Post by Sentinel on May 27, 2013 0:23:00 GMT -4
Before we’re even privy to the location itself, we can hear the rumbling of distant thunder and the torrential pounding of incessant rain. Against a high roof, against ancient brick and mortar and the already-sopping earth itself. Nature in a rage has sought to tear open the heavens and let the tears of the immortals fall upon the tainted sphere that is Earth. It isn’t so much that the lights are turned on in the midst of this. Rather, it is the flash of lightning giving a daylight-like glare shaped by an arched window in the center of the screen. When the intense glow dies down there’s still some vague color in the form of indigo, the color of the sky outside in this vicious storm.
Footsteps are heard over the storm but only due to the sharp clicking of a pointed heel with each one taken. They echo in the cavernous room, the source of them appearing as a silhouette before the window, stopping before it and moving a chair that partially obscured the view. The motions indicate sitting, compounded by the creak of old wood and leather when she lowers into it. The woman exhales softly, a trace of laughter on the end of her breath as we hear several shifting sounds followed by a number of deliberate swishing noises. This goes on for a few moments before a scraping noise ignites a match, partially revealing the visage of the crimson-haired Talon.
Talon: ”And thus, it begins.”
Hers is an expression full of eagerness and mischief as she puts the burning match tip to the wick of a tall, red candle to her right. She follows suit with a similar candle to her left before puffing out a short breath at the charred wooden stick, setting it aside. Before a long banquet table she sits, a purple velvet cloth spread before her with golden accents and, upon this, several face-down cards. We have a few moments to get accustomed to what we’re seeing before she speaks again…how the depth of the room soaks up the minimal light from the candles, how the cards are larger than a garden-variety playing card and how the candles seem to be embedded in skulls. Whether they’re real or not is hard to tell.
Talon: ”Such arrogance in your name, children. The New Dynasty. As though your very presence is the beginning of an era in APW, an era in which your position of power is absolute. There is creativity and panache…and there is blatant cockiness ramped up to the nth degree. You have apparently long since crossed that particular line. Alexander, you and your Demarvelous partner…”
Blood-colored lips upturn, peeling back to reveal the tips of pearl-white fangs peeking through. The tip of Talon’s tongue extends to run along her lips in an expression of eager hunger.
Talon: ”…shall be bestowed with a new, more fitting, name: the First Sacrifice.”
More footsteps, these far heavier than those of the lady, approach the head of the table. In a blink, a tall, broad-shouldered shadow looms behind the chair of Talon. Heavy hands connected to powerful arms rest upon the ornate top of the antique chair, clenching tight to the hand-carved wood. Talon needs not turn. She only reaches up with one hand and sets it upon another resting above her. The gesture prompts the hands to lower to her shoulders and she closes her eyes, taking in a sensation of sorts from the contact.
Talon: ”My Silent Destroyer hungers. I can feel it through his skin, the hot blood rushing through his veins, the electric current shooting through his body at the mere thought of throttling you two. But don’t misunderstand me, children: this is far from personal. You’re just unlucky. Those who fancy themselves in charge of destinies here in APW, they have decided that you’re the first who shall come up to bat against our dark collective. Had we a say in the matter, we would have aimed a little higher on the food chain. The stronger the prey, the greater the impact, you see.
But we are neither greedy nor arrogant. If you two are to be the meat on the table, the pittance to whet our appetites for more destruction, we shall accept willingly. And then we shall devour the lot of you and await the next meal. You never bite the hand that feeds unless you’re prepared to consume everything connected to it. Otherwise things get messy and thoughts of revenge start to fester. There will be time for larger, more filling meals in the weeks to come. Patience will serve us well. For now.”
Her laughter is both beautiful and sadistic. Fingers press into her bare shoulders, inches from the black lace trim of her red corset. Though his hands are all that’s rightfully visible, the tenacity of Sentinel’s grip, while not uncomfortable to the Dark Lady sitting before him, is a fine example of his intensity. Fingers twitch and clench as if seeking to grasp an opponent by the throat.
Talon meanwhile lowers her bright green eyes to the table and the cards spread before her. They resemble tarot cards at first glance but their formation is not a known one. Two at both sides set high and low, one atop another in a plus form above and below and a line of two cards toward the center from the high/low cards leading to four cards in a box shape, two sidewise and two set normally. Crimson-painted fingertips dance over the backs of the cards, the skeleton of a dragon on the back of each.
Talon: ”Forget the imposing appearance of Demarvelous for a moment and while you’re at it erase the bookish air of one Alexander Bankmanship. Appearances are after all deceiving most of the time. The latter claims that despite the weakling he appears to be he can still rip a man apart if he’s so disposed. We take one look at the beast with the peculiar name in the same moment and we believe on appearance alone that he could do damage to any man, woman or child in his way. But that is where any hint of being impressed ends.”
