No Silver
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Memories awash with blurred details and painful possibilities. The wolf doesn't remember much... Somewhere in his memories there is the knowledge he was... Something powerful... An Angel of sorts though darkness rather than light was his gift. One to sooth the passage of lost souls... Allow them to peacefully cross over to judgement, guided to their fates. Some more willing than others...
He remembers it was shame that has brought him to his final place... What he thought was his final place. There were flames there. Dry and arid, demonic voices whispering in hot, searing tones. It was cold sometimes as well... Which at the time he found ironic but he can no longer remember why... He has a name... Jorah... He wouldn't know the name... However... It's carved into his back. Every painful letter. Wings to be regrown ripped from back in jagged wounds that would heal slowly and painfully and sent to the mortal world with no memory to tell him of what he has done to deserve such... Burned into back just between wings an odd symbol... Mark of the fallen.
Jorah's life up to the point of rising to that of an Angel of Death was unremarkable. He grew in a loving home which is rare for that of a gold eye. While his 'death' was painful it wasn't left with bitter memories as many suffered. He had knowledge of love. Knowledge of hope. Perhaps why being in such a hopeless position was so difficult on him. He cared for the mortals. Worried for them.
Felt for them a little to deeply, emotions that should have been gone from him rising to the surface. It resulted in the wolf not only breaking one of the deepest vows he could take... He allowed a mortal who's name had been called to live...
A sin that was unforgivable the wolf cursed to hell... He does not know why he was so suddenly granted mercy. He doesn't even remember what he did to get there, his memories wiped clean. He awoke in the rain. Naked and afraid... Cold form the water seeping into open wounds of wings ripped apart and newly carved name...
At his side brilliant collar of gold and silver, precious gift once a halo of grace now tainted by his sins and time in hell, the collar having slipped his neck upon falling... Only to have a new collar slipped 'round neck that stormy night...
A collar of suppression. Without it, his unchecked abilities would have brought the entire island down around them, the wolf left to find comfort with a familiar face. The one he died for. A small halo of grace, provided to him by those he served.
Relief was short lived, that same collar meant to help him, his undoing. The wolf was confronted, unable to give the name of an owner and sold just as quickly. However, that hell, so much worse than fire and brimstone was again short-lived, the wolf now back with the one he died for, and for him again he would gladly perish.