Post by DAN on Feb 21, 2006 17:34:11 GMT -5
The sky above is a gloomy, depressing grey that varies in colour in different parts above. From the north the sky is a lighter but still dull shade of grey and towards the south the sky is an intimidating, strong shade of grey, near enough black. The sun isn’t visible at all as the air around is blustery, with gusts of wind blowing around as, at times an ear-splitting screech is heard as the wind flies past. The ground below is a damp, saturated field of grass that has become bogged down due to heavy rainfall earlier in the day. All around, the surface is waterlogged as a long, scaly worm slithers its way through the grass using all it’s strength to stay above the rainwater. Suddenly, the 6inch worm is picked up from its preferred habitat and into the hands of a thick palmed human who allows the creature to slither of its hand as, like a treadmill, the unknown human places on hand in front of another once the worm reaches the end of one hand. As the worm continues to move about the hands turn palm upwards as the worm now slithers along the heavy palms as suddenly, the fingers of the hand grab each end of the creature and begins to pull. The worm slowly stretches, as it’s scaly, wet skin expands and increases more and more as the humans hands move further and further away from each other. Soon, the worm is almost double its size until the innocent creature is snapped into two pieces as it is dropped onto the ground, left to die under the half inch of rainfall. The two ends of the worm begin to shake, rapidly underneath the water, as tiny bubbles appear at the surface as slowly, painfully the worm dies.
As the worm lies broken into on the ground we see the hands of the unknown human now brought to the head of the human as the hands are bushed through long, brown hair. As the hands move out of the picture, a leather-masked giant stands over the fallen worm as it is revealed to be the Macabre One, Macabre. The 6ft 4inch WFWF National Champion stands over a yet another fallen victim as the worm now lays, broken and motionless below the rainfall as Macabre looks down and lets out a morbid laugh. He crouches down to get a closer look at the fallen victim as a gust of wind blows past, blowing Macabre’s hair all over his face until he curls it behind his ears. He brings out his hand and brushes at an attempt to see if the worm is alive but his ‘attempt’ is a failed one as the scaly, drown creature lays dead. Macabre lets out yet another laugh before standing up and walking forward. As the giant walks his heavy boots create soft, splashing stomping noises as his feet hit the water below him. As he walks he keeps his chin high and his National Title held proudly over his right shoulder.
Macabre: Growing up, as a child wasn’t easy. I was beaten more times than a punch bag, I saw more blood than a back alley dentist and I was shown less respect than a pile of dog crap. Each day that I woke up I would beat myself up over the fact that I did just that, wake up, because I know that waking up would be like waking up to another day in hell, torture and pain. At times, my body would become so adjust and suited to the beatings I received that my entire body wouldn’t feel it, as if my whole anatomy had become numb, unable to feel it anymore, I would just take it. Still today the scars remain, head to toe my skin is decorated with unique scars, each one I remember receiving. Most people, in their childhood look back and see school certificates or Christmas presents that they received and look back and remember what year they got them. Not for me, I look in the mirror and can pinpoint the exact date and exactly how I got each individual scar.
Macabre brings his right hand up to his left shoulder, which is covered with a long black sleeve as the WFWF National Champion suits an open, black shirt. The left hand moves towards the shoulder before Macabre tears off completely the entire sleeve and drops it to the ground, where slowly the rainfall saturates the entire cloth as it lies, floating on top of the water. From the top of the arm and down to the elbow a gnarly, red scar lays engraved in the arm of Macabre. Macabre slowly strokes the scar as if it was something soft and merciful, as the scar will remain with the Macabre Monster for all eternity.
Macabre: March 12th 1993, when I was just 12 years old. My father had returned home from the local pub, he was wrecked and pissed out of his head. He had a bottle of alcohol in his right hand and a cigarette in the other. I was home alone when suddenly I heard scuffling from outside the front garden, I went outside to check when suddenly my father saw me and smashed the bottle over my head and scaring my left arm with the jagged end of the glass bottle. My arm was pouring with blood as my tears rolled down my cheek and fell into the crimson red puddle of blood that lay with me on the pavement as I screamed in pain, agony and torture, the pain, intolerable. For weeks my arm was covered up in white rolls of band-aids as each time I woke, I would instantly feel the throbbing pain that came from my left arm. I would wake up in the middle of the night having had flashbacks of my own father smashing me over the head and scaring me for life, my childhood was unbearable.
