This is the artist's masterpiece. There is a smear of white on the background of a crumbled city with burning buildings and corpses that litter the street. Vivid shades of red that are violently stroked across the scene from the blood of rotting flesh and the blaze of a fire swallow the canvas. Faces are no longer recognizable as human and torsos are without limbs. But the massacre and the artist is not finished yet. A blue sky turns into an artificial blanket of night as it becomes sodden with heavy clouds that rain ashes upon the ruins below it. The sinking sun casts shadows on the precedent events. No life will ever exist here. No life can breathe here. The reeking smell of death will evict entire societies. There is no one to mourn for the dead.
The musician plays the sound of fluttering wings, followed shortly by a gun shot that pierces the air and the dull thump of a body falls to the ground. The moans of anguish are muffled by the violent roar of the fire that blazes. Its fuel is the petrified bodies that lie in contorted positions as if tossed by children, like ragdolls. A tall figure steps over the sea of dead until her shadow hovers over a fresh pool of blood. The being whose pure white wings are stained with the color of burning red crouches in their shadow.
"Where is it," the shadow asks.
"G-go to hell," they cry back.
The shadow stands silent and grows larger as the sun sinks beneath the buildings behind them. The putrid smell of rotting death fills the air. A powerful force stirs between the two. The lion has captured its prey. The lamb will continue to fight with its last breath.
"I'm not telling," They yell, furiously. Their breathing becomes heavy with anger as they gasp and spit, "Kill me now, because I will never tell," is another way of begging for mercy without losing one's pride.
Wordlesss, emotionless, the unwavering depiction of the living dead, whose eyes harbor no feeling, only emptiness; the shadow bends half way over and grabs the wings from the back soaked with blood. They will show mercy. A struggle errupts between the two until the being is set upon his knees. This is the musician's overture.
"W-what are you doing?"
A foot is placed on the back between where the two wings span. Their salute can be seen by the long shadow the sun casts over the razed buildings. The crescendo, an ear splitting shriek is followed by a peculiar silence. The body slumps forward and two wings remain in each of the shadow's hands, but are quickly discarded. Feathers are stained with the color of red and can not rise with the wind; they are too heavy with sin.
A voice cuts through the static of a radio, two miles from where the theatrics has ended.
"The halfling is dead."
A few moments pass and another voice responds.
There is a pause, "Nothing. They continue to remain resilient. But the upperground of this city is clear."
Static disrupts the message, but the voice is still understood.
"Good. The STIGMATA will return to the Ark."
CHARACTER LOGBIRTH NAME: sara moddeu
SOLDIER ID: eden
MALE or FM: female
BIRTH NAME: james carter
SOLDIER ID: jericho
MALE or FM: male
BIRTH NAME: paul reyes
SOlDIER ID: the flood
MALE or FM: male
This is what your character log should look like when you submit your request to join this role play. Any other format has the potential of being either ignored or deleted. Pictures are optional. An example of your writing, via a link to a role play that you are currently in is also required.)