Summary: The Blessed meet at Wormwood Abbey for a council, concerned about the disposition of an infernal Key, rumors of attack, and the state of the Abbey itself.
The wide, curtain-covered archway opens into a broad room in which it seems the architects have attempted to capture some of the grace and beauty of the ancient monasteries from the world before The End. It is a large chamber, and unlike the other rooms in the Abbey there are no mosaics here: Gargoyles take their place. The walls are lines with aged bookshelves, every one filled with delicate, aged books.
A long table stretches long across the room, made of a dark oak, hard enough to survive the castrophese of the End. Simple chairs line the table. No names are assigned spots, and the chairs are pushed close together, as if a large number is expected.
At the end of the room, two unique Banners stand on either side of the man who sits at the head of the table: The Prior Talisein, who's back is ramrod straight, ready to face some undaughtable task. The faith that shines in his eyes seems sufficient for that..
Contents:
Only five feet and seven inches tall, and possessing a rather slender figure, this person is by no means intimidating, or impressive. He has a quiet, somber aire, but is by no means timid.
His face possesses rather dark features, not helped by a sad expression. Black, slightly wavey hair is allowed to grow a little long, the back and sides falling to mid-neck, the front swept to the sides. Dark skin and sad brown eyes, and a strongly defined nose, make up his face. A dark, scruffy beard is allowed to grow as well, covering his sideburns, jaw, and mustache-area, lips amongst the sea of hair.
Currently, he wears a dark black jacket, pretty worn out, with a plain black t-shirt under it. Fingerless black gloves are worn on his hands, made of a tough, sturdy fabric. His belt, made of light brown leather, is an old affair, dull metal belt buckle no longer possessing the faux gold covering it once had. His jeans are dark blue, worn out, even ragged around the bottoms. The jeans are rather tight, just loose enough to get into. Black boots are worn on his feet.
Rezaphazaal
An aged man, his harsh and sunken eyes fallen away into dark pockets under a ragged, tired brow. His face is etched with endless lines depicting the history of a long life, and it sags with the weight of a terrible burdon. A beard flows out from his face in a long, gauzey grey bundle, falling as low as his midsection in fine, coarse whisps.
On his body he wears a soft grey shirt, delicate on his fragile frame, over which is an unbuttoned waistcoat. Dark slacks cover his long, thin legs, his feet dressed in scuffed dress shoes. A black coat falls over the entirity of his body, like a dark shadow pulled over an old man to hide his miserable deterioration.
He is sorrowful to behold, yet ancient and proud, and though it seems strangely clear that fate has found the end of his chord, he seems to embark upon death with courage.
Mikael
This being can be none other than the Archangel Mikael. His form is that as has been suggested in every church: He is a tall Angel, standing 6 feet, although his presence involkes more. On his chest, an ornate, but quite usable golden breastplate is worn. His legs are protected by the white linen cloth that comes down to his knees. Hanging at his waist is a sword that projects power even from its sheath.
But the true identification comes from the Seraphim's face. Seeming set in granite, it is that of a war leader who leads from the front. Although Angelicly Perfect, it is reminisant of the grisald features of a long time drunken barfighter. Brown eyes that remind you of a firm oak tree considers you for a moment before continueing to scan the room. Truely, this is the one that cast down Lucifier.
Tyrion
A tall, and very bulky man. He is robed with a plain greyish robe, the robe being filthy and torn almost beyond repair. It flows down to the very ground, jagged edges of the robe draging against the ground. The large man's shoulders are held high, and are the only thing keeping the robe from tripping this man repeadtly. The shoulders look like they are not muscle, as they are too round and artisicly perfect. Most people, from a distance away, would just pass this man as another raving preacher. The hood almost covers his head entirely, but what you can see is an oddly well groomed man.. for this starving world. A golden red mustache curls to join a short but well maintained beard that follows to a curly mop of golden streaked reddish hair. This is something you don't see every day, such a well maintained 'hair-do'. He holds well chiseled and square features, and a set of piercing blue eyes.