Macabre bows his head and looks down at the ground. His hair sways slowly in the now calm breeze as the scar on his left arm stands out from the rest of his body, like a tattoo. Macabre jolts his head back up and sniffs loudly, as he repositions his National Title on his right shoulder. The 6ft 4-inch monster proceeds in his walk as the splashing, created from boot-on-water- is yet again heard.
Macabre: Respect, love and parents are the main three things that were missing from my childhood. Every time I think back to those ‘bloody’ years that consisted of beating after beating, there always appears to be three blanks. Now, after many years of deep thought and thinking I have found out what the blanks were. Respect, love and parents as for all my childhood those three things were absent. I’m covered in scars and my mind is full of bad memories and I here news of some ungrateful life form, in the name of Master Of Destruction whining and complaining that his plane was late, his dressing room was too small and having to fly in economy class on his flight. I went through my whole childhood without respect, love and most of all two loving parents!
Macabre, leather masked and all continues walking as the wind picks up and a slight drop of rain falls as the sound of splashing is heard all around Macabre, as the spitting rain connects with the already fallen rain.
Macabre: Master Of Destruction. You and I go way back, since coming into the business you seem to be the worm that won’t break, the human who won’t die, the victim who won’t fall! Twice I have attempted to topple you but twice, in my quest I have failed. June 2005, Code Red International Tour we locked horns in a Last Man Standing match, the match was brutal, our faces covered in a crimson mask of blood, sweat and even tears. November 2005, Hybrid we stood toe to toe as we did battle in the unique bonfire match and again we were crimson masked, bloodied from head to toe and had fireworks firing all directions but twice I was unable to defeat you, twice you twisted fate into your favour and twice you escaped your destiny, which is to become my victim. You say that I am not defending my title, that I am not man enough to dare put it on the line and that you defended it all the time while you were champion. There is one explanation for me not defending my title yet and that is this, fate has chosen who will be the unfortunate victim who will get in the ring with me and challenge me for the title and fate has arrived. Sunday at Fully Charged, my title will be put on the line against Ganador and Chris Avalon, two superstars who I vow to make my own as they are destined to fall to the feet of myself. Who chose my opponents you may ask? Themselves? No! The owners? No! Fate? Yes!
The rain, that was once softly and mercifully spitting has now turned to a heavy downfall as it ricochets against the already fallen water. The grey clouds above, that was once covering the earth have now turned to a hard hitting, intimidating black as a rumble of thunder passes by after a bright shot of lighting. Macabre looks up, he smiles as a battlefield above him takes place. Many sharp raindrops hit his leather masked face as they don’t trickle down his face like they do on a normal face but instead they soak into the leather and disappear. The 6fter 4incher now brings his head back down where he seems to have seen something in the grass. He looks closer at it as he crouches down and reaches out a hand to pick it up, he places his fingertips into the small pool of rainwater that lies beneath him and pulls out, like a needle in a haystack, a three-leaved clover. The small, tiny green flower sits in the thick palm of Macabre as the giant, unexpectedly smiles.
Macabre: How fitting, a three leaved clover. Here in my palm sits a perfect object of symbolic ness as, at House Show 1, in the main event I vow to prove that third time lucky…or should I re-name it, third time unlucky is a definite cliché. For, at House Show 1, Master Of Destruction will step into the ring with me for the third successive time thinking of a third, hat trick victory but little does he know, this time around will be a different story.
Macabre pulls off one ‘petal’ of the three-leaved clover as it drops to the ground.
Macabre: June 2005, MOD wins.
Macabre pulls off another ‘petal’ of the now two-leaved clover as it drops into the half-inch deep rainwater below the WFWF National Champion.
Macabre: November 2005, MOD wins.
Macabre now pulls of the third and final ‘petal’ as just a tiny thin stem remains as the third ‘petal’ slowly drops to the surface.
Macabre: February 2006, fate plays a role.
The rain now falls harder as the three petals of the once three-leaved clover lay fallen on the saturated grass. Lightning lights up the sky before thunder echoes through as from nowhere a rose is dropped, covering up the three petals. Suddenly, Macabre is gone, nowhere to be seen as just a rose lies, a sign if his once presence.
OOC: I'm really happy with this RP. I had no ideas before I wrote it and as it wrote I came up with more and more ideas. I feel I have giving MOD, a future WFWF Champion ;D, a run for his money and a decent challenge. Whether this RP is worthy enough to pull the score between us to 2-1, we'll have to wait and see.
As the worm lies broken into on the ground we see the hands of the unknown human now brought to the head of the human as the hands are bushed through long, brown hair. As the hands move out of the picture, a leather-masked giant stands over the fallen worm as it is revealed to be the Macabre One, Macabre. The 6ft 4inch WFWF National Champion stands over a yet another fallen victim as the worm now lays, broken and motionless below the rainfall as Macabre looks down and lets out a morbid laugh. He crouches down to get a closer look at the fallen victim as a gust of wind blows past, blowing Macabre’s hair all over his face until he curls it behind his ears. He brings out his hand and brushes at an attempt to see if the worm is alive but his ‘attempt’ is a failed one as the scaly, drown creature lays dead. Macabre lets out yet another laugh before standing up and walking forward. As the giant walks his heavy boots create soft, splashing stomping noises as his feet hit the water below him. As he walks he keeps his chin high and his National Title held proudly over his right shoulder.
Macabre: Growing up, as a child wasn’t easy. I was beaten more times than a punch bag, I saw more blood than a back alley dentist and I was shown less respect than a pile of dog crap. Each day that I woke up I would beat myself up over the fact that I did just that, wake up, because I know that waking up would be like waking up to another day in hell, torture and pain. At times, my body would become so adjust and suited to the beatings I received that my entire body wouldn’t feel it, as if my whole anatomy had become numb, unable to feel it anymore, I would just take it. Still today the scars remain, head to toe my skin is decorated with unique scars, each one I remember receiving. Most people, in their childhood look back and see school certificates or Christmas presents that they received and look back and remember what year they got them. Not for me, I look in the mirror and can pinpoint the exact date and exactly how I got each individual scar.
Macabre brings his right hand up to his left shoulder, which is covered with a long black sleeve as the WFWF National Champion suits an open, black shirt. The left hand moves towards the shoulder before Macabre tears off completely the entire sleeve and drops it to the ground, where slowly the rainfall saturates the entire cloth as it lies, floating on top of the water. From the top of the arm and down to the elbow a gnarly, red scar lays engraved in the arm of Macabre. Macabre slowly strokes the scar as if it was something soft and merciful, as the scar will remain with the Macabre Monster for all eternity.
Macabre: March 12th 1993, when I was just 12 years old. My father had returned home from the local pub, he was wrecked and pissed out of his head. He had a bottle of alcohol in his right hand and a cigarette in the other. I was home alone when suddenly I heard scuffling from outside the front garden, I went outside to check when suddenly my father saw me and smashed the bottle over my head and scaring my left arm with the jagged end of the glass bottle. My arm was pouring with blood as my tears rolled down my cheek and fell into the crimson red puddle of blood that lay with me on the pavement as I screamed in pain, agony and torture, the pain, intolerable. For weeks my arm was covered up in white rolls of band-aids as each time I woke, I would instantly feel the throbbing pain that came from my left arm. I would wake up in the middle of the night having had flashbacks of my own father smashing me over the head and scaring me for life, my childhood was unbearable.
Macabre bows his head and looks down at the ground. His hair sways slowly in the now calm breeze as the scar on his left arm stands out from the rest of his body, like a tattoo. Macabre jolts his head back up and sniffs loudly, as he repositions his National Title on his right shoulder. The 6ft 4-inch monster proceeds in his walk as the splashing, created from boot-on-water- is yet again heard.
