something he was truly thankful of -- it still felt familiar in his hand, like an extension of his arm. It was his, made for him, meant to be used by him. Meant to channel his powers.
The mere thought made him feel ill.
-- It has been deemed best that --
Again moving slowly he made his way to the door of his room and opened it. After a moment's hesitation he stepped outside, closed the door behind himself, and closed his eyes in concentration. Outside the Manor, he knew that -- how he knew it, nobody could tell. Well, nobody but Him, anyway. He had been given his orders, and he thus knew his destination, where, and who, it would be.
-- The Archangel Raphael is to Fall --
Somehow -- was it luck, His will, or mere coincidence, he would never know -- he managed to make his way out of the Manor without running into anyone. Once outside he spread his wings, taking off to the direction his every instinct was drawing him to.
Had anybody been close enough to see his face, they might have noticed the lost look on the angel's face, the fear that was mixed in the determination in his eyes. However, nobody was there to see it.
To the ground fell a single feather from his wing, pure white.
-- THE ARCHANGEL RAPHAEL IS TO FALL --
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