Post by Destroyer Unleased on Apr 29, 2007 22:52:58 GMT -5
A long forgotten church stands before the viewer's eyes. The church long abandoned was from Gothic style of the architecture. the twin towers so similar to the style of Notre-Dame of Laon in Paris. Slowly every detail is shown as the gargoyles that perch on each of the alcoves set into the outer walls and atop each pillar. Their face grinning back stone set yet they looked so very much as if they they at any moment would spring into flight.
A careful journey of sights from inside takes us to the sanctuary where the wooden pews sat in there neat rows. The carpet down the center aisle faded with the passage of time. At the very front of the way was a fined crafted stone alter. The alter though bare of fabric was not empty. On either end at the corners of the alter a long black lit tapered candle sat in a stand of polished silver. In the center the alter sat a finely crafted empty silver bowl with strange symbols carved into the sides. Next to the bowl sat a rune engraved dagger in a tan leather sheath on the sheathe was etches a rose, the trademark of the crafter.
A flash of darkness and standing in front if the alter is a hooded figure standing 5 foot 9. He back is to the rows of pews. A pair of black angelic wings spread from his back. The man wore a black cloak and on his right hip was a blue bladed sword. His back was straight and his shoulders set as he stood there. Soon his voice rings out clear into the night as he looks at the dagger and the bowl resting upon the alter.
"The silence thunders loudly
While slowly falling tears echo
Creating ripples in the carefully
Crafted illusion held so to you
Listen to the rapidly falling tears
The storm across the broken plain
Rain drops from above trickling down
Caressing the land below.
The silence thunders loudly
Muffling the loud screams of
One broken inside while shattered
Illusions clatter upon the ground
The darkness brightly blinding
Covers the pain so carefully hidden
By the illusions so lovingly crafted
With a fake plastered pretty smile
Watch the mask slowly crack from
All the pressure placed on you by
The pretty lies of so many so called
Friends voices in the dark.
The silence thunders loudly
Overriding cries of pain and sorrow
As dreams shatter and illusions
Crumble soundlessly amid the chaos
Actions boldly going nowhere
Across the sea of glass under
Clouds of painted anger causing
Illusions and dreams to fade forgotten."
As the last of his words echo through the church he holds out his right arm. After a moment he ever so slowly rolls back the sleeve of the cloak to reveal his ivory white arm. After a moment of careful thought he unsheathes the dagger showing it has has a fine keen edge. With a sadistic laugh he brings the blade to his up turned arm and slowly cuts his fore arm in a slice down to the wrist.
As the blood wells up from the cut his fingers come to rest on the bottom of the bowl. His blood slowly flows down his ivory skin to fill the silver bowl. Silence echoes through the church as the blood fills the bowl. After several moments the bowl is full enough for the purposes of which he wanted it and the blood ceases to flow from the cut.
With a carefully slow movement he removes his hand form the still warm blood and brings his hand to his still concealed face covering in blood. His hood slips back off his head and he slowly turns to face the empty church. His face completely covered in drying blood. The look giving him a completely demonic aspect for he was none other then Thor. He reaches back and set the bloodied dagger on the alter next to the sheath as a loud peal of thunder echoes through the night accompanied by a a brilliant flash of blinding lightning.
When again it is safe to see the inside of the church Thor is gone and the blood with in the bowl is rippling. As the ripples cease a picture begins to form in the now calm red liquid. It is slow to come to focus taking thirty of forty seconds to fully become clear. The message though that it tells is hard to misread. For in the calm sea of blood the XVI Xtreme Title is seen as plain as day. The field of view shrinks down so that only the alter is seen. Slowly though only the bowl and it image remain in utterly clear focus and complete control of the vision. Suddenly a peal of evil laughter echoes through the night and the there is nothing but darkness overlaid with a slowly fading image of the Xtreme Title.
A careful journey of sights from inside takes us to the sanctuary where the wooden pews sat in there neat rows. The carpet down the center aisle faded with the passage of time. At the very front of the way was a fined crafted stone alter. The alter though bare of fabric was not empty. On either end at the corners of the alter a long black lit tapered candle sat in a stand of polished silver. In the center the alter sat a finely crafted empty silver bowl with strange symbols carved into the sides. Next to the bowl sat a rune engraved dagger in a tan leather sheath on the sheathe was etches a rose, the trademark of the crafter.
A flash of darkness and standing in front if the alter is a hooded figure standing 5 foot 9. He back is to the rows of pews. A pair of black angelic wings spread from his back. The man wore a black cloak and on his right hip was a blue bladed sword. His back was straight and his shoulders set as he stood there. Soon his voice rings out clear into the night as he looks at the dagger and the bowl resting upon the alter.
"The silence thunders loudly
While slowly falling tears echo
Creating ripples in the carefully
Crafted illusion held so to you
Listen to the rapidly falling tears
The storm across the broken plain
Rain drops from above trickling down
Caressing the land below.
The silence thunders loudly
Muffling the loud screams of
One broken inside while shattered
Illusions clatter upon the ground
The darkness brightly blinding
Covers the pain so carefully hidden
By the illusions so lovingly crafted
With a fake plastered pretty smile
Watch the mask slowly crack from
All the pressure placed on you by
The pretty lies of so many so called
Friends voices in the dark.
The silence thunders loudly
Overriding cries of pain and sorrow
As dreams shatter and illusions
Crumble soundlessly amid the chaos
Actions boldly going nowhere
Across the sea of glass under
Clouds of painted anger causing
Illusions and dreams to fade forgotten."
As the last of his words echo through the church he holds out his right arm. After a moment he ever so slowly rolls back the sleeve of the cloak to reveal his ivory white arm. After a moment of careful thought he unsheathes the dagger showing it has has a fine keen edge. With a sadistic laugh he brings the blade to his up turned arm and slowly cuts his fore arm in a slice down to the wrist.
As the blood wells up from the cut his fingers come to rest on the bottom of the bowl. His blood slowly flows down his ivory skin to fill the silver bowl. Silence echoes through the church as the blood fills the bowl. After several moments the bowl is full enough for the purposes of which he wanted it and the blood ceases to flow from the cut.
With a carefully slow movement he removes his hand form the still warm blood and brings his hand to his still concealed face covering in blood. His hood slips back off his head and he slowly turns to face the empty church. His face completely covered in drying blood. The look giving him a completely demonic aspect for he was none other then Thor. He reaches back and set the bloodied dagger on the alter next to the sheath as a loud peal of thunder echoes through the night accompanied by a a brilliant flash of blinding lightning.
When again it is safe to see the inside of the church Thor is gone and the blood with in the bowl is rippling. As the ripples cease a picture begins to form in the now calm red liquid. It is slow to come to focus taking thirty of forty seconds to fully become clear. The message though that it tells is hard to misread. For in the calm sea of blood the XVI Xtreme Title is seen as plain as day. The field of view shrinks down so that only the alter is seen. Slowly though only the bowl and it image remain in utterly clear focus and complete control of the vision. Suddenly a peal of evil laughter echoes through the night and the there is nothing but darkness overlaid with a slowly fading image of the Xtreme Title.
