Azrael

[azrael]

[app] Azrael [/app]

The angel of death, who is set over you, will take your souls. Then you shall be brought to your Lord” {al-Sajdah 32:11}

[app]Full Name:[/app] Azrael
[app]Preferred Nickname/Alias:[/app] Azrael, Angel of Death
[app]Gender:[/app] N/A ( Vessel is male )
[app]Age:[/app] One of the first angels to be born, only archangels and a select few seraphs before him.
[app]Sexual Orientation:[/app] Pansexual
[app]Member Group:[/app] Seraphim / Angel (Cast down)
[app]Canon or Original:[/app] Original

Azrael leaves a mark no matter where he steps. People often remember his eyes, at the start. The type of blue that makes you question their reality, the ability to bend the light and shimmer without even a blink or a movement. His face is tired and weathered, flecked with scars and a good mixture of stubble, shadows dribbling down his cheeks at the corner of his mouth as muscle meets bone, a thin covering on sharp, well managed teeth. His jaw is square, angling up to his throat and a thick, sturdy neck. His hair is always cropped short, styled backward against his head, a deep, dirty blonde that is often mistaken for a shade of brown, but in the correct light, the sandy coloured strands are highlighted, much as the gold of a halo. Some people say that this is his only trait that gives him away.

He’s tall, that much you can see. Six feet, four or five inches. His shoulders are broad, arcs of muscle panning over the top to join to his neck, arms neat and sculpted as his hands entwine behind his back. Although he is naked, you can tell from the first glance that the muscles wiring his arms would be visible even through a thick jacket. You ask him to turn, and he does so, hips pitching and swaying for a moment as he adjusts his weight, and the deep-etched red enochian characters wind up his spine. You want to step closer, inspect them as they wind under his skin, appearing to squirm in the sunlight, but large, grey wings thunder into view and knock you backward. They flutter a moment and settle again, his gaze wandering back over his shoulder to look at you with his little smile. The one that makes your stomach squirm and your palms sweat. With just that little smile, you can tell he can see every inch of your soul, as if it was bared for all the world to see.

He makes you feel uncomfortable, but his gaze softens a little and you ply quietly, admiring his hips and the soft wiggle of them as he turns back to you, the wind of a black tattoo crawls up his left leg, the tribal head of a horse resting on his stomach, a wind of pattern crawling down his leg, winding around his knee and stopping. The tattoo covers both the back and the front of his thigh, dribbling a little down the back of his calf. The muscle is intimidating, but the gentle slide of his shoulders as he relaxes and the tilt of his head as he admires you, too makes you take another step toward him. He takes a step, too.

“His wings are gray and trailing, Azrael, Angel of Death, And yet the souls that Azrael brings Across the dark and cold, Look up beneath those folded wings, And find them lined with gold”

[app]Face Claim:[/app] Michael Fassbender

[app]Likes:[/app]

• Cigarettes
  
• Sex
  
• Money
  
• Women
  
• Men
  
• A good whiskey / other strong alcohols
  
• Individualism
  
• Anti-establishmentarianism
  
• Solitude
  
• Sarcasm

[app]Dislikes:[/app]

• Rude people
  
• Humans that don't understand their place
  
• Demons
  
• Holy oil
  
• Blood Seals
  
• Tiredness
  
• Deals
  
• Hard work
  
• Television
  
• Dealing with Death ( the Horseman )

[app]Strengths:[/app]

• Awkward powers. Having being cast from heaven, it tends to mess with an angel's mojo. Having been a pretty powerful Seraphim in his prime, Azrael will never truly be 'weak'. He has no trouble killing a demons, if he can't talk to them first. If they annoy him, then they are gone. However, his teleportation... Leaves a little to be desired. It has been known for rather spontaneous jumps to happen, especially when he isn't paying attention. It's little more than awkward, especially when attempting to shower. Telekinesis is more like a childhood game of whispers by the time it gets to Azrael, but he manages to piece it together most of the time. Healing is more on emergency basis, more like first aid than a permanent fix, and resurrection is damn near life draining, and even then only works half the time.
  
