To Deliver Under Lies -- GWA Insurrection Role-play board

[\|...Open the curtains, the shows begun...|/}

XIII.

Ether; The regions of space beyond the earth's atmosphere; the heavens. Look like we are all destined for this place sooner or later in life, but now while we are on the earth, let's just enjoy it for what it happens to be worth. Right now, as we all continue to laugh and play for what is the time of the GWA Masquerade, sit and wonder inside of the abyss that is the human head and asking questions for the right to simply just ask them. Yet while inside of the incubus chamber that happens to be a mantra for life, nobody happens to exemplify that right now. Anton Rayge is not even calling himself that as he rightfully should be. But within a martyr rolling around and taking everyone out like a simple whirlwind, it is safe to assume that with being an exemplary person makes for little or no mistake in what is going up against you. The basic means of civilization is to build, destroy and rebuild again. Inside the walls of the Gladiator Wrestling Association are nothing more than stay out of others business and prove to them you have a heart. Just a depiction for some of the illiterate, that good and evil are just barrier lines to define us of who we are. Guess what? You are among the sheep that the shepherd is about to flock. In summary, it is like this - Drake Maxwell is going to lead the gander of sheep (Anton Rayge) out to slaughter. And really most of our karma, whether it is good or bad at the present moment is really what actually defines us for good and or for bad days. You can look back at it and just breath out to whatever vision you follow for light and guidance and wonder if you have good feelings or bad feelings. The bad feelings are which of guilt for another man's wishes and his proverbial moment for highlighted success, the good feelings deny the bad of ever taking place from with inside your body. Whether or not you may like karma or even believe in it, just have a remberance of a bad day and then wonder how the good days have come. Get it? Got it? Good.

Anton Rayge

Drake: Yes Anton, it does come down to plain ability and knowledge when inside of the wrestling ring, but let me be the first to tell you that when in desperate times, you call for desperate measures. Just like you happen to do last Wednesday night, before I was about to go go back to tried to hurt me,hardcore style, the very same thing you did against Charlie Dream. I mean come on Rayge, chainsaw attacks are right up there with being a 'mind fuck' you said it yourself. But if you want to bring a chainsaw down to the ring Wednesday, I'd be glad to know that you aren't using all of your happiness on Luciano and are willing to spare some in return. Call it the steps of being a champion Anton, you come out give a interview showing whoever you beat for that belt just why you did win that title. But, we aren't all innovative are we Rayge? No I think about everyone has done everything to the un-intelligent. Not saying that you are Rayge, but I ain't you the smartest person on this planet, not the best champion on the planet and not the best wrestler on this planet and that's a fact. For you Anton, it's thought of as a cat and mouse game trying to see whose one upped each other. Look back into the childhood because this is not a mind game. Remember Jerry? The little brown mouse who always kicked the shit out of Tom the blue cat? Well its kinda like this, except we're equal by many points. Destiny collides and only one of us is getting the Maximus title, whether it is you keep it or me winning it.

I'm not going to lie to you Rayge, it is a busy world out there and things aren't always what they seem to be. And unlike what your narrator said, it's you who depends on what you do in that ring, not the referee for his job depends on the wrestlers. It's common Wrestling Physics 101, and this is a class you don't want to be late for Mr. Rayge, if you want to lose that precious Maximus title of yours. I'm not going to give up, no I am not going to bow to your feet and recognize you as the god of this earth for fuck's sake that isn't in my job description and you can add along with that not losing just on accountability of persona. If you don't know what accountability is Rayge then look it up in the dictionary for this is not some class you can skip and still pass. High School told you that in order to succeed, you must listen and prove yourself to everyone that doubts you. Right now, I'm not going to deny that you cannot count or try to make an ass of you Rayge, that is not the style of mine. If you want, just maybe we can be friends after this Rayge but really it won't be doing favors for one another or trying to laugh at each other's jokes. This is the land where champions are made and legends are born. If this were school, who'd be the bully? In your case it's me and your High School Sweetheart is the man who helped you try to get the Maximus championship - The Union. Is that a lie? Didn't hardcore help you achieve the Maximus title? It isn't a lie, for we can go to the tapes and prove it.

