Post by Sentinel on Jan 21, 2014 21:38:45 GMT -6
LOCATION: Sentinel's workshop in the back yard of his Valley Forge, TN home
TIME: Tuesday, January 21st, 2014, 10:16am
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Zachariah Blood
MUSIC: "Sadness and Sorrow"
A building comparable in size to a large garage nestled into a small copse of trees and thick foliage sits upon a large piece of rural property in the Tennessee countryside is what we first see when the cameras turn on. The winter air in the morning is clear and cold, making every exhale within it visible, briefly puffing into view before fading away. That same air under the partly cloudy skies above makes every detail a little sharper, clearer...even the details that we cannot see. In this case, the detail in question is music, airy notes flowing from a flute or perhaps a clarinet. It is difficult to ascertain the instrument for certain but the closer we come to the front door of the detached building the clearer it becomes. Just as a hand reaches out to turn the latch the door is drawn open, the hand jerking back quickly as the view is jostled slightly. Righted quickly, it centers on the severe expression of one Zachariah Blood, the manager of Sentinel, who glares back at us with a chill in his eyes to beat the temprature outside hands-down. The Eye of Osiris tattooed around his left eye only intensifying this.
Appraising us, his only response is a shift in expression from severity to distaste. He says not a word, a finger going to his lips as he backs away from the door to allow entrance. We step within the building, greeted not only by soothing warmth but as well a much more effective vantage with which to hear the music being played. In the far corner of the room stands a tower of a man with hair hanging loose halfway down his back, black to the point of being blue. Something is held in his hands and we quickly discern that the music carrying our senses away to a more peaceful place is emanating from him. Through the simple gray of his t-shirt we can see his musculature in a state of pure relaxation, his head moving slightly as he continues to play. This is quite obviously Sentinel, the Silent Destroyer...but it takes time for that to register considering the strains of soft notes he's playing without a care in the world. Our attention shift from him to Zachariah, the Patron Saint of Suffering watching Sentinel just as we are, arms folded across his broad chest.
We return our attention to the giant, his massive frame obscuring a glass-doored cabinet set against the workshop's corner. The tune carries on for another minute or so before Sentinel lowers the instrument in his hands. Placing it on the desk near to the cabinet, it is revealed to be a black, hand-carved ocarina, polished and engraved most intricately. Sentinel stands facing the desk now, palms flat on the dark surface. He turns to look first at us, then at Zachariah, who breaks the verbal silence...and thus the message is delivered.
Zachariah Blood: "You're late."
The comment is pointed at us, Zachariah's cold eyes staring hard in our direction.
Zachariah Blood: "Turn your attention to that monster standing over there in the corner. Look at that engine of destruction, that human wrecking machine who has wasted each and every opponent put before him since the first time he laced up the boots..."
When our attention doesn't shift, Zachariah snarls like an angry animal, thrusting a single finger toward Sentinel.
Zachariah Blood: "I said LOOK, cretins!"
Our focus turns quickly to the man in question, who stares back at us with impassive gray eyes. Thick arms folded across a massive chest, he tosses his head back to send that blue-black mane over his shoulders, eyeing us closely. In the background Zachariah is heard to speak, so close to us that a whisper suffices for his purposes.
Zachariah Blood: "Look upon him, mortals...and despair. Despair for your worthless, misbegotton lives for the Silent Destroyer is about to be unleashed upon you!"
Sentinel's response is a smirk and a shake of his head. Before we know it, Zachariah is chuckling darkly behind us, prompting us to turn in time to see him shaking his head. There is laughter but...no smile. Not even a trace of one. No turn to his lips nor sparkle in his eye.
Zachariah Blood: "And if you believe that little snippet of misguided dramatics...well..."
The view suddenly goes black during Blood's pause, his voice coming over it to finish his comment.
Zachariah Blood: "...you're not far from the truth."
No longer in the workshop we instead find ourselves walking through the woods, presumably those on Sentinel's own property. He's just up ahead of us, a hooded sweatshirt worn with the hood down, with about a ten-pace lead. Zachariah keeps pace with us, a leather jacket serving as enough protection against the cold for him along with his black cargo pants, chains jingling with every step. Leafless trees beneath a gray sky, snow seeming to threaten us with it's forthcoming silent wrath...not unlike the man-monster up ahead of us.
Once again, Zachariah snaps the reverie with his sharp tones.
Zachariah Blood: "Pauly O'Connor, I'm going to do you a big fucking favor, pal. If this were solely up to me I'd let you flap your gums without knowing what you were getting into on the inaugural Monday Night Mayhem. I'd sit back and watch you throw yourself at Sentinel recklessly only for him to snatch you out of the air and spike you like a lawn dart through the canvas. And I'd giggle my motherfuckin' ass off from start to finish. Why, you may ask? Because despite my own appreciation for part of your upbringing, that being your time spent in underground fight rings, I simply get pleasure out of pain. I'm a masochist. And since medical hacks have declared in no uncertain terms that I won't be ready to step into the ring again myself for some time, I'm reduced to living vicariously through the Silent Destroyer in that regard.