• Emotional distance
  
• Quick understanding of other people
  
• Quick to please people
  
• Easy enough to get along with, compared to some other angels

[app]Weaknesses:[/app]

• Blood seals / Holy oil
  
• Angel blades
  
• Easily attracted to a pretty face
  
• Can't resist a challenge
  
• Rather quick to anger

[app]Fears:[/app]

• Dying. Not that it's likely to happen, but after being around for so long, it tends to dwell on your mind.
  
• God. He won't go screaming and running away from crosses, of course, but if God were to come back, Azrael would have so much to answer for, that he would be the first to run.

[app]Secrets:[/app]

• Azrael is so often mistaken for a demon, that he forgets he isn't one, sometimes. Sometimes he wishes he was one.
  
• All he really wants is his father's approval. But, no matter how hard he works, he feels he will never achieve it.

[app]Habits and Quirks:[/app]

• Smoking / Drinking
  
• He narrows his eyes a lot, and shifts his weight around. Some people make the mistake that he simply can't stand still, but he does it to judge people's reactions.

[app]Overall Personality:[/app]

Azrael will judge, and there is no denying that. Just because he's no longer attempting to shove his tongue up God's ass, doesn't mean that he won't judge you for your actions. Apparently it's almost law if you're born of the Lord. He'll use whatever power he can muster against you. He'll hide things, make sure that you are bared across the slab for all to see, and then use those weaknesses to angle himself into your pants. Since falling, Azrael has found the miracle that is sexual interaction. He's also enjoying it. Very much so. Sure, he'll play into your hands. He'll twist and he'll turn for you, he'll even perform a few actions to get in your favour, but if he ever requires some form of help, he'll use every action he ever performed for you against you, until you're forced into helping him.

Azrael, if anything, has a hand in everybody's cookie jars. He knows how to keep you sweet, he knows how to mould you around his little finger and there is nothing from stopping him from doing so. He'll make you fall in love with him, if he has to, just to get what he wants. The Angel of Death has no qualms with killing. He has no issue with life, but in death he finds his solitude. He still does his job, if he answers to a God or not, therefore he works rather closely with Death. That doesn't mean he likes the guy... and Reapers send a chill up his spine.

He's sarcastic. He's quick-witted and has a smile that could make you entirely weak at the knees. But it's known to few beings the impatience and the wanting underneath. When he was pure, when he was an angel, he couldn't deal with it. He didn't like the confinement that pressed on his brain, but once fallen, those frustrations were set loose. He now has free reign to do as he likes, more or less. His heart hurts on occasion, and he'll have moments of doubt, much as anyone else. Sometimes he'll even return to trying to contact God, but... Other times he'll just go to a bar and talk to the barkeeper.

[app]Family:[/app]

• Heaven-aligned buggers. No matter how much he dislikes that.

[app]Overall History:[/app]

He was cast down approximately a year ago. His head hurt and his heart was broken, but he was freed. His family was no longer his, and turned on him at the first sign that they could do so, but Azrael proved to himself that he could stand alone by ridding himself of the situation. He was not afraid to demonstrate that he had power, and he killed the angels that stood up to him. He went by generally unnoticed for a while, as he was still doing his job. He didn't know what else to do, stuck on Earth with little more of a helping hand, still aiding the reapers and still talking with Death on regular occasion. but Azrael was generally swept under the carpet for a while, mixing with the demons and the angels equally, developing human traits, smoking, drinking, the occasional bout of gambling.

There was a point in time that Azrael broke, that his wings started to shed and he realised the injustice that was going on around him, having previously been a simple pencil-pusher, doing his job without asking questions, without even thinking about what he was doing. But the fall had unlocked his mind, it had made it so much clearer on what he had to do. His wings returned, the tips flecked with gold. Azrael broke into hell, taking the souls that were wrongfully placed and releasing them to heaven. But Azrael himself had been caught and handed over to the torturers of hell, where he had been burned with holy fire until the last thread of his mind had broken.

