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Post by Ro on Mar 5, 2008 7:49:15 GMT -5
The camera fades into Craig Christ walking backstage, crossing a corridor. He slows down and finally pauses, as the camera backs away to reveal Andrew Carpenter trying to set a gasoline-soaked pile of empty boxes on fire with a match.
Christ: Hey, hey, hey! What the hell do you think you're doing? Who the fuck are you?
Carpenter turns around, now aware of the VCW General Manager's presence.
Andrew: Oh, hey, dude, I'm Andrew Carpenter, VCW's resident pyromaniac!
Christ: What are you talking about, I don't even know you! When did you sign a contract?
Andrew: Last week. You probably might not remember since you were smoking some Indian pot with some hos in your hot tub.
Christ: Yeah, yeah, you're probably right. And give me that shit before you set this whole place on fire.
?: Fire is good, but I am great! I am the great Nodnarb!
Craig takes the lighter and the box of matches from Andrew and walks on, simply shaking his head at the masked Nodnarb. He doesn't get very far when he hears a shouting match in the distance; the camera pans around to reveal Abraxsus Hilliard III, ring name Apathy, verbally and physically abusing his "girlfriend" Alice DeBois. Alice is pleading for Apathy to stop, but to no avail.
Apathy: You dirty whore, I said I didn't need you to wrap your diseased little lips around that fucker's small cock just to get a contract!
Christ: Hey! If you had told me she was diseased, I wouldn't have had to make her blow me, I'd have just given you the damn contract! And my cock is not small!
Apathy: See, you good-for-nothing bitch, you belong to ME! In the meantime, Mr. Christ, I would like to personally show you my gratitude for allowing me to the opportunity to raise absolute and inconceivable hell upon your little sideshow! Hahahahaha!
Christ: Yeah, whatever.
All of a sudden, Thomas Hookton strolls into the scene after having witnessed Apathy's abuse on Alice.
Hookton: Hey man, that ain't no way to treat a woman!
Apathy: And who the fuck are you?
Christ: Yeah, who the fuck are you?
Hookton: The name's Thomas Hookton, and you must be the resident asshole.
Apathy & Christ: Yeah.
Christ: What the hell do you want?
Hookton: A paycheck, and nothing more.
Christ: I don't just hand out paychecks, sorry.
Craig walks on ahead and gets to his office. Once he steps in, there is a man waiting for him, and it is none other than Romeo McCoy.
Christ: What the hell do you want again, Juliet?
Romeo: A match, Craig. I still want that match.
Christ: You know what, I ain't just gonna give it to you!
Romeo: You listen to me, I signed on for this show and I demand you give me an opportunity!
At that moment, yet another person enters. It is revealed to be Benjamin Bright. He glances around the office, ignoring Romeo and Craig at first.
Craig: Bloody hell! Doesn't anyone here to know how to knock? Who are you?
Bright: Benjamin. Benjamin Bright. I was wondering, Mr. Craig, whether there's room on the card for me.
Craig: Good god. Do you guys think its fucking thanksgiving? Matches aren't just something you dole out to everyone!
Romeo steps forward and grabs Craig by his shirt.
Christ: If you lay as much as one hand on me, Juliet, I will make damn sure you will never get a chance to even look at the VCW World Heavyweight -
Just at the moment, the door burst open and a brawling Thomas Hookton and Apathy fight their way to the room, followed by Alice and Andrew Carpenter holding Apathy's ubiquitous gas can, and already pouring its contents on the two men trading punches.
Christ: All right, all right, all right! You want a damn match, you want to get your hands on each other, you want to set things on fire, well, you can do it all later tonight! Fatal fourway, Seraphim Falls Qualifier for the four of you over there! As for Mr. Bright, I don't seem to have anyone to pit you against, so the answer is no...
Yet another person bursts in, and its revealed to be "The Next Level" Ciaran Kennedy.
Ciaran: Hey man, have you got room on the card for "The Next Level"?
Craig: I'm starting to hate this place. Fine, Bright vs Kennedy. Its booked. Now if you all don't get out of my office at the count of ten, I will fire you and hire you just to fire you again! 1! 2! 3! 4!...
Six of the seven leave the office and only Craig and Romeo remain.
Romeo: I’m still waiting for my match.
Craig: You have the night off. You should enjoy it. Go look at the scenery or something.
Romeo: You listen to me…
Craig: No, no, no, YOU listen to ME. I’ve got you booked in a match for next week.
Romeo: Against who?
Craig: You’ll just have to wait and see…
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
PLUS an update on Chris Austin's condition after Exodus's brutal post-match beatdown, Erich Ahriman and Exodus speak out about their alliance with Christ last week, details regarding the Wildcard stipulation are divulged and Romeo’s 1.3 opponent is revealed!
PROMO ONLY until Sunday, March 16 11:59 PM PST. VOTING ONLY until Tuesday, March 18 11:59 PM PST.[/center][/color]
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Post by Mortus on Mar 5, 2008 14:22:25 GMT -5
The Ides Of March I think it all went well, all things considered. A win is a win; and win I did. Sam & Max proved more useful than I would ever have dreamed; and we fought through the tag match to both get to the second round of the Seraphrim Falls tournament.
This is the least of my concerns at this moment of time; I have far more pressing concerns at this moment of time than to celebrate a victory.
The post match beat on the would be alliance of assholes in the form of our beloved general manager, the angel and that guy who really didn't care for Forest Gump, another match, and... Well, my own doubts as well...
The scene opens; not with any particular setting or occupants either; rather, a simple computer screen. The proboards forum displayed is evident before the URL became visible; the fairly standard web design simple screams Proboards....
[/b] A hand on a mouse moves just off display, the cursor floating to the newest hot thread... VCW Debut; Your thoughts on the Talent? It was a habit I picked up from Matt, I guess. He would always check fan forums after his match to see what people thought of him; hell; once he utilised a fan forum in a viral ad campaign to get in his former partners head for his best match ever; his buried alive match with Nick Rijkaard.
The thread contained a load of nonsense from Marks mostly; with a few guys really expressing some venom for the actions of Craig Christ and co.
That didn't concern me. What did concern me is a few posts related to myself...[/i] MomsAgainstWrestling - I was watching VCW while I taped it for my son; As much as I dislike the 'sport' I usually found myself no good reason to outright disallow him to watch it. But lol have I found a reason. John Dunn's language is obscene. I mean, I know it's on late, but does that justify the man using the f-word more than every single other wrestler combined on the show? (I'm counting the match promos that air as well, obv.) It's disgraceful.[/color] Markcore - LoL. Dunn's a joke. He'll never be Mortus and all that swearing and the goofy outfit only demonstrates his pathetic need to get over.MagnumRox666 - His similarity to Lictor of FMW is a tad obvious. It seems Mortie is the only innotavite one of the Dunn family. Lol.AresisGod72 - hes a glorified jobber
if he has 2 be carried by a 2headed freak then they r obv setting him up 2 put ares ovaDunnFamilyTree - Your typing is f*cking terrible. Learn f*cking English or GTFO my Internet. That being said; John does seem to be a tarnish on the Dunn wrestling name. Ares is a c*ck though. John's just trying too hard.[/color] One can only read so much before they start to feel a little disheartened. Of course, there were poorly typed rebuttals from fans in my defense; but of course, like on any forum, they subcame to Flames shortly after and got banned for answering back...
One point screamed at me through this highly calculated series of Zero's and One's however;
These fans 'liked' my brother. Not me.
There was only one thing to do really.
I reached for the phone; there was only one person I trusted enough with an issue like this....
The scene changed, assumably a significate time later.
The computer is off and John sit's infront of his television, an Xbox 360 controller in hand jabbing at buttons and toggling the directional sticks as he talks to a white robed figure who sites besides him...John - So bro, what the fuck am I meant to do about this pile-o-piss situation? Take that you fucking Newb! Fucking no-scope headshot bitch![/color] Mortus - It's quite simple brother; if at first your... Gimmick is not successful, if gaining a fan following is what you desire, change it.[/color] John - What, like you di--- FUCK OFF YOU TIT-WANKING-ARAB-HO WITH YOUR ROCKET-WANKERS! FUCKING FUCK![/color] Mortus - We pressume you were going to say 'Like we did when we became Mortus...' Well, yes. We suppose. We do wish you wouldn't play that infernal game whilst we try to help you though.[/color] John - What the fuck is with the freaky-ass 'We' shit anyway bro? And why would you go from people loving you to 'scaring the shit out of everybody?' FUCKING JEW IS SWEAR TO THE FUCKING FLYING SPAGHETTI MONSTER YOUR HOOK NOSED HALF CAST NIGGER JEW ASS IS HACKING.[/color] This is the point that my Brother unplugged my Three-Sixty. I guess I deserve it; I mean, Matt was only trying to help; and I suppose I do get a little too into my gaming...Mortus - Habit John. Habit. Now; as to why we changed, we were not concerned with the admiration of Man. You however, want to be some sort of Radical figure that the youth looks up to. All you're doing at the moment however is putting people off you, Our fans included, which will only prove to harm how they book you in future.[/color] And this is why my Brother is the guy I called. The man really has a head for the business. It's almost scary actually; seeing him in ring, in character, then talking to him calmly, on his behalf at least, about business.
