welcome, new visitors

[modconcierge]

There isn't much fanfare for the new crop of visitors who have come in this month, but what they encounter is quite wondrous. Is it a cruise ship? Is it a hotel? Is it a tiny planet? No one can give them a straight answer, but all are encouraged to take part in the buffet, where visitors may find an assortment of foods both familiar and unfamiliar to them. There is an open mic night happening in one of the lounges on site, featuring staff and visitor performances. Or there are a handful of shops to browse if you're amenable to trading.

Visitors will find that the Hotel Multiverse at the Edge of the Cosmos between Canons (its official name) is very much alive beyond the bustling crowd. In fact, it might just be listening to you and anticipating your needs.

As for the rest? Well, that's up to you. You may as well socialize, right?

Comments

yeessss

[knowmyname]

[There was no chance it would have stayed that way, not with the events surrounding that fateful mission, not with what had been at stake. To imply Death "did not know" was to imply something had happened to War, at worst, and he wouldn't allow such a possibility to go unconfirmed. Lucky, then, that he knew Azrael well enough to be patient and trust an answer would be forthcoming, even if he had no desire to wait.

Still, Death scowled behind his mask before offering only the barest information necessary. He perhaps owed Azrael, as guardian of the Well, more information, but much of it should have been recognized...]

For humanity. For my brother.

[...Death's scowl turned suspicious, and his rasping voice edged into inquiry.]

Though I find it odd that you were not present. Your wards didn't manage to fend off the influence of the Corruption. [It's a pointed choice to not use his fallen brother's name, managing to keep his tone even.] Your Archon was taken by it, and his key misused.

[manynames]

[If the answer at all surprised him, there was no indication of it on his face. The Charred Council must have involved Death as well as War, perhaps even used the youngest Nephilim as leverage to coax a little more cooperation out of the oldest and perhaps most stubborn of the Horsemen.

No, surprise wouldn't show. Instead, it was a growing creep of obvious exhaustion, as if some ponderous weight had suddenly settled across his shoulders. For humanity, oh how heavy did his sins settle upon him when Death spoke those words, the mention of War an added sting.]

After one hundred years without me... No I... cannot imagine they would.

[He didn't have to ask after Lucien, Death beat him to the punch. No longer was he even looking at the Nephilim, the angel's pearly eyes drifting to the floor. Another brother fallen to his lapse of judgement.]

I trust you... relieved him of his suffering. ... Thank you, Horseman.

[But, now he had his promise to fulfill, though it stuck in his throat like sand.]

I have spent the last century in captivity on earth, imprisoned by Hell's army after the fall of the Hellguard. War took it upon himself to free me. When I last spoke with him, he was whole and well, armed with the Armageddon Blade reforged and keen to clear his name.

[As that was the most important thing he could say to Death at present, eager to lay to rest what concern he could.]

I sent him, at his bidding, to meet the Destroyer upon the battlefield. ... To meet Abaddon. What happened after that I cannot say, I expected to be brought before the Charred Council but...

[He was dancing around the deeper details, of course there was a reason why he of all angels would be dragged before the Council.]

:blobsweat: sorry about the length—

[knowmyname]

[Whether this was some Council plot or not, Death didn't know but frankly wouldn't have been surprised: the Charred Council was cunning in its machinations, in its manipulations, and it made sure to keep things moving as it determined necessary if the existence of Panoptos and its ilk were anything to go by. If the existence of the Horsemen was anything to go by.

But it was the number which stilled Death, made him step back after the words settled.]

A hundred years?

[The words left him in a low rasp. Had he been lost in the workings of the Well for so long? War had only recently... It'd been far less than a century when he'd left. Time could be changed, rewound, invaded, so it was possible time spent in the Well was slowed... Or had the Well taken him along with the souls of his slain brethren, only for something to draw him back? The Charred Council and its leash on his soul, maybe.

That Azrael shortly lost the will to look Death in the mask said plenty: guilt. His mouth worked behind the bone-white, a scowl sliding from one side to the other, and questions began to multiply, giving no reply to the thanks; he'd done what was necessary to accomplish his goal.

At least what the angel said first was reassuring: War was free, hale, whole, unbroken. If War thought to free Azrael, that answered one scattered batch of questions. At the same time, it led to more: why had it taken so long for that freedom? Uriel and her remnants had been on Earth, fending off Hell's army to the best of their weakened ability. It was as the Nephilim began to fold his arms that his name was brought into this.]

Abaddon.

