Post by Siobhan Townsend on May 11, 2014 21:19:06 GMT -5
Below is the application for your applying for PWX. Please fill out each field as needed. You may copy and paste the application in your email or just type up the app as you see below in an email. All applications must be sent to the emails you see below for approval. Please email the application. If you do not have email, then simply PM the application to us. Thank you.
Official email: pwxonline@gmail.com
Brian Hollywood email: colonelbreaker@gmail.com
Also, if you have a biography website ( IE: PariahWrestling.net ) than email us the link-just make sure you have this information on the site.
***Required fields.
Personal Info:(Out of Character)
***Name: Kris.
Age: 30.
Location: Pennsylvania.
Facebook: facebook.com/kristinthalys .
Twitter: I lack one for personal use. Siobhan's is @arequiemsdream.
Email: succubis.dance@gmail.com.
Any form of Messenger: DesecrationInc (AIM).
Character Information: (In Character)
***Wrestler Name: 'The Requiem' Siobhan Townsend.
***Wrestler Age: 25.
***Height: 5'7".
***Weight: 161 lbs.
***Alignment: Face with teeth.
***Pic Base: Avril Lavigne sans the punk trappings/hairstyles/etc. (I know, it's annoying-- but it's what she wants.)
***Wrestler's Entrance:
***Wrestler's Theme Music: 'Control' by VNV Nation.
***Wrestler's Bio: Allison Detorre and Michael Norcia both are known for being a hardass to the extreme… and even they found themselves somewhat stymied at how desperately devoted Siobhan is to her work. Never the sort to be social-- she's rather distant and aloof out of the ring, keeping to herself-- Siobhan is a difficult person to read for most. There are rumors to the source of her militant discipline and ability to keep her focus in the most extreme of environments. Prying into that particular subject, though, is far from wise. Very, very far from wise.
***What type is your wrestler?: The high-flying, almost gravity-defying technique of the Scourge has been mixed with a smash-mouth offensive that would almost be more at home in an MMA octagon than a wrestling ring, the mark of the Neck-Breaking Beast upon the girl. Siobhan's more of an upper-body striker rather than using her legs-- she'll deliver straight-up lefts and rights if the situation allows her to get away with it, for instance--just to clarify on the latter.
***Move set(What is your wrestler's arsenal? Suplex, neckbreaker, etc.)
Please list 15-20 basic moves below.
1. Suicide dive.
2. Various and sundry speed-and-dexterity-based dodges.
3. European uppercut.
4. Backfist.
5. Shooting star press.
6. Elbow strikes to various parts of the body. (Head shots are most plentiful.)
7. Dropkick.
8. Swinging neckbreaker.
9. Lou Thesz press.
10. Springboard clothesline.
11. Headscissors take down.
12. Exploder suplex. (Please, only have Siobhan go for this if it would be realistic. She's not the sort to showboat for strength.)
13. Release German suplex. (See above.)
14. Skinning the cat.
15.Kip-up.
***Wrestler's signature: (Your superstar's move before your finisher. This isn't designed to finish off matches necessarily. However, these moves are designed to lead to your superstar's big finishes. Examples, CM Punk's elbow drop off the turnbuckle, Randy Orton's ring rope DDT, John Cena's 5 moves of doom, etc.)
Please list at least 2 signature moves.
1. Nevermore (Springboard roaring elbow.)
2. A Requiem's Dream (Dragon Sleeper - her finisher in the event a submission match should occur. This is a nod to her trainer.)
3. Anointing of the Sick (Grounded headscissors leading into her pummeling her opponent's head with elbow strikes.)
4. Eradication (Spinning backfist.)
5. Death From Above(Standing Shooting Star Press. Siobhan usually gets a running start.)
***Wrestler's finisher: (This is your superstars big time finishing move. The move executed to end your opponent. EX: RKO, Sweet Chin Music, Attitude Adjustment, etc.)
Please list at least 2 finishing moves.
1. Funeral March (Top-Rope Double Stomp - Low-Ki's Warrior's Way variant, to be exact.)
2. Death Of A Wrestler (Poison Rana.)
***Sample RP:
Sometime in 2007...
