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AM

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  1. AM

    Anton Salvatore

    Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs, And towards our distant rest began to trudge. Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots, But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots Of gas-shells dropping softly behind. Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time, But someone still was yelling out and stumbling And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.— Dim through the misty panes and thick green light, As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. In all my dreams before my helpless sight, He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning. If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace Behind the wagon that we flung him in, And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,— My friend, you would not tell with such high zest To children ardent for some desperate glory, The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Anton Salvatore Anton Atticus Salvatore was born to Alessandro Salvatore and Maria Salvatore in 1994, on September 21st in New Orleans. His father was one in a long line of sociopaths who only continued a brutal cycle of abuse which stemmed centuries back, Alessandro having both Paranoid Personality Disorder and Anti-Social Personality Disorder, resulting in a vicious father who could switch on the flick of the dime, and who never forgot a slight - and believed he was fo rced to retaliate. These traits were not passed onto Anton, but they were to his multitude of brothers. Anton suffered from abuse at a young age, his father attempting to groom him, the youngest child, for the family business of gun trafficking and chopping cars. Anton was repeatedly beaten on a regular basis, threatened with knives and guns by his brothers, and struggled for his early to late childhood - being forced by his father to learn the ropes of the business. As a teenager, he became witness to a multitude of murders committed by Alessandro in an attempt to 'toughen him up'. Anton only further retreated into his own world - by the time he was a teenager, he had fell into the Hardcore and Punk scenes in his form of rebellion, eventually joining up with a small Black Bloc sect of anarchists and antifascists. As time progressed, Anton slowly drifted away from his family and found himself more and more comfortable with his newfound friends in the form of punks, metal heads and occultists. He repressed his memories and began to lead a relatively normal life, ghosting his family and attempting to stay off the radar. This failed though, as he would repeatedly find himself in Black Bloc attacks against Nazis, Strasserists and other forms of fascists - and more often than not, Anton would incite brawls in the mosh pits of a hardcore show for the sheer fun of it. But - by 2011, Anton wished to repair his life in an attempt to become 'normal.' He joined the Three/Seven Marine Battalion in 2010, and served for 7 years (and he will repeatedly lie about his service in an attempt to avoid talking about it at length.) Anton served three tours, and it was his third in 2018 that took him out of combat due to two shots, one to the kidney, and one that narrowly missed his spine. His time in the Helmand Province irrevocably changed Anton for the worse, his actions and participation in the death of an incapacitated combatant stuck with him the most. Anton would never forget the four enemy combatants he had killed over the course of his service. Having washed out in 2017, Anton began an attempt at recovery. He was homeless for almost a year, and despite his many attempts to get psychological treatment with the VA - they all failed, and his PTSD went undiagnosed until only recently. It was during this period of time that Anton's interest and intrigue in the occult began to spark, in an attempt to dig himself out of the Nihilistic hole he had found himself in. Dabbling in the Hermetics of the Golden Dawn, the Ordo Templi Orientis, the Misanthropic Temple, the Rosicrucian Order (AMORC) led him to LaVey's Church of Satan. It was there he had found his new meaning and philosophy, and his new found fascination with the occult. He quickly aligned himself with the original LaVeyans of the time - deeply muddled in the Supernatural and Occult in accordance with the Satanic Bible's magical rituals, and it was only with time that he expanded himself to Crowley's concepts of Thelema and Chaos Magick fully. Anton doesn't -truly- believe in the rituals or magick he conducts, but it's one of the few comforts Anton keeps from his time back in New Orleans. It was around the tail end of 2018 that Anton moved to LS, in the hopes of finally attaining the calm life he claimed he wanted. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mental Stability Anton suffers from misdiagnosed PTSD which often manifests in the form of flashbacks, forgetfulness of traumatic memories, nightmares, insomnia and crushing guilt. What often stems from this his incredibly low self-esteem and sense of self-value, and his constant need to prove himself in some way. Also, his PTSD flares in the presence of large crowds - anxiety often accompanies this. He consistently feels as if he is worthless, or is unable to please anyone around him - which only pushes him further and further in an attempt to try and make himself feel useful. He will often undergo bouts of depression, though - with the presence of Madeline Dunlap, he has managed to avoid such feelings. His abuse at the hands of his father has made him extremely untrusting towards other people, and will normally require a long period of time to truly trust someone - or an 'innate connection'. Another symptom is his extreme desire for control, both over others and his environment in an attempt to regain the control he had lost in his childhood and during his time in the Marines - this often comes in the form of his need to constantly carry a firearm, the need to have a meticulous plan for -every- scenario and so on, and so forth. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Occult And Satanic The Occult and the Satanic play an important role within the psyche and daily life of Anton. Satanism has a wide variety of various ideological, supernatural and religious schisms which has led to a variety of different temples - all with their own belief systems. The Theistic Satanists such as the Temple of Set, the Order of the Nine Angles and the Temple of the Black Light (or the Misanthropic Temple) are more often than not opposed to reactionary Satanism and the atheistic Satanists such as the modern Satanic Temple and LaVeyan Church. Anton aligns himself with the LaVeyan Church - however he disagrees with the nature in which Satan is dealt with. While he agrees with the Eleven Satanic Rules and the other ideological components within the Church, he follows Crowley's Thelema in regards to the true nature of deities and the occult. Thelema is a belief system created by Aleister Crowley, the Ordo Templi Orientis being the main source of it's followers. When boiled down to it's simplest form, all Thelema requires is willpower. It heavily utilises the Right Hand Path Of Magic as understood by modern occultists and Pagan revivalists, and Chaos Magic which was developed by Austin Osman Spare - a union of traditional occultism and applied post modernism. Chaos Magic treats truth and belief as a tool to be utilised in the attainment of one's specific goals. This combination of Crowley's Thelema in union with the ideology of the LaVeyan Church has led to Anton's own concepts of Satanism and the Occult with a heavy focus on ritual, in an attempt to create some form of regimentation or structure for his own life. Daily rituals are the norm, from simply lighting the candles at his small shrine to Baphomet and Bartzabel - to larger and more fantastical rituals such as the Summoning of King Paimon. Anton often changes his mind as to whether or not he truly believes in what he practices, sometimes convincing himself it's purely for fun - and at others, entirely serious about Thelema and belief in general. Sigil Of Baphomet, located on Anton's right wrist. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Physical Description Anton is 5"11 and lightly tanned - with warm green eyes. Normally is black and red leather clad with Devil's Bastard MC patches on his kutte or riding jacket. Has shaved sides (partially obscuring a mako shark tattoo) with a slicked back onyx mohawk. Carefully kept stubble outlines his strong jawline, a patrician nose and a now faint scar running across his forehead are his most noticeable features at first. Broad-shouldered with a swimmer's physique, he's covered neck-to-toe in black ink, all depicting Satanic and general Occult symbols and phrases.
  2. AM

