Sorey had seen malakhim around, but only from a distance and only sparingly. Malakhim were only used for battle, and even then only against daemons. Even praetors kept their malakhim tucked safely away. Sorey didn't see them wandering the grounds, and the few he'd attempted to speak to had been silent and unresponsive. Maybe they really were tools, just constructs or lesser spirits who didn't have wills of their own.
Something about that felt weird though.
When he'd gone to see Morgrim to ask her about it, she was nowhere to be found. He'd searched the entire church grounds, even the old addled retired priest who could see her, but he'd only cuddled with the other stray cats that gathered in the courtyard and murmured, "Gone, gone." Maybe she'd left when Sorey had joined the Abbey. Maybe she was hurt he hadn't been able to say goodbye.
The day comes when the most promising trainees receive their malakhim so here Sorey stands, number sixteen out of a hundred and forty trainees, ready to become a full-fledged exorcist. They bring before him a malak smaller than he, with beautiful silver hair tipped in blue. "This one is a water elemental," the praetor told him boredly, marking it down in his notes. "Give it a name and tether it."
Sorey peers at the malak curiously. The malak is stationary, passive, face hidden behind the standard gold dragon mask all the malakhim wear. Unless they simply don't have faces...?
"Trainee."
Sorey jumps. "Sorry, sorry- of course. A name." He knew this part of the ritual, naturally; he would give the malak a name and that would mark it as his, then recite the pact and tether the malakhim to himself so he could perform artes and use it as his own. It would live inside his soul unless he summoned it, and he would be ill for the next few days as his body accustomed to the malak's power. It's very cut and dry, well-documented and explained. Clinical. "Um, well..." He peers into the expressionless mask again, craning his neck to try and see past the edge. "What...do you feel like having as a name? Do you want something specific?"
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momijizukamori
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Date: 2017-03-31 06:20 am (UTC)Sorey had seen malakhim around, but only from a distance and only sparingly. Malakhim were only used for battle, and even then only against daemons. Even praetors kept their malakhim tucked safely away. Sorey didn't see them wandering the grounds, and the few he'd attempted to speak to had been silent and unresponsive. Maybe they really were tools, just constructs or lesser spirits who didn't have wills of their own.
Something about that felt weird though.
When he'd gone to see Morgrim to ask her about it, she was nowhere to be found. He'd searched the entire church grounds, even the old addled retired priest who could see her, but he'd only cuddled with the other stray cats that gathered in the courtyard and murmured, "Gone, gone." Maybe she'd left when Sorey had joined the Abbey. Maybe she was hurt he hadn't been able to say goodbye.
The day comes when the most promising trainees receive their malakhim so here Sorey stands, number sixteen out of a hundred and forty trainees, ready to become a full-fledged exorcist. They bring before him a malak smaller than he, with beautiful silver hair tipped in blue. "This one is a water elemental," the praetor told him boredly, marking it down in his notes. "Give it a name and tether it."
Sorey peers at the malak curiously. The malak is stationary, passive, face hidden behind the standard gold dragon mask all the malakhim wear. Unless they simply don't have faces...?
"Trainee."
Sorey jumps. "Sorry, sorry- of course. A name." He knew this part of the ritual, naturally; he would give the malak a name and that would mark it as his, then recite the pact and tether the malakhim to himself so he could perform artes and use it as his own. It would live inside his soul unless he summoned it, and he would be ill for the next few days as his body accustomed to the malak's power. It's very cut and dry, well-documented and explained. Clinical. "Um, well..." He peers into the expressionless mask again, craning his neck to try and see past the edge. "What...do you feel like having as a name? Do you want something specific?"
The malak probably won't answer. They never do.