Post by ~Xandrael~ on Oct 3, 2008 17:18:46 GMT -1
It is not because angels are holier than men or devils that makes them angels, but because they do not expect holiness from one another, but from God alone. ~William Blake
Messenger of God
Its form extends to six feet and six inches, long like the arrow yet taut like the bow. Its complexion kissed with bronze and reflecting light. Its body, house of the soul, is composed of the perfection of God's image. A drop from the water that makes the rain. But every drop is formed the same, the difference between them lies in the unique quality of each. The quality of Xandrael's perfection lies in its spirit, the spirit of a Watcher of the highest order.
This spirit has experienced, through all the senses, an eon of life. These eyes have seen, through irises of amethyst hue. This hair has touched, with tendrils of obsidian that reach down its back, braided and woven. These hands have held, with fingers long and thin. This voice has spoken, in the lilting tones of silversong. These wings have flown, upon feathers of light and matter, in the realm of Heaven.
Its angelic form is clad in robes of grey and brown, its chest often bare and wrists encircled with silver.
When treading upon Earth, Xandrael chooses to clothe itself in neutral-colored garb, often in black, grey or brown. It finds the feeling of leather gloves curious, and it wears them most of the time, or has them stuffed into the pocket of a grey trenchcoat
it favors.
Strange Persona
Xandrael Watches men and all their ways and means; it Watches the Angels, and it Watches the Fallen on Earth. Puzzling out their motivations. A calculating analytic. Its eyes are unblinking, its gaze unwavering. Its curiosity a current running through its brain, ever-present. A thirst for knowledge, for the pursuit of Why.
It chooses its words carefully, or rather, the words fall from its lips with deliberate precision, its voice never rising above normal spoken volume. Often, its silence is its only reply.
Its eyes, always observant, do not often meet the eyes of others when they are speaking. Its hands hang by its sides or hover in the air needlessly.
When taking action, it likes to be as absolutely certain as possible about the outcome. It measures and mediates between extremes, always trying to find the balance of things. It is often keen to offer an alternative, especially one it deems more appropiate.
It is not normally passionate about anything, in fact, it is its seemingly dispassionate demeanor that disturbs the other angels. But that is not to say that Xandrael is incapable of strong emotion. On the contrary, its emotions are quite potent, it just takes a very significant event to incite them. And what is significant to Xandrael is a mystery to all who know it.
Also, it has an inexplicable fondness for nonpareils, keys, and Jeff Buckley.
Past Transgressions
After the Great Flood, Xandrael was tasked with Watching the world of men, documenting instances of interaction between humans and supernatural beings. It contemplated the nature of The Creator's spirit and its presence in His creations. It watched empires rise and fall, cultures develop and degrade, all assisted or interloped by Fae, Nephilim, Fallen, and other creatures. It reflected on all it saw, tempering it against the epistemology and ideology of God. It would report its observations and findings to the Seraphim.
While watching the moment known in human history as the Dark Ages, Xandrael began to fall deeper into silence, and its reports were few and far between, until they ceased altogether. When the Seraphim came and questioned it, it gave no reply. It was replaced by another Watcher, yet Xandrael did not stop Watching. In truth of fact, it began to truly Watch, without judgment, without prejudice. It Watched for no one but itself. Seeing all of the suffering of man, it began to look more profoundly into all it knew of right and wrong.
Its eyes, no longer restricted by the needs of the Seraphim, began to wander. Not only did they Watch mankind, but the ungodly creatures as well: The Nephilim, the Demons, the Vampires, and all the others. It even tried to watch the Fae Folk, but the enigma of their existence prevented it from having much insight.
It also Watched where it dared not Watch before, upon The Fallen, its excommunicated brethren.
Xandrael absorbed all it saw and heard, storing it away, tracking details and patterns, making notes of reactions and conflicts, of interactions and resolutions. Centuries of data locked away in the recesses of its mind.
All the while, the other angels failed to understand its actions. It gained a reputation of being subversive, of failing to serve the Creator. Rather, it was not doing what the Seraphim had told it to do. It Watched, but how could it? It was no longer a Watcher, that was not its Duty. Yet nothing happened, nothing was done to turn Xandrael from what it was doing.
Time passed and at the beginning of the twenty-first century, a message came to Xandrael. It was assigned a mission.
On Earth.
For the first time in eternity, Xandrael left Heaven, and now it walks amongst those it has observed for so long. It is now that all its knowledge would be of consequence.
Demiurge of Sound
Xandrael is a Cantor, trained in sonance combat. By employing its angelic voice, it can inflict damage and incite a variety of effects. It has within its arsenal six songs, with a mastery over three:
--[ Todes Lied ]--
arcane song of disturbance, smothers the life spirit in the body, weakens endurance and focus.
--[ Vendetta Divina ]--
divine song of judgment, induces the reliving of past sins with the added element of feeling the pain and damage these sins have inflicted on others.
--[ Engel Niederlagelied ]--
song of angel's defeat. a solemn, insane melody that deranges the minds of demonic creatures.
As a Watcher it can enter a deep meditative state and use its telepathic abilitites to observe humans, both gifted and not, and Nephilim through all of its senses, called the Alceing Eye. This power is not as effective on Fae, Shapeshifters, Vampires, or Were-wolves, only allowing for a basic sense of their presence.
