With an eardrum splitting crackle and pop the screen gave way from the wholly typical World Wrestling Federation:Guild style entertainment of professional wrestling, brutality at it's best, and otherwise sharp-tongued duels of wit or the simplistic exchanging of lackadaisical one-liners to something that, by comparison, was far dark and more dreary in tone. With the blacked sky threatening to unleash a cascade of rain looming overhead, the scene no portrayed to the unfortunate souls that dared watch was that of an old field of battle that one might recognize as seemingly ripped from a fantasy setting or, at the very least,what one might imagine any battlefield from the era of knights and bogus chivalry might have been akin to. Storm cloud darkened grass all along the hills and valleys were stained black with blood as the fallen littered the once perceived idealist picture of farm fields and grazing. The battle although now over had been fierce and there was naught a single soul left standing amongst the pools of blood and the freshly minted armored carrion for scavengers of the skies; as evidenced by the vast number of crows that danced around the fallen. Yet, despite the humanoid stillness a forgotten voice could be heard as slight breeze began to blow.
"Remarkable isn't it?"
"Whether it be for ego, glory, or delusions of grandeur of which shall never be obtained those that call themselves warriors do battle in wars unending; hoping that'll be enough one day. Whether it be their own flesh or their enemies; whether it be their blood they offer to the alter or not nothing ever changes within this deviant system of suffering and death. Clad in the armor of ideals and foolish ambition each of these warriors in turn rise from the depths of obscurity in vain attempts to enthrall the masses whom will never remember them; neither their name nor face. They struggle with all the fire in their souls for glory but they can never muster the strength needed to truly stoke those minuscule embers into something worthwhile; something that the warriors of old and the fans of today can both enjoy."
"It may be time for a change."
"It may be time for something......"
"Remarkable to once again reawaken the fires within."
With a blinding crack of lightning and the subsequent thundering of, well, thunder, the scene abruptly cut to black. However, the feed did seem to end as a pair or fiery red eyes seemed to glow within the otherwise all consuming abyss; identity unknown.
"It's time to heed the call of the Phantom Queen."
With one last ominous declaration, the screen fully fades to black.
"Remarkable isn't it?"
"Whether it be for ego, glory, or delusions of grandeur of which shall never be obtained those that call themselves warriors do battle in wars unending; hoping that'll be enough one day. Whether it be their own flesh or their enemies; whether it be their blood they offer to the alter or not nothing ever changes within this deviant system of suffering and death. Clad in the armor of ideals and foolish ambition each of these warriors in turn rise from the depths of obscurity in vain attempts to enthrall the masses whom will never remember them; neither their name nor face. They struggle with all the fire in their souls for glory but they can never muster the strength needed to truly stoke those minuscule embers into something worthwhile; something that the warriors of old and the fans of today can both enjoy."
"It may be time for a change."
"It may be time for something......"
"Remarkable to once again reawaken the fires within."
With a blinding crack of lightning and the subsequent thundering of, well, thunder, the scene abruptly cut to black. However, the feed did seem to end as a pair or fiery red eyes seemed to glow within the otherwise all consuming abyss; identity unknown.
"It's time to heed the call of the Phantom Queen."
With one last ominous declaration, the screen fully fades to black.