Siobhan's body is screaming in protest… but she pays it no heed.
Her sides burn, her muscles ache, and she's easily sweat out a pound or two of water weight in the span of the hour that she's trained so far-- and yet she presses on, her arms pistoning her up and down as fast as they can manage as she goes through another set of push-ups. Blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, the simple blue spandex of her work-out attire clings to her like a second skin as she moves, tendons subtly working beneath pale flesh. The dim sound of the radio tuned in to some modern rock station thrumming in her ears, the Requiem keeps count in her head with an ease and precision that has been ingrained into her through the time that she's learned the ins and outs of working in the ring-- and from the years and years of training she did before she knew professional wrestling existed.
Four hundred and ninety-one, four hundred and ninety-two...
A fresh wave of pain claws its way through the Requiem's arms… but she fights through it, a faint gritting of teeth the only outward sign that she allows of her discomfort. Only eight more to execute, she tells herself, and she'll be able to move on to her legs-- allow her arms the chance to rest a little while she gives her lower body the work it needs. It's an exhaustive and exhausting regimen that she's set forth for herself, one even above and beyond that of those that taught her everything she knows about the business, but she embraces it wholeheartedly, battling against the limits of her own body with every move, every last breath. It's in that moment where the gleaming edge of consciousness lays that she will find what she seeks…
Four hundred and ninety-three, four hundred and ninety-four...
….but is it enlightenment that she is after?
Four hundred and ninety-five, four hundred and ninety-six...
No, of course not. That zen stuff's for pussies.
Four hundred and ninety-seven, four hundred and ninety-eight...
What she's after is far more useful, more primal than that. Dancing upon the razor's edge of survival is how she grows stronger, hardening herself for the challenges that she is bound to face. The best defense, after all, is a good offense… and considering how she's amassing herself a metric fuckton of prevention to cure whatever ailments this business thrusts upon her? Anyone that's stupid enough to not merely lay down and take a couple of kicks to the ribs before staying down for the three-count is going to find themselves in a world of hurt.
Four hundred and ninety-nine... five hundred.
Collapsing to the canvas beneath her, the sound of Siobhan's ragged breathing fills the air as a faint smirk of satisfaction tugs at her lips. She'd done it-- beating her record after well over a week of stalling out around four hundred and seventy. Only allowing herself to bask in pride for a few seconds, Siobhan climbs to her feet, rolling her screaming shoulders before her head turns to one side. As blue meets blue, she swears that she can see him smiling faintly-- a sight reserved for two people that still draw breath upon this green Earth. It does nothing to soften the edges of that Norwegian voice, low as gravel.
You know what comes next.
Yes, Fader.
Without so much as a word of complaint-- or more than enough time needed to get into the proper stance-- the blond begins to drop down into deep lunges, her posture ramrod-straight and perfect and her eyes feverishly bright from the work she's done so far. Seven hundred of these are ahead of her… and so she sets to work with a precision that takes years to develop beneath the watchful eye of one of the most frigid men on the planet.
One, two…
Official email: pwxonline@gmail.com
Brian Hollywood email: colonelbreaker@gmail.com
Also, if you have a biography website ( IE: PariahWrestling.net ) than email us the link-just make sure you have this information on the site.
***Required fields.
Personal Info:(Out of Character)
***Name: Kris.
Age: 30.
Location: Pennsylvania.
Facebook: facebook.com/kristinthalys .
Twitter: I lack one for personal use. Siobhan's is @arequiemsdream.
Email: succubis.dance@gmail.com.
Any form of Messenger: DesecrationInc (AIM).
Character Information: (In Character)
***Wrestler Name: 'The Requiem' Siobhan Townsend.
***Wrestler Age: 25.
***Height: 5'7".
***Weight: 161 lbs.
***Alignment: Face with teeth.
***Pic Base: Avril Lavigne sans the punk trappings/hairstyles/etc. (I know, it's annoying-- but it's what she wants.)
***Wrestler's Entrance:
The opening, pulsating beat of 'Control' hits the sound system as the overhead lights dim. Lights in various shades of blue flicker into being, moving with the rhythm of the music-- and so is the veritable dancing of Dominic Townsend. Cane in hand and a tophat perched precariously atop his head, the Steampunk Prince steps to one side as the vocals begin, a bit of preening done before he's making a most grand and sweeping bow to introduce his beloved.
