Post by macros on Jun 1, 2007 10:35:29 GMT -6
The screen starts to fade in from a dull contrast of black into the scene of this promo. Information of this exact location is not needed to be know, save that it is but a simple hotel room within the area of Bel Air, Maryland. The grey colored carpet runs across the living room floor in contrast with the cream color paint that covers each of the four walls that encloses the room from the living quarters of those whom sleep here this night. The living room or lounge room if you would prefer, consists of a TV cabinet and Television, small book shelf equip with a variety of local advertisements and a pair of blue recliner armchairs located on either side of a small oak coffee table. Shades of an orange glow illuminates from the left of the room as a small built-in electric heater turns the electricity into a comfortable heat that slowly flows out into the room, accompanied by the slight humming sound of the heaters fan rotating to push the air out. The glow of a fluorescent lamp escapes the left of the scene as the electricity excites the mercury vapor within the tube to produce an energy saving glow of light falling from the ceiling to illuminate the small kitchen. The continuous striking of metal upon the ceramic surface of a mug gives away the location of a sturdy and middle aged looking man wearing black track pants, blue button up top and a dark blue cardigan pulled over the top. The presentation in clothing is of a more casual of state in which you would usually expect to see this sports personality dressed in, the current location and the lack of any resemblance of the public eye within this small apartment would be the main reason by this sudden change in his clothing style.
The wrestling manager known simply as Riley rotates the wrists of both his left and right hands as the teaspoons held in each continue to stir the coffee within two brown ceramic mugs, the steam emitting from the hot liquid starts to span towards the ceiling from the surface until it evaporates into air. The man pulls the teaspoons out from the hot liquid, tapping the handle slightly on the side of the mug to remove those couple of small drops that always seems to stick to the spoon, he throws the pair of spoons into the small kitchen sink installed into the system of benches that surrounds the majority of the small kitchen. Picking the drink up from the surface of the counter he make’s his way slowly from the light of the kitchen and into the gloom of the living room area. Placing the mugs upon the oak coffee table Riley lowers himself into the closest and empty recliner, the soft sigh of relaxation escapes his lips as he finally take his weight from his tired legs. Leaning forward he places his index finger through the handle of the mug of coffee, pulling it towards his opens mouth he takes a small sip from the very edge of the surface.
From the shadows and deep within the recliner armchair opposite Riley a pale hand reaches towards the second cup of coffee and with a quick grasp of his palm the mug of coffee is brought back into the shadows. The shimmer of a red tunic from the bottom of the scene shows the man within the shadows of the armchair place his right foot upon the surface of the oak coffee table.
Riley: Macros, is there even a need for you to place ya foot on the surface of the coffee table. For one I think my coffee would taste and smell just fine without the addition of the stench ya feet seem to radiate.
Slowly Macros removes his foot from the surface of the coffee table and into the shadows that his armchair is swallowed by. A small smile crosses the face of Riley as once again he takes a small sip from the edge of his coffee and with a nod of his head and a grunt of approval he decides that this brew of coffee is exceptionally good, closing his eyes the manager begins the start of his afternoon snooze he has always enjoyed. As if to destroy the managers calm expression and time of piece, from the shadows of the opposite armchair the sound of coffee being forcefully sucked down the throat of Macros. The long and lasting squelching sound echoes through the small and nearly empty room like a man yelling from the top of a mountain, the eyes of the manager suddenly pop open in a look of pure aggravation.
Riley: GULPS. Small Gulps. Bring ya mouth down into the coffee and scoop it up, that way we can both be saved the annoyance of that sound. For the love of the gods, what I would give for just 10 minutes of piece.
With those last words Riley brings the palm of his free hand to wedge against the arm of his chair and the side of his head, with knowing that he would be getting no afternoon snooze today the manager lets out a small sigh.
Riley: So what is it? Ya have doubt about your career? Ya have doubts about your upcoming match? What is battling with ya emotions that has made ya become so annoying to myself today?