Talon turns up a single card, the high card at her left. What we see revealed is the image of a battered body laid upon a stained, stone altar. A chained red beast hovers in the background beneath a cloud-filled sky, a darker red dripping from its fingertips, fangs bared. She peruses the surface of the card, her fingertip stroking over it before she draws it from the velvet and holds it up for us to see fully. The banner across the top reads ‘Sacrifice’.
Talon: ”Your fate, children. There’s little sense in arguing about it though I have little doubt that you’ll contest the point. It would be foolish not to. After all, you don’t want to be a sacrifice, do you? That would lead to all sorts of questions about your manhood and its perceived existence. After your lack of monologues last time around, though, we get the distinct feeling that we’re putting forth all this effort for nothing.”
The card is put back into its place and Talon folds her hands before her on the table, staring directly at us.
Talon: ”It is one of those rare cases in which being proven wrong would be pleasant. It won’t change what you are about to become, but it would be nice to know that we aren’t wasting our time. Perhaps you will make your voices heard again. Perhaps you will even snatch the win from us and deny The Unforgiven a victorious debut. The thought is enticing, isn’t it?”
A new shade of a smile manifests, one tailored to engender hope in those she addresses. The laugh that follows is harsh, however, shattering such illusions.
Talon: ”Ah, but when we’re done, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the victory even if you acquired it. Sacrifice, children, doesn’t require us to win. It merely means that you must be made an example of. If we were so inclined, we would throw the idea of a match out the window and beat the hell out of you, saying to hell with rules and leaving what’s left of you for the EMTs to clean up. What would your victory mean then? You two will be a standing lesson to the rest of APW: this is what we’re capable of. This is what you must eventually face and attempt to survive.
You barely register as a bump in the road as The Unforgiven move toward their higher purpose, their ultimate goal. Our associates will certainly have their own twist to put on things when they step before the camera but they will not be as subtle about it. It’s the difference between controlled destruction and unmitigated wrath. The Masochist and his Mistress will soon be here to exemplify that fissure between our respective outlooks. For now, I do believe we’re done speaking to the likes of you. My Silent Destroyer will do his speaking in the ring.”
The heavy hands lift from the shoulders of Talon and reach out to the lit candles on the table. Thumb and forefinger on each hand pinch shut around the slender, dancing flames, snuffing them out. The dim light from the window shines brightly once again thanks to the crash of lightning in the distance but this time when it fades so does the view of the window itself, bringing the message to a close.
Footsteps are heard over the storm but only due to the sharp clicking of a pointed heel with each one taken. They echo in the cavernous room, the source of them appearing as a silhouette before the window, stopping before it and moving a chair that partially obscured the view. The motions indicate sitting, compounded by the creak of old wood and leather when she lowers into it. The woman exhales softly, a trace of laughter on the end of her breath as we hear several shifting sounds followed by a number of deliberate swishing noises. This goes on for a few moments before a scraping noise ignites a match, partially revealing the visage of the crimson-haired Talon.
Talon: ”And thus, it begins.”
Hers is an expression full of eagerness and mischief as she puts the burning match tip to the wick of a tall, red candle to her right. She follows suit with a similar candle to her left before puffing out a short breath at the charred wooden stick, setting it aside. Before a long banquet table she sits, a purple velvet cloth spread before her with golden accents and, upon this, several face-down cards. We have a few moments to get accustomed to what we’re seeing before she speaks again…how the depth of the room soaks up the minimal light from the candles, how the cards are larger than a garden-variety playing card and how the candles seem to be embedded in skulls. Whether they’re real or not is hard to tell.
Talon: ”Such arrogance in your name, children. The New Dynasty. As though your very presence is the beginning of an era in APW, an era in which your position of power is absolute. There is creativity and panache…and there is blatant cockiness ramped up to the nth degree. You have apparently long since crossed that particular line. Alexander, you and your Demarvelous partner…”
Blood-colored lips upturn, peeling back to reveal the tips of pearl-white fangs peeking through. The tip of Talon’s tongue extends to run along her lips in an expression of eager hunger.
Talon: ”…shall be bestowed with a new, more fitting, name: the First Sacrifice.”
More footsteps, these far heavier than those of the lady, approach the head of the table. In a blink, a tall, broad-shouldered shadow looms behind the chair of Talon. Heavy hands connected to powerful arms rest upon the ornate top of the antique chair, clenching tight to the hand-carved wood. Talon needs not turn. She only reaches up with one hand and sets it upon another resting above her. The gesture prompts the hands to lower to her shoulders and she closes her eyes, taking in a sensation of sorts from the contact.