Arch
Standing before you at an unimposing five feet and ten inches or so is a shadowy figure of a being, seeming to be emanating the kind of silence that makes blood pound in one's ears. His body is athletically muscular and shaped, but still tends towards being thin and lean, with good muscle tone but definitely not bulging muscles or anything of that sort. As well, he has no signs of the sort of malnourishment or sickness that tends to plague the population of Babylon, if one disregards the flesh that is visible being pale and dark circles beneath his eyes. All of his movements are precise, efficient, with him simply chosing not to move if there's no need. However, when he actually does make some sort of move, it is usually almost entirely quiet, feet able to move across surfaces with usually nary a trace.
The most distinguishing thing about this figure, but also the thing that allows him to blend out of vision easily, is his clothing. The first thing that is usually immediately noticed is the black trenchcoat draped over him, an equally dark t-shirt visible within the opening of the coat. The shirt is tucked into a pair of black jeans, those also giving no visible show of him as they are carefully covered the ankles of his matte black hiking boots. Black leather gloves cover the palms and backs of his hands, but leave his fingers free to move. The digits themselves are longer than is normal, more nimble than most people's, and it can be first noticed there that no veins or means of circulation are visible beneath the dreadfully pale skin. The same goes for his throat, confirming the idea, while his eyes are not visible due to a pair of black Ray-bans, his hair shaved down practically to the skull, with only a vague stubble of black hair.
Penniel
The most obvious feature of the being before you are the large, feathery wings draped around the figure of this lovely lady. The color of innocence, pure white, they create a very pleasant atmosphere around her. Suspended in air above her head is a golden halo, shimmering light invitingly.
Two small clumps of golden hair dangle in front of the lovely face of this exquisite young woman, falling to her chin. The rest of her unkempt blonde curls have been pulled back into some semblance of a ponytail, dropping messily around her lower neck and shoulders. Peering out from beneath some loose strands of hair are her sparkling blue eyes. Her friendly smile and comely facial features give her a pleasant, cheerful presence. Her voice is very melodic and pleasing to the ears. The color of her richly tanned skin contrasting against her hair makes her a very exotic sight to behold.
Her height is average, but the beauty of her captivating figure is far beyond. The enchanting curves of her body are smooth and sexy; full, luscious breasts bounce delightfully with her movements. Her slender waist contorts fluidly with the swaying of her curvacious hips, adding a playful swish to her bound hair. Ample swells of her cute behind guide the eyes on a journey down her long, elegant legs to her small feet. A sweet aroma drifts gently around her form, like flowers on a perfect summer day.
As for clothing, the closest thing is a long white cloth thathas been wrapped around her body several times with the rest billowing gently around her mid-thighs. The majority of her legs are bare, save the ornate sandals on her feet.
Terathel
At first glance of this woman, there seems something vaguely familiar about her. To many who see her, her face and form bring forth a memory of what was once a nation's icon: the Statue of Liberty. A stern, noble grace frames her features, softened by the warmth of maternal compassion. Her large, lucid eyes are grey, the eyes of Athena, suffused with calm wisdom. The subtle beauty of her face suggests dignity rather than glamour, skin seeming wrought of pure marble. Its natural solemnity of expression is often dispelled by a gentle, friendly smile. Surrounding this vision, long, dark-brown hair cascades down in thick curls, to hang below her straight shoulders.
The woman's clothing is simple yet tasteful, a white blouse covering her upper body with comfortable grace, and a black skirt that hangs to mid-calves. The clothing enhances the easy, relaxed freedom of her movements.
St.Brude, the Guardian
This tall, thin man could easily be mistaken for any other monk from Wormwood Abbey outside the City, standing an even 6'0" tall and wrapped in a heavy woolen monks robe. The hooded robe is tied at the waist with simple worn cord and his feet are only partially covered in brown leather sandles.
What is most striking about this man, however, is his brilliantly glowing green eyes, which lightly illuminates the inside of the robes hood. Due to this illumination, his face can just be made out. Often with a look of inner-reflection, his face is narrow and cleanly shaven. Above his radiant deepset-eyes, short cut, light brown hair can just be made out.
His movements are slow, almost methodical in practice; some would even call it a patient speed. While walking, his hands often rest comfortably, concealed in the deep sleeves of his robes in front of him, sometimes even fixed behind his back as he moves along. Regardless, the air about him seems contemplative, quiet, peaceful, and reflective.
