Post by "Arcane" Klusa White on Sept 28, 2011 16:30:51 GMT -5
The arena is filled with a sound of soft piano. Certain members of those in attendance turn to question their friends or family, as the music is unfamiliar to their ears. The lighting remains the same as the default setting of Tuesday Night Triumph's elaborate setup. An aura of confusion slowly infects the audience as they try to comprehend the situation before them. Even some members of the ringside staff seem to be uninformed. Cameras that are providing a live feed for those watching from the comfort of their homes all turn toward the grand stage, waiting for somebody to appear on that famed steel platform.
"Full the moon and midnight sky,
Through the dark they ride;
Warriors of forever will sacrifice their right...One for all, and all for one,
The future time has come;
Faces filled with torment,
Your heartbeat's like a drum...
Never will you look back again.
You'll fight on 'til the end...
Together we will live on
Forever more...
In this land we have defended from all things dark and cruel,
Now we are defenseless, in a land where dragons rule...
In this land we have defended from all things dark and cruel,
Now we are defenseless, in a land where dragons rule..."
The sound of a piercing electric guitar overtakes the soft piano as Dragonforce's "Where Dragons Rule" from the album Valley of the Damned. The black curtain is thrown to the side by a man never before seen in Glory and Honor Wrestling. Clothed in a black and red costume, the unidentified man progresses towards the edge of the stage. He plants his heels directly atop the incline, and the masked man looks from side to side. His mask has an interesting design, resembling that of a dragon to no one's surprise. His eyes shift from left to right as he examines those before him. His head gives a subtle nod, and the mystery man takes his first step down the ramp.
"Who the hell is this guy? Why is he interrupting our show?"
"I don't know who he is. But he's in ring gear, so I'm pretty sure he's a Fighty fighty person. Either that, or some kid with enough money to look like a professional. I'll go with the former, though."
The mystery man continues his way down the ramp, trodden by many legends before him. He constantly turns his head from one side to another, very attentive towards the countless anonymous faces around him. Some cheering, some booing, but the majority clueless to who this masked oddity is. He finally seems to concentrate as his focus drifts over to the squared circle, now only a few feet in front of him. The unknown person walks slowly up the steel steps and onto the apron, basking in the spotlight and in that moment whilst he seems to be the center of the ever expansive universe. He stands in that moment as time seems to come to a standstill itself. But just as quickly as it came, it ends, and the masked marauder steps through the ropes and enters the famed ring of GHW, the tired and legendary canvas still strong under his feet. He walks in circles around the inside of the ring for a moment before reaching down for a microphone by the ropes, a tool he'll use to make his identity known and his voice heard.
"Mans vārds ir KluĊĦa White."
The audience responds with a rising and cooperative chant. "WHAT?" is the only thing that group has to say. Klusa looks around at the crowd and shakes his head in a solemn vow of disapproval. He almost chuckles to himself, but he continues on with what he has to say to the large, expansive audience.
"But of course, you don't know Latvian. And likewise, you don't know me. My name is Klusa White. I am from Latvia, but because most of you are uneducated, like the slobby masses, I'll need to inform you that Latvia is a country in Europe. The more you know. Now, I was a god among men in the Latvian wrestling circuit. I was getting tired of fighting the same old people in the same old arena in front of the same old fans. Nothing ever changed. But variety is the spice of life, my friends. It is needed to keep ourselves captivated and captivating. My performances wouldn't be nearly as good if I was bored with what I was doing, no? And I heard of this huge global phenomena, Glory and Honor Wrestling. And I unclenched my fist and let the Latvian wrestling community go, and I decided to make GHW my own."
Klusa smiles, his mouth and chiseled jaw the only part of his face unconcealed by his mask. His paperthin accent seems to fade through in his speech when he speaks in English, but no so much that his speakings are intolerable or annoying. The audience decides to lend him an ear and he takes that ball and runs with it as fast as he can.
"You will come to find, in due time, that I don't talk very often. But I can garuntee you that when I do speak, the words will be impacting, as if an earthquake has striken. My fighting style? Explosive. Me? I'm arcane. But perhaps I've said enough. So I'll leave you with something to think about, alright? Everything you know about GHW is going to fade out soon enough. And Klusa White is going to fade in as it does."