He was released back to Earth months later ( a good few years in hell ), where he continued to live as best as he could, his angelic power almost forgotten about until it was returned to him by a fellow angel. The remembering hurt, piecing it all together, what had happened and what was going to happen, the enochian characters returning to his spine, as bright as they had ever been. The angel had spread his wings in the rain, tilting his head in the moonlight as they fluttered. It had never felt better to be back, but it had taken it's toll on the man the angel had become.

[app]Member Title:[/app] ☆ Angel of Death ☆

[app]Roleplaying Sample:[/app]

^{[ Something I wrote as Dean not long ago, I hope this is okay? ]}

It was nice to drive. For the last few months he’d forgotten what it was like to let the road stretch out in front of him and simply drift away with the asphalt as it slipped underneath the car. His eyes were narrowed just enough to create the creases that Sammy had noticed at the corners of them, his mouth limp and barely closed, his muscles relaxed and his hand hanging on the top of the wheel. They were cruising along at fifty, and baby was purring underneath him, his foot idle on the gas pedal as he zoned off and focused on the road ahead. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing to do. It was just him and baby for now, plotting a random route through the shit-hole roads that flecked across the state he’d found himself penned into on their latest escapade. He didn’t mind, really. He quite liked the sense of peace as he simply drove. There was nothing more than a slight shift of his weight in the seat as they eased around a bend, a slide of his hand on the steering wheel and they could be wherever he wanted to go. There was no shouting. There was no tense moments where something or someone was going to hurt something or someone else. All he had was peace.

Some of his best moments he had spent with this car. Some of those that he couldn’t forget, no matter what his so called ‘life’ could throw at him. Baby soothed away nightmares when he woke in a cold sweat. When he stumbled to the car in the middle of the night and listened to old rock songs until he’d forgotten what he came out for in the first place. Baby revved and rumbled and chased away all the bad, and carefully cradled all the good. Sammy once admitted, (no matter how drunk he had been at the time,) that he felt most safe wrapped up in the passenger seat, drifting over the roads with Dean at the wheel. No matter how many times he thought of that moment, the dumb smile on his brother’s face and the way he nearly tilted off his seat, it made Dean chuckle. But underneath the chuckle was something warm. Something that slowly set alight in the pit of his belly and spread through his chest like a wild fire. Deep down underneath the cold, hard exterior, Dean felt love.

His hand tightened a little on the wheel at the thought, and he shifted in his seat to shuffle into a more upright position, the warm summer afternoon radiating through the windows and hiding the equally warm blush that fanned across his face. Baby jumped a little as his foot slipped, and Dean was quick to rectify his mistake, cooing an apology to her and stroking the worn wheel with his thumb. “Damnit, you don’t do that.” He growled to himself, that previously slack jaw tightening, mouth pursing into a thin line. “None of that hug-it-out crap. You don’t love, that’s some backwash hippie thing.” Dean’s brow dropped into that brooding frown. “Sammy probably does it. Damn woman.” He snorted, as if the joke could clear the air, but the little warm feeling in the pit if his stomach didn’t quite disappear.

Baby was turned around, and Dean returned to the shitty motel room that they’d managed to find. Sammy had fallen asleep, half thrown across one of the beds, and Dean soon decided that getting some sleep would probably be a good idea, soon falling down and sprawling across the other bed.

---

[app]Player Name:[/app] Zach
[app]Player Age:[/app] Old enough
[app]Years Roleplaying:[/app] 9
[app]Where You Found Us:[/app] Friends
[app]Other Characters:[/app] N/A
[app]Favorite Supernatural Episode:[/app] Changing Channels / Yellow Fever / Mystery Spot / Heaven and Hell
[app]Favorite Supernatural Character:[/app] Dean Winchester / Gabriel / Crowley

[Devi B.]