You Break it you Bought It: irony!verse rp for ashes_ascending
At the height of his cult, before he lost interest and moved on to other things, there were temples dedicated to Azrael in various parts of the mortal realm -- wherever the people were beautiful enough and bloodthirsty enough to peak his interest. He'd pluck them like flowers and play with them until they wilted, leaving behind nothing more than the scarred bones of his temples and altars. They were consecrated to him in the blood of his followers, and while they've long since fallen into ruins he's still tied to them, still attuned to when a hapless soul wanders onto their grounds, looking for adventure or treasure or just shelter from the rain. And it's enough to liven up his day to go and play with them, break them over altars coated in dust and thick rivulets of long-dried blood.
Sometimes it even gets him thinking that reviving his cult is a good idea.
So when he feels something disturb the web of energies woven into the stones of one of his temples he reaches out with his mind, testing the feel of it -- and stops short, head cocked to the side as though listening intently. The presence is . . . different, but familiar, and after a moment he tastes something with a hint of honey, of holiness. Not the kind that he knows, but enough to get him moving in a hurry, grin flashing wickedly as he reaches for the Gates.
A moment later he's standing in the shadows of his Temple, eyes crackling a flame that can be seen shining through a darkness that isn't fully dispersed even by the mid-day sun outside, and his gaze is locked on a lovely young man who isn't entirely what he appears to be. A lovely young angel, who's stumbled into the last place on earth he should be.
Sometimes it even gets him thinking that reviving his cult is a good idea.
So when he feels something disturb the web of energies woven into the stones of one of his temples he reaches out with his mind, testing the feel of it -- and stops short, head cocked to the side as though listening intently. The presence is . . . different, but familiar, and after a moment he tastes something with a hint of honey, of holiness. Not the kind that he knows, but enough to get him moving in a hurry, grin flashing wickedly as he reaches for the Gates.
A moment later he's standing in the shadows of his Temple, eyes crackling a flame that can be seen shining through a darkness that isn't fully dispersed even by the mid-day sun outside, and his gaze is locked on a lovely young man who isn't entirely what he appears to be. A lovely young angel, who's stumbled into the last place on earth he should be.