    Ulysses' Voice.

    Beautiful. If LS had one claim to fame, it was the beauty of the city at sunset in Ulysses' eyes. He leaned against the bone white Sanctus on the beach near Zancudo, taking the occasional swig from a six-pack of Logger. It calmed him. It preoccupied him. The latter was the most important part. Sand swirled beneath him, thrown by the rare gusts of wind carelessly. He had to focus on it. He had to keep thinking. He took another swig. The sun was a blood orange, setting in the horizon. Reminded him of better days. He had to keep thinking. He took another swig, and looked to the skies. He couldn't think. Ulysses kept drinking, and drinking. But eventually he numbed himself to it. No more preoccupation. He often wondered if he was a bad person. If what he had done was wrong, the murder, the torturing, the robbing, the blackmail, the kidnapping, the human trafficking...he kept drinking but the numbness only got worse. And the voice came. When he was young he believed he could've made a difference, made the world a better place. He realised now that he should've listened to the voice and killed himself in that motel room. He should have given up instead of forcing a dead man to walk. It would have prevented so much suffering. So much hate. So much hate. He still remembered every single person he killed. When he closed his eyes he could see their faces. Glassy eyed, bloodied. All with the lights out. He couldn't stop them appearing, and he'd given up. Because it was all he could see now. The justifications melted away, that 'he needed the money', or that 'it was the only way'. Ulysses kept drinking, in false hope of stopping it. The voice drilled at the back of his head, always there when he stopped thinking. The voice was right. Because it told him that he did it for the hell of it. To keep it at bay. He kept drinking In false hope that the justifications would come back, in the false hope he could finally reason away what he'd done.e stopped thinking. He couldn't stop the voice, he could only prevent it. Drinking, driving, chasing girls, superficial happiness kept him sane. A new car, the adrenaline rush of a crime, the delights of new foods. He did it all to keep it at bay. Because he knew that when he stopped the wave would come and hit him like a truck, and he couldn't deal with it. He couldn't deal with it. Ulysses always wondered whether the voice would stop one day, whether one day he'd wake up and not hear the taunts. The constant screams of worthlessness, that he'd done nothing right. That he was a piece of shit. He told himself yes. It was to keep him hopeful. He started thinking again, and hopped onto the Sanctus. After all, his favourite restaurant had just opened for business. And he forgot about the voice, and the murders. He'd smile and laugh, and make dumb jokes. He'd hope that the people around him would comfort him, and preoccupy him. Keep it at bay. But it would only come back.
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