Macros leans forward into the light emitting form the fluorescent lamp hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen, if there was any show of emotion upon his face they were hidden by flickers of light and shadow that danced across his facial expressions.
Macros: I am the Legion Soldier. I do not hold doubt within my match, career, life or anything in general? Everything is as it is supposed to be, whom am I to doubt what is inevitable?
Riley: Now Macros all men hold doubt within themselves or the world, in some way or another? Personally I do not think there is any shame in ya having doubts about your upcoming match, John Anthony is a eligible opponent?
Macros: I have no doubt. There is no doubt within my mind, only a boredom of having to be imprisoned within these walls while you take your afternoon snooze. Such a boredom which has been developing ever since I returned to this promotion, such a boredom which has only continued to grow come week after week that I have to pit my skills against a lesser being. So far Josh Eagles has been the only man to prove a challenge, so far it was my former mentor whom was able to push me towards new physical and mental boundaries that I had yet to of conquered. It was the battle between myself and Josh Eagles that strove myself to brake through a number of walls within my mind, freeing power and energy that I thought could never be conceded possible. I find that now a growing anger rises up inside me like an eagle spreading it’s wings in preparation to burst into flight, an anger that continues to grow day by day. But why does such an anger grow inside me? Week upon week I find myself being forced into battles against men chosen from the very bottom of competitors, men that are covered with rust as they are scrapped from the bottom of the barrel and placed upon the battlefield as my foe. My anger rises as I feel those walls within my mind that were torn down weeks ago, being rebuilt by a power greater than my own, the power of strength and energy that had come with the destruction of those walls are slowly slipping from my grasp…like grains of sand passing between my fingers. Without the competition of a true fight upon the battlefield, without the large victories and the honor in which is awarded to me upon victory…I feel my power draining from my veins as if a puncture wound was slowly releasing the flow of my blood.
The manager Riley moves around in the surface of his seat, the words spoken by his client are words he had not heard for almost a year, words of the like that clearly showed the possibility of his clients insanity.
Macros: This John Anthony is a wrestler that you say is eligible to be named my foe for this week, I shall be the one to determine such a statement. But if you are true and he does uphold a level of competition that may prove to match that of mine, our time upon the battlefield will prove as great as the gods. Our battle shall provide the people of this world an insight into the future of this New England branch, for to long this John Anthony has been looked as being in contention for the largest award within this branch. There is know doubt within my mind that I, Appius Macros Vitruvious, will be the victor come the closing of the night and hence take the position that John Anthony once held…soon the time of the legion soldier will be upon us Riley, the time when the legionaries that follow blindly my every movement will bow at my feet in open obedience.
For I walk upon my road to a destiny, a road in which no man can present a challenge towards me. Even the great Canadian wrestler Josh Eagles resembled nothing but a pebble upon my path, a simple little insignificant pebble that I once and for all swept from my path and into my past. Who shall stand in my way once I toss aside the man John Anthony? Mick Cormac, a lover of the ale who in his drunken state cant even remember why he has stepped within the ropes of the battlefield? JR Zevon, the current Eastern Heavyweight Champion whom was handed that title after defeating just a handful of pathetic wrestlers? No. Appius Macros Vitruvious was sent to this place for a purpose, I was sent to this place to rid it of those that are deemed lacking and in doing so take my position above all those whom revolve around the world of New England. How else shall this place prove a match to it’s brethren in Kansas City, it will be with the level of performance in battle that I will bring.
When I sit upon the throne of power above all others as the Eastern Heavyweight Champion, you Riley shall stand by my side in all that glory. Then shall we proceed upon the task of defending that title with the honor that comes with holding it, in doing so we shall mold a new generation of legion soldier’s. A new generation of men that are within a class of their own, skilled to all styles of wrestling upon the battlefield and within a mind frame that has been bent towards success and yarns for the taste of victory. Together we shall build an empire out of New England, an empire which shall one day prove itself against the original POW branch as the more dominant.
