Praeludium
From the darkness, light came, blinding and burning, surrounded by a whirling storm of images and sounds. The scream of the exiled, his mind, already broken by a torment still unconceivable by the rest of Creation, further corrupted by solitude, by contemplation of the unknowable. A mass of writhing black tentacles, yellow eyes staring at the world, a deathly miasma rising from below the most profound dephts of Hell. A pair of massive, darkly luminous wings, circled by flames of golden fire; a sacrifice unto existance itself, to preserve it from what lurks outside of it. A vortex of human screams, angelic warcries, demonic roars, and wails of ancient things awoken from their slumber: deep red ichor staining flesh. Finally, one last image is projected by the apparition: a great, rusted iron gate, dimly illuminated by the light of two torches, in one of the deepest tunnels of the Catacombs. In another flash of incandescent light, followed by a lacerating pain, the vision ended, and once again Unyat found himself surrounded by the darkness of his alcove, the many pictures brought by the vision still burning in his mind: most of all that of the ancient metal gate. The apparition was incoherent, incomprehensible: yet, one thing was certain. Behind those rust-covered doors, long forgotten below Pandaemonium, the thing, whatever it was, that caused Unyat to see what he saw was waiting.
In the middle of the great, empty hall, the fiery ancient flame burned, casting light and shadows where the Stygian Council reunites. An elevated pentagonal stone pulpit stood, barely illuminated, facing the large, brazen doors that leads outside. In front of the narrow curved stairways reaching to the top of the pulpit, a cloaked figure stood tall, slowly speaking in a hissing, sibilant voice. "My dearest Yalnela, I happen to have another, delicate mission for you." The black robes and hood worn by Beelzebub concealed his face, barely letting his chin and slightly smiling mouth being glimpsed, but revealed his skeletal hands, each ending in three long, claw-like fingers covered in grey skin, slowly moving as the Supreme Chancellor spoke. "As you surely know, a few centuries ago a chain of...disquieting events culminated in the capture and imprisonment of our monarch." A barely audible buzzing sound was heard as Beelzebub was speaking, a few flies orbiting around him, landing on his hands, robes and face. "What you might not know is that, not long before, an angel seemingly lost his mind and slew one of his kin, before being cast down from Heaven." A fly entered the narrow, dried lips of the demon lord, and disappeared inside his mouth as he continued. "None knew where he ended up, or even if he was indeed still alive. However, a few days ago I received a report from one of my spies, informing me that a being which he had identified as said fallen angel was rumored to dwell in the Catacombs. I ordered my spy to approach the being and, if possible, interrogate it, but the next day I received another report containing the bloody pulp of entrails and flesh which used to be my agent." Beelzebub's smile widened slightly, his invisible eyes turning to Yalnela. "I shouldn't have to explain why I, of course in the name of both the Council and the Conclave, want to know what that angel knows. Thus, I trust that you'll be able to find him, and bring him to my agents in the Catacombs, alive. You'll find him in one of the tunnels, behind a rusty iron gate: you should find it pretty easily." Even behind the darkness covering his face, it was clear that the demon lord's gaze focused on Yalnela, his grin widening a bit again as his voice slightly changed tone. "Don't get yourself killed, my dearest one."
The footsteps of the angels patrolling the fortress, their armors and weapons shining with golden light, echoed in the many corridors of Am Dhaegar, the bastion's architecture being austere and grand at the same time. At the end of one such corridor, a towering golden door led towards a high alcove, the domed ceiling adorned with mosaics and gems: many tall windows opened in the walls, the rays of Am Dhaegar's magical light filtering through them. In the center of the circular room, stood Darda'il, clad in resplendent, bulky armor, his bald head covered by a candid white hood; his mighty blade slumbered in its sheath, tied to his waist, the angel's left hand resting on its hilt. The seraph spoke in a solemn, deep tone, his three pairs of wings arched behind his back. "Laef, I have summoned you to discuss a most urgent matter." The High Overseer's inexpressive face slightly turned to one of sorrow, as his luminous gaze lowered. "I suppose you have heard of an angel named Urya." The last word was uttered in a slow, grave tone. "He was my friend. We fought together in the War...before his mind strayed from the light." Darda'il's right hand moved to his face, his fingers running across the old, white scar stretching from his brow to his cheekbone. "We believed he was dead, at least until recently. I received word that Urya is indeed still alive, and resides in the Catacombs." Once again, the seraph's voice became grave and slow. "I wish not to know what he has been doing all these centuries, nor what he is doing now. I merely desire to end his suffering." Darda'il turned slowly, his gaze focusing on Laef. "You must find him, and end his life. Apparently, he dwells in the Catacombs, beyond an ancient iron gate in one of the deep tunnels." The angel turned, looking outside one of the windows. "One last thing, Laef. Do what you must, but do it silently, and without bloodshed. This peace is already frail, and it is in our best interest to preserve it." The seraph's fingers grasped the sword's hilt more tightly, before relaxing again. "You are dismissed."
