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Azazael

(#46959088)

Level 25 Imperial

Familiar

Ruffled Serpent

Energy: 50/50

Personal Style

Apparel

Skin

Scene

Physical Attributes

Battle Stats

Measurements

Length

23.64 m

Wingspan

24.3 m

Weight

9015.48 kg

Genetics

Phthalo
Leopard

Phthalo
Bee

Cornflower
Veined

Hatchday

Nov 17, 2018
(5 years)

Breed

Adult
Imperial

Eye Type

Lightning
Dark Sclera

Level 25 Imperial

Max Level

STR

AGI

DEF

QCK

INT

102

VIT

MND

Lineage

Parents

Offspring

Biography

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Azazael
The Serpent from Heavens

Heavy was the head that wore the crown and his was so very heavy, it threatened to crush his skull and cut his features. His crown of gold and light were halos, rotating furiously around their own axis, heavy as the wings dragging on his back. From dusk til dawn he stretched over the sky, radiant, golden and pure. Perfection.

His place on top of the hierarchy was a lonely one, cold despite his closeness to the sun’s golden rays, as he carried the burden of being the first all on his own. At times, his shoulders hunched and his heart stopped pounding, threatening to fall silent from the sheer pressure of being the greatest, the best, the most radiant. Yet he stood tall and proud, unbending, as tempting as it was.

Too long, one eternity bled into another, he watched and grew and stagnated at the same time, already perfect in every facet of his being, he yet fell victim to the simplest of sins, the father of them all, the one that gave birth to the rest. Pride became his downfall, pride in his prowess, in his powers as he curled through Heavens like they belonged to him. Cherubs and Seraphs of lower rank cowered underneath his gaze, for he was the first Archangel, he was what they could never even dream of achieving.

Yet, all it took was one look from a being as cold as the void between the stars, and he found himself trembling in fear and arousal, the idea of belonging to anyone never sat right with him and yet, when this creature marched through the gates of heaven like he owned them, the Archangel found himself unable to lift his sword. Any words of valor and greatness crumbled to ash on the tip of his tongue, bitter and useless as the entity lifted his palm, scattered the army at the Archangel’s back like rose petals in the wind, power flowing from his every pore like light of the Angel’s.

”I like you. I might just keep you.”, the entity smiled, chuckled amused by the bristling of pale feathers against his ice coated words. Dark against bright, he stood out, did not belong here, yet roses of dark purple grew from between his spread claws, from his shadow like a trail of decay reversed. And the Archangel tried to lift his sword, the golden tip of the blade shaking, pointing against the stranger’s heart of hearts. “Go on then, little one. Plunge in deep the blade.”

Large, star speckled hands wrapped themselves around the blade, gold cutting deep, searing flesh and bones as he guided the weapon’s tip against the wide of his chest, watching with nebula eyes how the Archangel shook and shivered, a little boy faced with the consequences of his deeds. One step forward, the stranger came closer and all too easily, the blade slipped between his collarbone and ribs, darkness oozing out wounds torn, darkness like the velvet of the night sky, broken by specks of silver and gold, blinking, shining.

“You have to twist it too, let me show you.”, the light of his halos dimmed as cold hands grabbed his own, blackness covering the back of them, running over his fingers, slickening the hilt between his hands. And the stranger did. He twisted the blade and the Archangel heard cries of agony echoing in his ears, his skull, behind his glowing eyes, as one by one, the remaining of his army fell, clawing their bleeding chests, their unfeeling hearts made mortal by magic not of this world. And the entity smiled, cold and beautiful, breathtaking in his grandeur. “What a pity. It seemed not even angels are what they were hailed to be.”

Fury caught and burnt from within as the Archangel roared, sky wide wings spread in all their pale glory, before he plunged the entity out of heaven’s doors, they were falling, falling like comets in a trail of blaze and gloria. And the dark blooded stranger laughed. He laughed and laughed, as his blood settled on pale feathers, seeped into the Archangel’s pure skin, blinded glowing eyes.

“Now you belong to me, little Archangel.”

His halos were the first thing to go, his sanity the last. From the crater of their combined fall, a different creature crawled, a being changed and twisted in purpose. Dark where once was light, he brought forth corruption now instead of valor, his voice raspy and scratchy, the slithering of a snake in the dark where before he had sung the sweetest of praises. The fall had taken everything from him before it was returned to him, twisted and broken, fixed in the wrong way.

He became the Empire’s galon figure, the joke no one dares to laugh about, his mind fixated now on praising the ones he considers worthy, the darkened emperor in all his star speckled glory, the golden skinned, sin touched empress as bright as the sun, her raven winged shadow. Never once is his mind not busy with schemes and conniving ideas to bring down the enemies made. He is loyal to the bitter end, not understanding that it would always be him, his bones to break, his blood to spill. His life that would be lost.

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"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death.
He had come like a thief in the night. And one by one dropped the revellers in
the blood-bedewed halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing posture of his fall...

DALETH:
They are alike, so alike.
Only he is silence to his noise,
steel to his poison. Steady, calm,
the calm before his storm. His
grip is tight, strong, he is safety.

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Exalting Azazael to the service of the Flamecaller will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.

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