Really weird. If Matt hadn't always been weird like this I don't think I'd be used to it now... John - So, what do you goddamn propose I do 'bout it?[/color] Mortus - Simple. You want to be this Anarchist figure, you become this Anarchist figure. You want the youth to love you, you become an icon to them. Something they can relate to. Fight the oppressing government; or, rather, the general manager. Yes; We saw you two with your... Misunderstanding...[/color] That was touching. A man so busy and wrapped up in and with Full Metal Wrestling had time to watch his little brother wrestle his first match.
It'd bring a tear to my eye if I didn't remember back to when Me and Alex, who I hear is retiring as a wrestler on an unrelated note, use to use our size to bully little Matty to do what we wanted.
He was always the runt. Me and Alex look nothing like him either. Perhaps we're not as related as we were told. My thoughts were wandering however, back to the point.John - So, what the hell do you propose?[/color] Mortus - Oh; We'll leave that up to you. You can do a little research on what would both interest yourself and the legions of fans you wish to draw. We will leave a clue however. Look into Scientology. Now, we'll deal with your opponent, Jose's little friend.[/color] Jose? Scientology?
As no doubt you can imagine, I was a tad confused. I get told to do some research into a dangerous cult trying to be recognised as a religion?
I failed to see how this would help me at all; but Matt 'Mortus' Dunn had got me together with Sam & Max, who I suppose I can sort of thank for me being in the postition I'm in as it is.
What could it hurt to trust him? But in most cases, the logical processes of the mind do not twin with the innital responses from our mouths.John - FUCKING-WANK-LORD! MATT YOU PIG-SHIT-NO-GOOD-TAMPAX THAT'S NOT HELPFUL AT ALL![/color] Too late. He was gone. I guess I'm off the Christmas Card list for this year at the very least as well.
But ah well, I did it, didn't I.
And you know what? I found some pretty interesting stuff. First of alll it was all these Scientology websites and stuff, which was ultimately uninteresting, but then... Well, dig a little deeper, the more you know and all that.
I stumbled on a video which creeped me out. It'd be the perfect Mortus promo, in all fairness. It's terrifying... And educational.
Hell. I used to be a soldier; I wasn't interested in Scientology; I considered it the new pop-culture religion for the Tom Cruise's of the world.
Now, as we all know, I'm an ex-soldier. I've been bombed, shot at, threatened. But it doesn't compare to that melody, and a little girl listing the casualities of Scientology.
On 10 Feb 2008, Anonymous staged historic demonstrations against the Church of Scientology worldwide. The church called Anonymous "cyber-terrorists" and "bigots," and withdrew back into the shadows. the voice of truth abides "A" for Astra Woodcraft, and the child she fled to save. She faced the chill of disconnect, and others tithed their babes. "N" for Noah Lottick, who was only 24. With a slim fistful of dollars, he sailed from the tenth floor. "O" for drowned Ophelias who perished in the deep: Ostertag, The Pilot, Margaret Winkleman, and Pete. "N" is for Not Drowning: Josephus in the bath, his death a dark monstrosity of cruelty and wrath. "Y" is what we ask aloud as we behold the sight of your ostentatious monoliths, their windows shut to light. "M" is for McPhearson, Moxon-Meyer, Meister, Mills. And a Mom named Ellie Perkins, whose son could not take pills. Mom-in-law Miscavige, Mack, Mooney, and McCann: A dark march of mortality, morbidity, and scam. "O" is for oblivion upon a hangman's noose, or the deathcall from the window-ledge where many faced their truth. "U" are who I ask to look upon this soul's dark night. Why are they dead? There's not just one. And this is why we fight. "S" for Scientragedy: innocence betrayed. CO$ beware the Ides of March: We are Legion. Be Afraid. I looked more into this. I looked into the 'Project Chanology' thing. A group of people calling themselves Anonymous, mostly young males from the Internet who were raising up to combat Scientology and the denounce the evils there of.
This is what Matt was trying to show me. This would make me one of them. This is a subject I could sink my teeth into. This is a cause I could fight for again, replacing Halo, a process which only leads to my fustration, as an outlet.
I could easily become one of them, a Hero to them...
I learnt that their had already been one protest against these people, I learnt that there was another protest here in the US of A planned for the Fifteenth of March...
I learnt the code of conduct; I bought the uniform...
I would begin making a difference...A legion of 'V' masked youths, predominately male is displayed as the scene changes. These Anon's are holding signs reading 'L Ron is Gone but the Con Lives On,' 'Religion = Free, Scientology = Not,' and the likes. All in all the proceedings were peaceful. All until a replica of Halo's 'Warthog' rolled on up; three men in 'V' masks sitting in the vehicle as it skidded into the road before the Scientology Org. The police presence around the protests of course leapt at these hostile activists; dragging them from the jeep, but four Anon's slinked into the building under the cover of confusion. Of course, it meant giving up my Jeep to a couple of kids to get in, but I was never one for this 'Peaceful Protest' stuff.
The kids I snuck in with were all hackers from FourChan's /b/, we knew what we were aiming for here.
The soldier in me would have loved to rain lead into these people; but they were just that; people. They were not corrupt as much as the system they were slaves to, and brainwashed by, was.
However. Something would be done; or rather... Two things.
First of all, I fed the Xenu Story through the entire buildings P.A system.
An Operating Thetan has to get to level three on the bridge or something before they're 'allowed' to hear this story. It's the crazy Alien bombs other aliens and their souls inhabit our bodies one.
It costs; what was it; about Thirty Six thousand to get to Oh-Tee Three? Now they've got the knowledge for nothing.
Whilst I did this, the other three kids got to cracking the Org's computer system. I could have done it, in all fairness, but it would have taken me much longer.
Scientologists have this 'Fair Game Policy.'
Every Anon who went unmasked last protest had their picture taken. This picture, this identity, this fragment of soul was to be used by the Scientologists to 'destroy' the protestors in any way possible, by their own words. Stalking, death threats, sueing...
Well, not anymore. The record of everyone; including Org members credit information was completely wiped and replaced with a virus which would self attach and email itself to every other Org worldwide to cause the same effect.
Would they stop it? Possibly, probably. But how many would we spare the hassle and grief the Scientologists cause with this information.
It was worth it.
And of course these guys, these Anonymous knew me; they knew who I was. I trusted the kids not to tell; but there's my fanbase right here, right now.
I'm, what did they call it, a Meme now, or something.
I should keep on top of this Internet Business.
But I was ready; persona in check. I trusted Matt would do good on his word of dealing with the false Anon, Anon Ehmus.The scene changed a final time. A white robed figure is seen approaching FMW's Hostyle, the 'friend' of VCW's Anon Ehmus.[/i] Hostyle - Hey there, fellow innovator. How can I help you man?[/color] Mortus - Jose, you are aware of the reasons why Dave scouted us for your little group, correct? It's because We are dangerous. We pick things up.[/color] Hostyle - What-what do you mean?[/color] Mortus - Let us say, Jose, that the room in which you discussed your Father's demise was not secure at all.[/color] Hostyle's expression changed from confused, to terrified, to angry, to the face of a man in denial. He started to speak back, but the Lich King held up a single acid burn covered finger.Mortus - Fear not, Jose. Not yet anyway. We haven't told him that his, what are you, a would be manager? We haven't told him you framed him. We just through him a clue.[/color] Audio faded from the scene as Mortus began to walk aware; disappearing into fog which could only be explained as a Dry-Ice disaster in the FMW corridors. Hostyle was screaming something after Fear Incarnate, but it wasn't distinguisable after awhile.
Instead; Anon Ehmus' voice was heard reading..."Know this,
Your friend Hostyle is not the only one that is aware of his fathers true killer.
You might even say that the murderer is closer than you think. Of course, you could dismiss this as an attempt to throw your focus. Lies and lies and lies.
That is your own decision to make. However. Allow me to stress one point.
There are more than one way to restrict the knowledge of ones identity; more than one way to be Anonymous.
Signed, a fellow wrestler, a deeply concerned nobody. Signed...
