Post by MorningStar on Feb 22, 2007 19:10:52 GMT -5
Have you ever had a dream so complete, so utterly real, that you could almost reach out and touch it? Have you ever had a dream so surreal, so utterly whole that you wish you could live it? Have you? I have, and I’m living it right now. Never did I believe this could be my day in the sun, my time in the spotlight… my chance to shine. Here we write the new chapter in the pages of history, here we wash away the memories of the past… Right here, right now… no past, no future, only the present…
And it will never End…
Newport, the baby city of Wales. Having only been made a city eight months ago, it's still growing it's own identity; plans have been made to revitalise the entire city, to create a thing of beauty. But for now, it remains as it always has; a city of deceit, drugs, violence and murder, hidden beneath a marble facade. Yet even in this corrupted hell hole, there is still beauty. The Newport Wave, an intricate structure dominating the river; the Newport Ship, recently unearthed and on display. But above all, one place remains peer. Here, there is no violence, there are no drugs. Grove Park remains a haven against the evil of humanity; a place where children can frolic and play, where old people can feed the ducks...a island of tranquility in a storm of chaos. And it's here, on the John Frost Memorial monument, that our story begins...
The heavens are strewn with thick clouds, as cold and hard as tempered steel. The blanket doesn’t seem to move at all, no shifting within the varying shades of grey… as if the clouds themselves were peering in on what is happening. But what? Is it something momentous? Is it something amazing? Maybe, maybe not; to such as the heavens these things mean nothing to them. All they do is drop their burden upon those below, a gentle drizzle drifting down without a care in the world. The rain is one of those dampening, quelling downpours that depresses those below to stay at home. None of “The Chavs” are hanging around trying to bum ten pence for the phone, or riding around on their BMX’s looking for a fight. But one person is out, perched high on the gigantic chair that is the John Frost Memorial. Wrapped in a leather trenchcoat to protect from the rain, hands clasped infront of him and elbows on knees, The MorningStar stares out over his city.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
This is it, my place of birth…. Not much to look at, eh? A poor excuse for a city, filled with the scum of the earth… it’s no wonder my parents moved us to London at the first opportunity. But still, I like to return here now and then… I feel a certain kinship with this city. But every time I’ve returned here, I’ve come as a no one… just like everyone else in this gods forsaken place. This time though, it’s all different…
Mental uncoils like a spring, lithely rising onto the monument, towering Herculean over the plaza. Unbuttoning his trenchcoat one slowly, he allows it to fall open, showing the XVI World Championship belt wrapped around his waist. Head high, shoulders back, he looks every inch of the champion he always has been…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Finally, I’ve brought some glory to this two bit city, finally I’ve done something that it’s population can look upon with pride. But there’s one man out there who wants to take it all away, to remove what’s mine by right of conquest… Yes, David Calaz returns to try and do what he failed to accomplish last time…
David, surely you can see the folly of your ways? Yes, I know your young and just coming into your own, just hitting your prime… but lets be serious for a moment, shall we? Drop the charade, you might say? Last time you beat me, you hit me with everything you could get your hands on… you still couldn’t get the job finished. I just smiled, turned around and kept on coming… what makes you think THIS is any different?
Mental begins to pace back and forth along the seat of the monument, hands clasped behind his back, faced somewhat puzzled, confused almost.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Lets not go over your past mistakes, Eh David? I’ve been there, I’ve done that and I’ve got the scars to prove it. I care not a whit what you’ve done in the past; be it killing a helpless old man or corrupting that little strumpet you professed to love. At least you learned there, David, that words are the most powerful weapon in the war of the sexes. How many times did our pure Sister Jessica hurl herself on her back and spread her legs for you when you whispered those magic words? You want to speak of corruption? Try researching the history of The MorningStar. Sacrifices to Ogou Badagris, sick and perverse orgies of lust and death, I corrupted a whole generation by the time I was you age David… one little slut doesn’t impress me!
But I digress from my point here, David. The point is, I have something you want. I have something you CRAVE. Wrapped around my waist are your stripes of rank, your spurs, your proof to the wrestling world that you ARE the whole deal. There’s only one problem here, David… the fact you have to go through me to get it. You’ve tried once, and valiantly indeed you tried… but you fell short. Now, coming off a tremendous upset over Genocide, you think you’re Gods gift to the squared circle, and think you can take me down. I’ll give you credit where it’s due, fluke or not Genocide is a tough man to beat… but he’s not the best… I am.