::Charlie and Crisis continue exchanging punches, rocking each other back and forth. Charlie gets the upperhand andpunches Crisis a few times, then kicks him in the gut and boots him in the head. Charlie starts slapping his leg, but then the lights suddenly go out. When the lights are back on, Charlie is looking around, confused, and Crisis is getting to his knees. Charlie goes to do his finisher, The Kiss Off, when suddenly a wire is wrapped around his neck and latches on. He's pulled back, his neck already bleeding from the thin wire. He turns to face a cloaked man, standing there, looking at Charlie. Underneath the cloak you see a malicious smile...a familiar smile. He throws off the cloak dramatically and reveals himself, holding the wire steadily to the shocked Charlie Dream.::

Gaines: No...no...no!!! WHY IS HE BACK?!

Tranza: IT'S ANTON RAYGE!!!!

::Anton pulls on the wire, sending Charlie spralling on top of the cage, trying to get underneath the wire to pull it off, but it's to far in, cutting, and he can't get at it. He pulls himself to a kneeling position and looks at Anton as the few exchange some words for a few minutes. All of a sudden, Anton boots Charlie all out in the face. Almost slow motion like, Charlie rears back, bloos splurting from his nose. He falls with a hard crash to the cage, it bending under his fall. Anton comes over and stands over Charlie's fallen form, smiling his sick smile. From under his cloak he pulls out his famous sword, the Redeemer, and holds it to his throat. All of a sudden, Crisis looks up and sees Anton and goes to stop him, but Anton points to Crisis, who stops and backs off, Anton staring him down, his hard glare sendin Crisis back. Anton turns to Charlie and smiles as he twirls his sword around and holds it up high...and brings it down through Charlie's stomach, through the fl!esh, bone and steel cage under him.Anton lets go of the sword, standing there as he looks at Charlie's impaled form and laughs. The arena is silent exceot for Anton's laughter. He pulls out the sword from Charlie's still form and looks at the blood and smiled. He wipes the blood on Charlie's still form and snaps...as the lights turn off again. A minute later, they turn back on, and Charlie, Anton...are gone, leaving only the bloody cage and blood stained mat and 45,000 people as witness to what just happened...and Crisis...who just shakes his head and climbs down the cage and collects his title...and walks away...::

Wednesday Insurrection:Gaines: Well folks..that was odd to say the least, but Anton Rayge is back in this contest....and he just came behind Lost Worlds with a double axe handle! Assassin goes for a punch, but Anton ducked it......OH!! SPINNING HEEL KICK BY ANTON RIGHT TO ASSASSIN'S JAW!! Lost is climbing into the ring, and Anton just followed in right behind him....Lost Worlds turns around...OH!! Kick to the gut by Anton, and IMPLANT DDT ON LOST WORLDS!! Anton with a cover..1..2....OH COME ON!! ASSASSIN JUST PULLED THE REF OUT OF THE RING!! Assassin has a steel chair in hand as he hops up on the ring apron. Anton just hopped off of his cover on Lost, and is wondering what is going on...He turns around...OH!! Assassin goes for a swing witht that Chair but Rayge ducked it....Assassin with another swing!! OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!! ASSASSIN SWUNG....ANTON DUCKED....AND LOST WORLDS JUST ATE A FACE FULL OF CHAIR FROM HIS UNION BROTHER AS HE WAS TRYING TO GET TO HIS FEET!! Assassin is stunned...he's not sure what to do now....OH DAMN!! ANTON RAYGE JUST DELIVERED A HIGH FLIPPING DROP KICK THAT KNOCKED ASSASSIN FROM THE APRON!!! THE REF IS IN THE RING!! ANTON WITH A COVER!! 1..2...3!!!! RAYGE WINS, RAGYE WINS!!

Tranza: Damn Suckah...them fools in the Union is all fucked up!

Gaines: You got that right, but Anton Rayge pulled out a huge victory in this match over the Union! But we saw the return of Marcus Gaines, and that odd character Christof....Can this night get any more exciting?

Tranza: Hell Yeah Suckah! Maximus Championship is next!!

Kevin Gaines: What? OH MY GOD!! ANTON RAYGE JUST HIT THE RING!! HE CAME RIGHT THROUGH THE CROWD!!

Tranza: Suckah has a lead pipe too!

Gaines: OH MY GOD!! ANTON JUST CLIPPED DRAKE'S KNEE!! SWEET JESUS!! ANTON IS UP, AND HE'S POUNDING THE HELL OUT OF DRAKE MAXWELL'S KNEE!!! CHRIST!!

Tranza: Suckah just dropped the pipe...AND HE'S APPLYING THE PRESSURE LOCK!!

Kevin Gaines: ANTON RAYGE IS ABSOLUTELY DECIMATING THE MAXIMUS CHAMPION!! Draxe Maxwell a marked man for obvious reasons, Anton Rayge, a man with purpose.