And that's exactly what would happen if I didn't do this little favor for you because, after all, you're Irish. Most of your kind...all you know is drinking, fighting and running off at the mouth. There ARE exceptions to that rule but you just don't look like the type with possess any semblance of tact or temperance. Now before your arrogant pride kicks in, I'm not trying to make this a racial thing. Hell, I'm a born-and-raised Cajun and my associate up ahead of us is a mixture of two very divergent ethnicities. No, what I'm doing is stating the obvious."
Sticks and leaves crunch softly under our footsteps prior to us coming to a small footbridge which Sentinel crosses to about the halfway point. He stops there and turns, hands on the rails, staring downstream. We stop as well, Zachariah staring at the Silent Destroyer with his hands in his jacket pockets against the cold.
Zachariah Blood: "Or at least, what's obvious to us."
Sentinel nods, almost imperceptibly, as Zachariah walks ahead a bit, putting them both in our line of sight.
Zachariah Blood: "See, my former partner up there has something to prove. The last company we plied our trade in fell off the face of the planet because of grandiose ineptitude and no shortage of interfering politics and not-so-subtle agendas. Obstacles of every shape and size were put in our path and each were destroyed. We were put in situations that we were expected to lose and instead decimated anyone who bumbled into our path. But no one, not the people in the front office, not the fans and not even their vaunted champions could keep us down. Their vaunted World Heavyweight Champion with the uninterrupted year-plus reign?
Sentinel wore that man's blood.
Consider that for a moment. A near-untouchable champion who had turned back challenger after challenger, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake and running his mouth all the while. Yet when he came face to face with The Silence Behind the Violence, unheralded and unknown to anyone in that company before we put the ink on our contracts...he ended up a twitching pile on the canvas.
Twice."
Zachariah looks to his associate for a moment and Sentinel looks back. The big man inclines his chin slightly and Blood continues.
Zachariah Blood: "And that says nothing for their tag team champions. They ran scared for five months with us dogging their every step. Handicap matches, special rules contests, singles encounters with their cronies trying to divide and conquer...they threw everything they had at us. To an extent I admired their tenacity, even if it was focused on running like scared dogs whenever our music hit. For five months they ran until they could run no more. And in the end, we left the arena that night with their World Tag Team Championships.
The point there, O'Connor, is that in the end Sentinel will always get what he wants. If you run, he'll chase you down and make you wish you'd took your beating like a man. If you stand and fight, you might just earn a little respect...after he beats you into submission. Because what you see standing before us in quiet repose is the epitome of the dichotomy of man. In moments like this, in his natural habitat, he's a being of peace who lives a simple, content life amongst nature. Even being the raging asshole that I am, I do see the allure of such a lifestyle.
But it's the other side that you need to be concerned with, O'Connor."
The Silent Destroyer's grip tightens on the wooden railing and our careful vantage can see his jaw set. Something stirs behind those gray eyes, a monster within a man...a demon bent on meteing out wrath that defies description. How such a being stays locked within this peaceful shell for any amount of time is a minor miracle.
Zachariah Blood: "It's the side that has broken bodies and ended careers on a whim. The side that has multiple singles and tag team titles to his credit. The side that possesses utter devotion to a people and a cause to the point of near-fanatical level. All the aforementioned champions and adversaries to whom they owe scars and shortened careers to the Silent Destroyer? They questioned that devotion and the lengths to which he will go to achieve what he desires."
Zachariah turns his attention back to us, grim satisfaction twisted into place on his features.
Zachariah Blood: "I have fought alongside him and I have fought him personally. At this juncture I have been chosen to be his voice when it comes to matters within the UWA. Whether that continues to be the case remains to be seen..."
Staring down at his now-revealed hands, tattoos seen to run up his fingers and along his palms, Zachariah is silent for a moment. Then...
Zachariah Blood: "...but no matter who delivers his messages to his opponents and the world, one fact remains: Sentinel is here to dominate. Pauly O'Connor, you're the first of many to come. You'll be the one to warn the world of what happens when silent destruction descends upon you. Don't say you weren't warned. The old saying about actions and words was never truer than it is in the Silent Destroyer's case. All the energy people waste on talking about what they're going to do?
He spends that energy DOING it. But you'll see. All of you will see. And I'm going to love watching you learn the hard way."
Turning toward us once more, Sentinel stares a figurative hole through us before turning on his heel and continuing across the bridge. Zachariah moves to follow to him as we fade to black.