The face of Riley is set into a look of shock, a small sweat has appeared across his brow as his eyes seemed to bulge from his head. Raising his right hand and mug of coffee up to his lips he takes a long sip, the now cold drink after losing all it’s warmth during the talk bitterly trickles down the throat of the manager. Placing the empting cup upon the surface of the oak coffee table Riley watches as his client sinks back into the shadows of the armchair, a mixture of boredom, anger and thoughtfulness across his facial expressions. The scene starts to fade to black as the legion soldier merges in with the shadows of the armchair, the last reminence of his being is the bring red color of an ancient design of tunic.
The wrestling manager known simply as Riley rotates the wrists of both his left and right hands as the teaspoons held in each continue to stir the coffee within two brown ceramic mugs, the steam emitting from the hot liquid starts to span towards the ceiling from the surface until it evaporates into air. The man pulls the teaspoons out from the hot liquid, tapping the handle slightly on the side of the mug to remove those couple of small drops that always seems to stick to the spoon, he throws the pair of spoons into the small kitchen sink installed into the system of benches that surrounds the majority of the small kitchen. Picking the drink up from the surface of the counter he make’s his way slowly from the light of the kitchen and into the gloom of the living room area. Placing the mugs upon the oak coffee table Riley lowers himself into the closest and empty recliner, the soft sigh of relaxation escapes his lips as he finally take his weight from his tired legs. Leaning forward he places his index finger through the handle of the mug of coffee, pulling it towards his opens mouth he takes a small sip from the very edge of the surface.
From the shadows and deep within the recliner armchair opposite Riley a pale hand reaches towards the second cup of coffee and with a quick grasp of his palm the mug of coffee is brought back into the shadows. The shimmer of a red tunic from the bottom of the scene shows the man within the shadows of the armchair place his right foot upon the surface of the oak coffee table.
Riley: Macros, is there even a need for you to place ya foot on the surface of the coffee table. For one I think my coffee would taste and smell just fine without the addition of the stench ya feet seem to radiate.
Slowly Macros removes his foot from the surface of the coffee table and into the shadows that his armchair is swallowed by. A small smile crosses the face of Riley as once again he takes a small sip from the edge of his coffee and with a nod of his head and a grunt of approval he decides that this brew of coffee is exceptionally good, closing his eyes the manager begins the start of his afternoon snooze he has always enjoyed. As if to destroy the managers calm expression and time of piece, from the shadows of the opposite armchair the sound of coffee being forcefully sucked down the throat of Macros. The long and lasting squelching sound echoes through the small and nearly empty room like a man yelling from the top of a mountain, the eyes of the manager suddenly pop open in a look of pure aggravation.
Riley: GULPS. Small Gulps. Bring ya mouth down into the coffee and scoop it up, that way we can both be saved the annoyance of that sound. For the love of the gods, what I would give for just 10 minutes of piece.
With those last words Riley brings the palm of his free hand to wedge against the arm of his chair and the side of his head, with knowing that he would be getting no afternoon snooze today the manager lets out a small sigh.
Riley: So what is it? Ya have doubt about your career? Ya have doubts about your upcoming match? What is battling with ya emotions that has made ya become so annoying to myself today?
Macros leans forward into the light emitting form the fluorescent lamp hanging from the ceiling in the kitchen, if there was any show of emotion upon his face they were hidden by flickers of light and shadow that danced across his facial expressions.
Macros: I am the Legion Soldier. I do not hold doubt within my match, career, life or anything in general? Everything is as it is supposed to be, whom am I to doubt what is inevitable?
Riley: Now Macros all men hold doubt within themselves or the world, in some way or another? Personally I do not think there is any shame in ya having doubts about your upcoming match, John Anthony is a eligible opponent?