(Rayge continues to apply the Pressure Lock to the fallen Maximus Champion. A smile.)

Am I right Rayge or am I right? I know when I am right and here is where understand it thanks to the invention of video tape, I can prove my points quicker and easier. Even making things a little bit more of proving facts to the false statements. Rayge, groan all you want that you didn't get the job done, but truthfully, if you would have, I wouldn't wouldn't be gunning for you, nor would you have to rely on The Union. After all, your legacy speaks for itself don't it?

{\|...Silence for the fallen...|/}

XIV.

Inside all of us there are two beings inside of the compartment known as our souls, the make believe things you wish to see, yet it has relic movements when you sell it. The two sides of a man are nothing but what many happen to have delt with in their personal trials and tribulations. From the beginnings of childhood to the state of adulthood they now encompass. The sides are complete opposites from each other, a line of symmetry is broken trying to figure if they are the same. For their are the points of wisdom, and evil.

There is your good side, the side where many people enjoy seeing you inside of where they laugh, and enjoy being around you. If you were ever feeling sorry for something as an evil person, that is your good side reaching out for an existence. It might not be much towards a person of evil, but when a perky person releases his or her good side, then it multiplies their sanctum of happiness into overdrive.

On the opposite side of the spectrum is your evil side, the callous, twisted part where nothing stops you from achieving what you want. You backstab, you even kill to get your way. The soul of happiness at this time is cold, unfeeling and on the brinks of extinction. Many of your common satanists feel this for how ever long they feel like it needs to be out. Inside there are points of authority in which you find yourself trapped from within, hearing those voices inside of your head. They eat at you like worms on dead carcass and then you feel the rage inside of you building. You become almost invunerable towards any sort of pain whatsoever.

Evil | Good

The sky, a total pitch of black tint crept over the green pastures hitting down upon strikes of lightning for every single moment as of now was becoming more of the same inside of the eyes of Drake Maxwell. He was right now a One Man Army on the brink of turn. He's done many things in the center of the ring and now had been granted a Maximus title shot. If he could finish the game that is.

Steeping onto the plain for a fresh of new, Drake sighed to himself knowing of his date with Anton Rayge. Although he found high victory on Saturday, he would be back hungering for revenge on Wednesday. Maxwell chuckled to himself while walking through the plains surrounded by dirt piles and bottles of leftover beer.

At first it seemed to him a thing that affected the lights simply, an isolated phenomenon, having no bearing on the things below. Each huge globe of blinding whiteness was as it were clutched, compressed in a systole that was followed by a transitory diastole, and again a systole like a tightening grip, darkness, light, darkness, in rapid alternation.

True nervous, very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why WILL you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses, not destroyed, not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How then am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily, how calmly, I can tell you the whole story.

Voice: Kill, murder, plot, destory!

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain, but, once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! Yes, it was this! One of his resembled that of a victor-- a pale blue championship belt with a cover over it. Whenever it fell upon me my blood ran cold, and so by degrees, very gradually, I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the championfor ever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded -- with what caution -- with what foresight, with what dissimulation, I went to work! I was never kinder to the old man than during the whole week before I killed him. And every night about midnight I turned the latch of his door and opened it oh, so gently! And then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my head, I put in a dark lantern all closed, closed so that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I thrust it in! I moved it slowly, very, very slowly, so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It took me an hour to place my whole head within the opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his bed. Ha! would a madman have been so wise as this? And then when my head was well in the room I undid the lantern cautiously -- oh, so cautiously -- cautiously (for the hinges creaked), I undid it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vulture eye. And this I did for seven long nights, every night just at midnight, but I found the eye always closed, and so it was impossible to do the work, for it was not the old man who vexed me but his championship. And every morning, when the day broke, I went boldly into the chamber and spoke courageously to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and inquiring how he had passed the night. So you see he would have been a very profound old man, indeed , to suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in upon him while he slept.

Voice: End them, end the pillage for who he happens to be and kill him! Beat him for the championship!

The voices looked upon one another.

Voice: Silence, he shall beat them, and we all shall be saved and overjoyed.

Voice: Yes, but when?

I had my head in, and was about to open the lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fastening , and the old man sprang up in the bed, crying out, "Who's there?" I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in the bed, listening; just as I have done night after night hearkening to the death watches in the wall.