TIME: Tuesday, January 21st, 2014, 10:16am
PLAYERS: Sentinel, Zachariah Blood
MUSIC: "Sadness and Sorrow"
- SCENE ONE -
A building comparable in size to a large garage nestled into a small copse of trees and thick foliage sits upon a large piece of rural property in the Tennessee countryside is what we first see when the cameras turn on. The winter air in the morning is clear and cold, making every exhale within it visible, briefly puffing into view before fading away. That same air under the partly cloudy skies above makes every detail a little sharper, clearer...even the details that we cannot see. In this case, the detail in question is music, airy notes flowing from a flute or perhaps a clarinet. It is difficult to ascertain the instrument for certain but the closer we come to the front door of the detached building the clearer it becomes. Just as a hand reaches out to turn the latch the door is drawn open, the hand jerking back quickly as the view is jostled slightly. Righted quickly, it centers on the severe expression of one Zachariah Blood, the manager of Sentinel, who glares back at us with a chill in his eyes to beat the temprature outside hands-down. The Eye of Osiris tattooed around his left eye only intensifying this.
Appraising us, his only response is a shift in expression from severity to distaste. He says not a word, a finger going to his lips as he backs away from the door to allow entrance. We step within the building, greeted not only by soothing warmth but as well a much more effective vantage with which to hear the music being played. In the far corner of the room stands a tower of a man with hair hanging loose halfway down his back, black to the point of being blue. Something is held in his hands and we quickly discern that the music carrying our senses away to a more peaceful place is emanating from him. Through the simple gray of his t-shirt we can see his musculature in a state of pure relaxation, his head moving slightly as he continues to play. This is quite obviously Sentinel, the Silent Destroyer...but it takes time for that to register considering the strains of soft notes he's playing without a care in the world. Our attention shift from him to Zachariah, the Patron Saint of Suffering watching Sentinel just as we are, arms folded across his broad chest.
We return our attention to the giant, his massive frame obscuring a glass-doored cabinet set against the workshop's corner. The tune carries on for another minute or so before Sentinel lowers the instrument in his hands. Placing it on the desk near to the cabinet, it is revealed to be a black, hand-carved ocarina, polished and engraved most intricately. Sentinel stands facing the desk now, palms flat on the dark surface. He turns to look first at us, then at Zachariah, who breaks the verbal silence...and thus the message is delivered.
Zachariah Blood: "You're late."
The comment is pointed at us, Zachariah's cold eyes staring hard in our direction.
Zachariah Blood: "Turn your attention to that monster standing over there in the corner. Look at that engine of destruction, that human wrecking machine who has wasted each and every opponent put before him since the first time he laced up the boots..."
When our attention doesn't shift, Zachariah snarls like an angry animal, thrusting a single finger toward Sentinel.
Zachariah Blood: "I said LOOK, cretins!"
Our focus turns quickly to the man in question, who stares back at us with impassive gray eyes. Thick arms folded across a massive chest, he tosses his head back to send that blue-black mane over his shoulders, eyeing us closely. In the background Zachariah is heard to speak, so close to us that a whisper suffices for his purposes.
Zachariah Blood: "Look upon him, mortals...and despair. Despair for your worthless, misbegotton lives for the Silent Destroyer is about to be unleashed upon you!"
Sentinel's response is a smirk and a shake of his head. Before we know it, Zachariah is chuckling darkly behind us, prompting us to turn in time to see him shaking his head. There is laughter but...no smile. Not even a trace of one. No turn to his lips nor sparkle in his eye.
Zachariah Blood: "And if you believe that little snippet of misguided dramatics...well..."
The view suddenly goes black during Blood's pause, his voice coming over it to finish his comment.
Zachariah Blood: "...you're not far from the truth."
- SCENE TWO -
No longer in the workshop we instead find ourselves walking through the woods, presumably those on Sentinel's own property. He's just up ahead of us, a hooded sweatshirt worn with the hood down, with about a ten-pace lead. Zachariah keeps pace with us, a leather jacket serving as enough protection against the cold for him along with his black cargo pants, chains jingling with every step. Leafless trees beneath a gray sky, snow seeming to threaten us with it's forthcoming silent wrath...not unlike the man-monster up ahead of us.
Once again, Zachariah snaps the reverie with his sharp tones.
Zachariah Blood: "Pauly O'Connor, I'm going to do you a big fucking favor, pal. If this were solely up to me I'd let you flap your gums without knowing what you were getting into on the inaugural Monday Night Mayhem. I'd sit back and watch you throw yourself at Sentinel recklessly only for him to snatch you out of the air and spike you like a lawn dart through the canvas. And I'd giggle my motherfuckin' ass off from start to finish. Why, you may ask? Because despite my own appreciation for part of your upbringing, that being your time spent in underground fight rings, I simply get pleasure out of pain. I'm a masochist. And since medical hacks have declared in no uncertain terms that I won't be ready to step into the ring again myself for some time, I'm reduced to living vicariously through the Silent Destroyer in that regard.