Anonymous"
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Mr. Thomas Hookton
Lower Midcarder
If Heaven Rides Against Us, Then Gods Be Damned
Posts: 117
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Post by Mr. Thomas Hookton on Mar 7, 2008 12:51:35 GMT -5
Chapter One: The Road Travelled Far Too Often Man, that’s a nice piece of architecture.This seems to be the logical starting point for this story, so here it is I will start. Seconds before my first steps into the arena for my first VCW event. I have no idea what to really expect, I just know I have something to prove. Something that drives me, I will not become a Cockney Reject, the working class will rise up to become a Global Threat.The Past
(How Long Ago Makes Little Difference) “Listen boys, you’ve all worked your asses off over the years. No one is trying to take that away from you.” Something was coming, I could feel it. Though you’d have to be a mongoloid to miss it. “For too long you guy got the shit end of the stick and for that I’m sorry. We tried boys we really did, the union did everything they could to prevent this from happening.” Our union rep didn’t need to finish speaking. We all knew what was happening, we all knew we were getting fucked over.“I’m sorry, as of close on the 25th, you’re all out of jobs, me too. So don’t go thinking we aren’t in this together. I felt someone nudge my shoulder. Ignoring it just spurned on another nudge. I guess I was going to speak, no way around it, I really hated being nudged. More than that, although I was never the first to complain, or bitch and whine, I was always the one to go to the Union Rep with any problems. Voice of the Voiceless kind of deal. I think it’s because I could keep a cool head, either that or I was just a sucker. So what are we supposed to do Roberts? This is our life, the shipyard is all we have and all we know.“You’ll find something Thom, you all will. Go back to school, go into a trade, flip burgers. We will all figure something out.” Bullshit and he knows it. He has a Masters degree in structural engineering, he’ll be fine. We won’t.This is all we have Roberts. For some of us it’s too late to go back to school, too late to apprentice for a trade. Some are only qualified to work at this ship yard, and we are being robbed of that.“Thom there is nothing I can do about this, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to fight you or be stubborn but my hands are tied. If you want to do something about it, bring it up with the Government.” I had never been so angry in my life, I left work. Walked out that day. And walked straight to my MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly, for all you non-Canadian folks) Kelly Lamrock and let him have a piece. I wasn’t going to rest easy over this.I don’t get it Mr. Lamrock-“Please, call me Kelly.” Awkward.Alright, Kelly. How does closing the ship yard and the port industry in the province help us economically? And don’t bullshit me around, just flat out tell me.“Well you see, the goal of the province is self-sufficiency by the year 2026. Now that only gives us 18 years to reach that goal so we have to get started now in order to avoid a crunch like we are in with the Kyoto Protocol. You see state intervention is needed to kick start a local economy and that’s what we are doing. It is the basic of Classical Economic.” Now I don’t have a fancy University degree, or know much about Economics, but isn’t Classical Economics antiquated in its approach to modern Capitalist ventures?“Well, Um. Mr. Hookton what we are trying to accomplish is restarting the domestic economy by intervening and focusing solely on certain industries. Now in order to do this we need to lower wages, or in some case close down factories. What this does is also lowers prices in the local economy. All of this was garbage, he knows it, I know it. He may as well give me a reach around while he fucks me in the ass like this. Lower prices in this economy means more buying power.” How does that make any sense Kelly? If we lower wages, erase industries and lower prices, won’t that effectively destroy the local economy as opposed to bolstering it?“That’s where it gets complicated and a little tricky for the uneducated.” Ah, yes. Let’s mock the blue collar worker shall we? “You see Mr. Hookton, what we intend to do is cut blue collar industry and lower the wages of the lower pay scale workers. Thus the middle class keep their wages the same as do the more elite, thus giving them more profit, with the hopes that they will increase spending and investment in the local economy.” So the blue collar worker is getting screwed over so maybe the elite will invest in the local economy as opposed to foreign capital?“That’s it yes.” Isn’t it historically proven through the falling of South American economic culture that feeding money to the elite while destroying the local economy and the lower pay scale workers, in fact only further crumbles the economy and country?“Hmm?” I mean look at the end of the 70’s and start of the 80’s. With the worldwide recession and ensuing debt crisis in South America the economy was in shambles. The governments of the area figured that lowering wages would cause the rich and middle class to increase their spending power and would in turn invest that back into the country itself. However it was proven that they took their investments elsewhere, away from a decaying economy. What is to say that exact same thing isn’t going to happen here?“We are New Brunswickers Mr. Hookton, we are proud of where we are and where we are from.” You honestly believe that when half our population lives in Alberta working in the oil fields?“Yes we do.” So you think because we aren’t South American and a Third World country this is going to work?“Precisely, all in the name of self-sufficiency, now I must be running, I have an appointment with the Premier that I have to keep. For more information on self-sufficiency Mr. Hookton you can visit our website at: www.beinthisplace.ca/en/index.php ” Just like that, thrown by the wayside all in the name of Self-Sufficiency. Well they’ll rue the day they tossed me aside.The Present
(As In Now) I stepped out of the driver’s seat of our ’03 Volkswagen Golf and watched my wife hop the seats into my now vacant spot. She was my reason. It was for her that I had to prove that I wouldn’t just fade into the darkness. For her and for that tiny little human being that currently occupied the baby seat in the back of the car. I had a family to support and wrongs to right.“Good luck baby, I know you will do us proud, just don’t lose yourself.” I will do you proud Catherine, I promise you that. I’m going to go in there and really do some good.“Well honey, you do well. Superman does good.” SmartassYou’re the English teacher, I suppose you’d know. I’ll be home late tonight, kiss Ben goodnight for me. The car drove off with a solitary honk but I couldn’t take my gaze away from the arena I found myself standing in front of. Sure had come along way.Man that’s a nice piece of architecture.Great, I haven’t even stepped inside and I was talking to myself, well no time like the present to enter.Granted I’ve never been the strongest person around. Hell, I’ve never been close. But there is one thing about me that I like to think is a redeeming feature. I hate stopping. Hate it. Loath. Despise. All those fun little adjectives that amount to any form of dislike, that’s how I feel about stopping.
Back when I played hockey in high school there was something the coach used to say about me, and I guess it’s still true today. “He may not have the best hands, but he doesn’t quit until there is nothing left in the tank.”It doesn’t matter to me if you are one of the “good guys”, or a man in a blue suit that thinks he is a good guy, or one of the “bad guys”. You’ll all soon realize there is no good and bad, right or wrong, only have and have not. I for one am sick of it, tired of being one of the downtrodden. I’m tired of being passed over because of a Community College degree. Tired of being looked down upon because of where my family comes from.I found myself staring at the card that was posted in the arena backstage, I already knew who I was fighting tonight. A man in a suit “Nodnarb”. I wasn’t going to underestimate my opponent, but come on, what the hell kind of name is that? A kid obsessed with fire. Apparently they let anyone into these matches. Get it, matches, and he likes fire. Score one for the good guys. Last and certainly foremost on my mind was Apathy. Abraxus Hilliard.You’re right Hilliard. You are what is wrong with society. You are the exception to the rule. The anomaly. The smudge that needs to be erased. You see, normally I would agree with any form of rebellion necessary to oppose the system that binds us. However there needs to be method. Foolishly you Southern Men seem to think that the only way to fight the system is to live on the fringes and use Guerilla Warfare.
Fine, I get it. You are an idiot, that’s great. How do you bring down the system? You get within the system, you become part of the system. You play the game and you bide your time. You make sure you don’t get lost in the ideology and then you strike.
You people that drain society only create problems and more hassle for the lower class. You bring a bad name upon us, upon the blue collar worker. You destroy all hope we have of having our rights wronged. So while it may seem we sit on a similar side of the fence, you are very much mistaken.
You see, you fight for yourself. I don't know why. Maybe out of some psychological compulsion for instant gratification. Maybe because you're poppa didn't love you enough. Maybe because when he came home from work he didn't have time to play catch with you and he hit you a little to make himself seem like a bigger man. Maybe all of them. Maybe that's why you are nothing more then a smear on the window. Maybe that's why you treat women like shit, maybe it's so you can feel just a little bit better about yourself.
I on the other hand fight for those who have been fucked over. I'm here to start to right their wrongs. Christ is my first stop. I'm coming after him and any crony he throws in the way in order to bring down whatever tyranny he raises up. I don't expect you to understand that Hilliard, you seem to be able to only do things for yourself. That's fine.