Carrying: Wooden Staff(#5419)
Karna
You see a scrawny child perhaps of 5 or 6 years. Her large pale green eyes are wide and slightly solemn while her smile is usually shy although, ocassionally, it does brighten. Her soft golden-brown hair falls down to her shoulders in wavy disarray, while her straight bangs arch down past her eyebrows. Her small rounded face is a pale white with a tendency to become flushed. Altogether, she appears fairly clean excpet for a few dirty smudges which usually adorn her cheeks.
She wears a sunday school dress of velvet and lace the shade of a funeral mourner's gown. A little bow, matching the shade of the dress, is charmingly arranged in her hair.
Loki
Black, brown and swirling crimson.
Three colors that describe this individual so well.
An individual that is these three colors.
Black, brown and crimson, meshed together and kissed by flame to form a
woman.
The narrow, dark shoulders of a people of sun and sand emerge from long, shifting, silk-smooth strands not merely darker, but the very color of twilight. Spun darkness ripples down her shoulders. Two smouldering pools of darkness stare, often unblinkingly from her face, framed by lashes so lush as to scorn khole. A straight, slightly too-strong nose is featured below them, followed by a full mouth that is just slightly too wide.
Slightly, slightly. Though there is nothing slight about the expression usually carved onto this visage. Scorching. Burning. Angry. Practically acidic. Unforgiving. Cruel. A vicious scowl of stone.
The skin tone is a more or less uniform dusky brown, but for the lightening at the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. Beneath it, a light, lean, wiry figure of average height, hardened as by a lifestyle that leaves little excess flesh on one.
Come to think of it -- of course, given that you youself are inclined to think or get a good stare at her, there is another element in the displayed nature of this person. It isn't really that nice, and it's quite faint most of the time. Like the tiny, sputtering flicker of a lit match, or the soft, occasional rumble of a sleeping volcano. Such is the animalistic glint in her onyx eyes. The feral hint in both her scowl as well as her brightest, toothiest smile.
The glinting eyes of a watching predator. The bright, toothy smile a shark gives a smaller fish.
Go figure.
As for the crimson that was mentioned in the first few lines, that seems to be rather lacking at the moment. Instead, a loose, short-sleeved tunic of soft white cotton is worn. The sort of thing that goes on under armor, without seeming indecent when one hasn't any. Brown breeches and boots take care of the waist-down. A belt that looks a little large for one of somewhat meager stature holds the tunic in closer, a sword in a smoking scabbard decorating it.
Banner of the Blessed
A tall and mighty banner upon a gilded post, holding a shimmering white banner of a golden cross, the top and bottom bordered by glittering and flaming swords. A latin inscription reads "Let all give way to the path of God, and let all men kneel before Him."
Banner of Light
A glorious beacon of light, this banner has been said to have been formed from the Light of God Himself. The ivory post is gilded with the symbols of the faith that has existed since Creation. The banner itself seems a fire standing sideways: a long, gleaming shard of all that Light is in its metaphysical sense, it seems to constantly be caught in a wind.
This Banner has been recorded to be carried by the Angel Ezekiel as he lead a Host of Angels against the Spawn, and was later picked up by the Human Talisein when Ezekiel was taken.
Talisein stands behind his chair, looking down the table. He seems lost in thought as you walk in. His hand rests comfortably on the hilt of his blade, and his jaw works in a circle slowly as he contemplates.
Arch is walking beside Penniel, talking quietly with her as they enter the Chapel House. However, once inside, he turns his attention to Talisein just long enough to offer a greeting, turning back to his fellow Angel a moment later.
Mikael stands in what shadows there are to Talisein's Right. His muscled arms are crossed across his chest. He seems content with simply looking at each person as they walk in.
Tyrion walked in from the Arch, his hood draped over his head like a monk would. Silent, precise, slow graceful steps is all what brought him in. He held a book in his hand tightly - a black leather wrapped book. He immediately took a seat without a word given.
Milt walks in, near the rear of everything. His brown eyes shift about quietly, slowly taking in the entire room with precision. He takes a seat near the far back, away from everything else. He folds his gloved hands on his lap.
A light tapping issues forth from the chamber just outside of the Chapter House, beating in a rhythm alongside a pair of hushed footfalls. A tall shadow is cast in the entryway, the lights of the room gleaming off of a pair of eyes to contrast to the brief darkness. Stepping then inside, the silhouette peels away to reveal the withered form of the old Angel Rezaphazaal, his body cast in a tired hunch and his analytical gaze set upon the room. He draws himself in with the effort of his staff, appearing genuinely old, and withered, as if the common immortality of the Host was not shared with him.