The perversity of his experience came to him vividly. In actual fact he had made such a leap in time as romancers have imagined again and again. And that fact realised, he had been prepared, his mind had, as it were, seated itself for a spectacle. And no spectacle, but a great vague danger, unsympathetic shadows and veils of darkness. Somewhere through the labyrinthine obscurity his death sought him. Would he, after all, be killed before he saw? It might be that even at the next shadowy corner his destruction ambushed. A great desire to see, a great longing to know, arose in him.

Presently, I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain or of grief -- oh, no! It was the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with awe. I knew the sound well. Many a night, just at midnight, when all the world slept, it has welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him although I chuckled at heart. I knew that he had been lying awake ever since the first slight noise when he had turned in the bed. His fears had been ever since growing upon him. He had been trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He had been saying to himself, "It is nothing but the wind in the chimney, it is only a mouse crossing the floor," or, "It is merely a cricket which has made a single chirp." Yes he has been trying to comfort himself with these suppositions ; but he had found all in vain. All in vain, because Death in approaching him had stalked with his black shadow before him and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to feel, although he neither saw nor heard, to feel the presence of my head within the room.

When I had waited a long time very patiently without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a little -- a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So I opened it -- you cannot imagine how stealthily, stealthily -- until at length a single dim ray like the thread of the spider shot out from the crevice and fell upon the vulture eye.

It was open, wide, wide open, and I grew furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect distinctness -- all a dull blue with a hideous veil over it that chilled the very marrow in my bones, but I could see nothing else of the old man's face or person, for I had directed the ray as if by instinct precisely upon the damned spot.And now have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the senses? now, I say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well too. It was the beating of the old man's heart. It increased my fury as the beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.

XV.

Drake can only hear his voice fade off into the distance as he looks around himself, surrounded by darkness and following a lighted, but dark path towards sanity or whatever he feels. He seemingly does not have hope right now.

The different between what was truth to him but what was? All he could see was the same things he saw in his dreams, tears dropped down from his face as the scene in front of him was that of maybe he wished for salvation. It was a vision of him, the crown of thorns placed upon his head...

His arms strapped to the piece of wood, blood draining from his palms and feet, it was a recreation...or was it real? As they carried him to the mountain and he was brought down and placed into the crevice where many had died, he felt empty and knew he could not die on this path, even with the flames of their staff willing to burn him if he did not. The lighting crashed behind him, but never did he shed remorse for what he did.

Drake: This is where I stay Anton, inside of the battlefields and here is what we walk through. No I am not going to go through simple diatribe of you having to prove to me that your legacy is great and the history of the GWA is drawn upon my face. I know it already, I've studied history and now, it's you on the hot seat for history has defined some people from greatness to just plain frail and weak.
The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting. As the landscape changed from brown to green, the army awakened, and began to tremble with eagerness at the noise of rumors. It cast its eyes upon the roads, which were growing from long troughs of liquid mud to proper thoroughfares. A river, amber- tinted in the shadow of its banks, purled at the army's feet; and at night, when the stream had become of a sorrowful blackness, one could see across it the red, eyelike gleam of hostile camp- fires set in the low brows of distant hills.

Voice: Tell them...

Doctors explain to us that the immediate cause of insomnia is always some poisoned or depleted state of the body, and no doubt the fatigues and hasty meals of the day had left the bishop in a state of unprecedented chemical disorder, with his nerves irritated by strange compounds and unsoothed by familiar lubricants. But chemical disorders follow mental disturbances, and the core and essence of his trouble was an intellectual distress. For the first time in his life he was really in doubt, about himself, about his way of living, about all his persuasions. It was a general doubt. It was not a specific suspicion upon this point or that. It was a feeling of detachment and unreality at once extraordinarily vague and extraordinarily oppressive. It was as if he discovered himself flimsy and transparent in a world of minatory solidity and opacity. It was as if he found himself made not of flesh and blood but of tissue paper.

Voice: Treat them to the truth...

Drake: You see Anton it is not like I find you detesting or anything no, all I can say right now is: congratulations. In multiple moves, congratulations and for one here's a congratulations for being a Gladiator champion. Congratulations for having a ego, and congratulations for have finally reaching whatever created pinnacle of success you have, but that's where congratulations end. Tuesday you've given yourself another night to make something of yourself, another night to make who you are truth to everyone in the back and in the seats watching you. This is a defense Anton, and going to the marriage counselor is not one of those things you do for really in this sport, you aren't the epitome of it. You aren't the Michael Jordan of wrestling, you aren't the mecca, you're part of the show, and you'll never be part of the biggest show until you know you've reached it. I have a name tag on my shirt Anton, it says, "Hi My Name is The Truth and we need to meet more Anton, it'll be good once you can get out the realization that you did this all by yourself."

