azrael
Azrael is drawn to this place, with its carved-out grasses and light-lit paths. It is a place of wonder, a place of eerie brightness, and the star in him delights in the light. As he walks along the shadowed sheaves of long summer grass, his own body casts a turquoise glow, only adding to the allure of the festival. He is quiet - respectful and deferent - for this is not his land to walk upon… and yet there is a welcoming aire to the celebrations, Delumine’s doors flung open for visitors to come and enjoy their landscape.
He knew very little of Delumine, having drifted for most of his time in Novus among the mountains and the stars of Caligo’s court. What he knew was only what he had read – that Oriens’ people were scholars and lovers of nature. Perhaps then, Azrael’s own presence would not be so far-fetched in a place such as this, as he walks among the revelers. He stops only once or twice to stare at the autumn sky, noting that the stars seemed further here, drowned out by the brightness of lanterns and candlelight, but still he feels at peace.
Not far away, children play, and women sing to the spirits of the forest. Azrael watches them for a beat before moving onward, a sparkle in his turquoise eyes as he regards the stardust world, reverent as always for the magics at play in Novus. He travels the length of the runic signs in the meadow, speculating as he goes about their meaning, even as he stumbles upon another in the maze. Murmuring a quiet apology, his cyan gaze locks onto the stranger, and he manages a greeting smile.
“Good evening.” Azrael’s voice is even and soft in the din of celebration. “This place sure is something… have you seen the likes of this festival before?” It was small talk, and awkward small talk at that – but Azrael had nothing but pleasant acknowledgment to offer the stranger, as dark as he was light in the night.
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