Jun. 2nd, 2012 07:15 pm
christlike: (work out your salvation with fear)
[personal profile] christlike
[ azrael stands within an empty cathedral, its halls lit dimly by candles in the depth of night. behind him, a figure lies slumped on the pews. a priest, his vestments scorched in the center of his chest but otherwise unharmed. periodically, he shifts in restless sleep.

azrael glances back at him, for a moment, then speaks. both his tone and his posture are exhausted.

I have spent my time here under a trial. Madness is not one that a mortal being, no matter how faithful, no matter how God-fearing, can win. My delusions had forced me to believe otherwise.

I had lost myself. [ then, he trembles. and clutches his head with a hand. ] My name is Michael Lane, and I have fallen upon a tragedy that has struck my predecessors to the Earth, a bloodline victim of the loss of will. I had nearly crucified myself again before coming to my senses.

Yet, my actions―they were still just! Even as righteousness would blur before my very eyes, I still served my God!

[ desperately: ] I served God, as Death's knight. The unrepentant truly deserve little else. Only my focus was truly tainted.

[ ooc: it's been like... six months, so my permissions for judgement is here ]
[identity profile] crucifriction.livejournal.com
[ The view is stunning. From this well-decorated penthouse apartment’s wide glass windows, the City nearly gleams with flickering lights and bustling activity this Christmas night. The room is warmly illuminated with a minimalist fireplace burning bright at the wall. Along with that are the hot red flames still dancing around a man’s neck, slumped over a gold-plated coffee table in a well-tailored suit. His severed head is, presumably, off camera. There’s not a drop of blood on the scene.

Azrael steps around into the sight of the video, quietly looking out of the window for a moment. He speaks: ]

No matter what creed one follows, the lure of avarice is a heady, tempting one during this time. Rarely does a man’s generosity, his material kindness, flow over in the way that his wanton need for much—more than currency or goods, but fame, power, affection—does.

It is far easier to take away than to give. That is the difficulty in becoming a virtuous being, but the rewards one would reap for it… [ He trails off. ]

There will be punishment for greed, City. Mark my words.

God have mercy on your souls.
[identity profile] crucifriction.livejournal.com
[ The cathedral that the video opens up to is swarming with hooded figures whose robes vary from black to red to white. Some carry boxes, some spread black silk across the pews, some paint stained glass with a red lacquer, casting the church with an insidious red glow.

It pans to view a few struggling to tear the statue of the crucifixion off its foundations, then zooms to the altar where a priest lies bound, unconscious, surrounded by more figures whose chants can be heard from a distance. Michael’s voice then echoes through the tall hall. ]

Give that to me.

[ As the video whirls, a figure stares back. The only familiar part of him, besides the voice, is the now black Suit of Sorrows, cross inveted. Otherwise, he wears a modified Batcowl, whose curled horns and glass eyes and plate glint in the strange light. A gauntlet snatches the communicator, turns it to its now bowing user, a man enshrouded in white. He scatters and Michael narrates: ]

The Cult of Faith hath begun.
[identity profile] crucifriction.livejournal.com
[ Azrael is in a deep, dark room, mask only illuminated by the light of the communicator. As he speaks, the firmness in his voice hints at an undercurrent of weariness, a tinge of madness. ]

A trial has arrived to its culmination. A fortnight for four men—wicked men, judged to be damned by Sin, revealed to have potential for glory by Salvation. A fortnight for those four men to have repented by any method necessary, redeemed of guilt through themselves… and God. They would undergo and succeed at this trial, lest both their mortal and spiritual selves would be in peril.

Two out of the four men, men of the City, locals, had been left unscorched by the second arrival of my blades. Two men had lived, two men have been cast downward.

[ Extending a hand off-camera, there’s a woosh and the emanation of an ethereal, glowing blue smoke from the Sword of Salvation, casting the room in an eerie light. On a plain wooden desk in the corner of the video, if one squints, is a head: expression permanently contorted in terror. ]

[ softly: ]
Every other sinner, saved. Isn’t that a thought?

[ ooc: permissions post for judgment hasn’t moved so uh ]
[identity profile] crucifriction.livejournal.com
[ The video opens up to Azrael, clad in both mask and suit, standing on the edge of a rooftop. While his left hand holds the communicator, the other hand wields the lit Sword of Sin, illuminating the dark night.

He more booms than speaks, projecting a sense of might, of power. ]

The City [ he spits ] is no different than Gotham, than many another—filled with vipers, drew thin by Satan’s will, steeped in sin! All of you, either evil, mad or ignorant of what wrongs you have done, what transgressions have occurred. I can tell that it’s been led far too long.

You must—you will repent, or you will be cast into a pit of fire and brimstone. [ He slashes the air, once; the flames dance after the blade. ] I will cast you there, City. I, Azrael, will take on the role as your judge, your savior and your destroyer, as God wills it!

[ ooc: permissions post for Judgement is here, fill it out, please! ]


capeandcowl: (Default)

January 2014

    1 234
56789 10 11
12 131415161718


Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Oct. 24th, 2017 11:07 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios