Post by Dark Camelot on Apr 16, 2014 1:56:31 GMT -6
The scene opens up and we can see Stalker lying in a hole. Well this hole is more like a grave. He is lying staring up into the night sky. He reaches his arms up over his head and then laughing cuts a deep gash in each arm. He reaches down and tears open his shirt. We can see the symbols and runes which he carved into his own skin just weeks before. These marks have healed mostly. However there are outlines and these are new. There is a rune for strength, one for endurance, fortune, and destiny. There is aslo a marking which is also new however in this light it cannot be made out. Stalker takes his arms and brings them down to his side. The camera adjusts position and we can clearly see a pair of King Cobras at his side. Another pair can be seen slithering near his neck. When the light settles on his arms we can see a viscous dark blue almost purple liquid coating them. Surely that couldn't be Stalker's blood . . . could it? The two snakes at his neck strike biting into his veins deeply. He barely even reacts in fact it appears that the effect is the opposite of what you would expect. He is relishing it. Even euphoric. The Cobras at his sides bite into his wrists where he had slashed them earlier. They pump their venom into his viens and as they slither away he chuckles evily and stands. His veins near where the venom entered his body are engorged and protruding like muscle rather than the veins they truly are. Stalker stares into the camera and still chuckling rises from the grave.
I have the curse of the serpent coursing through my veins. Does this cause me to fear? No. What feeling does it entice in my soul . . . my core being? It causes feeling of purity. It enbues me with a sense of the righteous fury with which I shall cleanse this putrescent excuse for a collection of humanity. I have been doing this for sixteen years. My body has more scars and other such graphic degradation upon it than most of you whining little fecal parasites will ever even see let alone endure.
When Stalker reaches up and drags himself from the grave the lantern hanging above it casts enough light that it reveals the true nature of the large mark on his chest. It is a tattoo.
The same dark blue purple viscous liquid is ozing from the tattoo. however it is coated with a translucent fluid. He wipes some of the liquids into his fingers then licks them and we can see them coat his tongue.
This is the blood that courses through me. This blood empowers me with the pain the despair the utter feeling of failure which most men on this pathetic continent feel. It grants me something which none NONE of them possess. FREEDOM. Baron. You made two mistakes earlier this week. Your first mistake is actually not the mistake which will see to your downfall. Your first mistake was in making an assumption that I am injured. My hip is in the best condition it has been in years. My hip will not be a factor in the match at Spring Slaughter. You want to call my health into question just because I am OLDER THAN YOU? You need to look in the mirror child. Because you live your life as though it is a race. A race to see who has the most money, the most cars, the most women . . . and to you even the precious gift which they are . . . and you still see them as nothing more than toys. I'm sure that if one of them got sick or . . . God forbid died that it wouldn't take you long to replace her. Even your precious Nicole . . . would you even bother to send flowers to her grave? Sin City KNights indeed. Do either of you children realize just how INSULTING that is to the true Knights . . . the Knights of Dark Camelot?
Stalker steps out from infront of the gravestone at the head of the grave. The engraved name upon it reads Sin City Knights Vanquished April 20th 2014. He moves to stand behind the gravestone. The blood drips onto the stone and it stains it deeply with its accrid deep purple coloring.
This gravestone is your future Sin City Knights. This because of your second mistake BARON . . . the mistake which for you shall be fatal. You insinuated that the women of Dark Camelot are common HARLOTS. The women of Dark Camelot are more of a force and legitimate threat to the roster of this company. A harlot isn't useful for anything other than entertaining the filthy miscreants within society. Baron do you HONESTLY think that just because you are a playboy with lots of money that you could lure the heir apparent, and her Mistress away from the ranks of Dark Camelot? They are loyal to our cause. They understand that the vision is for the benefit of this company not for the betterment of the individual.
Stalker stands back and draws something from his pocket. He flicks his wrist and the zippo concealed in his hand flares to life. Stalker tosses it into the grave and it bursts into flames. Stalker laughs maniacally as he stares down into the flames. He reaches down behind the gravestone out of our view and rises holding two withered dead roses. On has a ribbon which is emblazoned with the name Silver Baron. Stalker drops this into the flames within the grave. He Slowly unveils the ribbon on the second rose. Then he pauses looking like he is fighting within himself trying to reconcile himself with the task at hand.
Freeman . . . I hold no malice towards you personally. Your "Boss" however has condemned you both to suffer at my hand. He has called down MY HELL for he has spoken ill of my daughter. I will give you one chance. One grace which once extended may never be granted again. Turn from his path. Turn from his lust his filth and you shall be spared. However should you choose to remain by his side then you will suffer the same fate as he. You are nothing more than a piece of meat to him. He doesn't care for you in the least. He may act like he cares. But ask him. Flat out ask him . . . you like Nicole are only in his world because you are of benefit to him. Now ask yourself what happens to you when you cease to be of value? Dark Camelot is willing to offer you a home. A brotherhood. A FAMILY. However if you turn your back on this offer then we will extinguish you just as we will extinguish your Boss.
Stalker looks deep into the camera. He shifts his weight and then taking a few steps away from the grave he spins back to it and throws the second dead rose into the inferno. He drops to his knees and laughs again. The blood which flowed freely earlier has stopped and the wounds even seem to be quite well healed given they are rather fresh. He smiles wickedly at the camera then stands once more.
Your sin Freeman . . . do you know what it is? Do not worry for we shall show you your sin. Your sin is that you have willingly and freely followed this leech, this parasite into the depths of inhuman monstrously repulsive den of evil. You unlike the WHORES which he employs who have no other choice that they can see. Some of them couldn't reach it if they did see it . . . you however have turned from the path and have decided to avail yourself of the evils which this man perpetuates his folley. The sweet and innocent women which he has defiled their lost beauty is upon your hands as well. HOWEVER should you abandon his ways and make restitutiom to these young girls you shall be forgiven and freed from the justice with which we have been charged.
Stalker walks about three hundred and fifty feet then comes to a stop beside a 1957 Harley Davidson motorcycle. The bike is emblazoned with the Dark Camelot logo and is painted in the colors of the group. He steps on and revs the bike to life. The camera fades to black. A few hours later we can see Dark Camelot seated around the round table. Stalker sat with his eyes closed listening to the rest of the members arguing about who was going to take the triple threat tag team match. But this was different. This time Stalker didn't disrupt them. They were so close to the war....to the easy victory it wasn't funny. No the time for joking was through. Stalker took a long drag from a cigar and barely took note of what the two men he called brothers argued about at all. Instead Stalker let his thoughts drift to the imbeciles who tainted the world with their presence. Yes...the oSin City Knights didn't just taint the world with what they did, or even said....their actual just existing put a damper on the very fabric of life. Their just being present and accounted for, killed the standards for society and just made Stalker sick to his stomach. These people....these rotting carcasses of malfunction and disease, surely didn't need to actually even acknowledge Stalker in a slanderous way to bother him. No, they just had to keep breathing oxygen and living to send Stalker's day to Hell. As Stalker's eyes opened and he exhaled a large cloud of smoke into the air, he focused on the blinking red light that meant the camera was recording and began to speak.
Spring Slaughter is the night of victory! It's in the air, can you sense it? Can you feel it's presence and understand it's existence? Do you all realize how certain this victory over you really is? Are you even aware that it's magnitude is this great? It's like a tidal wave waiting to crash upon you. Simply turn around and let is smash down. Don't fight it. You could never swim up for air in time to stop this wave from overtaking you and drowning you. Simply give in. Relax and enjoy defeat. Embrace your failure and know there isn't a soul on my team that thought any of you would do any more then what you've done. We in Dark Camelot have come to know sub-par level performance is mandatory from the swill of competition such as what we continue to face. That's why we adjust ourselves accordingly. No need to break a sweat over creatures who barely deserve to be recognized at all. No need to waste the energy. In short...this competition is much like the war Germany waged upon Poland.
Stalker adjusts his position in his chair to come to a position almost predatory in nature.
However even still in the simplistic nature of combat and arsenal, I felt the need to point out some individuals that deserve a special nod in their direction before they're utterly destroyed and taken down. Some putrid piles of unsubstantial waste that need some recognition. Don't worry....I notice what you all don't bring to the table. Even if I don't mention you...you can rest assured if you aren't a member of this elite gathering of bretheren, you are regarded as filth.
Bethany, this shall be our first moment in the ring together. Good job! a tv spy wannabes. I mean if anyone needs a lesson on how to really take up space and waste everyone's time in this industry....they can come to you and bask in the special ability you have at performing it day in and day out. I'd say I'd applaud you at your ability to pass yourself off as something worthwhile and noteworthy while actually being the farthest from that but.....no, why would I applaud that? Convincing the world you're something you're not? That's not a talent. That's not a gift. That's just an elaborate hiding game, a cloak you placed over the world's eyes that made them see you as something more than what you really are. Which is a weak and pathetic mongrel in need of extermination. Don't worry though, I can see you for what you are and I do believe your time is up. Your moment in the sun is over and your eminent destruction is at hand. I look forward to hearing you scream for your life as I stomp the last bit of it from your insubstantial flesh.
Ashley, oh boy, where do I begin? Why did I begin? Why am I wasting my breath on the woman who can insult herself better than anyone else? I mean just by stepping into the ring, that image alone has already given better insults than I ever will. Yet you still manage to get up there and cry for attention. Tell me, how can you scream for attention with a mouth full of goat fur? I'll make sure to laugh about all your goofy promos and antics as I beat the life out of you in the ring. Hey but maybe if you click your heels together and wish on your pathetic spy career real hard....your destruction will be quick.
Freeman, if this was war and the Nazis were outside right now exterminating people left and right, you'd be the first gone. You would have been the guy who decided to hide from them by throwing an actual sheet over your head or standing behind a tree. I can't believe you have made it this far without actually somehow injuring yourself and taking yourself out of the equation. You walking around and being considered anything but a lackey is mind boggling. I can't understand how this is accepted or allowed? I mean someone should be playing keep away with a wrestling contract with you. What the Hell? You'r elucky you got teammates at all and people just haven't woken up from the drugs they're on that make them think you're actually worth a damn.
Stalker takes another drag from his cigarette.
That's it. Those are the names I'm wasting my precious moments mentioning before I enter the ring and claim my title. If you weren't mentioned it means I either - A). Literally forgot you even existed in the first place. or B) Didn't care. - Doesn't mean I won't take the few seconds it'll take to lay waste to you in the ring though. So don't feel too bad. You'll be a big bloody mess soon enough.
With that the camera man stops filming and we fade to white.
I have the curse of the serpent coursing through my veins. Does this cause me to fear? No. What feeling does it entice in my soul . . . my core being? It causes feeling of purity. It enbues me with a sense of the righteous fury with which I shall cleanse this putrescent excuse for a collection of humanity. I have been doing this for sixteen years. My body has more scars and other such graphic degradation upon it than most of you whining little fecal parasites will ever even see let alone endure.
When Stalker reaches up and drags himself from the grave the lantern hanging above it casts enough light that it reveals the true nature of the large mark on his chest. It is a tattoo.
The same dark blue purple viscous liquid is ozing from the tattoo. however it is coated with a translucent fluid. He wipes some of the liquids into his fingers then licks them and we can see them coat his tongue.
This is the blood that courses through me. This blood empowers me with the pain the despair the utter feeling of failure which most men on this pathetic continent feel. It grants me something which none NONE of them possess. FREEDOM. Baron. You made two mistakes earlier this week. Your first mistake is actually not the mistake which will see to your downfall. Your first mistake was in making an assumption that I am injured. My hip is in the best condition it has been in years. My hip will not be a factor in the match at Spring Slaughter. You want to call my health into question just because I am OLDER THAN YOU? You need to look in the mirror child. Because you live your life as though it is a race. A race to see who has the most money, the most cars, the most women . . . and to you even the precious gift which they are . . . and you still see them as nothing more than toys. I'm sure that if one of them got sick or . . . God forbid died that it wouldn't take you long to replace her. Even your precious Nicole . . . would you even bother to send flowers to her grave? Sin City KNights indeed. Do either of you children realize just how INSULTING that is to the true Knights . . . the Knights of Dark Camelot?
Stalker steps out from infront of the gravestone at the head of the grave. The engraved name upon it reads Sin City Knights Vanquished April 20th 2014. He moves to stand behind the gravestone. The blood drips onto the stone and it stains it deeply with its accrid deep purple coloring.
This gravestone is your future Sin City Knights. This because of your second mistake BARON . . . the mistake which for you shall be fatal. You insinuated that the women of Dark Camelot are common HARLOTS. The women of Dark Camelot are more of a force and legitimate threat to the roster of this company. A harlot isn't useful for anything other than entertaining the filthy miscreants within society. Baron do you HONESTLY think that just because you are a playboy with lots of money that you could lure the heir apparent, and her Mistress away from the ranks of Dark Camelot? They are loyal to our cause. They understand that the vision is for the benefit of this company not for the betterment of the individual.
Stalker stands back and draws something from his pocket. He flicks his wrist and the zippo concealed in his hand flares to life. Stalker tosses it into the grave and it bursts into flames. Stalker laughs maniacally as he stares down into the flames. He reaches down behind the gravestone out of our view and rises holding two withered dead roses. On has a ribbon which is emblazoned with the name Silver Baron. Stalker drops this into the flames within the grave. He Slowly unveils the ribbon on the second rose. Then he pauses looking like he is fighting within himself trying to reconcile himself with the task at hand.
Freeman . . . I hold no malice towards you personally. Your "Boss" however has condemned you both to suffer at my hand. He has called down MY HELL for he has spoken ill of my daughter. I will give you one chance. One grace which once extended may never be granted again. Turn from his path. Turn from his lust his filth and you shall be spared. However should you choose to remain by his side then you will suffer the same fate as he. You are nothing more than a piece of meat to him. He doesn't care for you in the least. He may act like he cares. But ask him. Flat out ask him . . . you like Nicole are only in his world because you are of benefit to him. Now ask yourself what happens to you when you cease to be of value? Dark Camelot is willing to offer you a home. A brotherhood. A FAMILY. However if you turn your back on this offer then we will extinguish you just as we will extinguish your Boss.
Stalker looks deep into the camera. He shifts his weight and then taking a few steps away from the grave he spins back to it and throws the second dead rose into the inferno. He drops to his knees and laughs again. The blood which flowed freely earlier has stopped and the wounds even seem to be quite well healed given they are rather fresh. He smiles wickedly at the camera then stands once more.
Your sin Freeman . . . do you know what it is? Do not worry for we shall show you your sin. Your sin is that you have willingly and freely followed this leech, this parasite into the depths of inhuman monstrously repulsive den of evil. You unlike the WHORES which he employs who have no other choice that they can see. Some of them couldn't reach it if they did see it . . . you however have turned from the path and have decided to avail yourself of the evils which this man perpetuates his folley. The sweet and innocent women which he has defiled their lost beauty is upon your hands as well. HOWEVER should you abandon his ways and make restitutiom to these young girls you shall be forgiven and freed from the justice with which we have been charged.
Stalker walks about three hundred and fifty feet then comes to a stop beside a 1957 Harley Davidson motorcycle. The bike is emblazoned with the Dark Camelot logo and is painted in the colors of the group. He steps on and revs the bike to life. The camera fades to black. A few hours later we can see Dark Camelot seated around the round table. Stalker sat with his eyes closed listening to the rest of the members arguing about who was going to take the triple threat tag team match. But this was different. This time Stalker didn't disrupt them. They were so close to the war....to the easy victory it wasn't funny. No the time for joking was through. Stalker took a long drag from a cigar and barely took note of what the two men he called brothers argued about at all. Instead Stalker let his thoughts drift to the imbeciles who tainted the world with their presence. Yes...the oSin City Knights didn't just taint the world with what they did, or even said....their actual just existing put a damper on the very fabric of life. Their just being present and accounted for, killed the standards for society and just made Stalker sick to his stomach. These people....these rotting carcasses of malfunction and disease, surely didn't need to actually even acknowledge Stalker in a slanderous way to bother him. No, they just had to keep breathing oxygen and living to send Stalker's day to Hell. As Stalker's eyes opened and he exhaled a large cloud of smoke into the air, he focused on the blinking red light that meant the camera was recording and began to speak.
