Post by Stasis on Jul 20, 2010 17:39:44 GMT -5
The full moon adorns the sky, sitting upon it’s divine pedestal, elevated above all other things and visible to all. On this night, the stars seem to have lost their lustrous quality and are minute blurs which are disseminated about the unblinking moon. The eye of the night is a contrast and is assiduous as well as unblinking and solemn as it watches happenings beneath it and the stars which have receded and gone into grievance at the events unfolding below. The cool, still night air is defiled by the ominous sound of a metal shovel striking and compressing dank earth in its passage deep into the bowels of the earth. But for the crunching sound and intermittent gushes of cool, refreshing air from the sea, the night is unperturbed for the most part, leaving the digger to his task in his own company. Upon the earth, it is too difficult to determine whether the digger is a mere hundred metres from urban life or miles and miles in rural land, unscathed by the industrial machine that is modern society for mists and swirling smoke pours from crevasses in the earth, so the figure is a silhouette, driving the shovel in deeper with an occasional clang of metal meeting rock. The smoke pours from the cracks at a heavy rate and all is silent in the heavens and the earth, the stars have turned reclusive in grief, the moon is solemn in its pedestal and the earth is weeping from ducts in its earthen skin. Through the walls of smoke erected in the earths melancholy, all is made clear, a black body bag reminiscent of a plastic substance has been laid upon the ground and is contorted, suggesting it was thrown down with a disregard for whatever occupies the body bag. The dark silhouette which is barely visible against the dim sky, has the outline of a cowboy hat of a similar shade to the dark colour of the stratosphere above for it is all but invisible in the twilight. The torso of the digger stretches farther down than someone garbed in normal, casual wear and ends near his ankles, suggesting the outline of a man is wearing an ankle length trench coat. The demeanour of the man oozes malevolence and with his entire apparel a deep shade of black, he resembles an angel of darkness, a creature of the night. The shape draws back slowly and drives forward with the tool, sinking deep into the earth until the sound of a clang fills the surrounding land, reverberating through the terrain, creating echoes as the sound ripples and vibrates throughout the air. Through another dainty barrier of mist, the entire situation is made clear, a great mound of damp earth is erected to the left of the digger and a perfectly rectangular wedge of earth has been formed out of the earth by the skilled shovel-work of the digger. It all becomes to clear, with the ominous feeling in the air and the diggers dark, almost gothic dress sense that the body bag is filled with a corpse. The bag is contorted in places, so whether the man suffocated and felt the harrowing experience of his lungs screaming for oxygen while his analogous organs collapsed in turn and he went into cardiac arrest, his muscles seized up and the brain stopped transmitting desperate signals to breathe.
The gravedigger lifts up his shovel slowly before thrusting it downwards vertically with redoubled force, sinking the head of the shovel into the soft ground. Once through the veils of smoke, the mans identity is no longer an enigma, his dark facial hair, imposing, steel blue eyes and the disposition of his nose, mouth and other features make if irrefutably The Undertaker. With frightening ease, Undertake wraps his powerful limbs about the bag and hoists it on to his shoulder like he was lifting a mere sack of potatoes, then, with little consideration for the contents of the body bag he throws it down inches from the open grave. With stiff fingers, numb from the chilling winds and the dead atmosphere, Undertaker grips the zip and opens the body bag, letting fresh air in for perhaps the first time in a long while. The contents of the body bag is a man who looks to be in his early thirties, as he is drawn out of the bag, he is noticeably misshaped and many telling bruises on his pale, dead skin suggest he was smacked into this state. Undertaker had not the respect for the man, or simply didn’t feel obligated to close over his eye lids, and his hazel eyes are still bulging out of their sockets, with the pupils so enlarged his brown iris is naught but a ring. His stiff, tensed neck muscles and clenched teeth coupled with the enlarged pupils suggest it was a bitter end where he was beaten into the bag and suffocated in the darkness while he was lifted to his grave. His brown hair which has been messed out of its once neat and gelled appearance is frayed while his white t-shirt is stained with his own bodily fluids and lack of sanitation suggesting days of abuse for the victim. Undertaker holds the man beneath his armpits by the upper tricep with his feet suspended off the ground, the man once had a strong physique and was roughly six feet tall, the golden ring around his forefinger informed he was married, perhaps with children. It didn’t suffice before he had his soul collected, why should it now? Without hesitation, Undertaker thrust the corpse forward and stood unblinking as the body landed with a fleshy