Klusa smiles, although the cocky smirk had never left his face in the first place. The masked Latvian drops the microphone, which hits the canvas with a deafening boom. While some members of the audience cover their ears upon hearing it, White seems to absorb it as if it were music to his ears. "Where Dragons Rule" begins to play again as Klusa White steps through the ropes and down to ringside. The feed fades away as the show cuts to commercial, leaving an aura of interest in the mind of the ongoers.
"Full the moon and midnight sky,
Through the dark they ride;
Warriors of forever will sacrifice their right...One for all, and all for one,
The future time has come;
Faces filled with torment,
Your heartbeat's like a drum...
Never will you look back again.
You'll fight on 'til the end...
Together we will live on
Forever more...
In this land we have defended from all things dark and cruel,
Now we are defenseless, in a land where dragons rule...
In this land we have defended from all things dark and cruel,
Now we are defenseless, in a land where dragons rule..."
The sound of a piercing electric guitar overtakes the soft piano as Dragonforce's "Where Dragons Rule" from the album Valley of the Damned. The black curtain is thrown to the side by a man never before seen in Glory and Honor Wrestling. Clothed in a black and red costume, the unidentified man progresses towards the edge of the stage. He plants his heels directly atop the incline, and the masked man looks from side to side. His mask has an interesting design, resembling that of a dragon to no one's surprise. His eyes shift from left to right as he examines those before him. His head gives a subtle nod, and the mystery man takes his first step down the ramp.
"Who the hell is this guy? Why is he interrupting our show?"
"I don't know who he is. But he's in ring gear, so I'm pretty sure he's a Fighty fighty person. Either that, or some kid with enough money to look like a professional. I'll go with the former, though."
The mystery man continues his way down the ramp, trodden by many legends before him. He constantly turns his head from one side to another, very attentive towards the countless anonymous faces around him. Some cheering, some booing, but the majority clueless to who this masked oddity is. He finally seems to concentrate as his focus drifts over to the squared circle, now only a few feet in front of him. The unknown person walks slowly up the steel steps and onto the apron, basking in the spotlight and in that moment whilst he seems to be the center of the ever expansive universe. He stands in that moment as time seems to come to a standstill itself. But just as quickly as it came, it ends, and the masked marauder steps through the ropes and enters the famed ring of GHW, the tired and legendary canvas still strong under his feet. He walks in circles around the inside of the ring for a moment before reaching down for a microphone by the ropes, a tool he'll use to make his identity known and his voice heard.
"Mans vārds ir KluĊĦa White."
The audience responds with a rising and cooperative chant. "WHAT?" is the only thing that group has to say. Klusa looks around at the crowd and shakes his head in a solemn vow of disapproval. He almost chuckles to himself, but he continues on with what he has to say to the large, expansive audience.
"But of course, you don't know Latvian. And likewise, you don't know me. My name is Klusa White. I am from Latvia, but because most of you are uneducated, like the slobby masses, I'll need to inform you that Latvia is a country in Europe. The more you know. Now, I was a god among men in the Latvian wrestling circuit. I was getting tired of fighting the same old people in the same old arena in front of the same old fans. Nothing ever changed. But variety is the spice of life, my friends. It is needed to keep ourselves captivated and captivating. My performances wouldn't be nearly as good if I was bored with what I was doing, no? And I heard of this huge global phenomena, Glory and Honor Wrestling. And I unclenched my fist and let the Latvian wrestling community go, and I decided to make GHW my own."
Klusa smiles, his mouth and chiseled jaw the only part of his face unconcealed by his mask. His paperthin accent seems to fade through in his speech when he speaks in English, but no so much that his speakings are intolerable or annoying. The audience decides to lend him an ear and he takes that ball and runs with it as fast as he can.
"You will come to find, in due time, that I don't talk very often. But I can garuntee you that when I do speak, the words will be impacting, as if an earthquake has striken. My fighting style? Explosive. Me? I'm arcane. But perhaps I've said enough. So I'll leave you with something to think about, alright? Everything you know about GHW is going to fade out soon enough. And Klusa White is going to fade in as it does."
Klusa smiles, although the cocky smirk had never left his face in the first place. The masked Latvian drops the microphone, which hits the canvas with a deafening boom. While some members of the audience cover their ears upon hearing it, White seems to absorb it as if it were music to his ears. "Where Dragons Rule" begins to play again as Klusa White steps through the ropes and down to ringside. The feed fades away as the show cuts to commercial, leaving an aura of interest in the mind of the ongoers.