Mental stops his incessant pacing and squats down on the monument, the fingers of his right hand trailing across the roughly hewn stone. His look of confusion is now replaced by one of knowing; of clairvoyance if you will. Around him, in the treeline, flickers of black can be seen; shadows flitting back and forth, darting in and out of the undergrowth… barely on the edge of perception…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Dreams, David? Let me tell you about dreams. Dreams are what drive the normal people, dreams are nothing more than ideals, what we all strive to attain, but know we will never ave. Put simply, David, dreams are for the weak. I don't have any dreams, David. I LIVE mine...
Let me make this plain and gods damned simple for you, David. I move faster, hit harder and fly farther than you. Technically? I’m superior to you in every gods damned way. You may have improved beyond all recognition, but you’re still a damned sight away from my level. This isn’t ego talking, Calaz, don’t mistake it for that… no, the title hasn’t gone to my head. This is pure, unadulterated truth. You DARE to disgrace my ring with your presence again, and so help me you WILL regret it. With the Children of The Night behind me, there’s no stopping The MorningStar…
From the undergrowth come his children. Tens, hundreds of them. Around the monument they swarm, a seething, writhing mass of humanity. One by one they bend their knee, bowing to their Lord Of The Morning. Above them, like a Benevolent deity, Mental smiles upon his denizens.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
There will be no quarter given, Calaz. No joining, no rejoicing. We’re both in this to win, whether you expect me to believe your tripe or not. I’m ready for you Calaz, more ready than I’ve EVER been… throw everything you have at me, and I’ll still smile and keep on coming. One way or the other, it will be my hand raised in victory, it will be me that hoists that gold high once you’re dealt with. Your prime is may be now, Calaz, but like the last rays of sunset it is slowly fading. Your time is done before it begins, now is the time for The Morningstar to shine, for MY day to dawn. A new chapter is being written as week speak, engraved upon stone in runes of power long ago forgotten by the mere mortal coil of mankind... and from those pages shall arise a new power… With the power of The Legion, and upon my hope of salvation and Rebirth, These are the words of The MorningStar…
…Heed Them Well…
With that he begins to laugh as the chanting begins. From every throat, every voice praises the name of their lord, the Prince Of Insanity. His laughter booms throughout the plaza, reverberating throughout the entire city. With that final, mocking sound, our scene comes to a close…
(OOC: Different I know… but it’s been a long time since I had a straight out rant
And it will never End…
Newport, the baby city of Wales. Having only been made a city eight months ago, it's still growing it's own identity; plans have been made to revitalise the entire city, to create a thing of beauty. But for now, it remains as it always has; a city of deceit, drugs, violence and murder, hidden beneath a marble facade. Yet even in this corrupted hell hole, there is still beauty. The Newport Wave, an intricate structure dominating the river; the Newport Ship, recently unearthed and on display. But above all, one place remains peer. Here, there is no violence, there are no drugs. Grove Park remains a haven against the evil of humanity; a place where children can frolic and play, where old people can feed the ducks...a island of tranquility in a storm of chaos. And it's here, on the John Frost Memorial monument, that our story begins...
The heavens are strewn with thick clouds, as cold and hard as tempered steel. The blanket doesn’t seem to move at all, no shifting within the varying shades of grey… as if the clouds themselves were peering in on what is happening. But what? Is it something momentous? Is it something amazing? Maybe, maybe not; to such as the heavens these things mean nothing to them. All they do is drop their burden upon those below, a gentle drizzle drifting down without a care in the world. The rain is one of those dampening, quelling downpours that depresses those below to stay at home. None of “The Chavs” are hanging around trying to bum ten pence for the phone, or riding around on their BMX’s looking for a fight. But one person is out, perched high on the gigantic chair that is the John Frost Memorial. Wrapped in a leather trenchcoat to protect from the rain, hands clasped infront of him and elbows on knees, The MorningStar stares out over his city.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
This is it, my place of birth…. Not much to look at, eh? A poor excuse for a city, filled with the scum of the earth… it’s no wonder my parents moved us to London at the first opportunity. But still, I like to return here now and then… I feel a certain kinship with this city. But every time I’ve returned here, I’ve come as a no one… just like everyone else in this gods forsaken place. This time though, it’s all different…
Mental uncoils like a spring, lithely rising onto the monument, towering Herculean over the plaza. Unbuttoning his trenchcoat one slowly, he allows it to fall open, showing the XVI World Championship belt wrapped around his waist. Head high, shoulders back, he looks every inch of the champion he always has been…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Finally, I’ve brought some glory to this two bit city, finally I’ve done something that it’s population can look upon with pride. But there’s one man out there who wants to take it all away, to remove what’s mine by right of conquest… Yes, David Calaz returns to try and do what he failed to accomplish last time…
David, surely you can see the folly of your ways? Yes, I know your young and just coming into your own, just hitting your prime… but lets be serious for a moment, shall we? Drop the charade, you might say? Last time you beat me, you hit me with everything you could get your hands on… you still couldn’t get the job finished. I just smiled, turned around and kept on coming… what makes you think THIS is any different?