[center][color=#558CC6][i]Until I should die, until I should break, not a God, not a devil my soul shall take.
If I should lie to betray myself, then I would damn myself, and my soul forsake.[/i][/color][/center]
The backbeat kicks in as the Requiem strides out from behind the curtain, her expression a focused mask of neutrality that betrays nothing as to what she is thinking. Siobhan Townsend's head turns, her gaze taking in the crowd and her surroundings much the way a sniper would scan over a battlefield with a piercing gaze while her husband continues to scamper and caper about in his rather distinct way.
[center][color=#558CC6][i]I don't want fifteen minutes-- want a whole lot more, don't want to suffer the fools and the spoils of war.
I don't want fifteen minutes, or a reason why. I want a stainless steel road stretching off to the sky.[/i][/color][/center]
Once she is satisfied that all is as it should be, she begins her walk to the ring. It's a no-muss, no-fuss sort of affair for her-- although the same is not true of her manager. Dominic is all too happy to schmooze to the crowd, slapping hands and doling out hugs whenever he gets the chance.
[center][color=#558CC6][i]I don't need sentiment, want, or hate on my mind... no crimes of passion or obsessions in kind.
No walls, restraints, or momentary thrill, no blood on my hands, no time to kill. I want my body. I want my soul. Flip the switch to automatic…[/i][/color][/center]
It's about at the bottom of the ramp that the Requiem turns her gaze to her husband, a faintly-quirked brow the only sign of question that she offers up. Chuckling to himself, Dommy takes a grandiose step to one side and makes a sweeping gesture toward the ring-- as if inviting his client to enter the ring as she sees fit. There's a faint roll of her eyes before Siobhan does exactly that, a sudden burst of speed all the more she needs to slide into the ring on her stomach. Quickly regaining her feet, the final three words of the chorus (such as it is) sounding out as she pops up to her feet.
[center][color=#558CC6][i][b]I WANT CONTROL.[/b][/i][/color][/center]
There is no pandering to the fans, no indicator of paying them any mind-- instead? Siobhan simply makes her way to the corner, allowing her husband to do as he sees fit on the outside while her music fades.***Wrestler's Theme Music: 'Control' by VNV Nation.
***Wrestler's Bio: Allison Detorre and Michael Norcia both are known for being a hardass to the extreme… and even they found themselves somewhat stymied at how desperately devoted Siobhan is to her work. Never the sort to be social-- she's rather distant and aloof out of the ring, keeping to herself-- Siobhan is a difficult person to read for most. There are rumors to the source of her militant discipline and ability to keep her focus in the most extreme of environments. Prying into that particular subject, though, is far from wise. Very, very far from wise.
***What type is your wrestler?: The high-flying, almost gravity-defying technique of the Scourge has been mixed with a smash-mouth offensive that would almost be more at home in an MMA octagon than a wrestling ring, the mark of the Neck-Breaking Beast upon the girl. Siobhan's more of an upper-body striker rather than using her legs-- she'll deliver straight-up lefts and rights if the situation allows her to get away with it, for instance--just to clarify on the latter.
***Move set(What is your wrestler's arsenal? Suplex, neckbreaker, etc.)
Please list 15-20 basic moves below.
1. Suicide dive.
2. Various and sundry speed-and-dexterity-based dodges.
3. European uppercut.
4. Backfist.
5. Shooting star press.
6. Elbow strikes to various parts of the body. (Head shots are most plentiful.)
7. Dropkick.
8. Swinging neckbreaker.
9. Lou Thesz press.
10. Springboard clothesline.
11. Headscissors take down.
12. Exploder suplex. (Please, only have Siobhan go for this if it would be realistic. She's not the sort to showboat for strength.)
13. Release German suplex. (See above.)
14. Skinning the cat.
15.Kip-up.