thud. He didn’t perform such acts for pleasure, nor for grief or even out of anger, it was his purpose, his sick and twisted version of a vocation and he did it without the crippling effects of remorse or the chains of grief to bound him, the child who burnt down the funeral home was dead, his soul was the first to go, he needed strong limbs as a vessel and he has them, for it is in the spirit of The Undertaker that true power lies. The man’s skull struck the very rock Undertaker hit with his shovel and neglected to remove from the soil, splitting his cold numb skull open. The Phenom watched unblinking as what little blood left in his skull that hadn’t dried up poured out, made crimson under the haunting light of the moon above, some of the fluid was plasma as the red pigment of the blood was becoming rapidly deoxidized within the confines of his lifeless body. It mattered little to Undertaker has he stuck his shovel into the mound of earth and began to refill the hole, watching the rich topsoil absorb the crimson fluid like it would rain from clouds above. Undertaker continued to shovel, watching the man’s features, which had been turned snow white by the touch of death, slowly vanish under the richly coloured topsoil, gradually sealing the victim inside his earthen tomb. His face is almost entirely covered and only his prevalent nose is uncovered and as Undertaker raises his shovel and begins to tilt it over, and the last fresh breeze of air enters his body before being sealed in his grave. Undertaker is swift in covering the hole he had dug in the earth and leaves no epitaph, no tombstone where he lay, there is nothing to mark his resting place, but what should it matter? The ring around his finger signified there were important persons in his life and through the grief and sadness Undertaker had evoked, his legacy would be kept intact, but it will be forever intertwined with his own. For when his wife looks upon an old photo, she will feel the grief, the sorrow and it is these very things that make up some of the Spirit of the Undertaker, the manifestation of death and evil by the flesh. His indomitable and all conquering will, coupled with his unrivalled wrestling career shall be his legacy, but so shall the shattered lives of those left behind and the souls he reaped from the living.
This was the side of Undertaker the fans never got to witness, the things that occurred in the night are left unspoken, for none could handle what Undertaker partook in the small hours of the day. He was expected to be some class of hero to the World Wrestling Empire, but how can a man of darkness set millions of fans alight, why would a bat fly under the burning sun, or any nocturnal being forsake what is innately correct to them? Undertaker is a being of darkness, a Lord of Darkness, a Creature of the Night, yet when the bright lights shine down and the cameras turn to him, he must be a hero. Undertaker folded his long hands over each other upon the greyed and weathered handle of the shovel, resting his weight upon it as he awaited the arrival of a Thy WWE camera crew. When Monday Night Raw aired, he would be depicted in swirling smoke, under the foreboding moon with a shovel in hand, instigating that he had partaken in a burial, yet not telling the entirety of the tale. No fan would ever witness the brutal assault, the cry of agony when his wrist snapped under the overwhelming power of The Undertaker and no one could ever envisage the struggling, the kicking and screaming as the man felt extreme claustrophobia inside the body bag and went into a daze evoked of trepidation, causing him only to squander his last supplies of oxygen trying to abscond his frightful fate. Undertaker reached up with his left hand and gently adjusted the brim of his hat so his features would remain enveloped in darkness, so not even the moonlight will reveal his face adding an almost portentous air to him for when the cameras arrive on the scene. In the far distance, there is a screaming call of a raven, whose dark physique is visible in the giant eye of the night, the moon. The bird is swift in its journey and descends to the turf beside the empty body bag and pokes its head inside. Being omnivorous and opportunistic creatures, the raven probably found another corpse by serendipity, suggesting the gruesome occurrence is a regularity and one could only guess how many rotting corpses fill unmarked graves in the large plot of land. The raven’s auburn eyes reflected off the waxing moon and the roving, voracious eyes made Undertaker reflect over his competition for the night. The Phenom is so still, the curious raven saunters over to him and looks down at the freshly upturned earth mournfully, for he has squandered a meal. But as the raven pecks at the earth and looks up at The Lord of Darkness, footsteps become audible and the murmur of outsiders invades the raven’s harmony, who flees to a nearby ash for sanctuary. Irksome grunts from camera men and the like are perfectly audible to Undertaker, despite the men’s attempts to mask their voices, sentence fragments complaining about the conditions and the breeze don’t affect Undertaker, they couldn’t comprehend why it all was necessary anyway, his persona transcended the territory of being a mere gimmick, it was a way of life and a gimmick etched from reality.
