Thread: House of Spades

Maybe someone should comandeer control of this RP

No.

Originally Posted by Kael Seoras

Maybe someone should comandeer control of this RP

It'd be like asking if anyone knows how to fly the plane once it's already crashed.

^true

k this is my first rp here so uhh heres meh info

Name: Zenorioth

alias: None

gender: Male

age: 24

appearance: brown messy hair, green eyes, weathered face, sharp facial features, broad shoulders.

costume: (all of which are dirtied with battle and time) Black leather tunic and leggings, brown leather boots, white undershirt, with two black steel kantanas on his back.

power: telepathy

skill: acrobat

persona: concealed emotion and to search for what, he knows not.

Still no chapter.....

I recovered the first chapter off of Sindred's hard drive.

♠♠HOUSE OF SPADES♠♠
PRELUDE - FALSE BEGINNINGS


Zerachiel and Metatron, Canterbury

He smiled slightly as he finished writing, and laid the quill down.
The black ink looked bright to him, as he watched it dry. Bright little ink-black letters. Neat, ordered. He knew where the letters were going. He had known before he'd started writing.
He'd always known.
Zerachiel closed his eyes and leant back, rocking the wooden chair on its legs. He looked young, muscular and well-built. Perfectly sculpted features, without blemish of stubble or grime or pox. A sculptor would have torn out his eyes in frustration, a painter broken his brush in two. He was all too beautiful, all too perfect.
There were few of his kind left. He knew this, as he knew everything.

He didn't open his eyes when the oaken door cracked, splinters spraying the stone room as some invisible force tore into the ancient wood. He didn't even open his eyes when the door gave, and the broken remnants were cast aside by some unseen might.
The room was dark, as it always was, Zerachiel having no need for candles or sunlight. He knew where everything was anyway. Now light streamed in, bright, orange light, glowing and burning fiercely, a sudden spark of anger, rage.

Metatron stepped inside. One hand burned ablaze, the skin unharmed, a ball of flames erupting from his very flesh.
His other was not so obvious in its intensity, but Zerachiel knew that it was deadly too, in its own manner. Blue, white, the cold colours of ice glimmered on his other hand.
Zerachiel did not open his eyes.
Metatron stepped forward. He ducked slightly to pass the broken doorframe. Immaculate white wings, like those of some giant dove, adorned his back, wings sprouting from his shoulder bones, skin merging with feathers.
Zerachiel knew him, had always known about him.
He was the man that was going to kill him.

Now he rose. Did not turn. Did not open his eyes. He spoke, his voice husky, suddenly old, aged. Weary.
"Metatron has come. The Church seeks me dead."
Metatron nodded, bluntly. His tanned face was harsh, deadset. No room for emotion. Not here.
"I know." Zerachiel smiled. "I know and I forgive you."

He lifted his arms, spreading them in a bizarre mockery of submission, the smile still broad on his face. An old man humouring a rebellious youth. A teacher, patient and wise, counselling his wayward student.
"Do it."
Metatron jerked. His hand rose, blazing flames, and gushed out, the fierce orange fire engulfing the writer in an instant, without cry of mercy. Not without pain.
The other hand rose. Ice flowed as fluidly as water, crashing in silent waves over the burning body. Freezing it in a final grimace, a final expression of agony.

Metatron's hands dulled. The glow of power faded. The wings folded, not gone, never utterly gone.
He picked up the page lying on the desk. It was thick, expensive paper, and was miraculously untouched by the fire still licking the wooden desk, the furnishings of the room burning and smouldering all around Metatron. He didn't pay them any heed.
There were words on the page, large, neatly inscribed calligraphy. Copperplate handwriting. Three words.

The Anti-Hero

Holy crap. I like it.

wow....

EDIT: i feel retarded... >.<

*Cough*

I like it anyway

...I'm awesome.

Yah. About House of Spades. About that. Whole. RP. Thing.

May be some massive delay. I'm busy busy all of a sudden.

This may clear up soonish. I still want to do this, if people are interested.

This is all I got. Not so happy with it.

Proof of progress, however.

HOUSE OF SPADES

Volume One


PROLOGUE - FACES OLD AND NEW


The Red Masque, Church of the Saviour's Spilled Blood, Iniquity City

The figure hung, motionless, its legs wrapped and bound about the forboding stone crucifix that headed the tall spire of the Church of the Saviour's Spilled Blood.

The figure groaned, slowly, and gradually stumbled into consciousness.

The bloodshot eyes flicked downwards, automatically, and the figure began to scream.
Beneath him, the night-time lights of Iniquity City sparkled, the sprawling mass' unnaturally urban sunlight bathing the entire scene in a lukewarm orange glow. It pierced the inky night-sky, a wayward hue that seemed to stain the scene, and yet somehow define it.

Iniquity City. A heaving, breathing hive of humanity. The neon signs twinkling as they promised dancing girls of every ethnic strain imaginable, shambling men in dark alleyways offering every blend of poison known to science (and half of it will always be bleached brick-dust), suited men in mirror-clad towers calling the shots for briefcases of green paper rolls.

The American dream.

The figure's bloodshot eyes roved, panicked, as he twisted his body, the sudden vertigo hitting him like a ten-tonne truck.
Chains, rusted and blackened, wound about his legs. Dangled him from the tall stone crucifix. An inverted homage to our Lord.

Another figure stood over him, as the struggling man would have noticed had he the sense to look hard enough.

Patience is needed. Perhaps.

Needs more cowbell, and you need to have a break. So why not swoop on down by here and have some fun while Sindred becomes un-busy? That's killing two birds with one stone.

...that was low, Daniel.

;_;

I was only trying to help...

OK. Your rape will be put off for a few days. Unless, of course, you don't want it to be.

Please don't want it to be.

God damn it.

seriously though, somone necro AA before the mods delete the entire forum section.

I intend to do something at some point.

Honestly.

If not this then something.

Would possibly be interested in working with someone on an RP like this to lessen workload. Or something.

I'll take the case!

Ultimate RP Managerial League COMBINE!

OmegaForm, NOW!

Assemble in Flashchat! 8D