***Wrestler's signature: (Your superstar's move before your finisher. This isn't designed to finish off matches necessarily. However, these moves are designed to lead to your superstar's big finishes. Examples, CM Punk's elbow drop off the turnbuckle, Randy Orton's ring rope DDT, John Cena's 5 moves of doom, etc.)
Please list at least 2 signature moves.
1. Nevermore (Springboard roaring elbow.)
2. A Requiem's Dream (Dragon Sleeper - her finisher in the event a submission match should occur. This is a nod to her trainer.)
3. Anointing of the Sick (Grounded headscissors leading into her pummeling her opponent's head with elbow strikes.)
4. Eradication (Spinning backfist.)
5. Death From Above(Standing Shooting Star Press. Siobhan usually gets a running start.)
***Wrestler's finisher: (This is your superstars big time finishing move. The move executed to end your opponent. EX: RKO, Sweet Chin Music, Attitude Adjustment, etc.)
Please list at least 2 finishing moves.
1. Funeral March (Top-Rope Double Stomp - Low-Ki's Warrior's Way variant, to be exact.)
2. Death Of A Wrestler (Poison Rana.)
***Sample RP:
Arbeit macht frei.
Sometime in 2007...
Siobhan's body is screaming in protest… but she pays it no heed.
Her sides burn, her muscles ache, and she's easily sweat out a pound or two of water weight in the span of the hour that she's trained so far-- and yet she presses on, her arms pistoning her up and down as fast as they can manage as she goes through another set of push-ups. Blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, the simple blue spandex of her work-out attire clings to her like a second skin as she moves, tendons subtly working beneath pale flesh. The dim sound of the radio tuned in to some modern rock station thrumming in her ears, the Requiem keeps count in her head with an ease and precision that has been ingrained into her through the time that she's learned the ins and outs of working in the ring-- and from the years and years of training she did before she knew professional wrestling existed.
Four hundred and ninety-one, four hundred and ninety-two...
A fresh wave of pain claws its way through the Requiem's arms… but she fights through it, a faint gritting of teeth the only outward sign that she allows of her discomfort. Only eight more to execute, she tells herself, and she'll be able to move on to her legs-- allow her arms the chance to rest a little while she gives her lower body the work it needs. It's an exhaustive and exhausting regimen that she's set forth for herself, one even above and beyond that of those that taught her everything she knows about the business, but she embraces it wholeheartedly, battling against the limits of her own body with every move, every last breath. It's in that moment where the gleaming edge of consciousness lays that she will find what she seeks…
Four hundred and ninety-three, four hundred and ninety-four...
….but is it enlightenment that she is after?
Four hundred and ninety-five, four hundred and ninety-six...
No, of course not. That zen stuff's for pussies.
Four hundred and ninety-seven, four hundred and ninety-eight...
What she's after is far more useful, more primal than that. Dancing upon the razor's edge of survival is how she grows stronger, hardening herself for the challenges that she is bound to face. The best defense, after all, is a good offense… and considering how she's amassing herself a metric fuckton of prevention to cure whatever ailments this business thrusts upon her? Anyone that's stupid enough to not merely lay down and take a couple of kicks to the ribs before staying down for the three-count is going to find themselves in a world of hurt.
Four hundred and ninety-nine... five hundred.
Collapsing to the canvas beneath her, the sound of Siobhan's ragged breathing fills the air as a faint smirk of satisfaction tugs at her lips. She'd done it-- beating her record after well over a week of stalling out around four hundred and seventy. Only allowing herself to bask in pride for a few seconds, Siobhan climbs to her feet, rolling her screaming shoulders before her head turns to one side. As blue meets blue, she swears that she can see him smiling faintly-- a sight reserved for two people that still draw breath upon this green Earth. It does nothing to soften the edges of that Norwegian voice, low as gravel.
You know what comes next.
Yes, Fader.
Without so much as a word of complaint-- or more than enough time needed to get into the proper stance-- the blond begins to drop down into deep lunges, her posture ramrod-straight and perfect and her eyes feverishly bright from the work she's done so far. Seven hundred of these are ahead of her… and so she sets to work with a precision that takes years to develop beneath the watchful eye of one of the most frigid men on the planet.
One, two…