i officially hate angels [leaders, healers]

the Rift

[OPEN] i officially hate angels [leaders, healers]

Rasta Posts: 305

Hidden Account atk: 7 | def: 10 | dam: 3

Mare :: Equine :: 14.1hh :: six (ages in Tallsun) HP: 62 | Buff: NOVICE

Ettore :: Red-Tailed Hawk :: None Abba

06-15-2014, 10:42 PM (This post was last modified: 06-15-2014, 10:43 PM by Rasta.)

RASTA

hey sister, do you still believe in love, i wonder?

Silence. She hadn't spoken words in months. Symphonic syllables had not been sweetly sung from her maw in almost three seasons, and now she was just barely managing to keep those drowning thoughts afloat. The way each breath strung into each other - the way each tone gave the premise of another one to follow. The melodic tones wrapping around the ears, the minds, of those she was striving to be with. They were the serenity of her family - these sweet, sweet chords that spin and pull the strays from their depths of destruction. The silence was no more.

Weakness. Water had been forced down her throat. Limbs were like jelly as she attempted to wash away the sins which were clinging to her pelt - clinging to the pelts of those around her. But, wicked images still were warped in her mind. The images of her being worn down, watched, beaten, whispered taunts. It was a pain. It was horrors many should never have to witness. But she was weak.

Red. She wondered if the red dirt really was a sign of the rallying fires that burned in all of the Throat members' souls. Requiring recitals of recent deaths, of recent births, of recent events that we dared to request stay in our memories, resting and then replaying them at our wills. But she couldn't reel in the colours anymore. No. She recoiled, she resisted, but this resistance couldn't bring the colours back. It only allowed her go to back to rewiring the ragged vibrations of ricocheting waves of movements, wind, sound. Still, red was gone.

Black. Burnt, broken, and battered. The blatant sign to those who could see that many things were being twisted into barred memories that buried them in chains and covered them in bruises. Barren lands with bent souls and begging creatures. She was healing, bending and breaking until she managed to bury the sickness and bring back out the strength she had once been babying, been hiding as she dealt with the pain. But it was still all black.

Africa. A not so affluent, anonymous body was asking, no screaming, for the able-bodied, angel and the assistance of the herd healer. Acquired senses cause her to go airborne, or as airborne as an equine body could actually be. Hooves kicking up the sand until she arrives at what she is certain is the borders. Africa will be here soon.

Companion. Cold, curled and definitely more of a reptile than the not-so-calm one with feathers so out of place it bothered the gold one before her. Astute measures of the vibrations had her allowing her hoarse voice to appear - requiring that attention was paid. "The sand will burn your creature as much as fire if you leave her as such." A simple phrase, no welcome, no questions. It was not of a cutting nature, no choir-like sound. Just cold, hard facts. The summer sun burned the crushed rock and it would carve burn scars into the Gods creation. But, it was the companion that cut Rasta off, the lack of a companion that made her chaff. She cried for her companion.

Assistance. Would the Throat come and aid her as they had fawned over Rasta? Would the same assistance be awarded?

Let the masses come...

Given permission to post here by Riven as Rasta is staying in the Throat for a little while to get her energy back!