In the Raw arena, where thousands have flocked to witness yet more quality programming from the World Wrestling Empire, the titantron begins to stir into life and for those viewing the broadcast in the comfort of their own homes, the titantron is centred on their screens. Smoke blurs the image and a black shadow, so still it could be mistaken for a tree is in the cameras focus. Smoke is swept aside like a hand would cast aside drape to better see outside and as the camera pans inwards, The Undertaker is revealed. As before, a dark shadow covers Undertaker’s face from when he pulled the brim of his hat to conceal his face. Undertaker’s long, dark trench coat stretches down to his ankles, which are bound by heavy, leather boots. As the camera reaches The Phenom, he begins to speak:
But before I continue to speak of my opponents for the night, I would like to address the occurrence on the Palace of Wisdom, with John Morrison. By obligation and the desire to send a message to my potential aggressors at Wrestlemania; either the World Heavyweight Champion or the WWE Champion, but instead I was berated by the conceited Morrison, who is so devoid of a pragmatic self-image, he has proclaimed him the “Guru of Greatness” and “The Shaman of Sexy”. Well in truth John, you must earn such titles, I have established myself as the avatar of evil or The Lord of Darkness and my esteemed record christens me Thy WWE’s only Phenom. I wouldn’t call a man who fell foul of Maven and Jamie Moorefield a “Guru of Greatness” or greatness of any sort. But it was a mere occurrence on my Road to Wrestlemania, which will be a long one, filled with pitfalls and traps, but the hunters will soon become the hunted, as when they try to ensnare The Phenom, they will have their souls vanquished. Now tonight may seem quite a challenge for even I and would seem a sure pitfall in my Road to Wrestlemania, but I am The Deadman, the man who overcame thirty others to earn a shot at CM Punk and if I can’t defeat these men, I wouldn’t consider facing Punk at the main event of Wrestlemania.
But as I look into the eager, auburn eyes of a raven, it reminds me of my opposition for the evening, in that they are hungry and eager to make a name for themselves and will do so any way possible. But it is these very men who partook in the spoliation of the former Thy WWE, the one I etched with my bare hands by overcoming all my obstacles to create a legacy and a pecking order to my title, but these “Young Lions” have picked the system apart. I find that I’m obligated to rectify their wrongs and teach them that by undertaking this match they have signed for more than they bargained for. For if it is one-on-one, two-on-one or even three-on-one, the utter dominance and superiority of one of the competitors will break through and conquer all. I have driven those such as Stone Cold, Kane, CM Punk, Maven and even Hulk Hogan head first into the mat and broken them in half, all to prove that it’s my yard and to claim their souls, in interest of victory and in fulfilling my purpose, to reap the souls of the living.
When my face was lit a vibrant orange as my wide eyes stretched and my cornea bulged from the socket to try and take it all in, I knew that the fire I had started was an alteration that was irreversible and through it, the Darkside has entered my being and I no longer feel remorse for the deaths of my family. In fact, the souls of my mother and father were the first I added to my urn before it was cast aside. Neither Rob Van Dam nor AJ Styles can withstand such ruthlessness, such callous mannerisms in the ring, that have made men a phenomenon within these halls. So AJ, RVD….prepare yourselves to endure a torture no man can withstand, produced by the unearthly force of The Undertaker! Both of you will end the night within a body bag, tonight…..Rob Van Dam and……………….AJ……Styles…….will……
Rest…………….In………………………..Peace!!!
With all that must be said having been said, the camera begins to withdraw and the solemn figure of Undertaker, still leaning upon the shovel as he mulls over his match and feels the spirit of the buried victim passing on…………
Inside the arena, the crowd is rampant after hearing one of their favourites speak from the titantron and are tumultuous in the stands which ascend column by column forever towards the open, oval roof of the stadium, which is supported by titanium bars which glisten in the bright arena lights, which shine down directly above the ring from the rafters. The ring is resembles the essential components of the body when reflected upon as the bright white canvas which emits a healthy glow is like the bone structure of the ring, giving the match a frame and providing some protection from the even harder ground. Then the metal cable ropes which are encased in vibrant red are reminiscent of blood as they course around the ring, eventually circulating the ring in the form of a square (hence the name: “The Squared Circle) and the ropes help for crisp, flowing movement during a contest as they propel athletes forward, further drawing comparisons to it and blood. Opposite the ring is the mouth of the arena in Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler, who will likely discuss what they just heard from The Undertaker.
Jim Ross gives a little nod as the camera pans outwards and a Raw logo emblazons the screen before cutting to air time dedicated to Raw’s sponsors.