Spring Slaughter is the night of victory! It's in the air, can you sense it? Can you feel it's presence and understand it's existence? Do you all realize how certain this victory over you really is? Are you even aware that it's magnitude is this great? It's like a tidal wave waiting to crash upon you. Simply turn around and let is smash down. Don't fight it. You could never swim up for air in time to stop this wave from overtaking you and drowning you. Simply give in. Relax and enjoy defeat. Embrace your failure and know there isn't a soul on my team that thought any of you would do any more then what you've done. We in Dark Camelot have come to know sub-par level performance is mandatory from the swill of competition such as what we continue to face. That's why we adjust ourselves accordingly. No need to break a sweat over creatures who barely deserve to be recognized at all. No need to waste the energy. In short...this competition is much like the war Germany waged upon Poland.
Stalker adjusts his position in his chair to come to a position almost predatory in nature.
However even still in the simplistic nature of combat and arsenal, I felt the need to point out some individuals that deserve a special nod in their direction before they're utterly destroyed and taken down. Some putrid piles of unsubstantial waste that need some recognition. Don't worry....I notice what you all don't bring to the table. Even if I don't mention you...you can rest assured if you aren't a member of this elite gathering of bretheren, you are regarded as filth.
Bethany, this shall be our first moment in the ring together. Good job! a tv spy wannabes. I mean if anyone needs a lesson on how to really take up space and waste everyone's time in this industry....they can come to you and bask in the special ability you have at performing it day in and day out. I'd say I'd applaud you at your ability to pass yourself off as something worthwhile and noteworthy while actually being the farthest from that but.....no, why would I applaud that? Convincing the world you're something you're not? That's not a talent. That's not a gift. That's just an elaborate hiding game, a cloak you placed over the world's eyes that made them see you as something more than what you really are. Which is a weak and pathetic mongrel in need of extermination. Don't worry though, I can see you for what you are and I do believe your time is up. Your moment in the sun is over and your eminent destruction is at hand. I look forward to hearing you scream for your life as I stomp the last bit of it from your insubstantial flesh.
Ashley, oh boy, where do I begin? Why did I begin? Why am I wasting my breath on the woman who can insult herself better than anyone else? I mean just by stepping into the ring, that image alone has already given better insults than I ever will. Yet you still manage to get up there and cry for attention. Tell me, how can you scream for attention with a mouth full of goat fur? I'll make sure to laugh about all your goofy promos and antics as I beat the life out of you in the ring. Hey but maybe if you click your heels together and wish on your pathetic spy career real hard....your destruction will be quick.
Freeman, if this was war and the Nazis were outside right now exterminating people left and right, you'd be the first gone. You would have been the guy who decided to hide from them by throwing an actual sheet over your head or standing behind a tree. I can't believe you have made it this far without actually somehow injuring yourself and taking yourself out of the equation. You walking around and being considered anything but a lackey is mind boggling. I can't understand how this is accepted or allowed? I mean someone should be playing keep away with a wrestling contract with you. What the Hell? You'r elucky you got teammates at all and people just haven't woken up from the drugs they're on that make them think you're actually worth a damn.
Stalker takes another drag from his cigarette.
That's it. Those are the names I'm wasting my precious moments mentioning before I enter the ring and claim my title. If you weren't mentioned it means I either - A). Literally forgot you even existed in the first place. or B) Didn't care. - Doesn't mean I won't take the few seconds it'll take to lay waste to you in the ring though. So don't feel too bad. You'll be a big bloody mess soon enough.
With that the camera man stops filming and we fade to white.
