Post by Mysery on Oct 28, 2011 0:30:16 GMT -3
Mysery: “I never feared a man. I never feared the pain, the blood, the sick feeling in the pit of my stomache as I waited for my entrance, the loneliness of standing in a ring before hundreds, thousands even million of anonymous faces as my opponents came down to meet me one by one by one. It all boils down to a matter of trust.
The black screen shot of a highway. The man known as Mysery stands on a painted line dividing two lanes. The sky is clear and the sun is setting behind him.
Mysery: I am a master of cliché’s. I have used imagery and metaphor like a warrior wields a sword and shield and my armour in every battle was loneliness.
The scene shifts again. This time the environment is dimly light. It is stained with clouds of smoke; people huddle in dark corners as waitresses serve drinks to those hidden within the alcoves. At the end of the bar Mysery sits nursing a plain glass of amber liquid while re-runs of ICW matches flickers silently above the bar.
Mysery: Now I am not alone. A man who has confessed his parentage to me has also introduced a brother. And now I am defenseless; no sword, no shield and no armour to protect myself with.
Mysery is found in a desert. It is the dead of night and the cold of the cloudless vista has cast a frost over everything. A solitary fire burns within a ring of stones. Mysery’s face is lit from the beneath lending an eerie .
Mysery: I think not. The rules have not changed and for the man who will face. Jordan Moss. I will promise him that if nothing else he will find every reason to re-examine his new place in ICW. For Jordan Moss. I will test his resolve, I accuse Jordan Moss of fraud and I will present my proof to him after I prove him wrong, in person, at the qualifier. A man does not make you a better man than I, being a champion is a weakness more so for a man than for a child. The weakness of one mans trust in the other is all too obvious and the frailty of blood in that relationship is simply too irresistible not to exploit.
The scene changes again.
The sea stretches out for miles. The horizon and the water blending together seamlessly as overhead seagulls wheel and cry in lament for the souls lost to the deep.
The scene shifts one last time.
The walls are covered in dark red velvet paper. A pair of manacles hang vacantly from beneath a light sconce. A woman lies on the bed. Silken sheets and the fact that she is on her stomach contrive to not offend the censors. Mysery stands over the raven-haired vixen in his bed. Mysery is naked from the waist up fresh lash marks cover his back and shoulders. The look in his eyes is intense. The pain from the wounds can be read in the involuntary twitching in his face,. It is the smile though that is truly disturbing. If an ancient predatory beast with the patience of a saint and the soul of a devil could know joy or ecstasy then there standing in a room of Club: Cruel Intent stands the very beast itself.
The black screen shot of a highway. The man known as Mysery stands on a painted line dividing two lanes. The sky is clear and the sun is setting behind him.
Mysery: I am a master of cliché’s. I have used imagery and metaphor like a warrior wields a sword and shield and my armour in every battle was loneliness.
The scene shifts again. This time the environment is dimly light. It is stained with clouds of smoke; people huddle in dark corners as waitresses serve drinks to those hidden within the alcoves. At the end of the bar Mysery sits nursing a plain glass of amber liquid while re-runs of ICW matches flickers silently above the bar.
Mysery: Now I am not alone. A man who has confessed his parentage to me has also introduced a brother. And now I am defenseless; no sword, no shield and no armour to protect myself with.
Mysery is found in a desert. It is the dead of night and the cold of the cloudless vista has cast a frost over everything. A solitary fire burns within a ring of stones. Mysery’s face is lit from the beneath lending an eerie .
Mysery: I think not. The rules have not changed and for the man who will face. Jordan Moss. I will promise him that if nothing else he will find every reason to re-examine his new place in ICW. For Jordan Moss. I will test his resolve, I accuse Jordan Moss of fraud and I will present my proof to him after I prove him wrong, in person, at the qualifier. A man does not make you a better man than I, being a champion is a weakness more so for a man than for a child. The weakness of one mans trust in the other is all too obvious and the frailty of blood in that relationship is simply too irresistible not to exploit.
The scene changes again.
The sea stretches out for miles. The horizon and the water blending together seamlessly as overhead seagulls wheel and cry in lament for the souls lost to the deep.
The scene shifts one last time.
The walls are covered in dark red velvet paper. A pair of manacles hang vacantly from beneath a light sconce. A woman lies on the bed. Silken sheets and the fact that she is on her stomach contrive to not offend the censors. Mysery stands over the raven-haired vixen in his bed. Mysery is naked from the waist up fresh lash marks cover his back and shoulders. The look in his eyes is intense. The pain from the wounds can be read in the involuntary twitching in his face,. It is the smile though that is truly disturbing. If an ancient predatory beast with the patience of a saint and the soul of a devil could know joy or ecstasy then there standing in a room of Club: Cruel Intent stands the very beast itself.
