Turiel. (Art by Peter Mohrbacher)
Turiel, known as The Hero Immemorial and Angel of the Mountain, is a fallen angel and the eighteenth leader of the Grigori known in the ancient apocryphal text called the Book of Enoch.
Description[]
The way Turiel carried his massive stature was a matter of public spectacle. His feats of strength were sometimes put to good use but often bled into showmanship. The praise people showered him with seemed to sustain the angel almost as equally as food or air.
Overview[]
Turiel was one of the angels to show humanity the gifts of magic. With that, he has been treated as a false God of Magic and Mystery similar to the Archangel Raziel. After his fall, Turiel is able to take of a Snow Leopard and to this reigns over the snowy mountains. It is because of this that he caused the indigenous people of Asia as well as the Himalayan, to see the Snow Leopard as a messenger or even an avatar of the deities that reside within the mountains or are the mountains themselves.
Many came to seek the mighty Turiel’s favor. They hailed him from afar at the common grounds and sought to catch a glimpse of him preparing his hunting party. Gifts of food and gold were brought to curry favor. Weapons and jewelry were brought in his honor whenever they could be spared. Those that truly impressed him were made a part of his story, a grand tale where each night, was a feast, each drink was a toast and each lover, a grand affair.
Quotes[]
| “ | Here I remain, under a mountain made of many hands, all reaching and all taking. I press my body closer to that which I must keep. It is mine and I will shield it from the misery of other hands. I can feel their gaze fall on it like an avalanche. They diminish it with the weight of their indurate eyes. But it is mine and so I will bury it in the shadow of my protections. Their greed feeds my convictions, So here I remain. Here I remain under a mountain of screaming fury. How they try to convince me to share with them That which they are not worthy of. “It is not yours!” I say and say with rage boiling in my breast. Their voices press on me, Hot like the sun and fogging my vision. But there is something familiar, Something I’ve forgot. Here I remain, under a mountain of mirrors. |
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| ~ Turiel |