EORP
(OOC: Apologies for the shambolic RP. But in my defense, it was written in a drunken haze and wouldn’t have been posted unless Blade wanted a winner.)
Also, sorry for the no show but I was away from home with no internet when the time to post came, I’ll be here next week though!
The gravedigger lifts up his shovel slowly before thrusting it downwards vertically with redoubled force, sinking the head of the shovel into the soft ground. Once through the veils of smoke, the mans identity is no longer an enigma, his dark facial hair, imposing, steel blue eyes and the disposition of his nose, mouth and other features make if irrefutably The Undertaker. With frightening ease, Undertake wraps his powerful limbs about the bag and hoists it on to his shoulder like he was lifting a mere sack of potatoes, then, with little consideration for the contents of the body bag he throws it down inches from the open grave. With stiff fingers, numb from the chilling winds and the dead atmosphere, Undertaker grips the zip and opens the body bag, letting fresh air in for perhaps the first time in a long while. The contents of the body bag is a man who looks to be in his early thirties, as he is drawn out of the bag, he is noticeably misshaped and many telling bruises on his pale, dead skin suggest he was smacked into this state. Undertaker had not the respect for the man, or simply didn’t feel obligated to close over his eye lids, and his hazel eyes are still bulging out of their sockets, with the pupils so enlarged his brown iris is naught but a ring. His stiff, tensed neck muscles and clenched teeth coupled with the enlarged pupils suggest it was a bitter end where he was beaten into the bag and suffocated in the darkness while he was lifted to his grave. His brown hair which has been messed out of its once neat and gelled appearance is frayed while his white t-shirt is stained with his own bodily fluids and lack of sanitation suggesting days of abuse for the victim. Undertaker holds the man beneath his armpits by the upper tricep with his feet suspended off the ground, the man once had a strong physique and was roughly six feet tall, the golden ring around his forefinger informed he was married, perhaps with children. It didn’t suffice before he had his soul collected, why should it now? Without hesitation, Undertaker thrust the corpse forward and stood unblinking as the body landed with a fleshy thud. He didn’t perform such acts for pleasure, nor for grief or even out of anger, it was his purpose, his sick and twisted version of a vocation and he did it without the crippling effects of remorse or the chains of grief to bound him, the child who burnt down the funeral home was dead, his soul was the first to go, he needed strong limbs as a vessel and he has them, for it is in the spirit of The Undertaker that true power lies. The man’s skull struck the very rock Undertaker hit with his shovel and neglected to remove from the soil, splitting his cold numb skull open. The Phenom watched unblinking as what little blood left in his skull that hadn’t dried up poured out, made crimson under the haunting light of the moon above, some of the fluid was plasma as the red pigment of the blood was becoming rapidly deoxidized within the confines of his lifeless body. It mattered little to Undertaker has he stuck his shovel into the mound of earth and began to refill the hole, watching the rich topsoil absorb the crimson fluid like it would rain from clouds above. Undertaker continued to shovel, watching the man’s features, which had been turned snow white by the touch of death, slowly vanish under the richly coloured topsoil, gradually sealing the victim inside his earthen tomb. His face is almost entirely covered and only his prevalent nose is uncovered and as Undertaker raises his shovel and begins to tilt it over, and the last fresh breeze of air enters his body before being sealed in his grave. Undertaker is swift in covering the hole he had dug in the earth and leaves no epitaph, no tombstone where he lay, there is nothing to mark his resting place, but what should it matter? The ring around his finger signified there were important persons in his life and through the grief and sadness Undertaker had evoked, his legacy would be kept intact, but it will be forever intertwined with his own. For when his wife looks upon an old photo, she will feel the grief, the sorrow and it is these very things that make up some of the Spirit of the Undertaker, the manifestation of death and evil by the flesh. His indomitable and all conquering will, coupled with his unrivalled wrestling career shall be his legacy, but so shall the shattered lives of those left behind and the souls he reaped from the living.