Talisein looks up at the greeting given to him, it having broken his concentration. He doesent seem to mind though, because he gives a small smile in return, along with "Good evening. Please have a seat.. Everyone, please have a seat."
An Acolyte comes to assist the venerable Seraph in his attempt at seating himself near to the ex-Abbot. He returns the effort with an appreciative nod, before falling gently back with a pained sigh, allowing his brittled body to rest. His staff he leans up against the chair, and his gaze falls upon Talisein, where they stay fixed, prepared merely to observe.
Arch hrms a moment after Talisein speaks, looking up and down the table to try and pick the place he would prefer to sit. However, he gives up after a moment and just hooks the one nearest him, tugging it out and slumping down into it while resting his arms on the table, then turning to wait on the human to begin the meeting, giving him an expectant look.
Milt continues to sit in his chair, nice and near the back, out of notice of most of the audience. Milt feels he can contribute little to the cause, anyways.
St.Brude passes under the arch from the Cloisters. St.Brude has arrived.
Karna makes her way into the Chapter House a step behind the saint, smiling shyly as she looks about her, only brightening at the sight of Terathel. She heads towards her.
Talisein nods to the aged Seraph respectfully, "Thank you for coming, Fair One." He offers escpecially for Rezaphazaal. He looks around the table again, looking each attendie in the face, before addressing the group. "Yes, thank you all for coming. Even in these serious times, it pleases my soul to see so many of my Brothers and Sisters gathered together." The Abbot looks up as the last attendies enter, and he offers them a warm smile. "Brother Brude, it is a special pleasure to see you. Please, sit. And you too, Karna." He gives her a smile too.
The Chapter Houses doors swing open, once more. A man in tattered monks robes, with a staff and brilliant glowing green eyes enters the room accompanied by a very young girl. The words of Talisein begin to fill the room as he quickly pads down the aisle, and slides in to a pew to witness the gathering. "My thanks, Brother Talisein. It is an honour to be here, always.", the monk replies as he makes himself comfortable. St.Brude sits down, resting his staff up against him.
Terathel steps quietly into the room, looking around at those gathered without breaking her stride, and moves to a seat without further ado. Her head dips in a courteous nod of greeting to Talisein, a warm smile tinging her lips as she calmly settles into place.
"The times are trying..." Rezaphazaal begins, addressing the entire room, "But it is by the strength of god that we are all brought together, here. Though we may feel each feel the pains of our individual burdons, let us observe a moment of appreciation for the gifts the lord gives us, even if from afar."
Noticing the small girl's presence, Terathel pulls out an empty seat near herself and gestures to it with a soft smile. Then, with hushed steps so as not to make a distraction, she slips over to another unattended chair and takes off the cushions to add to the seat of the first one, raising it to a higher level so the child can see what's going on.
The hooded Tyrion nodded slowly, to acknolwedge this man's words. He shifted in his seat, his sharp blue eyes settling on that book that was held so carefully on his lap. He ascended his gaze toward Rezaphazaal again.
Mikael steps out of the shadows as Talisein seems about to begin the proceedings. "Come, Children of the Father." He calls, his voice, reaching deeper than this reality. With his voice, the Banner of Light seems to shine exceedingly bright for a moment before a number of glowing figures appear near it, including the Angel Loki.
Talisein takes in a pleased breath as a novice nods to him from the Cloisters. Most of the table has been filled. "I agree completely, Fair One. I think it would be wisest to begin this Council by inviting the Lord to be with us, and to Bless us with His Wisdom and Will. I think it would be fitting if each one of us offers up a special prayer, when it is time." With this, he bows his head, and begins to pray..
Arch glances at the new arrivals nodding to each, then taking a moment himself for contemplation before turning his attention back to Talisein, fingers now drumming lightly on the table,"Yeah, it's kind of nice to see a fair number of us gathered together... but while we're here, we obviously aren't elsewhere, and so the people in the city are left with less guardians. So, why exactly have you called us here in such numbers?"
Milt bows his head slightly as the prayer begins, eyes closing gently. He ernestly hopes this isn't a speaking prayer. He never was good at public speaking. Well, this is what he gets for skipping those classes in highschool. He folds his hands together on his lap, for good measure...
