"Goodness gracious me, my work simply is never done. Who invokes my presence this time?" A man's voice spoke from somwhere behind Azurael. A figure formed out of the shadows of the nearby corner, an Angel, robed in black and hooded to hide his face. In his hand he held a bloodstained scythe.

"Oh, well, if it isn't the Royal Guard. Or, well, [i]former[/i] Royal Guard, as it appears to be. What can I do you for you, child?" The reaper called 'Grim' inquired. Behind his mask of shadows was a humorous grin implied.