01-31-2017, 05:41 PM
[INTRO POST]
Twenty foot LED screens bordered a darkened gateway, bright lights positioned at the edges to facilitate in silhouetting anything behind the threshold.
Outside, a ramp, then a concrete floor with a single box in the center. A raised platform with ropes strung across each side, hooked to posts at each corner.
Everywhere else, the roar of the crowd. Tiered seats encircling the arena, only cut through by the gateway. Hundreds of tickets sold, every, spot filled. Above them, in a mesh of catwalks, wires, and electrical boxes, lamps and spotlights cycled through white, purple, and yellow. The cheering and bellowing of the mob sang throughout the entire building, vibrating the walls, echoing out through every interior hallway and room.
There was a crackling sound that somehow overpowered the cacophony, followed by a man’s voice project through multiple speakers set up strategically throughout the space.
“Laaaadiiiies and gentlemaaaan…”
The roar ceased to rumbling chatter, groups of fans with ear-to-ear grins whispering and pointing at the screens that suddenly went black, the lighting that suddenly dimmed.
“Welcoooome… tooo…
WWOMNI SMACKDOWN VS RAW!!”
Everything started up again. The crowd, the lights, the screens now displaying images of a silhouette figure. It was kind of bipedal, humanoid mass, but with raised heels and smooth pieces of something all over its body. A kilt hung down from its waist, next to a massive sheathed blade.
“Frooooom teeeaaaam Smackdooowwwwnn…
HOO-uh-HOMIN RA-Ray? Rat?- RATIONE! THE NOVAN FUR-FUER-FUR-TUM-IN-did I say that right? Whatever-TRAINED AND SEASONED VETERAN OF THE FIFTY-YEARS WAR AND PARTICIPANT IN THE LAST STAND OF MULCIBUS!- wait what even is that?”
For about a second or two, the entire crowd went silent. All that could be hear were a few murmurs, a kid crying, everyone scratching their heads and raising eyebrows. Eventually, the quiet was broken by a single bearded, portly man with two beer cans strapped to the side of his baseball cap and hoses feeding to his mouth stood on top of the fence at the front row.
“WOO ALIENS!”
Instantly the roar resumed, chanting the phrase in a rhythmic holler.
“WOO ALIENS! WOO ALIENS! WOO ALIENS!”
At the door way, the silhouette from the screens melted into the light. A hulking, massive figure with solid steel armor covering every inch of their body. A helm with two prongs at the front and a glass visor scanned the crowd. Half of them applauded, half of them booed. In a steady pace, he made his to the ring.
The supports creaked and almost buckled under his weight as Ratione stepped up a ladder, holding up the top rope and threading himself through, before taking a position one corner.
Twenty foot LED screens bordered a darkened gateway, bright lights positioned at the edges to facilitate in silhouetting anything behind the threshold.
Outside, a ramp, then a concrete floor with a single box in the center. A raised platform with ropes strung across each side, hooked to posts at each corner.
Everywhere else, the roar of the crowd. Tiered seats encircling the arena, only cut through by the gateway. Hundreds of tickets sold, every, spot filled. Above them, in a mesh of catwalks, wires, and electrical boxes, lamps and spotlights cycled through white, purple, and yellow. The cheering and bellowing of the mob sang throughout the entire building, vibrating the walls, echoing out through every interior hallway and room.
There was a crackling sound that somehow overpowered the cacophony, followed by a man’s voice project through multiple speakers set up strategically throughout the space.
“Laaaadiiiies and gentlemaaaan…”
The roar ceased to rumbling chatter, groups of fans with ear-to-ear grins whispering and pointing at the screens that suddenly went black, the lighting that suddenly dimmed.
“Welcoooome… tooo…
WWOMNI SMACKDOWN VS RAW!!”
Everything started up again. The crowd, the lights, the screens now displaying images of a silhouette figure. It was kind of bipedal, humanoid mass, but with raised heels and smooth pieces of something all over its body. A kilt hung down from its waist, next to a massive sheathed blade.
“Frooooom teeeaaaam Smackdooowwwwnn…
HOO-uh-HOMIN RA-Ray? Rat?- RATIONE! THE NOVAN FUR-FUER-FUR-TUM-IN-did I say that right? Whatever-TRAINED AND SEASONED VETERAN OF THE FIFTY-YEARS WAR AND PARTICIPANT IN THE LAST STAND OF MULCIBUS!- wait what even is that?”
For about a second or two, the entire crowd went silent. All that could be hear were a few murmurs, a kid crying, everyone scratching their heads and raising eyebrows. Eventually, the quiet was broken by a single bearded, portly man with two beer cans strapped to the side of his baseball cap and hoses feeding to his mouth stood on top of the fence at the front row.
“WOO ALIENS!”
Instantly the roar resumed, chanting the phrase in a rhythmic holler.
“WOO ALIENS! WOO ALIENS! WOO ALIENS!”
At the door way, the silhouette from the screens melted into the light. A hulking, massive figure with solid steel armor covering every inch of their body. A helm with two prongs at the front and a glass visor scanned the crowd. Half of them applauded, half of them booed. In a steady pace, he made his to the ring.
The supports creaked and almost buckled under his weight as Ratione stepped up a ladder, holding up the top rope and threading himself through, before taking a position one corner.
"Our fear is our weapon."