Just know that this is my Beanfield War* and win or lose at least I'm going to fight. At least I will encourage others to take a stand whether I see our goals achieved or not.Tonight I start the fight, tonight the Proletariat rebels, tonight when I step into that ring the bourgeoisie will crack. That crack will lead to a fault, that fault to the first stages of collapse. And soon I will stand at the base of the pedestal which the Corporations and the Government have placed themselves on and I will watch it crumble, crumble until we are all equal.If mortals stand in my way, then I’ll strike them down with sleight of hand.If Heaven rides against me, then the Gods must be damned.There is an old adage: “Be the bigger man.” And I intend to be. I watch as the stars of these dressing rooms tout victory by any means necessary, and I shake my head as not one of them, not even the good guys will take the high road. Solutions can be reached before radical measures.I was worried though, you do need allies. Sometimes you simply cannot do it all by yourself. I had watched the first airing of VCW Live. I had seen this Predator fight with all he could muster and thought nothing of it. Sure he was talented, but he lacked something I knew his family had. But now something had changed. He sat in very much the same position as I. A figure for the less fortunate to look up to. A man I could, if the time arose call an ally, someone I must seek out.
Christ has this company by the taint, that much is easy to see. It's all run by his every whim and command. That stops now, that changes with the Seraphim Falls tournament. Carpenter, Hilliard, Nodnard, challengers you may be, but stepping stones you are.
When I have Christ laying prostrate in front of me and he asks. "Why are you doing this Hookton?" There will be only one answer.... ... ... Seraphim Falls Don't assume I am blinded by a single goal. My reasons and personal on top and for the good of the working class everywhere else. Don’t take that for weakness, when it comes down to it, you’ll need an army to stand in my way. And you’ll have to aim for the heart, otherwise you’ll never stop me. Tonight, the Proletariat stikes back.Chapter 1.5: On Resisting Tyrannical Government We see our Working Class Hero seated behind a desk writing furiously on a pad of yellow paper, a single lamp on the desk the only illumination in the room. Hookton stops for a second and glances up before returing to his writing. Finishing, he removes his glasses and put his pen down.Welcome to the inaugural meeting of “Propaganda: Friend or Foe”. Today’s discussion will be first and foremost about how to resist tyrannical government. Fellow VCWer’s we are plagued with a problem. His name is Craig Christ. Our beloved General Manager. Here is a man who is completely willing to take everything from you, your family, your life and your money all in the hopes that you will be his pawn in his screwed up game of chess.
Now I don’t claim to be the most educated man on the planet, nor will I ever claim to be a claim like that should only be made by men like former University Professor Dr. Harley Quint. But I am not blind.
Sure there are some of you who would choose to act radically in these situations and say things like: “Why don’t we all strap bombs to our chests and ride our bikes to the next GM’s meetings.”
My only response to that is while yes it seems easier with every clock tick, whose will would that represent? Mine? Yours? The Rank and Files? Or better yet the Governments?Hookton stands from the desk, now visibly distraught over what could potentially be said. Standing atop his desk he begins speaking again.Here’s my analogy: We’re the Oilers, the Management, the Flames. There’s two minutes to go in the 7th game of the best of 7 series. So While Jesus saves, Gretzky scores. The workers slave and the rich get more. Friends you must see, one wrong move and we risk the cup. So play the man and not the puck.
We must stand up to injustice anywhere we see it. We must fight back against Christ and tyrannical management.
And yes, I understand the irony: The system I oppose affords me the luxury of biting the hand that feeds. But that’s exactly why all you fucks like me, should fight and kick and scream.* Seriously read Milagro Beanfield War By: John Nichols, it's an amazing book, and the rest of the New Mexico trilogy is just as good.
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Post by clodious on Mar 9, 2008 19:13:45 GMT -5
Running at full speed the horse sprints across the green field, it has been a long journey and the castle walls are now visible in the distance. The rider whips the horse trying to get whatever is left out of it. Within him the creature finds it, trying not to disappoint its master, and pushes on. As they get closer the walls rise higher into the blue sky. Benedict’s cape fiercely floats in the wind, his armor gleams in the sun light. The draw bridge lowers as he approaches the gate; avidly he maneuvers the horse through the town streets past towns’ men who move out of the way. He cuts corners finding the fastest route through the multitude and into the castle pavilion. No sooner does he enter the great field in front of the castle than he dismounts his horse. Rider and creature are exhausted from the journey, their breathing is heavy, and two squires approach the prince.
Ben: Where is she?!
One of the two younglings grabs hold of the horse’s sling and begins to take him away, the other walks along Benedict who heads towards the castle.
Squire: She’s in her room my lord. The king and queen are with her now.
He pushes the double doors open entering the great hall; he immediately turns to the left opens a door giving way to a stairwell. He races upwards for several floors. He exits the stairwell and enters a hallway, to his right in the distance, several doors down, a set of guards stand at a door. Both have full body armor and hold halberds at their side, the weapons are decorated with a small red string. He approaches the door and one of the guards opens it for him. Directly in front of him, kneeling on the floor facing the bed is an elderly man and a woman. They turn to look at Benedict, he looks at them momentarily then he looks to his right where at a well decorated bench sit Benedict’s mother and father. The queen leans her head on the king’s shoulder, tears stream down her face; she uses a delicate handkerchief to wipe her tears. Benedict approaches the bed; he hears the kneeling couple’s sobs. Slowly Esperanza’s face is revealed. She is covered from her toes to her shoulders in a silk, white sheet. Her breathing is slow, but visible as her chest slowly rises and lowers. He looks at her, her jet black hair lies about on the bed pillows. Her hands are to her side underneath the blanket; he walks around to the other side and reaches for her hand. Her eyes open, they are fiery red, like a fire ignited within her, directly looking at him she screeches.
Esper: YOU KILLED ME FOR HER!!!His eyes open to a sun lit room, he rolls on the bed to see behind him, Esperanza lies there, next to him. The fist thing that comes to his mind is.Ben: She’s safe. He sighs in relief, realizing it was just a dream, or a nightmare. He reaches for her and caresses her hair, as if she were waiting for him she turns over to face him and smiles. She brings her arms around him and kisses him.Esper: To the victor. Benedict smirks, she reaches bellow his waist, and he grabs her hand.Ben: No. We won’t break the arrangement, it would anger the gods. Esper: Benedict, why do you fear the gods? You’ve proven that they are no match for your greatness. His face turns serious, trying to reproach her for what she’s just said. But she simply removes her covers and steps onto the carpeted floor of the hotel room. He admires her physique, wearing nothing but a set of red lingerie. He follows her lead and also gets out of the bed; he decides to take a shower and walks to the bathroom. Esperanza walks over to the computer and looks at it.Esper: The technology of this place is intriguing. So advance. She yells across the room to Benedict who simply replies with, uh-huh. She turns on the computer and browses the internet. Craig Christ had informed them on how to check the card online. She looks at the upcoming matches and sees who Benedict’s next opponent is. A few minutes pass by and Benedict exits the shower room; he dries his hair with a bath towel and begins to put on his clothes.Esper: You, She says as she rises from the chair and walks over to Benedict.Esper: Have advanced to the next round. Ben: Yes? Esper: I know who your opponent is. He looks at her puzzled.Ben: Well, maybe this time we can do some research before I face him. My last opponent was rather occult since I knew nothing about him. Esper: I wouldn’t be worried about that; the opposition is unparallel to your skills. Ben: Still, it would not hurt. Esper: I guess not. She grabs the towel Benedict used to dry his hair and she enters the bathroom, she looks back and smiles.Esper: Care to join me? He looks at her, smirks and shakes his head. She enters the bathroom leaving Benedict to his own thoughts. Ben: She’s so different now. So aggressive, she’s changed so much? I suppose her fear of loosing me may have brought her closer. No, that couldn’t be it, she was afraid before the incident, but she always cowered behind me for protection. She was more gentle then, more subtle. He walks over to the computer and sits down; he clicks a few links leading nowhere, his thoughts still wondering around. He hardly pays any attention to what’s happening on screen. Ben: I wish everything would just go back to the way it was. Clicking through the VCW page Brisbane’s profile manages to catch Benedict’s attention. He reads the brief description of his opponent. Ben: Solamnia? Thinks Benedict to himself, looking at the picture of Feyd. Coincidentally Esperanza enters the room, the towel is draped around her chest, Benedict looks at her, she sees his eyes call for her. She walks over to him. Esper: What is it Benedict? Ben: Did you know who my opponent is? Esper: I saw a name; I’d figure he was not that important since soon he will be looking at you from the ground. Ben: This is Feyd Brisbane, a knight from Solamnia. Esperanza walks over to the bed; she removes her towel and begins to get changed.Esper: Solamnia? Ben: Solamnia was the reason for the two years of war that consumed our kingdoms. The capitol fell, it was sacked and the children were thrown from top of the walls. Brisbane must have fled before the city walls were penetrated. Esper: Well, then you should finish what they could not. When you face this Feyd, eliminate him, it would simply be one more victory to attest for you great name. Benedict looks at Esperanza as she puts on her final touches; she ties her hair back, then decides against it and instead leaves it loose.Esper: We should get going. Although I’ve no doubt about your victory this Sunday, you must still train. Ben: You sound like him. Esper: What would you expect, I do carry his heart. Benedict once again scolds her with his eyes, but Esperanza simply smiles and opens the door. They walk downstairs to the gymnasium of the hotel where Benedict begins his warm up