Rezaphazaal lets fall shut his eyes, offering the blessed restfulness of darkness to his light-strained mind. Spindly fingers hug the neck of his staff as he bows forward his head to observe a similar, quiet moment. Though an Angel, he, too, feels the same seperating from God as a Human walking the earth, and thus finds the same comfort in a moment dedicated to finding him again, within the soul.
Talisein lets everyone fall silent before beginning. "Heavenly Father, you have brought us countless Blessings. Even while your Wrath is being poured out, you have kept and nurtured us all. May praises be sung unto Lord, Forever. Lord, grant us all the wisdom and clear-headedness to follow your Will in these troubling times. Guide each one of us by your hand. Father, each one of us has a special prayer, for which we all pray..." This seems to be the cue for everyone to offer their own portion.
St.Brude offers a glance with his glowing green eyes towards Arch, and his mention of City guardians, but otherwise remains quiet and observant. Bowing his head, he joins the congregation in quiet prayer.
Mikael steps back after his part, and bows his head as the prayer begins. "My Father, give us Thy Strength so that we may do Thy Will," offers the Seraphim.
Karna tiptoes as quietly as possible, not wanting to interrupt grown-up conversation, toward the chair Terathel gestures to, waiting until it is made ready, before attempting to climb up onto it - shy with so many new faces around.
As Talisein starts to speak, she, likewise, bows her head, hands clasped together.
Taking his cue, the Saint offers his words, "Father, I ask for your blessing this day, as I do each day, for the strength to help the Lost, to guide them in the City in to your salvation, and to remain ever vigilant in the course of their protection. In your name I pray...", his pray offered, the floor is open for another.
Rezaphazaal intones with a hushed breath, "Highest father, I regard you with my love and my respect, and pray that for as long as you have need of me, I shall wield the strength to carry out your wisdom."
Milt winces, internally. Crud. They'll have to speak. Struggling for his voice for a moment, he says, "Lord, grant us forgiveness for our past sins..." in his soft-spoken voice. At least it carries well. No big words or anything special, but it fits.
A soft, "Amen", can just be heard from the Saint's bowed head at Milt's prayer.
Arch speaks up thereafter, losing for at least this moment his mildly impatient air, and saying with just enough volume to carry to all those in the room,"Lord and Father, please watch over me and my fellow servants, and guide us in our tasks. Help us bring those who need You into your divine Light."
Terathel bows her head quietly, peace and composure radiating from her statuesque form. She murmurs in a soft voice that still carries clearly, "O Father Above, I thank thee for the honor of being present in these days, of serving Thee in so great a crisis." To some, that may sound a bit strange to give thanks for, but she speaks with sincerity. "Grant to us the wisdom to act justly in all things, and forgive the limitations that prevent us from doing so."
Deep and channeling the faith of an eternity, the Seraph of Innovation repeats the words of the Saint Brude, "Amen." Before his head crooks up, and his eyes open into black slits lit by the flickering accentuation of dim light, to again regard the room.
Terathel leans close to Karna to whisper, "You may say a prayer too, dear." She offers an encouraging smile.
Karna listens attentively to the grown-ups, a slightly worried look crossing her face as she is encouraged to say a prayer. "Dear God in Heaven" she begins after a lengthy silence, eyes closing tightly. "Help us to better endure our sufferings and follow the example of the Saints and the Angels and to not neglect service to others." She warily opens her eyes, first looking to Terathel for approval.
Talisein nods a little as each person offers their prayer, and when everyone has spoken that looks ready too, he finnishes. "All these things we lift up in the name of Your Most Holy Son, Jesus the Christ, through whom we have found You, Who Died and having defeated Death, Rose Again... Amen." With that, the Prior looks back up. "It was truely written that whereever two of us dwell, there also the Spirit is. It is a comfort.." he nods, and after looking around once more, begins to move the Council to its business. "Some of you are wondering why you were called here, away from your tasks. I too was taken away.. for the Father called me to this. As also some of you know, the Enemy has begun to, in earnest, plot the destruction of this abode and all of us remaining on this world. I ask each of you, before I give my ideas, what have you heard in regards to this? Speak freely, please." And with that, he sits in his chair to listen.
Penniel, who is sitting in a semi-remote area, somewhat blushes at the mention of angels setting examples.
