Post by Valquist on Jul 9, 2015 9:29:49 GMT -6
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Alongside my best friend Isis Derrida we once ventured far from the comfort of our home in Infinity City to find a meaning within the wrestling world, to find enlightenment. Now I find myself alone, without my friend.
My name is Valquist. A former architect, a seasoned veteran of the aged art of wrestling. Alone, without the presence of my best friend, my family. Bound to an un-turning road, driven by the desire to do that which is right, my path is now singular. Infinity, my home, even during its darkening, though I have ignored my path’s calling, labelled as desperate for trying to appease my long past, in the grander scale of time my absence has proven temporary. My preaching tone is of enlightenment in a world set in its ways. A world of black and white. The sun once set on my un-turning road, but a new day has been cast, and I will once again honour the mantra of Full Measures. Isis Derrida and Valquist.
I am The Valquist and this is a story about my identity.
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Derrida’s Diary
Entry Sixteen
“This book you have just opened used to belong to me; between its pages you will find a diary on my own journey to find enlightenment. What is the enlightenment I sought? Does this diary confess the sins of the soul and the crimes of my heart? What was the meaning of my journey? By reading the tome of my own hand you will learn the answers to these questions, and perhaps the ones you are asking yourself. I am sure you have many if you obtained my diary, whoever you are. Many years ago my journey began with a transition of lifestyle, a first step on an un-turning road that would define who I was yet to become. I was twenty-eight years old when I first put a pen to this diary, and reading back on this myself I can see that I am not the same person as I use to be. My name is Isis Derrida, and this is the path to my illumination.”
Page 104 (Val)
I must be blind. I must be living and breathing in another universe altogether. I must be weak, to allow this continual slide from a podium ever so high. I believe myself, alone, without ears or brains to ponder my words. My consciousness is lost, not to me, but to everybody else. Wrestling attracts the unstable and violence-driven bags of flesh, for there is nowhere else to turn for people believed to be broken. Is that why we accept defeat? Are we all broken machine cogs, cutting and prodding at flesh and bone, but without ever seeing the value of the fight? The reality of stardom, a bleak path where you are just a crumbling empire, your body seized upon and destroyed by the next pack of the damaged. I must be blind. My path is not of gold and thaumaturgy. There is no prophecy, no plan ever successful, and no barometer. Just untamed wanderers in a plain of nothing but dried deserts.
There must be only despair.
Page 105 (Val)
They must be blind. Blind to worth, blind to reality. I am not too blame for any landslide, I am after all just one rock amongst a formation. They build the fortress, compose the architectural design of a place we all call home.
It is their domain, their influences, their delusion. I cannot be wrong.
I lead my path of enlightenment with an impenetrable shield. My words are like thunder, my words are my weapons. My actions are like conviction, any standard of excellence is never good enough. Defeat, on three consecutive occasions, it must be a conspiracy. A disliking of Infinity, of my Valiance. The Valquist, he is not too be blamed, but admired, for sticking ever so strongly to his code, even in defeat. A string of losses may be eating away at his moral fabric to remain calm and peaceful amongst all Visionaries, but any such morality is fading. Like the sun rising and setting, Val has been left to rot in the cold, never once feeling the embrace. Not once looked upon in any such darkness.
Page 106 (Val)
Of all people, Cameron Behringer is worthy. Val, of all people, you cannot argue with the nature of defeat against a man so well spoken. They don’t find flaw in his irrelevance, his weaknesses. But they see yours. You’ve been exposed, the formula for my downfall is out. You’re being made to question both sides of the same coin, correct? Val the Accuser and Val the Accused. Made to feel both hands leaning on your shoulder, one questioning your inner thoughts, the other questioning your abidance. How long will I abide by such mandate?
A mandate that has failed me.
“Show us,” that’s what I’ve been told. Enlighten as promised. Never forget you’re on a path of enlightenment, stricken by its absence, consumed with finding the final step towards accomplishment. If the brightest spark of suggestion, one to clamber to my preaching, cannot understand my core elements, my beliefs, then who will? Who will ever understand Valquist?
Page 107 (Val)
My path, it has never been confused by its design, or lost amongst translation. People of all colours and perspective, they have not stuck to the web, they’ve devoured its craftsmanship, degraded it, attempted to humiliate it. I’m left chasing shadows, even though the Visionaries claim to be amongst my kindest of supporters. They seek comfort in my presence, but will do anything to see their chosen few overcome it. To humanise me and conflict me. Conflict me with a choice, one of permanence and one of existence. They see that I twitch on my throne, they must enjoy the misery.
Misery loves company, it must be so rewarding to see its tormented face repeat its damnation again and again. Until misery refuses to tolerate itself, and those adding to its itch. To satisfy its own worth, its own structure, the enemy of such misery must believe its superior, even when in denial of its weakness. Of its own crumbling structure.