Talon: ”My Silent Destroyer hungers. I can feel it through his skin, the hot blood rushing through his veins, the electric current shooting through his body at the mere thought of throttling you two. But don’t misunderstand me, children: this is far from personal. You’re just unlucky. Those who fancy themselves in charge of destinies here in APW, they have decided that you’re the first who shall come up to bat against our dark collective. Had we a say in the matter, we would have aimed a little higher on the food chain. The stronger the prey, the greater the impact, you see.
But we are neither greedy nor arrogant. If you two are to be the meat on the table, the pittance to whet our appetites for more destruction, we shall accept willingly. And then we shall devour the lot of you and await the next meal. You never bite the hand that feeds unless you’re prepared to consume everything connected to it. Otherwise things get messy and thoughts of revenge start to fester. There will be time for larger, more filling meals in the weeks to come. Patience will serve us well. For now.”
Her laughter is both beautiful and sadistic. Fingers press into her bare shoulders, inches from the black lace trim of her red corset. Though his hands are all that’s rightfully visible, the tenacity of Sentinel’s grip, while not uncomfortable to the Dark Lady sitting before him, is a fine example of his intensity. Fingers twitch and clench as if seeking to grasp an opponent by the throat.
Talon meanwhile lowers her bright green eyes to the table and the cards spread before her. They resemble tarot cards at first glance but their formation is not a known one. Two at both sides set high and low, one atop another in a plus form above and below and a line of two cards toward the center from the high/low cards leading to four cards in a box shape, two sidewise and two set normally. Crimson-painted fingertips dance over the backs of the cards, the skeleton of a dragon on the back of each.
Talon: ”Forget the imposing appearance of Demarvelous for a moment and while you’re at it erase the bookish air of one Alexander Bankmanship. Appearances are after all deceiving most of the time. The latter claims that despite the weakling he appears to be he can still rip a man apart if he’s so disposed. We take one look at the beast with the peculiar name in the same moment and we believe on appearance alone that he could do damage to any man, woman or child in his way. But that is where any hint of being impressed ends.”
Talon turns up a single card, the high card at her left. What we see revealed is the image of a battered body laid upon a stained, stone altar. A chained red beast hovers in the background beneath a cloud-filled sky, a darker red dripping from its fingertips, fangs bared. She peruses the surface of the card, her fingertip stroking over it before she draws it from the velvet and holds it up for us to see fully. The banner across the top reads ‘Sacrifice’.
Talon: ”Your fate, children. There’s little sense in arguing about it though I have little doubt that you’ll contest the point. It would be foolish not to. After all, you don’t want to be a sacrifice, do you? That would lead to all sorts of questions about your manhood and its perceived existence. After your lack of monologues last time around, though, we get the distinct feeling that we’re putting forth all this effort for nothing.”
The card is put back into its place and Talon folds her hands before her on the table, staring directly at us.
Talon: ”It is one of those rare cases in which being proven wrong would be pleasant. It won’t change what you are about to become, but it would be nice to know that we aren’t wasting our time. Perhaps you will make your voices heard again. Perhaps you will even snatch the win from us and deny The Unforgiven a victorious debut. The thought is enticing, isn’t it?”
A new shade of a smile manifests, one tailored to engender hope in those she addresses. The laugh that follows is harsh, however, shattering such illusions.
Talon: ”Ah, but when we’re done, you wouldn’t be able to enjoy the victory even if you acquired it. Sacrifice, children, doesn’t require us to win. It merely means that you must be made an example of. If we were so inclined, we would throw the idea of a match out the window and beat the hell out of you, saying to hell with rules and leaving what’s left of you for the EMTs to clean up. What would your victory mean then? You two will be a standing lesson to the rest of APW: this is what we’re capable of. This is what you must eventually face and attempt to survive.
You barely register as a bump in the road as The Unforgiven move toward their higher purpose, their ultimate goal. Our associates will certainly have their own twist to put on things when they step before the camera but they will not be as subtle about it. It’s the difference between controlled destruction and unmitigated wrath. The Masochist and his Mistress will soon be here to exemplify that fissure between our respective outlooks. For now, I do believe we’re done speaking to the likes of you. My Silent Destroyer will do his speaking in the ring.”
The heavy hands lift from the shoulders of Talon and reach out to the lit candles on the table. Thumb and forefinger on each hand pinch shut around the slender, dancing flames, snuffing them out. The dim light from the window shines brightly once again thanks to the crash of lightning in the distance but this time when it fades so does the view of the window itself, bringing the message to a close.