Macabre: Respect, love and parents are the main three things that were missing from my childhood. Every time I think back to those ‘bloody’ years that consisted of beating after beating, there always appears to be three blanks. Now, after many years of deep thought and thinking I have found out what the blanks were. Respect, love and parents as for all my childhood those three things were absent. I’m covered in scars and my mind is full of bad memories and I here news of some ungrateful life form, in the name of Master Of Destruction whining and complaining that his plane was late, his dressing room was too small and having to fly in economy class on his flight. I went through my whole childhood without respect, love and most of all two loving parents!
Macabre, leather masked and all continues walking as the wind picks up and a slight drop of rain falls as the sound of splashing is heard all around Macabre, as the spitting rain connects with the already fallen rain.
Macabre: Master Of Destruction. You and I go way back, since coming into the business you seem to be the worm that won’t break, the human who won’t die, the victim who won’t fall! Twice I have attempted to topple you but twice, in my quest I have failed. June 2005, Code Red International Tour we locked horns in a Last Man Standing match, the match was brutal, our faces covered in a crimson mask of blood, sweat and even tears. November 2005, Hybrid we stood toe to toe as we did battle in the unique bonfire match and again we were crimson masked, bloodied from head to toe and had fireworks firing all directions but twice I was unable to defeat you, twice you twisted fate into your favour and twice you escaped your destiny, which is to become my victim. You say that I am not defending my title, that I am not man enough to dare put it on the line and that you defended it all the time while you were champion. There is one explanation for me not defending my title yet and that is this, fate has chosen who will be the unfortunate victim who will get in the ring with me and challenge me for the title and fate has arrived. Sunday at Fully Charged, my title will be put on the line against Ganador and Chris Avalon, two superstars who I vow to make my own as they are destined to fall to the feet of myself. Who chose my opponents you may ask? Themselves? No! The owners? No! Fate? Yes!
The rain, that was once softly and mercifully spitting has now turned to a heavy downfall as it ricochets against the already fallen water. The grey clouds above, that was once covering the earth have now turned to a hard hitting, intimidating black as a rumble of thunder passes by after a bright shot of lighting. Macabre looks up, he smiles as a battlefield above him takes place. Many sharp raindrops hit his leather masked face as they don’t trickle down his face like they do on a normal face but instead they soak into the leather and disappear. The 6fter 4incher now brings his head back down where he seems to have seen something in the grass. He looks closer at it as he crouches down and reaches out a hand to pick it up, he places his fingertips into the small pool of rainwater that lies beneath him and pulls out, like a needle in a haystack, a three-leaved clover. The small, tiny green flower sits in the thick palm of Macabre as the giant, unexpectedly smiles.
Macabre: How fitting, a three leaved clover. Here in my palm sits a perfect object of symbolic ness as, at House Show 1, in the main event I vow to prove that third time lucky…or should I re-name it, third time unlucky is a definite cliché. For, at House Show 1, Master Of Destruction will step into the ring with me for the third successive time thinking of a third, hat trick victory but little does he know, this time around will be a different story.
Macabre pulls off one ‘petal’ of the three-leaved clover as it drops to the ground.
Macabre: June 2005, MOD wins.
Macabre pulls off another ‘petal’ of the now two-leaved clover as it drops into the half-inch deep rainwater below the WFWF National Champion.
Macabre: November 2005, MOD wins.
Macabre now pulls of the third and final ‘petal’ as just a tiny thin stem remains as the third ‘petal’ slowly drops to the surface.
Macabre: February 2006, fate plays a role.
The rain now falls harder as the three petals of the once three-leaved clover lay fallen on the saturated grass. Lightning lights up the sky before thunder echoes through as from nowhere a rose is dropped, covering up the three petals. Suddenly, Macabre is gone, nowhere to be seen as just a rose lies, a sign if his once presence.
OOC: I'm really happy with this RP. I had no ideas before I wrote it and as it wrote I came up with more and more ideas. I feel I have giving MOD, a future WFWF Champion ;D, a run for his money and a decent challenge. Whether this RP is worthy enough to pull the score between us to 2-1, we'll have to wait and see.