Post by Sephiroth du Lac on Feb 26, 2010 1:36:49 GMT -6
((Author's Note: The following contains scenes of a disturbing nature. Parental discretion is advised. The following rp is rated M for Mature for scary and disturbing images.))
Per me si va ne la città dolente,
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,
per me si va tra la perduta gente.
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.
Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
se non etterne, e io etterno duro.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate
(I AM THE WAY INTO THE CITY OF WOE,
I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL PAIN,
I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN PEOPLE
JUSTICE MOVED MY HIGH MAKER;
DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME,
AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE.
NO THINGS BEFORE ME WERE NOT ETERNAL,
ETERNAL I REMAIN.
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE.)
- Inscription on the Gates of Hell, Dante's Inferno, Canto III
Per me si va ne la città dolente,
per me si va ne l'etterno dolore,
per me si va tra la perduta gente.
Giustizia mosse il mio alto fattore:
fecemi la divina podestate,
la somma sapienza e 'l primo amore.
Dinanzi a me non fuor cose create
se non etterne, e io etterno duro.
Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'entrate
(I AM THE WAY INTO THE CITY OF WOE,
I AM THE WAY INTO ETERNAL PAIN,
I AM THE WAY TO A FORSAKEN PEOPLE
JUSTICE MOVED MY HIGH MAKER;
DIVINE OMNIPOTENCE CREATED ME,
AND HIGHEST WISDOM JOINED WITH PRIMAL LOVE.
NO THINGS BEFORE ME WERE NOT ETERNAL,
ETERNAL I REMAIN.
ABANDON ALL HOPE, YOU WHO ENTER HERE.)
- Inscription on the Gates of Hell, Dante's Inferno, Canto III
*The camera falls on the exterior of the imposing facade of the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum in Weston, WV. a massive structure with a long history of madness, sorrow and death. Originally built in the 1800's this massive structure stands the like an open wound. It's broken glass and boarded portions make a lasting impression on all who see it. It's labyrinthine and massive structure built to impose it's will upon the criminally insane that were placed here. Small faces on the building's exterior walls were built by the Irish workers who believed the idols would ward off evil spirits. It is truly an awe inspiring and intimidating structure.
The camera pans on this wondrously massive structure allowing it's full presentation to strike a chord with all who see it. This place was built to be a fortress, a prison. To keep the insane and degenerate within and the rest of the world out. Once entered, for many of the structures patients, there was no way out. It is here we lay the scene and as we fade out of the exterior shot we move to the dark contrast of the abandoned interior. Inside decay rots away at the over 100 year old facade.
In these dark halls the echoes of madness fill the air. The feeling of eyes are always on you, as if unseen residence still watched. Spirits once held at bay by these imposing walls. Unable to leave in life. Now forever trapped in death. It is in these trash strewn, rotting halls that we find a single silhouette wandering the dark. A single form in the darkness. That figure is that of a unliving shadow. A lone creature more beast than man. The figure is that of Sephiroth du Lac and his look is that of a man overwhelmed by sensation. He breathes deep the heavy dust filled air and with a sort of twisted grin he savors the sensation. At length he speaks as he closes his eyes savoring some unknown flavor or scent in the air.*
Seph: Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum, a place ripe with suffering. The dead scream to me here. Their agony enrapturing. Their suffering is like a fine wine. To be savored. To be enjoyed.
*He tilts his face toward the camera and smiles, his eyes lost in a look of glutton like indulgence. A lust that's form cannot be sensed by the rational human brain. He smiles as if lost in a drug's ecstasy, a twisted smile of sadistic pleasure. He lets his hair fall in his face, adding to his already disturbing countenance.*
Seph: Hello, Tempestad.
*He chuckles darkly to himself and tilts down looking around the floor. Loose amounts of trash and debris litter the landscape and Seph just holds out his arms theatrically as if showing the room as some sort of exhibition show.*
Seph: Behold, the very maw of Cerberus. The gates of oblivion. This place housed the very worst of society. Those that came here rarely left. They died in these walls, alone, unwanted and unloved. Oh, if these walls could talk. The tales of tragedy they could tell. Such sweet ecstasy I feel. It stirs in the air. Filling me, thrilling me with visions of darkness. This is not a place for the living anymore. This is a home for the dead and forgotten.
*A sudden sound peeks Seph's ears and the camera moves to it's origin, moving to Seph's right hand side to peer down a dark corridor with various building materials strewn about. A long way down the corridor sits a chair, lonely and untouched for years.
The caution tape barricading the hall from the public that occasionally tour the decrepit facility hangs as a warning but the sound, like that of scraping iron compels one to investigate. Seph just smiles as he looks toward the sound and turns slowly letting his hair hide all but a single eye and a smile that denotes the most intense madness.*
Seph: And the dead keep it.
