- Invitation Status
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- Writing Levels
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- No Preferences
- Genres
- Fantasy, magical, action, sci-fi, romance, modern, slice of life.
It's said that the west was built on legends; Tall tales that help us understand things too great, or too terrifying, to believe. This is the legend of the Ghost Rider. Story goes that every generation has one, damned souls cursed to ride the earth, collecting on the devil's deals. The thing about legends is, sometimes, they're true.
The story was recounted somewhere in a distant town as a man woke up coated in dust. He sits up, coughing and brushing off his white robes as his large feathered wings unfurl to their four foot length, fluttering to wick away the dust. There is a small crater underneath him as he stands, his white robes now glowing a silver under the light of a full moon. He looks up and a look of remorse crosses his face.
I must work quickly, I must spare the human race from the end of days that is soon to come. I am Tyrael, and I will cleanse the land.
There is a shift in the wind as a man watches unnoticed from the shadows. He is quite old, dressed in black, and he has a cane with a skull on top that he stamps lightly against the ground. This angel would be trouble, and he dared not call upon Johnny Blaze after the incident that had occurred. The Ghost Rider is still his greatest weapon, however, but one might not be enough to battle an angel, who's intentions are pure but wrong. He'd have to start soon if he wanted to remain in power. How else was he going to gain power from the souls of the damned?
CS: Bolded means required
Name: (First, Middle, Last)
Age:
Gender:
Weapon(s):
Transportation: (Cannot be flying, submerged, or man-powered.)
Deal: (What's the deal you made with the devil to become a Ghost Rider?)
Personality:
Bio:
Fears:
Hopes:
Appearance: (Written, picture, or both.)
The story was recounted somewhere in a distant town as a man woke up coated in dust. He sits up, coughing and brushing off his white robes as his large feathered wings unfurl to their four foot length, fluttering to wick away the dust. There is a small crater underneath him as he stands, his white robes now glowing a silver under the light of a full moon. He looks up and a look of remorse crosses his face.
I must work quickly, I must spare the human race from the end of days that is soon to come. I am Tyrael, and I will cleanse the land.
There is a shift in the wind as a man watches unnoticed from the shadows. He is quite old, dressed in black, and he has a cane with a skull on top that he stamps lightly against the ground. This angel would be trouble, and he dared not call upon Johnny Blaze after the incident that had occurred. The Ghost Rider is still his greatest weapon, however, but one might not be enough to battle an angel, who's intentions are pure but wrong. He'd have to start soon if he wanted to remain in power. How else was he going to gain power from the souls of the damned?
CS: Bolded means required
Name: (First, Middle, Last)
Age:
Gender:
Weapon(s):
Transportation: (Cannot be flying, submerged, or man-powered.)
Deal: (What's the deal you made with the devil to become a Ghost Rider?)
Personality:
Bio:
Fears:
Hopes:
Appearance: (Written, picture, or both.)