And that's exactly what would happen if I didn't do this little favor for you because, after all, you're Irish. Most of your kind...all you know is drinking, fighting and running off at the mouth. There ARE exceptions to that rule but you just don't look like the type with possess any semblance of tact or temperance. Now before your arrogant pride kicks in, I'm not trying to make this a racial thing. Hell, I'm a born-and-raised Cajun and my associate up ahead of us is a mixture of two very divergent ethnicities. No, what I'm doing is stating the obvious."
Sticks and leaves crunch softly under our footsteps prior to us coming to a small footbridge which Sentinel crosses to about the halfway point. He stops there and turns, hands on the rails, staring downstream. We stop as well, Zachariah staring at the Silent Destroyer with his hands in his jacket pockets against the cold.
Zachariah Blood: "Or at least, what's obvious to us."
Sentinel nods, almost imperceptibly, as Zachariah walks ahead a bit, putting them both in our line of sight.
Zachariah Blood: "See, my former partner up there has something to prove. The last company we plied our trade in fell off the face of the planet because of grandiose ineptitude and no shortage of interfering politics and not-so-subtle agendas. Obstacles of every shape and size were put in our path and each were destroyed. We were put in situations that we were expected to lose and instead decimated anyone who bumbled into our path. But no one, not the people in the front office, not the fans and not even their vaunted champions could keep us down. Their vaunted World Heavyweight Champion with the uninterrupted year-plus reign?
Sentinel wore that man's blood.
Consider that for a moment. A near-untouchable champion who had turned back challenger after challenger, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake and running his mouth all the while. Yet when he came face to face with The Silence Behind the Violence, unheralded and unknown to anyone in that company before we put the ink on our contracts...he ended up a twitching pile on the canvas.
Twice."
Zachariah looks to his associate for a moment and Sentinel looks back. The big man inclines his chin slightly and Blood continues.
Zachariah Blood: "And that says nothing for their tag team champions. They ran scared for five months with us dogging their every step. Handicap matches, special rules contests, singles encounters with their cronies trying to divide and conquer...they threw everything they had at us. To an extent I admired their tenacity, even if it was focused on running like scared dogs whenever our music hit. For five months they ran until they could run no more. And in the end, we left the arena that night with their World Tag Team Championships.
The point there, O'Connor, is that in the end Sentinel will always get what he wants. If you run, he'll chase you down and make you wish you'd took your beating like a man. If you stand and fight, you might just earn a little respect...after he beats you into submission. Because what you see standing before us in quiet repose is the epitome of the dichotomy of man. In moments like this, in his natural habitat, he's a being of peace who lives a simple, content life amongst nature. Even being the raging asshole that I am, I do see the allure of such a lifestyle.
But it's the other side that you need to be concerned with, O'Connor."
The Silent Destroyer's grip tightens on the wooden railing and our careful vantage can see his jaw set. Something stirs behind those gray eyes, a monster within a man...a demon bent on meteing out wrath that defies description. How such a being stays locked within this peaceful shell for any amount of time is a minor miracle.
Zachariah Blood: "It's the side that has broken bodies and ended careers on a whim. The side that has multiple singles and tag team titles to his credit. The side that possesses utter devotion to a people and a cause to the point of near-fanatical level. All the aforementioned champions and adversaries to whom they owe scars and shortened careers to the Silent Destroyer? They questioned that devotion and the lengths to which he will go to achieve what he desires."
Zachariah turns his attention back to us, grim satisfaction twisted into place on his features.
Zachariah Blood: "I have fought alongside him and I have fought him personally. At this juncture I have been chosen to be his voice when it comes to matters within the UWA. Whether that continues to be the case remains to be seen..."
Staring down at his now-revealed hands, tattoos seen to run up his fingers and along his palms, Zachariah is silent for a moment. Then...
Zachariah Blood: "...but no matter who delivers his messages to his opponents and the world, one fact remains: Sentinel is here to dominate. Pauly O'Connor, you're the first of many to come. You'll be the one to warn the world of what happens when silent destruction descends upon you. Don't say you weren't warned. The old saying about actions and words was never truer than it is in the Silent Destroyer's case. All the energy people waste on talking about what they're going to do?
He spends that energy DOING it. But you'll see. All of you will see. And I'm going to love watching you learn the hard way."
Turning toward us once more, Sentinel stares a figurative hole through us before turning on his heel and continuing across the bridge. Zachariah moves to follow to him as we fade to black.
- END -
