ZombieG
08-10-2005, 07:35 AM
Snow white. The sterile ambience surrounding the winter-blanketed valley was about to be tainted by the stench of warm, crimson blood. Blue, turned red as the blood imbued itself with oxygen on the way out. It makes for a spectacular clash of colour; a statement. Which was exactly what the group surrounding the rotten, delapitated shack in the center of the valley thought.
The overcast skies stood still as the circular arrangement of specks stood equally motionless, apparently spearheaded by who had to be their leader, considering he was the only one not dressed in a black, grey and blue suit. With sunshades. And a machine gun.
However, the most common situation here was a servere case of an itchy trigger finger. Their convergence on the shack was due to the existence of a girl. The man. The man in the robes. With the scepter. With the cross. He came for the blood of the perpetraitor of crimes against the church; the same church that dominated seventy-five percent of the world. The contracts penned were soon to be pissed on, holy speaking, and the world would be open for a dogma rooted in bloodshed, greed, hatred and foremost - ignorance.
Emeralda was her name. She was only twelve. Apparently, the right age for a sacrifice in these eyes. These cold, stale and colourless eyes, masked behind a masquerade of cowardice and blind discipleship. She could hear herself breathe, contemplating the thought of it possibly being the end of her life as she watched the fog of her own air sink up to escape to heaven through her knees. Was it an omen?
She trembled as the archbishop raised his scepter. His bushy eyebrows covered a countenance of unforgiving malevolence. He lowers his scepter. The air ruffling about it seems as loud to her as an avalanche.
"Fire."
The ring of men ignite in a bright yellow display of death. Who'd have thought the end would be so colourful? Bullet after bullet passes through the shack, wrending through rotten wood and support beam, pushing it's infrastructure to the breaking point. Finally, the entire shack collapses in a cloud of dust as the final copper casing lands in a smoking hole in the snow. The smoke clears every muzzle, and no gun is lowered. However, there's a shadow. A monolithic shadow. The men found it particularly odd, because there was no sun out.
The cloud of dust clear.
Lucid as a life on a deathbed, the men tremble as the monolithic figure gains texture. It's a coffin, poised at a perfect ninety degree angle. Upside-down. They look towards the edge, and two lone card protrude from the sides. They're Jokers.
Two cases drop, matching the new bodies in the snow. In a trembling mass of confusion, the men flinch as they see their comrades fall, the only person unaffected is the Archbishop.
Gunshot.
Body.
Gunshot.
Body.
They're dropping like flies. Wrended completely, the coffin door is demolished by gunshot holes to reveal a corpse, still rotten. The bone marrow stains the grim attire, painting it with an extra coat of coagulated crimson. The eyes, hollow, hidden behind cracked black glasses. The mouth-sewn shut. Gasping, the soldiers stare in awe of their discovery.
No one notices the smoking guns in his hands.
The hollow eyes turn maddening as the twisted, freakish appearance of an arm raises and breaks backwards to plow through the back end of the ring of suit-and-tie militia. After an excellent fountain of blood, they fall to the grown, covered in their own liquid malevolence. The remainder of the men open fire.
Bullet after bullet tears through the cryptic member. One through the stomach. One through the spine, severing it and forcing a vertebrate out of his skin. Two tear through his knees, pushing his own weight down to the ground on himself. Apparently there's a marksmen amongst the suit-and-tie brigade.
After the gunfire rests, one soldier approaches the supposedly lifeless mass lying on the ground. His gun, armed, stays trained on the figures head as he kicks the guns away. What a persistent corpse. The figure grabs a shard of glass and cuts through the tendon on the soldier's feet, forcing him to the ground in an shrill uproar of agony. The figure rises on broken bone after broken bone, his torso twisted to the side. Chains, leading from his wrist, rattle as he takes the shard of glass and cuts through his sewn mouth. His jaw, still loose, hangs freely for a moment as he pulls his hands back, commanding his chained guns into his hand.
He flails his arms to the side, popping his shoulder, wrist and elbows out of joint, and opens fire against the grouping of men left in a twisted barrage of attacks. Only the Archbishop is left alive.