Arch frowns a bit,"Well, there's been more and more of the blasted Citadel troops marching in the streets... and they're even more heavily armed than they used to be, and trigger-happy, too. All-in-all, a bad combination, and one that speaks of an arms build up. If it comes down to brute force, they'll win, and still have plenty of bullets left over for target practice in the evening afterwards."
Milt chooses, however, to remain silent, simply listening.
Motionless. Perhaps ominously so, the dark-skinned figure that is the Angel Loki remains in silent prayer. Black eyes remain open, gleaming in faithful -- and, naturally, curious vigil, despite the lowered chin and her apparently relaxed posturing. During prayer, her face revealed none of the particulars. That was normal. The shadow of quiet introspection that might have be glimpsed there was not. As the direction of the speeches made shifts however, so apparently does her mood. Her chin lifts. The subtlest sparks appearing in her eyes.
Terathel smiles warmly to Karna, indicating that she did well, before turning her gaze to Talisein as he initiates the business of the meeting. Her hands fold calmly in her lap as she listens to the dialogue, eyes thoughtful. As Arch concludes, she ventures her words, "I have heard, from a direct source, that the Damned intend an attack in the near future. I was told they intend to invade Heaven itself. I do not know if that is true, but they are recruiting for followers."
"The Hierarchy of Lucifer's realm," Rezaphazaal begins, as he levels his gaze upon the Prior to begin his own grim account, "has become aware of the fetid fragments of a single, awful key which lies in the possession of the Host." Slowly, he begins to rise from his seat, his body, though worn and aged, is a tall and menacing sight, alike to many of the Seraphim who hold such pure essence of the frightful and beautiful Lord God, "The Baroness Fehu... has convinced that most vile of fellowships to unite in an effort to acquire these wicked pieces... in the hopes that the legend she has learned of is true, and that when all combined... the once banished symbol of law amoungst the damned will rise again... giving a dark order to their murderous chaos."
He sweeps a hand across the chamber of the abbey, gazing to the stones of the walls with bleak eyes that hold the knowledge of the falling of every such stone, and the secrets of the setting of the earth, "This fragile abode may be strong with the strength of the faithful, but it lies frail bfore the might they will unleash to capture these items. I fear, my brothers and sisters, that this sanctuary... is now but a doomed shack set before the onslaught of a relentless storm."
The side of Mikael's mouth twists in a way some might describe as a smirk at Terathel's news. "Their Legions will be well surprised if they think they can try /that/ again." Even so, though, the Seraphim uncrosses his arms, and lays one hand on his sword, as if it was suggested the Legions may try this very moment.
St.Brude sits silently, listening to the testimonies of his peers. At Terathel's words, however, the Saint's expression turns to one of disbelief and contemplation of such a possibility - though not a word is missed by speakers that follow.
Doomed her... well, it might be expected that Loki would share Mikael's opinion. The dark woman tilts her head and crosses her arms silent over her chest, ignoring the black tresses as they topple over her shoulder. Her jaw clenches slightly.
Talisein takes a breath at the Aged One's news, apparently not expecthing this tidbit. He breaks his plan and decides to inquire into details immediately. "Fair One, could you tell us any more about these symbols? How many pieces, and perhaps where they are?" While his voice is concerned, there is no hesitation or fear in his eyes.
Arch swallows a bit at all the news provided combines into a very grim projection for the fate of this final stronghold of the Blessed, turning his own attention to the aged one, fingers stopping their drumming and digging into the wood instead with an incredibly tight grip.
The old Seraph's staff taps lightly in the chamber as he draws towards it's center, his robes rustling about his narrow figured in weightless curls, "There are three..." He begins in reply to Talisein, ".. One which already the Hierarchy holds, after the brutal slaying of the Seraph of Song, who, like I... was drained by his burden so ferociously that resurrection after death was impossible. The other... " His hand raises, and slender fingers wrap around an object under his shirt, the fabic conforming to the indication of it, his eyes become grave, "The other is with me. The last lies in the hands of the Seraph of Law... whose strength is still great enough that he remains in Heaven, out of the reach of the Hierarchy." His hand falls away, as does his mood, as he describes in a dark tone, "Yet should his resolution falter... he, too, will descend to Earth...and the last piece will become vulnerable."
