Post by Izurat Karr on Aug 13, 2013 17:28:08 GMT -5
**Our scene opens up on a fairly calm Oklahoma plain. The skies are clear, only a few wisps barely visible in an otherwise ocean-blue night sky, and the wind lightly pushes at the various brush present in an otherwise barren landscape. Our only point of focus is an old wooden fence post, wrapped tightly in rusted barbed wire, illuminated by the bright full moon hovering overhead. If you listen carefully, you can even make out the sounds of insect ambiance, a skitter of grasshoppers and the odd late-bird chiming away the last few tunes of the evening. We remain on this fence post for a good moment, until the crunching of dry grass gives way to the sight of a pair of worn leather boots. The camera pans up, somewhat slowly, revealing a man in what seems to be standard 'rancher' clothing: thumbs casually jammed in the pockets of dusty jeans, flannel shirt marred with dust and light grass stains, a light jacket, and an ornamental bolo tie. Regular fare for any ranchero in Oklahoma, though not many of them wear wooden wolf masks. Burning red eyes visible through the two eye holes in his mask, the man is revealed, quite obviously, to be Izurat. The camera pans back from him as he slowly leans against the post, careful not to hit too big of a snag against the wire. He pulls his hands out of his pockets, clasps his hands together, and begins to speak.**
“With Wrestle Extravaganza coming this weekend, I've had quite a lot to meditate on these past few days. It was only last week that I made my mark in PCW in a match against Charles Luzon, yet the higher-ups found my efforts so impressive, they've allowed me ingression into a contedership match...”
**Fiddling with his thumbs, Izurat looks vacantly at the ground, before looking back up with a quick sigh.**
“I want to tell you a story. Something from my youth that I hope will make everyone understand just what a huge undertaking this is for me. When I was a child, my family traveled quite often. My father was a migrant worker, my mother either working as a housemaid for whoever let us lived with them or keeping tabs on me and my sister. One day, I got to work with my dad out in the fields of a wealthy sharecropper. We were in the middle of harvesting a rather tall crop of corn, the owner allowing us to pick a few ears for ourselves as an kind gesture. I was on about my 3rd ear when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye: a giant wasp.”
**Holding his hands out, Izurat puts his left index finger on his right hand, as if he was pointing something out.**
“It landed right here, dead center on the back of my hand. At first, I didn't know what to do. Did I wait and see if it would just fly away? Could I bear with killing something whose only transgression was simply happening upon my skin? It did nothing immediately to rouse anger in me. That is, until it stung me. Like a drill into my hand it felt as it placed its stinger right here, flying away in triumph as I cried to my father, a wounded cub running to the head of the pride with his tail tucked between his legs.”
**He slowly slumps down to the ground, making sure that his jacket doesn't tear against the wire.**
“Wasps can sting multiple times and still live to fight another day. If it wanted, that wasp could have kept at it, stinging as many times as it like as I just stood there in a stupor. Instead, it made a point to do that just once. My father had been watching the whole time, and when I ran to him for consolation, he was there with a lesson. That was to never falter, to never hesitate, to never let one side strike first, nor last. I carried a lesion on my hand for two weeks, but that lesson stayed with me forever. Wherever we went, from the wasp infested crops of Texas to the hornet households of Nevada, I made damn sure that with every swipe I took, some stinger somewhere was hitting the ground. I had no use for repellents, for sprays or pesticides. I could steal the wings off a horsefly and still have him hovering before he realized that it wasn't physically possible to do so anymore. I did all of that, under the pretense that if I didn't, they'd walk away with something over me, going on about their day in gratification while I recovered from the pain.”
**Sitting cross-legged, Izurat reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling something out with a clutched fist.**
“This is the only time in my life that I've done so little, and yet have been given an opportunity in spite of it. Even the mere thought of getting a title shot this early in my career is something that has kept me up at night. While I'm sure my opponents won't simply fall to the wayside for me to become number one contender, my hunger for victory alone will be my strongest ally in that ring. A win like this is a win for my people, a win that will bring my one step closer to saving my home. Stryker, Rose, Lekkter, they are all fierce opponents, make no mistake about it...”
**He suddenly wrings his hands, exposing the object in them: a tuft of now-smoldering sage, smoke pluming from in between Izurat's fingers.**
“However, like wasps in a field, I must strike them down before they take something of me. And believe me, my hand will be the first to strike. It will the fastest, and it will be the hardest!”
**Clapping his hands together, Izurat turns the sage into a mist of ash. At the same time, we can hear a thunderclap roll in the distance. The camera pans up to see the moonlit night sky, still clear. A bit further off, however, is a very distinct wall cloud, blacker than the midnight-blue hue of the heavens, that slowly begins to make way towards the camera. It seems to completely eat the stars, ominously hovering over the plains, giving the impression that if one were to stand under it, they would be blown away by the fierce winds marking its arrival. Brief flashes can also be seen in the thick of the clouds, making the earth rumble every few moments. The camera pans back down to Izurat, who is now standing defiant, back to the camera and hands on the post.**
“I will not resign myself to the sting of a loss, to the pain of losing. As far as I know, everyone in that ring Saturday will be there to stop me from saving my home. It will be a cold day in hell before I let them get their way..."
**Another thunderclap shakes the camera this time, but Izurat stands tall, unfazed.**
"A storm is coming. If you're smart, you'll stay inside."
**The shot stays static for a while, before eventually cutting to black.**