The Macabre Theater (NLW RP: Ascension XXIV)
Oct 18, 2021 4:43:36 GMT -5
bloodiedfox and ulvendagoth like this
Post by Thespian on Oct 18, 2021 4:43:36 GMT -5
Spotlights shine through complete darkness upon a stage, blocked by royal purple curtains.
A voice rings over the speakers;
“All the world’s a stage…”
Idrissa sighs with a heavy melancholy.
“You all know the saying; don’t need me to play the cliche record-player for you. Welcome to the Macabre Theater.”
The curtains pull off to the sides to reveal three tall figures; each one covered by a black cloth, tied to a very thin string that connects to the roof.
“On the night before Halloween, four combatants will step into the square circle for the Southern States Championship. Let me, personally, introduce you to the first three while the fourth, our protagonist, finishes his own costume.”
The first cloth is pulled up and away to reveal what looks like a zombie crossed with the whitest boy you’ve ever seen.
“Al Jabroni. Quite honestly, I have no idea why you are even in this match. You were hand-picked to represent NLW in the End of Days tournament, and the Thespian outlasted you. You have not won a single match in the company you represented since January. While your presence baffles me, let me give you this.”
A snap of the fingers is heard, before a swarm of cockroaches fall from the ceiling onto the mannequin.
“You are resilient to a fault; unkillable. But just because you can’t die does not mean that you have a chance of winning here. You have no right being here; you are just a shambling body who will get in people’s way, nothing more. You will be stepped on and broken down, until your body matches your brain.”
The cloth is removed from the second mannequin to reveal a body-double of what looks to be a pop-idol, equipped with the brightest of colors in her outfit. Upon further inspection, one would realize the face matches one:
“Keahi Sparks. You bring a bit more challenge to the table, now. From opening contests to dethroning the former Heavyweight Champion! Darling, let me applaud you for that! Let EVERYONE applaud you for sticking it to Mr. Whelan!”
One’s clapping could be heard over the speakers… before a faint echo of a crowd’s applause behind it. Abruptly, a deluge of water pours from the rooftop and splashes all over ‘Sparks.’ Her make-up begins to break, as if she cried it away.
“You are a formidable opponent, Keahi, more than the former. But that is all you will be known for on this stage. A one-hit wonder who got lucky off the back of another superstar on his cataclysmic descent. Drown your sorrows as your career spirals out from here on out.”
Finally, the last cloth is removed from the centerpiece. Standing tall is a samurai of feudal Japan, with a hand gripping over the hilt of his sheathed katana. While this soldier’s face is masked, it did not take a genius to guess that this last mannequin was for:
“Felix. Welcome back onto the stage; I’ve missed you. Quite honestly, you have my utmost respect in this match. A veteran of NLW who more than deserves this championship match over the other two pretenders. Let me once again thank you on behalf of the Thespian. You allowed him the opportunity to take on Lazarus Arjen for the Southern States Championship over your broken body. It is just a shame that he did not make good on his promise to take it away, and for that, he is sorry.”
Another liquid begins to pour from the ceiling of the stage over the armored warrior.
“Did the loss hurt, Felix? I call you a veteran of this company, but do you know what that really means? It means you’ve spent so long trying to claw your way into this position of opportunity that the folks around have you been granted, deserved or otherwise. After your match, you unraveled, if not a little. I wonder where your head is now; are you still the resolute man from before, or is your mind still twisting? Either way, I hope you show us that passion for the fight that we showed you in kind the last time we fought.”
A lit match falls from the rafters now...
“Show us the fire in your heart, Felix.”
… and ignites the fluid that stains the mannequin’s armor.
“On the Eve of Halloween, we will make good on the Thespian’s promise to become your next Southern States Champion.”
Footsteps could be heard over the stage’s floor. A dark figure walks into view, dressed in black robes. A scythe adorns his back and a skull mask covers his face.
“Death comes for everyone, but you three will be the next victims on his list, for this is the costume of the Thespian.”
Despite having a scythe, the man pulls out a second weapon… a magnum revolver.
“Would you like to see the ugliness that resides within you? Because we intend to show you ours. It’s time for your final bows, friends.”
The Thespian walks behind each mannequin slowly before stopping behind the first one once more.
The hammer clicks back.
The revolver fires.
The Zombified Jabroni falls first as blood and decayed brain matter oozes from the hole through his skull. Theo continues his walk.
Another click. Another bang.
The Pop-Idol Sparks falls next as the blood pours down from her chest; shot directly through the heart. Theo continues his walk.
Another click...
… however the revolver does not fire this time.
Instead, Theo looks at the burning mannequin’s waist and retrieves something from its sash. The blaze eventually takes the samurai down to his knees. The masked assailant drops the item that he took before the kneeling man...
… it was not his katana, but rather, his short sword.