Page 108 (Val)
A path of misery has not been without its joyful tear. Reward for persistence to my cause has seen The Valquist on the pinnacle of any wrestler’s journey. My path has always groomed sentiment of the idea that one day I’ll be competing for gold and honour. That day is soon arriving, but I do not feel the pull of anticipation or excitement. My enthusiasm for this day and the dawn of another has worn thin, and now I sit with an uncomfortable itch that I do not deserve to be in my position. That of all the Visionaries, it is the Valquist, on the back of a treble of defeats, who deserves no such privilege.
In truth, such a statement as my eyes peer to these diary pages bear little weight. If any. I believe my blessing to this federation and my consistency to achieve excellence, is why I am amongst the elite. I believe wholeheartedly that this echelon of competition is where I belong.
Page 109 (Val)
So to placate any such intervention, they’ve placed the two veterans with no history in one place, believing that we will wind their bow and seal every ounce of excitement before Heatstroke. It’s necessary to have Seth Iser and Valquist formally greet, to eyes blinder than mine. We will close the spotlight before our day of destiny, before an evening of ultimatum, which will leave us hopeless to our cause of enlightenment.
Trust in my ability has seen Valquist headline two of the last five major Visionaries shows, but I believe that I am being built for failure. Val the Accuser believes that he is being made to elevate talent, bring forth the qualities of any and all opponents.
They’ll allow me to sniff any such prize, believing that tempting fate will generate a friction of movement that’ll keep Val in the light they choose best for a veteran.
Page 110 (Val)
What has been prevailing on my mind since another fateful day, has been a remedy to my reality. Should my course not change, my body will break against another barricade. But finding such remedy has proven difficult. Seth Iser will no doubt have to up his game, as every Visionary has in the past, knowing that this is his one chance for a stake at immortality, and a defining moment for his identity. I listened to Seth as he cut what I believed to be a soured promo of intent. He praised me for my veteran-tag, but lacked any substance about my identity. Substance about anything. He skimmed the water, but never submerged.
He too has not been shown enlightenment. If he had any sense of the meaning, he’d have forgotten about Stacy Jones, and of our embarrassing World Champion, and pay more attention to my fine point. It’s time the world knew Val through my eyes. My identity.
Page 111 (Val)
My name is The Valquist, and my path towards enlightenment has finally been given its substance. My only mission since returning to the Visionaries of Wrestling has been to grace the World Championship with my presence. To hold and have it as my own. To live the first chapter of my final story. Every wrestler shares an identical vision, but given what I believe to be a roster that only knows how to cheat and mislead towards victory, I’m clear water against the murky abyss. I’m pure sand resting gently against the clear water, all others are reduced to the needle you find in the sand that pricks you, drawing blood.
Valquist is as real as the sun is hot, as cold as the night is long. I harbour a deity of my own, not just an apocalyptic claim to fame. A deity that guides me across the darkened waters, and one that will eventually rear its head. To achieve victory, Seth will have to see the might and justice of a deity long lost to me. They’ll all have to see it, and believe it. Show us, right?
Page 112 (Val)
Mediocrity has reigned supreme for too long. Ryder Blade, Brett Carson, and even to the smallest of extents, Cameron Behringer. They have come to determine my own self-worth in an age of doubt for Valquist. I have threatened to change my composition, to enlighten through means that makes Val more reachable to the broader masses of our audience. I’ve travelled through the harshest of leaps with my own instability just to be at this moment, here in the immediate future with Seth Iser at my doorstep.
Stricken by its absence, no more. It’s time to undo a ribbon of my own, and to unleash a deity that will leave Seth’s Christian roots praying for mercy from a god that will not appease his premature ending. Seth Iser’s finality.
He is the shield to my sword. His name is Isis Derrida, and soon he will be real.
Page 113 (Val)
You speak so heavily, and with much annoyance, more passion than you thought possible. Then it all fades away. It’s been two days since Breakthrough. Seth, he never showed. Management, they blocked my attempts at salvation. Rightfully so. Funny that I’m so fond of my words, that others on did the talking. I was driven to finally prove a different story in the ring, and now that time will arise when it matters most. No proclamation will scare me, or rear me head into its wrinkled shell. My opponents will not defeat me. Seth Iser was never going to defeat me. But it’s all just words, a sizzle without a fine spice.
Poor Chris McCarthy. He never even got to tell his story, he went through torture for nothing. His words, though spoken, were done alone in the wilderness. No amount of volume would have gotten him heard. He’ll blame Iser, but he should blame me. It was my decision to cancel my main event. There is no honour in shallow victory.
There is no easy step on my path towards enlightenment. I will show such reality at Heatstroke, when reality is seized, and my fondest desires arise from the ashes.
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Valquist.
Twitter: @thevalquist
