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[center][b]Location: The Lagoon.[/b]
[b]Interactions: Open.[/b]
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Azrael, in human form of all things, made his way through the murky and dimly lit stone tunnels that served as the halls of his ancient prison. He had heard the rumors same as everyone else. Rumors of upheavals on the surface. Of a catastrophe that caused humanities seemingly endless vigil over this place to falter, then fail, leaving the entrance wide open for the taking. Well... almost wide open. There were still the mutts to worry about of course. Normally he wouldn't be so concerned, but his exile from heaven had forced him to pay more attention than ever to the risks he took. Where before he could simply rely upon the celestial engines from which he was spawned to keep him so far beyond mortal kin that their strongest warrior was nothing more than a buzzing gnat when compared to his might, now he had to pick his fights more carefully. Now he-paradoxically-could be slain, even by lowly creatures such as werewolves.

Walking along, his footsteps the only sound to be heard over the din of drips and other natural noises one might expect to find in a subterranean system, the fallen seraphim of death ran his hands along the course cavern walls, as he had done many times before, wishing it was the warm flesh of his brethren's beloved pets he was caressing with the sweet kiss of death instead of lifeless stone. He sighed, reminding himself to be patient. His vengeance would come in time if he was careful, but not before he got out of here. And for that to happen the werewolves-those ferocious lupine creatures who had, for some incomprehensible reason, taken upon themselves the momentous task of guarding the entrance to the Abyss-had to be disposed of. The only question was how. There were his powers, of course, and his Quintessence, but would they be enough? He doubted it. From what he'd heard there'd been quite a few of them patrolling the area. More than he was capable of handling by himself, certainly. Stealth could work, perhaps, but he had never been too skilled in that. If anything he'd probably manage to take down one, maybe two guards at most, but not before alerting the rest to his presence.

Well, if his goals could not be achieved through stealth or direct hand-to-hand combat, then how would he see them done? The question was one that burned at the back of his mind like a coal with no means of extinguishment, yet it was one he was still required to solve. If he was to escape this place that is. Perhaps an ally would be of use? Although that begged the question of whom. While he had been stuck down here for gods knew how many millennia, he hadn't exactly gone out of his way to make friends or communicate with his fellow inmates. Something that was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it meant that when the riots started no one was familiar enough to remember his face, and thus incapable of singling him out as a target, and a curse because it meant he didn't have anyone on whom he could rely for support. Halting mid-stride, Azrael moved off into the shadows of a nearby alcove. Secluding himself within its umbral depths he began to think over his plan of attack while waiting for someone, anyone really, to pass by.

If he could not find any allies upon which to call, then perhaps he could wait for one to would wander by.