Kaz
Undead
Posts: 6 
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Post by Kaz on May 28, 2016 10:21:01 GMT
  (Click image to download portrait)Name: Lorenzo Maria Nardozza
Gender: Male
Apparent Age: Mid-Late Twenties
Ethnicity: Italian
Height: An inch shy of six feetLorenzo was a man clad in sun-kissed olive skin and simple clothes that were more utilitarian than anything save for the traditional shirts he wore from distant Mediterranean and Middle-eastern lands. His build was slender but strong, long and disheveled hair cascading down his shoulders to frame his rough but angular facial features. He had the mug of a criminal, as though it was clear he was going to age badly in his fifties, but it gave him a certain characteristic air. Enzo's gaze was neither judgemental nor friendly, but focused and attentive on both what lay before him and behind him. He spoke an English smoothed by an Italian accent that did little to hinder his pronunciation of words. The hands he often used to accompany his spoken words were spotted with scars that spanned all the way up to his elbows, betraying a violent past, or tendencies. More often than not, they were clenched in a white-knuckled grip when they were not holding the scarlet red rosary that otherwise hanged from his neck. "With the Lord at your back
You need not fear the destruction that wastes at noon
He shall cover you with his feathers and under his wings
You will find refuge
You will not fear the terror of night
Nor the bullet that flies by day
A thousand men may fall at your side
Ten thousand at your right hand
But none shall defeat you
Because you have made the Lord your refuge
And the most high your dwelling place."
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Kaz
Undead
Posts: 6
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Post by Kaz on May 28, 2016 10:24:47 GMT
~
“… The four riders were given authority over a fourth of the earth, to kill by sword, by famine, by plague, and by the beasts of the earth. And when the Lamb opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the testimony they had upheld. And they cried out in a loud voice, ‘How long, O Lord, holy and true, until You judge those who live on the earth and avenge our blood.’ Then each of them was given a white robe and told to rest a little while longer, until the full number of their fellow servants, their brothers, were killed, just as they had been killed …”
The preacher’s voice quieted as a nagging drop of sweat formed on his forehead and collapsed down his forehead in an agonizing slowness, and in the brazen heat of the forsaken desert town that staled the air in the church, he clutched the Bible in his hands and paused long enough for his awkward echo to run its course. There was not a word, not a sound besides the idle creaking of the wooden pew Lorenzo had taken refuge in. He was the only one that had answered the call of prayer. He held his breath, fearful to shatter the golden silence that almost felt like God was looming over them from the crucifix up above. When the preacher closed the book as though trying to get rid of some unbearable truth, Lorenzo frowned and leaned forward to speak: “Father, where is your conviction? Do you not believe the sixth revelation?”
The question wrenched the preacher out of his thoughts: “I believe in the horsemen. I believe that they are at our doorstep – you’ve seen the news, but the martyrs?” He made the kind of face one makes a child to suggest he should grow up. Lorenzo rose to his feet with a saddened expression, approaching the altar with a humbled demeanor, his rosary hanging from his wrist like a pendulum, ticking time away before an outburst. The conflicted pastor cringed, speaking again – louder this time – when faced with the traveler’s silence. “This church has been losing the flock for over a decade, and in our darkest hours, no one comes to rally here in the house of God… We have abandoned the Lord, and he us. Nothing remains here for me, I should be on a plane to join my family.”
“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens, Father. There is no shame in giving up, but if you ever believed in Him for at least one minute of your life – Stay, keep your doors open for the needy, whomever they might be.” Lorenzo grasped the man’s shoulder, waiting for him to nod weakly before letting go. He turned on his feet to stride toward the door, floorboards thudding beneath his boots and raising dust with every step.
“Pray for me, Father.”
Mounting his bike, the engines roared to life before Lorenzo took to the road again. His next destination was Carthage, and he prayed all Hell had not yet broken loose.
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Kaz
Undead
Posts: 6
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Post by Kaz on May 29, 2016 10:15:00 GMT
~
A storm had thrown the rider off the road several days before. Tires raged relentlessly in the sand while Lorenzo depended on sunglasses and the shemagh wrapped around his head to protect his face. He had lost track of his movements and time, and everywhere he looked was a haze of floating particles blotting out the sun and sky and everything around him. And when the motorcycle had finally ran out of gas when the storm had passed, he was forced to haul his saddlebags on his shoulder and walk on foot.
He checked his phone obsessively every five minutes, hoping to catch at least one bar to make a phone call in the urgency of his impending death. This was a stupid way to go as far as poetic justices went. He was as straight as an arrow now, hadn’t used in a year and had changed – no more violence, no more anger. God had redeemed him, why would He let him rot in the desert to die of dehydration and join the scenery of skulls and bones that ornamented the placid dunes?
“Fuck!” He cussed under his breath when his battery died, launching the phone toward the sun that was burning him alive. Enzo instantly regretted it, and chased after to recover the electronic device. His innards seethed with rage. He hated all of it, the heat, the hunger and thirst. To take his mind off it all, to check out of the present moment, he reached for the rosary that had replaced his heroin. Clutching the crucifix in his fingers, he focused on the murmured prayers as he walked west, the general direction of the city of Carthage.
The sky darkened as hours passed, and the heat was replaced by an inhospitable cold that was as unwelcome as the heat that had gone away. When silence was the only answer to his prayers, he let himself collapse in the sand. After all, he had nowhere else to be.
And in his pocket, the dead phone vibrated to life.
Hastily reaching for it, he powered the screen to find a 0% marked at the top, and filled with hope when seeing the caller was his sister, he promptly answered.
“Bella! Hey- It is me. How do you fare?” There was joy in the man’s voice, and hearing hers would surely warm his heart.
“Enzo?” She asked, weakly, static rattling his ear soon after.
“Bella, you sound exhausted – I will be home soon, I’ve been… Held back.”
“No- No you have to leave, Enzo. It is not safe- The city… It is going to fall apart.”
A series of soul-wrenching coughs left Enzo speechless on the other end of the line, who then heard another woman comfort his sister before leaving again.
“What is wrong, Bella? Are you at the hospital?”
“I am… sick. A few people are – They don’t know what we have, Doctors said I don’t have long. Please- Please! Do not come back here, I called to say goodbye.” The tone of her voice was grave, a finality that only rhymed with death. The man fiddled with his prayer beads, tumbling over his words as he thought of something to say.
“No no, Bella – I will come. We will return to Italy, do you remember Uncle Gustavo? He has a clinic, one of the best doctors in the country. We will get you help…” Hanging on her lips, he waited for an answer that never came.
“Please, say yes.” He begged, dread sinking into his heart.
“When the second coming of Christ happens, I will be on the other side, waiting.”
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Kaz
Undead
Posts: 6
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Post by Kaz on Jun 20, 2016 0:30:50 GMT
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, thick and heavy but a burden that anyone could carry around their neck. Its metal was etched and embossed to give it an ornate and regal appearance in good romantic fashion. One would have thought it was a relic straight out of antique history if the date of creation hadn't been carved mechanically in the back of the 