Macros: I have no doubt. There is no doubt within my mind, only a boredom of having to be imprisoned within these walls while you take your afternoon snooze. Such a boredom which has been developing ever since I returned to this promotion, such a boredom which has only continued to grow come week after week that I have to pit my skills against a lesser being. So far Josh Eagles has been the only man to prove a challenge, so far it was my former mentor whom was able to push me towards new physical and mental boundaries that I had yet to of conquered. It was the battle between myself and Josh Eagles that strove myself to brake through a number of walls within my mind, freeing power and energy that I thought could never be conceded possible. I find that now a growing anger rises up inside me like an eagle spreading it’s wings in preparation to burst into flight, an anger that continues to grow day by day. But why does such an anger grow inside me? Week upon week I find myself being forced into battles against men chosen from the very bottom of competitors, men that are covered with rust as they are scrapped from the bottom of the barrel and placed upon the battlefield as my foe. My anger rises as I feel those walls within my mind that were torn down weeks ago, being rebuilt by a power greater than my own, the power of strength and energy that had come with the destruction of those walls are slowly slipping from my grasp…like grains of sand passing between my fingers. Without the competition of a true fight upon the battlefield, without the large victories and the honor in which is awarded to me upon victory…I feel my power draining from my veins as if a puncture wound was slowly releasing the flow of my blood.
The manager Riley moves around in the surface of his seat, the words spoken by his client are words he had not heard for almost a year, words of the like that clearly showed the possibility of his clients insanity.
Macros: This John Anthony is a wrestler that you say is eligible to be named my foe for this week, I shall be the one to determine such a statement. But if you are true and he does uphold a level of competition that may prove to match that of mine, our time upon the battlefield will prove as great as the gods. Our battle shall provide the people of this world an insight into the future of this New England branch, for to long this John Anthony has been looked as being in contention for the largest award within this branch. There is know doubt within my mind that I, Appius Macros Vitruvious, will be the victor come the closing of the night and hence take the position that John Anthony once held…soon the time of the legion soldier will be upon us Riley, the time when the legionaries that follow blindly my every movement will bow at my feet in open obedience.
For I walk upon my road to a destiny, a road in which no man can present a challenge towards me. Even the great Canadian wrestler Josh Eagles resembled nothing but a pebble upon my path, a simple little insignificant pebble that I once and for all swept from my path and into my past. Who shall stand in my way once I toss aside the man John Anthony? Mick Cormac, a lover of the ale who in his drunken state cant even remember why he has stepped within the ropes of the battlefield? JR Zevon, the current Eastern Heavyweight Champion whom was handed that title after defeating just a handful of pathetic wrestlers? No. Appius Macros Vitruvious was sent to this place for a purpose, I was sent to this place to rid it of those that are deemed lacking and in doing so take my position above all those whom revolve around the world of New England. How else shall this place prove a match to it’s brethren in Kansas City, it will be with the level of performance in battle that I will bring.
When I sit upon the throne of power above all others as the Eastern Heavyweight Champion, you Riley shall stand by my side in all that glory. Then shall we proceed upon the task of defending that title with the honor that comes with holding it, in doing so we shall mold a new generation of legion soldier’s. A new generation of men that are within a class of their own, skilled to all styles of wrestling upon the battlefield and within a mind frame that has been bent towards success and yarns for the taste of victory. Together we shall build an empire out of New England, an empire which shall one day prove itself against the original POW branch as the more dominant.
The face of Riley is set into a look of shock, a small sweat has appeared across his brow as his eyes seemed to bulge from his head. Raising his right hand and mug of coffee up to his lips he takes a long sip, the now cold drink after losing all it’s warmth during the talk bitterly trickles down the throat of the manager. Placing the empting cup upon the surface of the oak coffee table Riley watches as his client sinks back into the shadows of the armchair, a mixture of boredom, anger and thoughtfulness across his facial expressions. The scene starts to fade to black as the legion soldier merges in with the shadows of the armchair, the last reminence of his being is the bring red color of an ancient design of tunic.