“To those of you who know honor, you should know what must be done. We will see you all soon.”
All of the lights shut off from there, leaving only the burning samurai to illuminate himself and the dagger.
A voice rings over the speakers;
“All the world’s a stage…”
Idrissa sighs with a heavy melancholy.
“You all know the saying; don’t need me to play the cliche record-player for you. Welcome to the Macabre Theater.”
The curtains pull off to the sides to reveal three tall figures; each one covered by a black cloth, tied to a very thin string that connects to the roof.
“On the night before Halloween, four combatants will step into the square circle for the Southern States Championship. Let me, personally, introduce you to the first three while the fourth, our protagonist, finishes his own costume.”
The first cloth is pulled up and away to reveal what looks like a zombie crossed with the whitest boy you’ve ever seen.
“Al Jabroni. Quite honestly, I have no idea why you are even in this match. You were hand-picked to represent NLW in the End of Days tournament, and the Thespian outlasted you. You have not won a single match in the company you represented since January. While your presence baffles me, let me give you this.”
A snap of the fingers is heard, before a swarm of cockroaches fall from the ceiling onto the mannequin.
“You are resilient to a fault; unkillable. But just because you can’t die does not mean that you have a chance of winning here. You have no right being here; you are just a shambling body who will get in people’s way, nothing more. You will be stepped on and broken down, until your body matches your brain.”
The cloth is removed from the second mannequin to reveal a body-double of what looks to be a pop-idol, equipped with the brightest of colors in her outfit. Upon further inspection, one would realize the face matches one:
“Keahi Sparks. You bring a bit more challenge to the table, now. From opening contests to dethroning the former Heavyweight Champion! Darling, let me applaud you for that! Let EVERYONE applaud you for sticking it to Mr. Whelan!”
One’s clapping could be heard over the speakers… before a faint echo of a crowd’s applause behind it. Abruptly, a deluge of water pours from the rooftop and splashes all over ‘Sparks.’ Her make-up begins to break, as if she cried it away.
“You are a formidable opponent, Keahi, more than the former. But that is all you will be known for on this stage. A one-hit wonder who got lucky off the back of another superstar on his cataclysmic descent. Drown your sorrows as your career spirals out from here on out.”
Finally, the last cloth is removed from the centerpiece. Standing tall is a samurai of feudal Japan, with a hand gripping over the hilt of his sheathed katana. While this soldier’s face is masked, it did not take a genius to guess that this last mannequin was for:
“Felix. Welcome back onto the stage; I’ve missed you. Quite honestly, you have my utmost respect in this match. A veteran of NLW who more than deserves this championship match over the other two pretenders. Let me once again thank you on behalf of the Thespian. You allowed him the opportunity to take on Lazarus Arjen for the Southern States Championship over your broken body. It is just a shame that he did not make good on his promise to take it away, and for that, he is sorry.”
Another liquid begins to pour from the ceiling of the stage over the armored warrior.
“Did the loss hurt, Felix? I call you a veteran of this company, but do you know what that really means? It means you’ve spent so long trying to claw your way into this position of opportunity that the folks around have you been granted, deserved or otherwise. After your match, you unraveled, if not a little. I wonder where your head is now; are you still the resolute man from before, or is your mind still twisting? Either way, I hope you show us that passion for the fight that we showed you in kind the last time we fought.”
A lit match falls from the rafters now...
“Show us the fire in your heart, Felix.”
… and ignites the fluid that stains the mannequin’s armor.
“On the Eve of Halloween, we will make good on the Thespian’s promise to become your next Southern States Champion.”
Footsteps could be heard over the stage’s floor. A dark figure walks into view, dressed in black robes. A scythe adorns his back and a skull mask covers his face.
“Death comes for everyone, but you three will be the next victims on his list, for this is the costume of the Thespian.”
Despite having a scythe, the man pulls out a second weapon… a magnum revolver.
“Would you like to see the ugliness that resides within you? Because we intend to show you ours. It’s time for your final bows, friends.”
The Thespian walks behind each mannequin slowly before stopping behind the first one once more.
The hammer clicks back.
The revolver fires.
The Zombified Jabroni falls first as blood and decayed brain matter oozes from the hole through his skull. Theo continues his walk.
Another click. Another bang.
The Pop-Idol Sparks falls next as the blood pours down from her chest; shot directly through the heart. Theo continues his walk.
Another click...
… however the revolver does not fire this time.
Instead, Theo looks at the burning mannequin’s waist and retrieves something from its sash. The blaze eventually takes the samurai down to his knees. The masked assailant drops the item that he took before the kneeling man...
… it was not his katana, but rather, his short sword.
“To those of you who know honor, you should know what must be done. We will see you all soon.”
All of the lights shut off from there, leaving only the burning samurai to illuminate himself and the dagger.