stretch. Esperanza stands in front of him counting the lapsed seconds during each exercise. After a brief warm up Benedict heads over to the weights and begins lifting, he finds the activity rather pleasant, since he had never used a machine to lift weights. He does a few reps, Esperanza counts for him and encourages him to continue. During their exercises they had not noticed that someone else had entered the gymnasium. The new individual walks around also looking for a machine to use, Benedict notices that the individual is familiar but he can’t quite remember from where. Esperanza sees Benedict’s attention is trailing away; she follows his gaze and sees what has gotten Benedict’s attention.Esper: I think that’s him. Benedict stops his activity and walks over to the man. He is sitting down doing leg presses. Benedict extends his hand as he approaches and says.Ben: Benedict. The man on the leg press machine looks up at the interrupter; he stops his work out and shakes Benedict’s hand.Feyd: Feyd. He looks at Benedict trying to match the familiar name.Ben: Yes, I am your adversary at 1.2. Feyd: You are from Ergos, capital of Drumathia from the continent of Albanasia? Ben: Indeed, I am. Feyd: What is your last name? Ben: Victor. Descendent of Benomar Victor the current King of Ergos. Feyd looks at Benedict, Bendict however does not know why the man looks at him so strangely. Esperanza, who up to this point had waited patiently for Benedict to return, now realizing the conversation has taken longer than she expected, walks over to the two men.Esper: You are interrupting Benedict’s training. She looks directly at Feyd. He ignores Esperanza and continues to talk to Benedict.Feyd: Then that would make you the heir to the throne. You are the prince? Esper: None other than. And who would you be? Feyd: My apologies lady…? Esper: Du Fe. Now, would you care to stop distracting his lordship from his duties? Ben: Is ok Esp. I just wanted to wish my opponent a good match; I hear that you are a knight? Feyd smirks appreciating the acknowledgement.Feyd: Why yes, I see my reputation follows me. I am glad we spoke Benedict, although our kingdoms had their disagreements, I hope you do not carry them in your blood. Ben: Not at all, I do truly wish you the best of luck. Both men shake hands, Feyd courteously bows to Esperanza who acknowledges him with a slight bow of her head. Both parties return to their individual work outs. Esperanza decides to take advantage of her coaching and asks Benedict.Esper: Why do you do such things? Ben: He is a knight Esp. Esper: A knight protects kings, and kingdoms. There are no kingdoms here, there is only a king. And he does not protect you. Ben: His loyalty must lie with his nation. Esper: You can be so weak at times Benedict. When the two of you meet, promise me you will give him no mercy. Your very lineage depends on it. Our marriage depends on it. Benedict looks at Esperanza’s eyes.Ben: (Thinking to himself) They are red again, pray the gods they don’t take her from me again. (Out loud) I will not jeopardize my succession to the throne, much less our marriage. He says it with such conviction, such strength behind his words. She knows that he would do anything for her, for their love. His voice sends a chill down her back; she leans forward and kisses him.Esper: Now you sound like a true heir. (o) (o) (o) The couple arrives at the hotel room; Esperanza opens the door and walks in. Benedict, who enters behind her with his shirt drenched in sweat, begins to remove his clothing as he makes his way into the bathroom. Esperanza walks over to the bed when she notices a white envelope on it. It is addressed to Benedict Victor. She opens it rapidly and begins to read. I know why you are here. Did you think two beings crossing the gate would not have its repercussions? And did you ask yourself, how is it that both you and her ended at the same location? Do you even know if you’re in the right place? Believe me Benedict, you are not where you think you are.Esperanza examines the rest of the paper, looking for a name, for something that may give as to the author of such work, but she finds none. She then folds the letter and places it into a cabinet of the night table. The envelope she rips it and throws it away right as Benedict emerges from the shower. He looks at her and smiles, she walks up to him and wraps her arms around his neck.Esper: Do you trust me? Benedict, a bit surprised by the question, but he readily replies.Ben: Blindly. She smiles and kisses him.
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RaTo
Developmental Talent
Posts: 40
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Post by RaTo on Mar 14, 2008 13:48:33 GMT -5
The shot opens displaying a dirt road illuminated by the orange glow of the setting sun. At the lower left corner of the screen, a digital clock shows us it is now 6:30 PM. From the footage quality it is easy to guess that this recording is being made by an amateur camera. Said camera is pointed towards a red brick wall almost as dirty as the road. With three straight white lines someone seems to have had drawn a rudimental goal on the wall. Who, you ask? Gregory Best steps from behind the camera to answer your question, wearing as always Notts Couty’s garment and carrying a ball under his arm.Gregory Best: A big hello to all of you following us at home today! This is Gregory Best coming to you live from the outer skirts… Gregory stops and looks at his surroundings.Gregory Best: …make that, outer outer outer skirts of Las Vegas, Nevada. So let’s get down to business because old Greg here doesn’t have much time and he has a couple a things he would like to say… Best starts dribbling the ball with his hands, a bit nervous perhaps.Gregory Best: First of all, thanks to all of you who cheered for me last week in my match against Ryan Atwood! I know the wrestling itself wasn’t high quality but I promise you that will be taken cared off in the next couple of weeks. At first I was reluctant to improve my wrestling repertoire, especially after I proved that kicking and punching is much better than the flips and screeches and flashy stuff you guys tend to do. Gregory starts juggling the ball with his feet, doing keep-ups.Gregory Best: But then I realized that wrestling is supposed to be like that! On one hand you’re supposed to be effective like I was against Rivers, but on the other you are supposed to show that you are the best and that no other’s skills can compare to yours. This line of thought is applied in every sport, be it wrestling, hockey, basket, rugby, hell even in soccer! Without letting the ball touch the floor Gregory passes his leg over it, successfully doing a “Around the World”. Delighted with himself he promptly shouts “Olé”!Gregory Best: Ah yeah, I suppose I have to explain the Olé thing to some of you. You see, I once saw a soccer game in Spain and every time a player did a trick, the crowd would just scream “Olé!” I asked some questions and it turned out that Olé is a Spanish word used to express approval, at sporting events for example. Originally it was used in bullfighting spectacles, but the fans managed to add it to the soccer vocabulary. Best drops the ball again and continues the keep-ups.Gregory Best: But I digress. So, moving on to this week’s match with Eric Ares; what to say about this guy? He’s cocky, he’s egotistic and he’s got his lips so far up his own ass you would say he’s the best contortionist on Earth. Now for some reason Eric thinks that he’s proven a great deal after he managed to beat a mentally disable individual last week. If you think that’s a great achievement, you should try fighting six of them in a restroom, using only a bloody beer mug! God, that was the worst Notts County – Nottingham Forest I ever saw… With a scissor kick Gregory shots the ball towards the upper left corner of the hand drawn goal. The ball rebounds of the wall and Gregory tames the ball with his chest. Gregory Best: Just to make things clear Eric, I will beat the daylights out of you. But I won’t do it because of the way you behave. No, I couldn’t care less about you larger than life ego. I do care however with what people think of me. You see, after my match with Rivers, someone had the insolence of attacking the poor kid backstage leaving him in a pool of his own blood. With another violent kick Gregory sends the ball crashing towards the brick wall. It rebounds again and Gregory once again catches it.Gregory Best: And later on after the match was said and done, while I was packing my stuff a small boy came to me. He said he was the one who caught the ball I kicked towards the crowd and that he wanted my autograph. He then asked me if I were the one who attacked Rivers Atwood… Well, I still don’t know who did that to poor Rivers but I can assure you two things: A) it sure as hell wasn’t Gregory Best and B) I will kick your ass if you even try to cast a single shred of doubt over Gregory Best’s honor! Gregory kicks the ball again towards the wall. However, as it rebounds Gregory kicks it again and again towards the brick wall. Gregory Best: That, Eric is why I will end your path down the Seraphim Falls Tournament! Because you dared to accuse me of such a hatful crime as the assault River Atwood Suffer! Because you tried to cut my pride with such a dull blade! With a final devastating kick Gregory manages to send a few bits and pieces of wall flying. Taking a deep breath, he checks his watch.Gregory Best: Well I seem to be really running out of time so I’ll wrap this up. There is one more question that I need to answer though. You see, after hearing about the conditions that brought me to VCW, people started asking me “Why not leave Gregory? Why stay in a world you have no knowledge about?” I myself made these questions not so long ago. And I have no shame to say that I was “this close” to leaving VCW. So why did I stay? Gregory picks up his ball and starts doing keep-ups again.Gregory Best: I stayed because unfortunately my gaze fell upon the VCW World Heavyweight Title. I stayed because I saw potential behind it, because I saw the greatness I could achieve if I held it around my waste! There might be some who question if it is worth enduring the entire ache and the pain that come with this line of business, just to conquer a mere piece of golden metal. And that is the ultimate question… Is it worth it? Gregory kicks the ball a little bit higher, catches it with his right hand and puts it under his shoulder.Gregory Best: I say yes! Absolutely and positively yes! Soccer legend George Best, my idol, once said something which stuck with me to this day! I think you would be inclined to agree with him… Turning away from the camera, Gregory takes a spray can from his pocket and starts writing on the brick wall. Once he finishes, he takes a few steps back to admire his work."Pain is temporary, glory...lasts forever!" Gregory Best: This is my motto and I live every single day by these very words! Eric Ares, you are good… but I am better! Actually you might say I’m the Best… Gregory Best this is! Gregory throws the ball upwards and sends it crashing towards the camera with a picture perfect bicycle kick. Static fills the screen as this promo comes to an end.