Mental begins to pace back and forth along the seat of the monument, hands clasped behind his back, faced somewhat puzzled, confused almost.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Lets not go over your past mistakes, Eh David? I’ve been there, I’ve done that and I’ve got the scars to prove it. I care not a whit what you’ve done in the past; be it killing a helpless old man or corrupting that little strumpet you professed to love. At least you learned there, David, that words are the most powerful weapon in the war of the sexes. How many times did our pure Sister Jessica hurl herself on her back and spread her legs for you when you whispered those magic words? You want to speak of corruption? Try researching the history of The MorningStar. Sacrifices to Ogou Badagris, sick and perverse orgies of lust and death, I corrupted a whole generation by the time I was you age David… one little slut doesn’t impress me!
But I digress from my point here, David. The point is, I have something you want. I have something you CRAVE. Wrapped around my waist are your stripes of rank, your spurs, your proof to the wrestling world that you ARE the whole deal. There’s only one problem here, David… the fact you have to go through me to get it. You’ve tried once, and valiantly indeed you tried… but you fell short. Now, coming off a tremendous upset over Genocide, you think you’re Gods gift to the squared circle, and think you can take me down. I’ll give you credit where it’s due, fluke or not Genocide is a tough man to beat… but he’s not the best… I am.
Mental stops his incessant pacing and squats down on the monument, the fingers of his right hand trailing across the roughly hewn stone. His look of confusion is now replaced by one of knowing; of clairvoyance if you will. Around him, in the treeline, flickers of black can be seen; shadows flitting back and forth, darting in and out of the undergrowth… barely on the edge of perception…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Dreams, David? Let me tell you about dreams. Dreams are what drive the normal people, dreams are nothing more than ideals, what we all strive to attain, but know we will never ave. Put simply, David, dreams are for the weak. I don't have any dreams, David. I LIVE mine...
Let me make this plain and gods damned simple for you, David. I move faster, hit harder and fly farther than you. Technically? I’m superior to you in every gods damned way. You may have improved beyond all recognition, but you’re still a damned sight away from my level. This isn’t ego talking, Calaz, don’t mistake it for that… no, the title hasn’t gone to my head. This is pure, unadulterated truth. You DARE to disgrace my ring with your presence again, and so help me you WILL regret it. With the Children of The Night behind me, there’s no stopping The MorningStar…
From the undergrowth come his children. Tens, hundreds of them. Around the monument they swarm, a seething, writhing mass of humanity. One by one they bend their knee, bowing to their Lord Of The Morning. Above them, like a Benevolent deity, Mental smiles upon his denizens.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
There will be no quarter given, Calaz. No joining, no rejoicing. We’re both in this to win, whether you expect me to believe your tripe or not. I’m ready for you Calaz, more ready than I’ve EVER been… throw everything you have at me, and I’ll still smile and keep on coming. One way or the other, it will be my hand raised in victory, it will be me that hoists that gold high once you’re dealt with. Your prime is may be now, Calaz, but like the last rays of sunset it is slowly fading. Your time is done before it begins, now is the time for The Morningstar to shine, for MY day to dawn. A new chapter is being written as week speak, engraved upon stone in runes of power long ago forgotten by the mere mortal coil of mankind... and from those pages shall arise a new power… With the power of The Legion, and upon my hope of salvation and Rebirth, These are the words of The MorningStar…
…Heed Them Well…
With that he begins to laugh as the chanting begins. From every throat, every voice praises the name of their lord, the Prince Of Insanity. His laughter booms throughout the plaza, reverberating throughout the entire city. With that final, mocking sound, our scene comes to a close…
(OOC: Different I know… but it’s been a long time since I had a straight out rant