*Seph approaches and tears down the flimsy plastic warning. He steps amid the masonry and water damaged halls. Leaking pipes and exposed leaks cause water to drip upon the floor. Seph steps amid the acrid waters and moves onward unfearing. Almost excitedly he approaches the chair and stops suddenly in front of it. He stares intently and the camera stares at him then the chair. It focuses on his eyes hidden as they are by his hair, deep as green emeralds as he stares intently at the chair. Suddenly a flash from the camera shows the empty chair with a hooded figure in it, a figure clad in white, spattered with rusty red. Upon his face is a black hood and a clown mask strapped to the front of his face. Suddenly the head shakes violently with preternatural speed. Tossing to and fro in a way that is impossible to mimick by normal human motion. It's intensity is violent, erratic, otherworldly as it tosses back and forth, to the sides, we hear a steady buzzing noise like the hum of flies droning on, small at first but building louder and louder with each moment. Eventually however as this disturbing scene reaches a fever pitch, when the sound becomes loud to the point of unbearable it stops and we see the chair is simply empty and Seph stares smirking, as if knowingly. He then turns to the camera and continues on.*
Seph: Tempestad, for several weeks all I have heard from you is comments about me. How I am inadequate. How my influence is an abomination to this sport we call wrestling. All I have heard is how you want to be known for your accomplishments. How you wish to be counted as a man of honor. Big words for a man that has failed not once, not twice, but three times to fall to me in competition. You talk big and mighty. Brave and proud. You speak of salvation, and honor, and stopping me right here right now. Our champion, Tempestad. Our hero, Tempestad. Our savior. You talk and you talk but what you fail to realize is this...
*Seph just tosses his head down and drops into a low chuckle. His hair falls around his face as he looks up with an almost pleased smile.*
Seph: I've heard it all before.
*He pauses letting the realization set in before continuing.*
Seph: I've heard the same speeches a million times over. The same words ringing in my ears. Your evil must be stopped. Good will always win. God will see us through. I've heard it all before and Tempestad, I'm afraid I must be honest. I've heard it from much better liars than you.
*Seph just chuckles to himself. His smile, his motions everything that he does, even the tone of his voice secretes his pride and vanity. This place, whatever it's influences seems to fill him with a sort of dark pleasure.*
Seph: You are like the rest of these so called Messiahs. False prophets, you speak words from a pulpit hoping people will listen. Hoping they will believe your false messages of hope. The truth is this... when the time comes to stand. To be the hero. To be the savior of the NCW... you falter. All your words turn into empty promises. Your boastfulness, mere lies spoken by unwise tongues. You are not the first to try and stop my advance. You are not to be the last either. You are but one of many and that's the point I make, my dear Mr. Tempestad. You are but one of many. Your a dime store messiah. A false saint. A puppet king. You deceive these people, including yourself into thinking you have some special quality. Some great power that will see you through this trial but the truth is you don't. And when the time comes I will expose you as you are. A naked Emperor, who's magnificent robes merely exists as a figment in his mind.
*Seph just smiles at this last statement and excitedly casts his arms about the hallway further down to a simple open room. He walks to it and the camera hurriedly follows he points into it exposing a room with bars in the windows and red markings on the wall like hand prints.*
Seph: How fitting then that we shall come here. To this place. A place of specters of the mind. A place of delusions. Where men thought themselves kings and heard voices from their own fevered imaginings. You are like the poor men who came to this place, Tempestad. Deluded. Disturbed. You live in this fantasy. This idea that in the end. When it is all said and done, goodness, light, purity, and love always win.
*Seph's smile slowly fades as he says these last statements and his face becomes serious and stern once more. Devoid of compassion but with a seemingly pained expression.*
Seph: Sometimes we'd like to believe it. The truth is a bit harder to deal with. The truth is good doesn't always win. Light fades when snuffed out by the darkness. Purity can be corrupted with but the right moment and influence and love...
*He pauses and speaks once more with a weight on his words that denotes an age more advanced than his face would show.*
Seph: Love does not always conquer all.
*He stops and looks at the room with a simple sigh. His face downcast but he looks up with an uncharacteristically human look. One filled with understanding and for a second he looks every bit the part of the fallen noble knight he once was.*
Seph: You know it is a wondrous thing how the human mind can deny such stark realities to save us from the cold hard truth. Sometimes to save us from our own dreams being crushed our minds warp and twist to accommodate our own interpretations of "the truth". But no matter how much we deny reality. How much we want to wake up one day and say "this isn't happening" or "It was all a horrid dream", we can't. To deny reality is the first step to losing your grip on it. The first step into madness, and our own private hells.
*Seph stops leaning his expensive and well groomed outfit upon the stained and peeling paint of the wall. It's elegant design giving the appearance of a diamond laying in garbage.*
Seph: Truth is, Mr. Tempestad, this match is your chance. This match will prove your theory. That you can be a hero. That you can be a savior. That you really can save us all. The time for words is over. The question is can your actions back it up? Can you live up to the tasks you set forth for yourself. Because the truth once again is hard to swallow.
*He stands and walks to the center of the hall, a single light bulb illuminating the dark. Fighting against it with it's small humming electrical light.*
Seph: Saviors die for others salvation...
*The light begins to grow a tad weaker.*
Seph: Saints are martyred...
*The light begins to flicker weakly.*
Seph: And sometimes... heroes fail...
*The light suddenly goes out and we are left with darkness and as the scene fades to black one single voice cries out in the dark.*
Seph: Requiescat in Pace, Mr. Tempestad