[Vovin. Dragon. Destroyer. He'd once known Abaddon to be honourable, if mulish and proud; had known the Charred Council sent War to the White City to deal with Abaddon's brilliant sacrament bomb, more a sign of zealotry and short thinking, maybe age and desperation. No more, though. How long exactly had Azrael known? From the time of his imprisonment?

(Nathaniel had been torn in the admission, but Death had been told of Abaddon's new name after travelling between worlds and gathering answers. But perhaps that was the difference of one hundred years: Azrael had time enough for the knowledge to set.)

Still, it set Death's teeth on edge, tension in his shoulders, and a snarl under his breath. After all: why would Azrael think he'd be called before the Council? He'd had to have known before.

Probably the only thing keeping Death from calling Harvester and bringing it to Azrael's neck to press for information was knowing he'd get his answers, and maybe their current surrounds. This was not a place to draw attention, if only because Death knew little of the limitations he had room to dance within, and Death was not keen to deal with interruptions he didn't have to. So instead he reached out with every intention to gather a fistful of fine fabrics and yank. Whether or not he caught the angel didn't matter: there was much left for Azrael to explain.]

Keep talking.

Its okay! I was trying not to get too wordy myself before but lmfao look a lot of stuff happened

[manynames]

[Azrael nodded when Death repeated back that incredible span of years. It had been a surprise to War as well, apparently the youngest too had no idea just how much time had passed in the seemingly few seconds he had spent pleading his case to the Council.]

We had thought War fallen, as we did once with Abaddon. Defeated by Hell's champion, Straga. I fared no better than they against him in that initial battle. The White City shut it's doors to all outside of it, condemning the Hellguard to a long, inevitable demise, and myself to an eternity of captivity. I doubt that any of those who lived were even aware of my location...

[A hundred years was a long time to be left to rot, without any hope of rescue. It wasn't something he wished to linger upon, though thankfully what Azrael was doing after his shared treachery with Abaddon wasn't necessarily important. He left it there.]

War spoke to me of the Charred Council, how this premature apocalypse had been attributed to him by them.

[And if there was a hint of sharpness in that tone, well... there was. Azrael knew manipulation when he saw it, it had been all too clear the Council needed a reason to force the Horseman's hand. More painful still was the truth behind it all though, who really stood to blame for all of this needless loss and tragedy, and perhaps that was what really lent the edge to his tone.

As for Abaddon... He simply had not been allotted the time to mourn. Things happened too quickly, and considering the source of his knowledge of Abaddon's new identity, he was in no position to question it. Undeniable fact, and one that demanded immediate attention, regardless of his feelings or the shock of it all. There would be time enough for him to process it later... If he managed to live that long.

Once upon the dead world of the Ravaiim, he had nearly lost his temper with the oldest Horseman when the nephilim had grabbed him in very much the same manner. Offended almost beyond words and more than ready to start an extremely inconvenient argument right then and there. Now, however, Death would find the once proud angel submitting instantly to that vicious yank, both feet hitting the ground as he simply dropped from the few feet he'd been hovering in the air. His breath caught for a split second, as if his heart had literally climbed into his throat, before he continued.]

When War defeated Straga, I knew of only one place where we may still find any lead as to what should be done. I took him to Eden, where he had an audience with The Tree of Knowledge. That was when we learned of Abaddon's transformation, and I entrusted the recovery of the shattered Armageddon Blade to him.

[Still wasn't saying the important part, still wasn't able to look Death in the eye. To have taken a nephilim right to Eden without even a second thought suggested a moment of wild desperation indeed, though he spoke little of it now. His tone suggested that despite the silence he'd fallen into, he wasn't yet through, and finally, at long last, he pushed himself past that horizon.]

... It was at the behest of Abaddon did I ask Ulthane, a maker, to craft that weapon. ... For the sake of shattering six of the seven seals in a bid to trick Hell into believing Armageddon had begun.

At his command, I broke all but one.

[Once he started speaking, he simply could not stop, the confession to Death spilling out like water from a broken dam. It had been painful, shameful to admit it to War, the youngest nephilim having been burdened with the blame of committing an atrocity thanks to his actions. It was almost worse to now repeat it to Death. It was the very least the Horseman was owed however, genuinely the mealiest and most meager of scraps Azrael could hope to offer as recompense for everything.]

War, for his part, refused to enact his revenge. My fate was to be left to the Council.

[And he'd been ready for that, prepared for their wrath. It was no longer the concept of dying now that caused his blood to turn to ice, it was the act of having to tell Death now of this crime. He'd rather have submitted to the Council's rage and been unmade than stand before someone he'd respected and admit to his betrayal. Death deserved better, War deserved better.

He went silent, now drained and without a single thing else to offer the nephilim. It was all out there now, after all, what else was to be done?]