This was the side of Undertaker the fans never got to witness, the things that occurred in the night are left unspoken, for none could handle what Undertaker partook in the small hours of the day. He was expected to be some class of hero to the World Wrestling Empire, but how can a man of darkness set millions of fans alight, why would a bat fly under the burning sun, or any nocturnal being forsake what is innately correct to them? Undertaker is a being of darkness, a Lord of Darkness, a Creature of the Night, yet when the bright lights shine down and the cameras turn to him, he must be a hero. Undertaker folded his long hands over each other upon the greyed and weathered handle of the shovel, resting his weight upon it as he awaited the arrival of a Thy WWE camera crew. When Monday Night Raw aired, he would be depicted in swirling smoke, under the foreboding moon with a shovel in hand, instigating that he had partaken in a burial, yet not telling the entirety of the tale. No fan would ever witness the brutal assault, the cry of agony when his wrist snapped under the overwhelming power of The Undertaker and no one could ever envisage the struggling, the kicking and screaming as the man felt extreme claustrophobia inside the body bag and went into a daze evoked of trepidation, causing him only to squander his last supplies of oxygen trying to abscond his frightful fate. Undertaker reached up with his left hand and gently adjusted the brim of his hat so his features would remain enveloped in darkness, so not even the moonlight will reveal his face adding an almost portentous air to him for when the cameras arrive on the scene. In the far distance, there is a screaming call of a raven, whose dark physique is visible in the giant eye of the night, the moon. The bird is swift in its journey and descends to the turf beside the empty body bag and pokes its head inside. Being omnivorous and opportunistic creatures, the raven probably found another corpse by serendipity, suggesting the gruesome occurrence is a regularity and one could only guess how many rotting corpses fill unmarked graves in the large plot of land. The raven’s auburn eyes reflected off the waxing moon and the roving, voracious eyes made Undertaker reflect over his competition for the night. The Phenom is so still, the curious raven saunters over to him and looks down at the freshly upturned earth mournfully, for he has squandered a meal. But as the raven pecks at the earth and looks up at The Lord of Darkness, footsteps become audible and the murmur of outsiders invades the raven’s harmony, who flees to a nearby ash for sanctuary. Irksome grunts from camera men and the like are perfectly audible to Undertaker, despite the men’s attempts to mask their voices, sentence fragments complaining about the conditions and the breeze don’t affect Undertaker, they couldn’t comprehend why it all was necessary anyway, his persona transcended the territory of being a mere gimmick, it was a way of life and a gimmick etched from reality.
In the Raw arena, where thousands have flocked to witness yet more quality programming from the World Wrestling Empire, the titantron begins to stir into life and for those viewing the broadcast in the comfort of their own homes, the titantron is centred on their screens. Smoke blurs the image and a black shadow, so still it could be mistaken for a tree is in the cameras focus. Smoke is swept aside like a hand would cast aside drape to better see outside and as the camera pans inwards, The Undertaker is revealed. As before, a dark shadow covers Undertaker’s face from when he pulled the brim of his hat to conceal his face. Undertaker’s long, dark trench coat stretches down to his ankles, which are bound by heavy, leather boots. As the camera reaches The Phenom, he begins to speak:
Undertaker
Death is infallible, all succumb to it in the end, some are thankful it’s an intermittent experience, for all others would crumble under the constant weight of death, but I have buried them alive for decades. Some on their own and others who stand in unison, as Rob Van Dam and AJ Styles do tonight, but inevitable they shall fail, cast down by my mighty hand. I am the incarnation of death in a six foot ten frame and my speech is the incantation of evil and death itself. Many fear death RVD and I am fully aware that you and your partner quiver with trepidation at the thought of being sealed within a body bag after facing me, leaving you with only unremitting agony as you are deprived of oxygen and begin to struggle, but I will pile both bodies in one and in the end, your fear, your pain and desperation will be a collective one. I’ve witnessed in ring performances from both you AJ Styles and Rob Van Dam and from what I have seen, you are both men of the light, self professed or not it is undeniable. You step underneath bright lights every week and take risks to set the crowd ablaze, in an inferno of delight, sending thousands tumultuous with vivacity created from your own effort. But you can only last so long living such a lifestyle and people who follow the light become naught but fleeting shadows under the baking sun and it is then that I shall reap their souls and lay them to rest in the twilight, leaving two men of light forever trapped in a realm of darkness in memory and physically within the bowels of the earth. But you, RVD and AJ Styles will be relieved of your task early when I crush your skulls against the canvas and seal you in caskets forevermore. Death and bereavement is recondite and many desire to know its true purpose, perhaps it is but a mere vessel to a higher plain? Or the end. Both of you shall discover tonight, but your souls will be forfeit!But before I continue to speak of my opponents for the night, I would like to address the occurrence on the Palace of Wisdom, with John Morrison. By obligation and the desire to send a message to my potential aggressors at Wrestlemania; either the World Heavyweight Champion or the WWE Champion, but instead I was berated by the conceited Morrison, who is so devoid of a pragmatic self-image, he has proclaimed him the “Guru of Greatness” and “The Shaman of Sexy”. Well in truth John, you must earn such titles, I have established myself as the avatar of evil or The Lord of Darkness and my esteemed record christens me Thy WWE’s only Phenom. I wouldn’t call a man who fell foul of Maven and Jamie Moorefield a “Guru of Greatness” or greatness of any sort. But it was a mere occurrence on my Road to Wrestlemania, which will be a long one, filled with pitfalls and traps, but the hunters will soon become the hunted, as when they try to ensnare The Phenom, they will have their souls vanquished. Now tonight may seem quite a challenge for even I and would seem a sure pitfall in my Road to Wrestlemania, but I am The Deadman, the man who overcame thirty others to earn a shot at CM Punk and if I can’t defeat these men, I wouldn’t consider facing Punk at the main event of Wrestlemania.