He leaves one bullet for him. However, without even flinching, the bushy-browed murderer deflects the bullet with his own litany of incantation. Cold, it falls to the snowy ground.
[This is where the beginning of the RP is.]
__________
Rules:
Proper Grammar. Not perfect, but I expect you to try.
Nonlinear characters. I don't want to see anything blatantly derivative.
It's open to everyone, but I'll reject and accept characters based on my own discression.
No anime smilies. At all.
All characters submitted will need the following:
Name, of course
Physical description
Mental Description
History
Affiliation with the main character, enemy or any given scenario
________________
Names: Oz and Emeralda
Physical Description for Oz: He's tall, semi-muscular with black hair, marble blue eyes. He wears blackened glasses and has two chains attatched to his wrists with a scar on his nose in between his eyes.
Physical Description for Emeralda: She's a twelve year old girl with red hair and glasses. Pale, with red eyes and a shaman tattoo on her forehead.
Mental Description for Oz: He's not a talkative person, but very clever and ferocious on the battlefield.
Mental Description for Emeralda: She's an up-beat girl who's very friendly, yet too trusting at times.
Histories:
Oz: Originnally, he was a typical church-going member. Faithful. Supportive. Until he returned to his nowhere town and found his entire family burning in a pile on the dirt. That day, he killed the preist in charge, and ended up running from the church who was after him on charges of apostacy and murder. He began fighting back when he was seventeen by burning churches and killing as many church administrators as he could.
He was eventually caught in the Celeste Citadel, one of the four most renowned sanctuaries of the church, armed to the teeth with explosives. After having his neurological chords severed and legs and arms made useless, he was put to death by way of live mummification, yet no antiseptics were uses. His corpse was eventually buried by townspeople and hid from the church.
Ten years after his death, Death offers him the ability to live again on the sole condition that he breaks the rapid influx of souls going to hell by breaking the churches hold on the world. In order to do this, he will need to kill the myriad of fathers, ten archbishops, three cardinals and head of the entire church.
Emeralda: At age nine, her shaman father was put to death after her village was taken over by the church. Afterwhich, they raped and killed her mother. She, however, persisted in the shaman arts and tried as desparately as she could to fight against the churches. She's responsible for burning three churches, and one of the most sought-after criminals.
She found out about Oz through a method she can't quite figure out, but now she plans to aid him in combat.
The overcast skies stood still as the circular arrangement of specks stood equally motionless, apparently spearheaded by who had to be their leader, considering he was the only one not dressed in a black, grey and blue suit. With sunshades. And a machine gun.
However, the most common situation here was a servere case of an itchy trigger finger. Their convergence on the shack was due to the existence of a girl. The man. The man in the robes. With the scepter. With the cross. He came for the blood of the perpetraitor of crimes against the church; the same church that dominated seventy-five percent of the world. The contracts penned were soon to be pissed on, holy speaking, and the world would be open for a dogma rooted in bloodshed, greed, hatred and foremost - ignorance.
Emeralda was her name. She was only twelve. Apparently, the right age for a sacrifice in these eyes. These cold, stale and colourless eyes, masked behind a masquerade of cowardice and blind discipleship. She could hear herself breathe, contemplating the thought of it possibly being the end of her life as she watched the fog of her own air sink up to escape to heaven through her knees. Was it an omen?
She trembled as the archbishop raised his scepter. His bushy eyebrows covered a countenance of unforgiving malevolence. He lowers his scepter. The air ruffling about it seems as loud to her as an avalanche.
"Fire."
The ring of men ignite in a bright yellow display of death. Who'd have thought the end would be so colourful? Bullet after bullet passes through the shack, wrending through rotten wood and support beam, pushing it's infrastructure to the breaking point. Finally, the entire shack collapses in a cloud of dust as the final copper casing lands in a smoking hole in the snow. The smoke clears every muzzle, and no gun is lowered. However, there's a shadow. A monolithic shadow. The men found it particularly odd, because there was no sun out.
The cloud of dust clear.
Lucid as a life on a deathbed, the men tremble as the monolithic figure gains texture. It's a coffin, poised at a perfect ninety degree angle. Upside-down. They look towards the edge, and two lone card protrude from the sides. They're Jokers.