Arch frowns a bit, and takes this chance to speak up,"The first place they will come looking is this very establishment. We must find somewhere else to harbor you, sir, for already we have figured out than when the Fallen strike here, we will not be able to hold them. We simply do not have enough people to do even a simple holding action.
Talisein grows more concerned. "But, where could we possibly hide him? The Spire is Cursed, St. Brigids is gone, the last I knew.. Is it simply the Will of the Heriarchy that is weighting you down, Fair One, or is it simply the object itself?" he asks.
A smile as thin and cold as a steel blade adds another angle of Loki's grim mask. An unsettling angle. With it, the Seraph is regarded. When Arch speaks up, however, the Angel stares over and blanches. Weight is shifted uneasily from foot to foot. First order of business is to charge in and make demon sushi -- and -they- are talking about -hiding-!
Terathel's head turns to regard the Seraph as he takes the forum. The overt reactions of stress are absent in her, except for a mild frown of thoughtfulness. Yet, her face softens with gentle sadness as the aged Seraph tells his tale. Her gaze then moves to Arch, head nodding slightly, before returning to Rezaphazaal. For now, she is content to listen and contemplate, to seek understanding of this dilemma.
Rezaphazaal regards Talisein with eyes of sorrow, yet a face of undying resolution, even in th shadow of impossible odds, "No, dear child... That which takes its toll is the effort of a blessed creature to hold up the strength of something so unholy. It is as if... seperating the heart of a good man into halves... and sewing onto one half a section of heart that is diseased, and dying... only so long can the good heart beat for that half which is dead. I am here to pass on this burdon to another, one whose strength I have weighed great enough to carry it. Then, I too, will perish, forever... and the piece will again beable to travel into Heaven."
Arch twitches a bit in surprise, a moment of compassion crossing his face before he moves back to the business at hand,"And who is it that you judged strong enough to take on this terrible burden, sir?" Here for a moment, his eyes, unreadable behind his sunglasses, turn to Talisein before refocusing on the broken bearer.
Talisein looks about to speak, but looks to Arch as his question is asked and nods, looking back to the Seraph. His green eyes focus, trying perhaps to understand a little of the pain and fate of the Servant before him.
"I have made no decision, yet," Rezaphazaal replies, his eyes shifting briefly to Arch, "The burdon will likely fall on a Human being, though. I believe in the possession of the child of the Lord, the pieces could be held forever."
St.Brude breaks his silence to add to the discussion, "Might I recommend we create decoys of these artefacts, to mislead the Damned if they should penetrate well enough in to our defenses to take possession. I believe this can be done... I may need help, but I feel it can be done. What say you? In the meantime, the real artefacts can be hidden away, though we must still be cautious, as there have been known to be Seers with the ability to glimpse beyond the normal eyes range. Should the Damned be in possession of one skilled in such a way, it would bode difficult for our cause in protecting them."
Talisein listens careful as the Saint speaks up. "Indeed," he adds, "Is there no way for these things to be destroyed? Or perhaps divided further so they may not be such a burden?"
Terathel folds her hands quietly on the table, listening intently as possible solutions are offered.
Rezaphazaal tips his head to Brude as he hears the Saint's interjections, tilting his gaze towards Talisein at his question. He replies, "They are indestructable... thus, they can neither be pulverized into oblivion, nor split further."
Arch nods slowly at what Brude says, smoothing a hand down his face and sighing a bit,"Aye, we must begin masking them from Seers, as well, if we have any with that ability, delaying the Expelled's strike at least until these artifacts can be returned to Heaven."
Talisein takes this in with a deep breath. After exhaling, he says, "I would suggest you see Brother Brude soon, so that perhaps a decoy can be fashioned. And I might be able to help with the Seers myself, if I have some help. It is your choice, guided by the Lord, of course, as to who the successor shall be. But I see little else we can do specifally in your case to ensure your security. Now, another major point for this meeting is the Abbey itself. It is without a leader, and as of present the Senior Novices are supplying the major services. As Hell is much less powerful unorganized, so are we. But, I suggest we no longer limit our responcibilities to this Abbey. Who is incharge of Healing here, for instance, should be organizing First Aid classes in the City."
With that, the meeting dissolves into talk of who would be most appropreiate for each position, but there are no formal acts. The only thing known for certain as the Council ends is that the Blessed have begun to come together again.