The god of Rage was a chill motherfucker. Almost the god of Mirth or Miracles, the state of the flock took a sudden and quite sharp turn in such a critical moment, that rage was then set in stone. There are signs of that old hope, little wonders and simple pleasures all around, bringing joy and laughter. Music and color and all things made to lull one into contentment. It was a world initially and solely made to soothe. A paradise for the living. A place in which people could put their pain to rest.
But the skies are often overcast now, weighing down like a bruise. The wind whips and promises a coming storm. When tempers truly flare, it strikes. The lightening comes down in all manner of color, the fires it can cause, the same, but neither are any less destructive.
The quaint tent village sits on the edge of a cliff, where raging ocean roars below. Journeying in the opposite direction, away from the roar of the sea but also the safety of the village, one may find themselves in the wastelands where murdered dreams lay in ruins in the sand. Illusions dance and voices whisper, bringing up pains of the past (or present) that were run from for so long. Personal flaws, failures, and losses. While before, the village was a sanctuary, now the storms may occasionally sweep someone away into the desert, or even drive in the whole village for a time.
The people collected are those who are angry, and those who show no anger at all at the expense of themselves, or the complacent. Those who would destroy in their anger, and those who would let themselves be destroyed in lack of it. Or both.
While initially meaning to heal those collected, the angry and the hurting alike, the realisation of aspect solidified a permanent turmoil of some sort. The godling sits on the edge of unleashing rage, and allowing the flock to run them ragged, just as the flock itself fights the same. Should the godling grow into a balance, a manner of lesson teaching and rougher-style healing may be achieved, giving the flock both control of themselves, and a backbone. Should the godling fail to grow into this properly, control may very well be lost of the flock entirely...
Rage appears a two faced, curly haired chimera with three different kinds of wings (angelic, demonic, insectile), fins, goat-ish fur, a snake's tongue, and long claws. The faces change in a blink from one smiling calmly to one in a furious and despairing grimace of fangs. The skin is lined with swirling patterns that glow, the colors shifting with the face. Typical garb is a shredded and worn purple jester's garb.
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But the skies are often overcast now, weighing down like a bruise. The wind whips and promises a coming storm. When tempers truly flare, it strikes. The lightening comes down in all manner of color, the fires it can cause, the same, but neither are any less destructive.
The quaint tent village sits on the edge of a cliff, where raging ocean roars below. Journeying in the opposite direction, away from the roar of the sea but also the safety of the village, one may find themselves in the wastelands where murdered dreams lay in ruins in the sand. Illusions dance and voices whisper, bringing up pains of the past (or present) that were run from for so long. Personal flaws, failures, and losses. While before, the village was a sanctuary, now the storms may occasionally sweep someone away into the desert, or even drive in the whole village for a time.
The people collected are those who are angry, and those who show no anger at all at the expense of themselves, or the complacent. Those who would destroy in their anger, and those who would let themselves be destroyed in lack of it. Or both.
While initially meaning to heal those collected, the angry and the hurting alike, the realisation of aspect solidified a permanent turmoil of some sort. The godling sits on the edge of unleashing rage, and allowing the flock to run them ragged, just as the flock itself fights the same. Should the godling grow into a balance, a manner of lesson teaching and rougher-style healing may be achieved, giving the flock both control of themselves, and a backbone. Should the godling fail to grow into this properly, control may very well be lost of the flock entirely...
Rage appears a two faced, curly haired chimera with three different kinds of wings (angelic, demonic, insectile), fins, goat-ish fur, a snake's tongue, and long claws. The faces change in a blink from one smiling calmly to one in a furious and despairing grimace of fangs. The skin is lined with swirling patterns that glow, the colors shifting with the face. Typical garb is a shredded and worn purple jester's garb.