But this intellectual insecurity extended into his physical sensations. It affected his feeling in his skin, as if it were not absolutely his own skin.And as he lay there, a weak phantom mentally and bodily, an endless succession and recurrence of anxieties for which he could find no reassurance besieged him.

Voice: Testify...

Drake: H...W...A

Voice: Teach them...

Drake: Yeah Anton, it is something you know very well is it not? For once in your life you faced adversity from the beginning and you found everything you needed inside of that mind of yours. That was years ago Rayge and now it's 2002, f*ck the knee injury that kept you out eight months for right now, that's not part of the story and trying to beat me is. Right now, if you wish everything played out like a fairy tell then guess what? You'd be in Glore shoes, you'd be the man at the top of the mountain, but coming out of never never land, you aren't Peter Pan and I ain't a upstart Lost Boy trying to take the throne over from you for guess what? It's not about who sucks and who doesn't, it's about skill and not because I say so, but because intelligence said so, fate said so, and fucking physics told me. No Anton or should I call you Peter Pan? Kind of a resemblance, minus the nose, but speaking of which. Peter got married, grew old and then saved his old world. Get it through your head Anton that I'm not a push-over and this is not a resurrection of Hulk Hogan's carrer, I'm Drake Maxwell and we are surrounded by nothing but mirrors to try and lude you away from the truth, something that seems to be a recurring occurrence these days with you Anton.

Voice: Hate them...

Drake: You know what it is Anton, everything falters for a reason. You think Rockefeller lived a storytale ending? No he did of AIDS. Jesus died at 33, thirty fucking three! You know, that taught me something; life is short and there is only small things you can do on it.

It was as if he had fallen suddenly out of a spiritual balloon into a world of bleak realism. He found himself asking unprecedented and devastating questions, questions that implied the most fundamental shiftings of opinion. Why was the church such a failure? Why had it no grip upon either masters or men amidst this vigorous life of modern industrialism, and why had it no grip upon the questioning young? It was a tolerated thing, he felt, just as sometimes he had felt that the Crown was a tolerated thing. He too was a tolerated thing; a curious survival.... This was not as things should be. He struggled to recover a proper attitude. But he remained enormously dissatisfied....

Voice: Leaves a bittersweet taste.

Drake: Your blood was shed on the mats for the fans to cheer you for it Anton and guess what, your blood intertwines with everyone who has tasted it and when the symphony of cheers escalate after the beating of three, blink. For you've tasted lost - for the first time in the GWA, the second time around.

Voice: Man they fall for it everytime.

Drake:...it's all new Anton, one day at a time we teach the truth to each other and this is your manual to the truth.

Voice: Flip them the finger, laugh in their faces.

Drake: The past tells you things Anton, for you it was the GWA and becoming something, for me it was just trying to live. You can ask him, he'll tell you.

Voice: Single out their broken cries for help...I am nothing more to you than visions and whispers that drive you to what you percieve as the right things in life. Propelling you to great things ahead, the weapons of the past are nothing more than to fright the member of the present. Defeat comes nearer and nearer for those who find their past one of the more tumultuous times they will ever face. Come tomorrow the present day in which you know will be the past and the actions in which you have done today will affect what you do in the future...

Drake: See? The kings are drunk Anton and you are the second in command and now, think about it for a second. You fall from the second placement near the throne and now you'll be in placement number one, starting from scratch. Last time you did that was November, when you first came.

Voice: Define - surreal; it's something that we've noticed alot now.

And then came the aggravation of all these distresses by an abrupt abandonment of smoking and alcohol. Alcoholic relaxation, a necessary mitigation of the unreality of peacetime politics, becomes a grave danger in war, and it was with an understandable desire to forward the interests of his realm that the King decided to set his statesmen an example--which unhappily was not very widely followed--by abstaining from alcohol during the continuance of the struggle. It did however swing over the Bishop of Princhester to an immediate and complete abandonment of both drink and tobacco. At that time he was finding comfort for his nerves in Manila cheroots, and a particularly big and heavy type of Egyptian cigarette with a considerable amount of opium, and his disorganized system seized upon this sudden change as a grievance, and set all his jangling being crying aloud for one cigarette--just one cigarette. The cheroots, it seemed, he could better spare, but a cigarette became his symbol for his lost steadiness and ease.

It brought him low.

Nice to know you Anton, but the daggers of truth have spoken....and liars aren't liken......