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Cain Ravid
Lower Midcarder
"Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over."
Posts: 106
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Post by Cain Ravid on Mar 16, 2008 2:01:34 GMT -5
Father please forgive them…or they’ll know exactly what it is I do. Cain Ravid stood on the southern sidewalk of New York City’s West 46th Street. Directly across the street was The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin. Cain checked his watch. The hands of the timepiece indicated that it was 10:15 AM.
Cain turned his attention back to the newsstand. His eyes went back to the headline of the morning newspaper. In strong, black lettering the newspaper read “ANOTHER Elementary School Girl MISSING!”
That’s number four, thought Cain as he lifted the newspaper from the stand and began to skim the article. He barely made it through the opening paragraph before the newsstand attendant was shouting at him. The man’s voice was very rough, and he spoke with a stereotypical New York accent.Man : Yous goin’ to buy dat fuckin’ paper or wat? Dis ain’t no fuckin’ libarry bub. Cain looked at the man sideways, sighed, then tossed the paper back onto the stack.Cain : No. I know the story…well. Man : Wells if you ain’t goin to buy nuttin, then move the fuck along so dat someone who IS gunna spend der cash can take a look. Cain snickered to himself, then began to walk away from the stand when the bright red, glossy cover of a magazine tucked into the far left corner of the stand caught his eye. He moved in for a closer look then, nodded toward the magazine.Cain : Give me that one. The news stand attendant quirked an eyebrow then reached up and grabbed the magazine. He punched a few keys on the cash register in front of him.Man : Dat’ll be five bucks. Cain handed the man a bill from his long, black jacket. The man took the payment and handed Cain the magazine. Cain smiled to the man, who did not return the gesture, then turned away from the stand and looked over the cover once more. The longer he stared at it, the larger the grin on his face grew.
On the cover of the magazine was an action shot that Cain was very familiar with. In fact, he had seen the action not too long ago with his very own eyes. The scene depicted was that of a certain two headed man delivering a pair of head-butts to a Jamaican man in the middle of a wrestling ring. Across the top of the magazine in bright yellow letters was written “Professional Wrestling Weekly: You source for everything PRO-WRESTLING!” Across the bottom in the same gold lettering, it read “Newcomer(s) Sam & Max prove to everyone why two heads TRULY are BETTER THAN ONE!”
Cain chuckled then spoke aloud to himself.Cain : How cliché. Cain thumbed open the magazine until he reached the article that pertained to his upcoming opponent. He scanned the pages of the article briefly. There was a bio page, a brief write up on the duos past, and trivial nonsense such as their likes and dislikes. He smiled again then shut the magazine, rolled it into a tube then shoved it into the inner pocket of his jacket.
Cain checked his watch again, 10:29 AM. He crossed the street and entered the church.>----------< Cain entered the building and scanned his surroundings. Very few people were actually in the church. Two old women were kneeling in front of prayer candles. A younger man was seated in the back of the left hand set of pews with his head knelt in prayer. Cain also spotted a nun walking throughout the church watering the plants that were scattered through the sanctuary.
Cain moved quickly and took a seat in the second pew from the front in the right hand set of pews. Cain checked his watch again, 10:32 AM. He shook his head.
[/i] Late again, he thought. Why do I expect anything else?
He sighed and sat back into the pew. He watched the two elderly women kneeling before the prayer candles and began to wonder what they were praying for. For the health of their grandchildren maybe? Or perhaps they were asking for the cancer that was ripping through a loved one’s body to be healed miraculously. Or maybe they were asking for the good Lord to bless their husbands with one last raging hard-on so that they could have one final romp in the sack before death came knocking on their door.
Why do these people even bother? He thought. Do they really think God cares enough about them to listen? How ridiculous.
His eyes trailed from the two old women, passed over the alter of prayer candles, and landed on the wall behind the pulpit. Hanging on the wall was a large porcelain figure, one depicting the man Jesus hanging from a wooden cross. His face was the poster of anguish and pain. Thin trails of red paint, symbolizing blood, ran down from two puncture wounds in the man’s hands and a large gash on the man’s torso.
A deep feeling of hatred and betrayal filled Cain’s entire body.
How can they worship this man? How can they look to him as savior? Is it not he who would infect this world with cancer? Is it not he who would allow innocent children to be kidnapped, beaten, and raped? And while the “great” God and his “glorious” son Jesus all turn a blind eye to these situations, who is it that is tasked with cleaning up the mess?
Me, that’s who, he thought. They are nothing more than terrible children who torture humanity as if they are ants under their magnifying glass. I am the righter of wrongs, and yet THEY are worshipped as saviors and I am looked at as a devil.
He closed his eyes and turned away. Cain slowly opened his eyes and suddenly a feeling of extreme dizziness fell over him. His vision blurred and he clutched the pew in front of him for support. His breathing quickened and he shut his eyes hoping to fight through what had just come over him.
As soon as his lids were shut, an image flashed across Cain’s brain. The image of a world covered in a sepia overlay. The image of an endless wheat field whose only flaw was a single rock that jetted toward the heavens in a perfect 45-degree angle. The image of hands, the hands of a boy, covered in the only color that seemed to escape the brown cuttlefish secretion that covered this world, a deep, deep red. Blood red.
A booming voice called his name.Voice : Cain! Cain! The voice was so loud and so deep it reverberated in his mind, rattling his brain and scrambling all his senses. The sepia world began to spin wildly, until everything in it was blur. Still the voice called to him.Voice : Cain! Cain! The vision turned to black, yet the sensation of spinning still had a strong hold over Cain and his mouth began to water in anticipation of the vomit. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. The sensation subsided and the feeling of sickness passed over Cain quickly. He opened his eyes and became aware of a hand on his left shoulder.
He looked at the hand then followed the arm up to look at the man to which it was attached, Andrew Belle. Andrew spoke in a whisper.Andrew : Fuckin-A man. You all right? Cain nodded, wiping a few beads of sweat from his brow.Cain : I’m fine. You’re late. Andrew shrugged and took a seat in the pew beside Cain. Andrew reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a manila envelope. He tossed it into Cain’s lap.Andrew : Got something for you. Cain looked down at the envelope then slowly opened it. He slid the stack of paper out and scanned the first page. It was a black and white photograph. On the left half of the photograph was an Emo looking individual walking down the street, with both of his hands shoved into the pocket of his dark colored jeans. On the right half of the photo was the picture of what appeared to be the same individual…yet somehow different. This man looked completely deranged and was wearing a white suit and a black top hat. There were dark circles of makeup around his eyes that gave him a very ominous look.
