Post by Murdoc on Aug 25, 2005 17:28:50 GMT -5
{A stealthy and silent figure slips through the corridors of the PCW Arena, his footsteps quietly moving along with no noise whatsoever. A rather ratty brown overcoat covering the lanky figure, he continues deep into the bowels of the PCW arena as he makes his way past the Prophet's locker room...past Slither's...finally coming to rest at the locker room of one Sean Hunter. More than likely, the room shared by Mr. Hunter and his lovely wife, Angelica Night. Pulling a small, white envelope out, nothing on the front but Mrs. Hunter's name, the figure quietly slips the envelope into the box hanging near the side of the door for fan mail, PCW related announcements, etc etc.}
Special delivery, Mrs. Hunter.
{With this being said, the figure moves back the way it came, traversing its steps once more as he makes it to the entrance However, as the man reaches the front doors, the security guard stops him for a moment to identify the man, as no one was allowed backstage but roster members. The guard's hand comes to rest on the man's shoulder as he speaks.}
Hey! Just whaddya think yer doin', mister?
{The cloaked man's hand snapping up instinctively to grab the officer's hand. His hand wrapped around the impediment to his departure, the robed figure's finger tighten more and more, beginning to cut off the very blood flow to the man's fingers. The guard crying out in pain, the man suddenly feels his body turned around as the cloak is pulled from over his head, revealing none other than...the Prophet.}
Let me pass, if you wish to keep your hand in complete working order!
{The guard stammering a bit, the hand loosening on the Prophet's shoulder as the all around gasp a bit and watch the goings-on. Reaching inside the folds of his cloak once more, he pulls out a small tape and tosses it onto the receptionist's desk, speaking matter-of-factly afterwards.}
Give this to Malave. He knows what to do with it.
{With that, The Prophet walks outside into the brilliant sunlight, instinctively pulling the hood of the cloak over his head once more, tugging it closer as he walks off into the day, venturing to some unknown destination. Safe to say, he was on a mission. He had a purpose. Just what it was though, was ANYBODY'S guess. As for the letter...? Well....}
'As we inch nearer and nearer to Deception
None shall know what is planned for the final outcome
Gathering power & strength to it, the flames
Embrace the prospect of scorching human flesh,
Lighting up the night-time air, &
Igniting the very souls of those who ignorantly seek to
Control it.
All of this a fantastic dream, a
Whimsical imagination of what will pass.
In Hell's domain lies true pain, true suffering. Those who
Live in it's realm shall not be freed, yet
Left only to the howling wolves,
Biting & clawing at the wretches who
Understand that their souls, their very beings are
Resigned to a fate of smoke, ashes, & unending torment.
Never play with fire, Angelica.'
(OOC)Note: This occurred the morning of Trauma [17]
Special delivery, Mrs. Hunter.
{With this being said, the figure moves back the way it came, traversing its steps once more as he makes it to the entrance However, as the man reaches the front doors, the security guard stops him for a moment to identify the man, as no one was allowed backstage but roster members. The guard's hand comes to rest on the man's shoulder as he speaks.}
Hey! Just whaddya think yer doin', mister?
{The cloaked man's hand snapping up instinctively to grab the officer's hand. His hand wrapped around the impediment to his departure, the robed figure's finger tighten more and more, beginning to cut off the very blood flow to the man's fingers. The guard crying out in pain, the man suddenly feels his body turned around as the cloak is pulled from over his head, revealing none other than...the Prophet.}
Let me pass, if you wish to keep your hand in complete working order!
{The guard stammering a bit, the hand loosening on the Prophet's shoulder as the all around gasp a bit and watch the goings-on. Reaching inside the folds of his cloak once more, he pulls out a small tape and tosses it onto the receptionist's desk, speaking matter-of-factly afterwards.}
Give this to Malave. He knows what to do with it.
{With that, The Prophet walks outside into the brilliant sunlight, instinctively pulling the hood of the cloak over his head once more, tugging it closer as he walks off into the day, venturing to some unknown destination. Safe to say, he was on a mission. He had a purpose. Just what it was though, was ANYBODY'S guess. As for the letter...? Well....}
'As we inch nearer and nearer to Deception
None shall know what is planned for the final outcome
Gathering power & strength to it, the flames
Embrace the prospect of scorching human flesh,
Lighting up the night-time air, &
Igniting the very souls of those who ignorantly seek to
Control it.
All of this a fantastic dream, a
Whimsical imagination of what will pass.
In Hell's domain lies true pain, true suffering. Those who
Live in it's realm shall not be freed, yet
Left only to the howling wolves,
Biting & clawing at the wretches who
Understand that their souls, their very beings are
Resigned to a fate of smoke, ashes, & unending torment.
Never play with fire, Angelica.'
(OOC)Note: This occurred the morning of Trauma [17]