Two cases drop, matching the new bodies in the snow. In a trembling mass of confusion, the men flinch as they see their comrades fall, the only person unaffected is the Archbishop.
Gunshot.
Body.
Gunshot.
Body.
They're dropping like flies. Wrended completely, the coffin door is demolished by gunshot holes to reveal a corpse, still rotten. The bone marrow stains the grim attire, painting it with an extra coat of coagulated crimson. The eyes, hollow, hidden behind cracked black glasses. The mouth-sewn shut. Gasping, the soldiers stare in awe of their discovery.
No one notices the smoking guns in his hands.
The hollow eyes turn maddening as the twisted, freakish appearance of an arm raises and breaks backwards to plow through the back end of the ring of suit-and-tie militia. After an excellent fountain of blood, they fall to the grown, covered in their own liquid malevolence. The remainder of the men open fire.
Bullet after bullet tears through the cryptic member. One through the stomach. One through the spine, severing it and forcing a vertebrate out of his skin. Two tear through his knees, pushing his own weight down to the ground on himself. Apparently there's a marksmen amongst the suit-and-tie brigade.
After the gunfire rests, one soldier approaches the supposedly lifeless mass lying on the ground. His gun, armed, stays trained on the figures head as he kicks the guns away. What a persistent corpse. The figure grabs a shard of glass and cuts through the tendon on the soldier's feet, forcing him to the ground in an shrill uproar of agony. The figure rises on broken bone after broken bone, his torso twisted to the side. Chains, leading from his wrist, rattle as he takes the shard of glass and cuts through his sewn mouth. His jaw, still loose, hangs freely for a moment as he pulls his hands back, commanding his chained guns into his hand.
He flails his arms to the side, popping his shoulder, wrist and elbows out of joint, and opens fire against the grouping of men left in a twisted barrage of attacks. Only the Archbishop is left alive.
He leaves one bullet for him. However, without even flinching, the bushy-browed murderer deflects the bullet with his own litany of incantation. Cold, it falls to the snowy ground.
[This is where the beginning of the RP is.]
__________
Rules:
Proper Grammar. Not perfect, but I expect you to try.
Nonlinear characters. I don't want to see anything blatantly derivative.
It's open to everyone, but I'll reject and accept characters based on my own discression.
No anime smilies. At all.
All characters submitted will need the following:
Name, of course
Physical description
Mental Description
History
Affiliation with the main character, enemy or any given scenario
________________
Names: Oz and Emeralda
Physical Description for Oz: He's tall, semi-muscular with black hair, marble blue eyes. He wears blackened glasses and has two chains attatched to his wrists with a scar on his nose in between his eyes.
Physical Description for Emeralda: She's a twelve year old girl with red hair and glasses. Pale, with red eyes and a shaman tattoo on her forehead.
Mental Description for Oz: He's not a talkative person, but very clever and ferocious on the battlefield.
Mental Description for Emeralda: She's an up-beat girl who's very friendly, yet too trusting at times.
Histories:
Oz: Originnally, he was a typical church-going member. Faithful. Supportive. Until he returned to his nowhere town and found his entire family burning in a pile on the dirt. That day, he killed the preist in charge, and ended up running from the church who was after him on charges of apostacy and murder. He began fighting back when he was seventeen by burning churches and killing as many church administrators as he could.
He was eventually caught in the Celeste Citadel, one of the four most renowned sanctuaries of the church, armed to the teeth with explosives. After having his neurological chords severed and legs and arms made useless, he was put to death by way of live mummification, yet no antiseptics were uses. His corpse was eventually buried by townspeople and hid from the church.
Ten years after his death, Death offers him the ability to live again on the sole condition that he breaks the rapid influx of souls going to hell by breaking the churches hold on the world. In order to do this, he will need to kill the myriad of fathers, ten archbishops, three cardinals and head of the entire church.
Emeralda: At age nine, her shaman father was put to death after her village was taken over by the church. Afterwhich, they raped and killed her mother. She, however, persisted in the shaman arts and tried as desparately as she could to fight against the churches. She's responsible for burning three churches, and one of the most sought-after criminals.
She found out about Oz through a method she can't quite figure out, but now she plans to aid him in combat.