Cain flipped past the top photo and was immediately greeted by another photo. This picture was of a figure in a dark cloak, his face concealed, yet his hand were folded in front of him and his skinned appeared to be burned or melted somehow. Cain arched a brow and looked to Andrew who was studying the other occupants of the church.Cain : What’s all this? Andrew : We are very impressed with the work you did with Fytor. Well done. However, this next target isn’t going to be quite as easy as that big blue retard in a latex suit. The living, breathing freak show that IS Sam & Max unfortunately has a lot of friends in this business. Andrew reached over and slapped a finger on the photograph a few times.Andrew : And this is one of them. Matthew Philip Dunn a.k.a. Matt Dunn a.k.a. Mortus a.k.a. crazy ass sonuvabitch. Cain gave him a sideways glance and Andrew smirked.Andrew : Okay, I made that last one up. Anyway, this guy is a professional wrestler for Full Metal Wrestling and he’s also John Dunn’s brother. Turn to the next one. Cain did as he was instructed. He saw another glossy, black and white photograph, this one was of John Dunn. It was split into two halves just like the first one of Matt Dunn. On the left was a picture of John Dunn and Cain’s upcoming opponent Sam & Max riding through the streets of a city in a Jeep-type vehicle. On the right was a picture of John Dunn with a small group of others sneaking a building.Andrew : You are probably familiar with John. A little less crazy than his brother but, still probably certifiably insane. He was Sam & Max’s tag partner last week, and they had a pretty good showing, so he may actually interject himself in your match if that two headed monstrosity gets into trouble. Fortunately, he’s started up some personal vendetta against the Church of Scientology, so he may be too busy to interfere, which is good news for us. Next. Cain flipped to the next glossy photo.Andrew : This is Alex Dunn a.k.a. Lictor. He’s also a wrestler over at Full Metal Wrestling, although he hasn’t been seen much. As you can probably deduced he’s the brother of Matt and John so, although a long shot, it is possible for him to come to the aid of Sam & Max at the request of his brothers. Cain nodded then flipped to the next page in the stack. This was not a photo but instead was a typed biography on Matthew Dunn.Andrew : We got a write up on all three brothers, Matt, John, and Alex. Where they were born, what schools they went to, what they’ve done in wrestling, who their first fuck was, everything you could ever want. So, do with it what you wish. We know you bought that magazine so we didn’t include the write up on Sam & Max. Cain looked at Andrew, a little surprised he knew about the magazine since he had just purchased it minutes ago. Andrew smirked.Andrew : After all these years you’re still surprised we know shit like that? Come on, we know everything. Cain nodded, his surprise fading rapidly. He had seen numerous examples of this fact over the years and Andrew was right, it really shouldn’t surprise him anymore.
Cain tucked the papers back into the manila envelope and shoved the entire package into his inner jacket pocket beside the “Professional Wrestling Weekly” magazine. There was a brief moment of silence between the men, then Cain spoke.Cain : Why Andrew? Why are we going to all this trouble? Andrew smirked and lowered his gaze to the floor. Then he turned and looked Cain directly in the face.Andrew : Come on Cain, even if I knew the plan, I couldn’t tell you. You know the drill. You are the pawn, the worker bee. I am the middle man, the go-between. I get my orders from the boss. I tell you what you need to know then, you perform. I don’t know all the details, all I know is you need to stop at nothing to win the VCW championship. Once that is accomplished, we’ll go from there. Cain shook his head. He was tired of all the secrets, all the blind orders. He had carried out plan after plan over the years and still he was not privy to information. Andrew, as if reading his thoughts, spoke on this.Andrew : Such is our duty. Such is our curse. With that, Andrew stood up and slid out of the pew and into the aisle. He looked back to Cain before he departed.Andrew : Just win the belt Cain. Then, all will become clear to you. Then he was gone. The heels of his shoes clicking as he walked the tiled aisle toward the exit of the church. Andrew opened the door and started to walk out but stopped and instead held the door open for a patron walking in. A slightly heavyset, gray haired man with thick horn-rimmed glasses walked through the doors. Andrew looked over his shoulder at Cain as the man entered, and gave Cain a quick wink. Then, Andrew was gone, exiting the church and leaving Cain to his work.
Cain checked his watch one last time, 11:00 AM.
Right one time, he thought. At least some people had the decency to keep a tight schedule these days.
Cain watched the 50-something year old man walk along the back of the church and then quickly duck inside one of the empty confessional booths. As soon as the curtain of the confessional closed, Cain rose from his seated position and stepped out into the aisle. He moved slowly, in a straight line path to the confessional booth. He paused outside of the curtain, tilting his head slightly, straining to hear the man’s whispers inside.Man : Forgive me father for I have sinned, it has been 24 hours since my last confession. Cain then heard the very quiet words of the priest.Priest : What is it that brings you here, my child? Man : I lusted after a woman last night… Cain grabbed a handful of the red curtain that hid the man in the confessional and with a quick jerking motion, slid the curtain open revealing the booth’s occupant. The gray haired man looked at Cain, from his kneeling position, in complete shock. Cain reached down and wrapped a hand around the man’s throat, then hoisted him to his feet.
The man choked and struggled to breath as he was drug to his feet by his own throat. His hands locked around Cain’s wrist and tried to pull the hands away from his neck. However, he quickly realized his struggles were futile and he gave up the fight.
Cain pinned him against the back of the confessional, then reached into his jacket with his free right hand. Cain slowly removed a matte black pistol with a silencer screwed onto the end of the barrel. The priest heard the racket and began calling to the man through the lattice of the confessional.Priest : My son? Are you there? Is everything okay? The nun, who was watering the plants, passed by the booth and saw what was taking place. She dropped her watering can, covered her face with her hands, and released a high pitched shriek of terror. This caused the priest occupying the confessional to exit in order to see what was going on. The priest’s eyes widened when he saw what was taking place in his church.Priest : Good Lord! What’s going on here? I demand this stop immediately! Cain rolled his eyes, then spun on his heels and extended his right arm. The back side of his pistol slammed into the side of the priest’s face, dropping the father like a bag of stones. The nun again screamed and the few patrons of the church hurried out the front door. Cain looked at the nun and held the gun out, pointing it at her forehead.Cain : Shut the fuck up. The nun looked at the end of the barrel of his gun, her eyes going cross, then fainted into a heap on the tiled floor. Cain smirked and shrugged, then turned his attention back to his victim. Cain looked the man up and down with a look of disgust across his face. The man struggled to speak but no words came out, only harsh blasts of a strained voice. Cain loosened his grip on the man’s throat, allowing him to speak.Man : What do you want with me? I have money? You need money?! Take all you want! Cain chuckled.Cain : I don’t want your money. You came here to confess your sins. So confess…to ME. The man’s expression turned from pure terror to one of a mixture of fright and confusion.Man : W-w-what? Cain : Confess to me. Beg ME for your forgiveness. Beg ME to spare your pathetic life. Man : I-I-I… Cain : You were about to confess your sins before a servant of the man Jesus and his whore mother Mary, where you not? Man : Y-y-yes. Yes, I was but… Cain : Well then know this. God and his bastard son care nothing of you. They have turned their backs on your, just as they have the rest of this miserable world. They have given up on their little “experiment” and have left ME to clean up the pieces. Cain slowly released his grip on the man’s throat. As he did, the distant sounds of sirens could be heard.
Police, he thought. No doubt, one of the patrons exiting had called from their cell phone. No worries, they were part of the plan anyway.
The man looked at Cain, still speechless and quivering in the corner of the confessional. Cain pointed his weapon at the man, who cringed and tried to shrink into a ball.Cain : When you confess, your sniveling falls on deaf ears, for I am the judge, jury, and executioner. Now, get on your knees and plead….your….case. The man continues to stare at Cain with the “deer in the headlights” look. Is was as if he Cain was speaking a foreign language, and he just couldn’t comprehend what was coming out of his mouth.Cain : Did you not hear me? Get on YOUR KNEES! The shouting snapped the man out of it and he dropped immediately to his knees. The sirens were closer now. Cain had to hurry.Cain : Now ask ME for forgiveness! Confess your sins! Man : I-I-I…. Cain pressed the end of the silencer into the man’s forehead. Then he spoke with a very taunting tone, almost whispering.Cain : You what? The man squeezed his eyes shut, the strain to hold back tears was now more evident than ever. Then he suddenly burst in a blubbering mess, covering his face with his hands and sobbing.Man : I don’t know! I’m sorry! Please forgive me! Cain stepped back and looked down at the man in disgust. The sirens were almost right our side the door now. It was time for this show’s grand finale.
Cain trained his pistol again on the man’s forehead. Cain shook his head, then spoke very matter-of-factly.Cain : Guilty. He pulled the trigger of his 9mm pistol. The bullet traveled down the length of the barrel, through the silencer, shattering the man’s skull and tearing apart his brain matter, killing him instantly. The man fell over as a large stream of blood began to flow from his fresh wound.
Cain heard the police cars come to a screeching halt outside the church doors. He tucked the gun back into the holster beneath his jacket, and then ran for the back exit of the church before the cops could surround the place.>----------< AnchorMan : In our top story this evening, a murder took place today at The Church of Saint Mary the Virgin in Times Square earlier this morning. Police were called after a man, who has been described as “Middle Eastern” burst into a confessional and held the man confessing at gun point. The man then physically attacked a priest, before ritualistically killing the man at point blank range with a 9mm handgun. There was no money missing from the murdered man and no motive could be developed for this killing. And, as if that wasn’t strange enough, a search of the victims house revealed the corpses of the four Manhattan elementary school girls who had been kidnapped over the last month, with the most recent occurring just a couple of days ago. Police say the victim had bound the girls, raped and sodomized them, then took their life by asphyxiation. This naturally leads people to question what to do with the murder of this man. Do you punish him? Or reward him? The image immediately changes to one of a man wearing a blue tee-shirt and a “Miller Lite” ball cap. He speaks with an unmistakable Southern accent. Redneck : Well, I think he should be rewarded. He simply did what the court system would eventually do. In my eyes, he’s a hero! Next, an obese woman is shown on the screen.Woman : Absolutely not. We can’t just have vigilantes running around doing whatever they please! Our tax dollars pay the police to do their jobs and we should let them do just that. A pale white hand, gripping a black remote control lifted out of the shadows that surrounded the screen the news cast was being watched on. The hand pressed the red power button on the remote and the television turned off. The hand laid the remote on the dark oak desk that it’s owner sat behind then retracted back into the shadows.