But as I look into the eager, auburn eyes of a raven, it reminds me of my opposition for the evening, in that they are hungry and eager to make a name for themselves and will do so any way possible. But it is these very men who partook in the spoliation of the former Thy WWE, the one I etched with my bare hands by overcoming all my obstacles to create a legacy and a pecking order to my title, but these “Young Lions” have picked the system apart. I find that I’m obligated to rectify their wrongs and teach them that by undertaking this match they have signed for more than they bargained for. For if it is one-on-one, two-on-one or even three-on-one, the utter dominance and superiority of one of the competitors will break through and conquer all. I have driven those such as Stone Cold, Kane, CM Punk, Maven and even Hulk Hogan head first into the mat and broken them in half, all to prove that it’s my yard and to claim their souls, in interest of victory and in fulfilling my purpose, to reap the souls of the living.
When my face was lit a vibrant orange as my wide eyes stretched and my cornea bulged from the socket to try and take it all in, I knew that the fire I had started was an alteration that was irreversible and through it, the Darkside has entered my being and I no longer feel remorse for the deaths of my family. In fact, the souls of my mother and father were the first I added to my urn before it was cast aside. Neither Rob Van Dam nor AJ Styles can withstand such ruthlessness, such callous mannerisms in the ring, that have made men a phenomenon within these halls. So AJ, RVD….prepare yourselves to endure a torture no man can withstand, produced by the unearthly force of The Undertaker! Both of you will end the night within a body bag, tonight…..Rob Van Dam and……………….AJ……Styles…….will……
Rest…………….In………………………..Peace!!!
With all that must be said having been said, the camera begins to withdraw and the solemn figure of Undertaker, still leaning upon the shovel as he mulls over his match and feels the spirit of the buried victim passing on…………
Inside the arena, the crowd is rampant after hearing one of their favourites speak from the titantron and are tumultuous in the stands which ascend column by column forever towards the open, oval roof of the stadium, which is supported by titanium bars which glisten in the bright arena lights, which shine down directly above the ring from the rafters. The ring is resembles the essential components of the body when reflected upon as the bright white canvas which emits a healthy glow is like the bone structure of the ring, giving the match a frame and providing some protection from the even harder ground. Then the metal cable ropes which are encased in vibrant red are reminiscent of blood as they course around the ring, eventually circulating the ring in the form of a square (hence the name: “The Squared Circle) and the ropes help for crisp, flowing movement during a contest as they propel athletes forward, further drawing comparisons to it and blood. Opposite the ring is the mouth of the arena in Jim Ross and Jerry Lawler, who will likely discuss what they just heard from The Undertaker.
Jim Ross
[/center] Well folks, welcome back to Monday Night Raw, Undertaker certainly looks fired up for this contest and has forecasted that Rob Van Dam and AJ Styles will meet their end at the hands of The Phenom tonight![/color]Jerry Lawler
[/center] Well, Phenom or not, Undertaker has his work cut out for him tonight.[/color]Jim Ross
[/center] Well we look towards the handicap match and the main event, when Raw returns.[/color]Jim Ross gives a little nod as the camera pans outwards and a Raw logo emblazons the screen before cutting to air time dedicated to Raw’s sponsors.
EORP
(OOC: Apologies for the shambolic RP. But in my defense, it was written in a drunken haze and wouldn’t have been posted unless Blade wanted a winner.)
Also, sorry for the no show but I was away from home with no internet when the time to post came, I’ll be here next week though!