The figure cloaked in the shadows spun ninety degrees to face Andrew Belle, who stood with his hands folded in front of him.Voice : This was sloppy… The man whose identity was completely hidden by the lack of lighting in the office placed his hands in front of his well concealed face and tapped his fingertips together slowly.Voice : Very sloppy indeed. Andrew, who so normally was calm and cool, now spoke nervously, his hands shaking slightly.Andrew : I’ll talk to him about it. He’s just frustrated about this whole wrestling thing. Not his whole cup of tea. Andrew laughed nervously but felt a gaze piercing out of the shadows and staring a hole through him. His laughter faded to ashamed quietness.Voice : Please do Andrew. Please do. What is the status on the girl? Andrew clears his throat uneasily.Andrew : She should be ready to go next week. Voice : Should be? Andrew : WILL be, sorry. Voice : Do not apologize…it’s a sign of weakness. And we are anything but weak…right? Andrew nodded quickly. There was a long uncomfortable silence between the two, that Andrew finally felt compelled to break.Andrew : Sir, it may be easier to speak to Cain if I was aware of what exactly our goal in Vendetta Championship Wrestling is. Another pause so long Cain thought his question wasn’t heard. He was on the brink of a repeat, but then the cold, overly calm voice of his superior spoke to him.Voice : Currently I am not at liberty to divulge the plan in its entirety, however Mr. Ravid and yourself can rest assured that it goes much deeper than simply winning the title belt. Andrew : How far DOES it go, sir? Voice : All the way to the top, Andrew. All the way to Craig Christ.
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Post by Ciaran Kennedy on Mar 16, 2008 14:17:50 GMT -5
The scene opens in front of the arena with a car pulling up and Ciaran Kennedy stepping out with a bag over his shoulder.
Ciaran Kennedy: So this is Vendetta Championship Wrestling. Not to bad if I may say so myself. A little small, but never the less very effective.
Ciaran begins to walk up the stairs to go into the arena. After walking through some corridors he arrives at his dressing room.
Ciaran Kennedy: No the moment of truth. Hmm not to bad in here either. Lockers, a mirror. Yup I think this is everything I need to get ready right here.
Ciaran turns to face the camera.
Ciaran Kennedy: Yo Christ, thanks for this man. I ain't going to let you down out there tonight. But where is Bright? I haven't seen him at all around here. I do tend to like getting to look at my opponents and stuff before the match. Hell all you have told me about him is that he like to "watch and wait". I can do that man. Watch.
Ciaran goes over and sits on a near by chair for a few seconds and keeps staring into the camera.
Ciaran Kennedy: There you go. I sat and watched the camera and waited for a few seconds until I spoke again. You see that ain't me. Tonight, I'm going to go out there and not watch or wait. No tonight I'm going to act. Act on what? I'm going to act on anything that I can.
Ciaran gets off the chair and moves over the to the near by mirror hanging on the wall.
Ciaran Kennedy: Benjamin Bright, tonight it's time that we both show VCW and the world what we have. I have all the respect in the world for you but that doesn't mean that I'm going to stand by and let you walk over me. Far from it. Tonight you will have to earn every little thing that you can in that ring because it is not, and I repeat, not going to be an easy ride for you out there. In fact it's going to be the complete opposite from that. If you knock me down, I'll get back up and do it to you twice over.
Ciaran turns away from the mirror and walks towards the camera again.
Ciaran Kennedy: One more thing Benjamin, I want you to do me a favor please. Now I know you got the telegram from me the other day. And I know you have seen the picture of me inside it. My favor is this, look at the picture and keep looking at it until match time. That way I know you are focusing totally on me. The reason I am saying this is because if you don't focus on me then you won't be at your best when you face me. I want you at your best because that is the way I wrestle every match I am in. At my best. So look at it, stare at it because you know that when all is said and done and the dust has settled, you know that "You Can't Make It To The Next Level!"
Ciaran then turns and walks out of his locker room as the scene fades to black!
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Post by Sir Feyd Brisbane on Mar 16, 2008 14:56:11 GMT -5
“Lying in the still of the night A yearning for shelter Silence kissing your wounds, soothing your pain Darkness, and what do they know 'Bout losing direction, clutch at a straw Cherish the hope to make it finally home”
Feyd walked the halls of the Staples Center, the steel footfalls his steps echoing as it clanged against the linoleum tiles. His victory was still fresh in his mind, yet it was unimportant. After having won his first match, he should have been happy, yet his face bore a look of great melancholy. To the various members of the staff, he was an interesting sight indeed. His hair was tied in two long braids in the front, blue feathers entwined within his locks of hair. The rest of his hair was pulled back into a third braid, into which beads of platinum were strung. Around his neck, a medallion with the symbol of Paladine, his patron. The platinum disk hung heavy on him almost as weighty as the grievous thoughts that occupied him. A deep blue cloak was tied about him, and waved slightly as he walked.
He had donned a set of antique ceremonial armor, composed of a platinum breastplate bearing crest of the Solamnic knights, the kingfisher holding a sword and a rose in its talons and a crown laying beneath it. The symbol was embedded upon the upper left corner of his breast in an ivory relief. Etched into the rest of the breastplate were runes of the ancient Solamnic language, depicting the lives and accomplishments of the previous knights who had worn it. He raised a hand, encased in a steel gauntlet, laced with ivory and gold along its trim, and ran a finger along the runes absently. He paused, having felt the first rune describing the life of his father, Sadric. He stopped in the hall, the sharp sound of his walking dissipating.
His head dipped as thoughts of reverence of his father’s sacrifice filling his mind. He remembered the night he fled from Solamnia, like so many other young ones, as the internal conflict of the knights spilled outside the council room. How could he ever forget it? It was the night he had killed for the first time…
“Home, home, home, home”
“Feyd, wake up.” It was his Lysa, tugging at his arm. He roused slowly, looking up into the deep doe eyes of his mother. She leaned over him, her ebony hair falling over him, her lips hovering over his ear. He thought he could hear her heart beating, and could feel the hot breath from her lips as she struggled to keep her calm. “Feyd, you need to get up.” Her voice wavered almost as much as the dancing light form the candle in its sconce above the door.
Groggily, the young Feyd pushed himself up to sitting position. He saw his mother’s grave countenance and understood that something was wrong. He reached over to the nightstand to his right, feeling around on the top. His hand touched cold porcelain, and he grasped it. Pulling the bowl toward him, he dipped his other hand into it, wetting it with its sloshing contents. He ran his hand along his face, the water stimulating his nerves into alertness.
“What is it mother?” Feyd looked to his mother again, his eyes aching. He could not get a read on what could be upsetting her. He looked around, feeling awkward due to his scant amount of sleep. Lysa gave a heavy sigh, the deep inhalation of air easily audible in the silent night. “Your father is here…” She sidestepped to her left, revealing light creeping into the room through his open door and the imposing silhouette of his father in the doorway.
He heard the gruff voice of his father, “Thank you Lysa. Please go make sure that things are ready.” Feyd’s mother moved to the door, sidling past her husband and disappeared down the hall. His father cast a distressed look to him, “Get dressed. Meet me in the antechamber.” His father turned away and with a moment, was gone.
Feyd shivered, both from the cold and from the foreboding feeling that was suddenly awash. He struggled to get out of the warm comfort of his bed and moved to his nightstand, where clothes had been laid out for him as he slept. He pulled on his undertunic, it’s waxed linen doing little to warm him to the cold air of the stone room. He grabbed his breeches, pulling them up and tucking the end of his undertunic into them. Reaching for his belt, he wrapped it around his waist, tying it off and folding the top of his breeches down around it. Putting on his luxurious silk tunic, and stepping into his pair of boots, he gave his room a once over, then headed out.
After navigating the sepulchral hallways of his family’s keep, he entered his father’s antechamber. Sadric was standing in front of a vast fireplace. He was dressed in his full armor, a platinum and golden affair, and was staring into the fire, arms crossed over his chest. Feyd crept up next to his father, and as he did so, caught eye of a suit of hard leather armor, embroidered and decorated. His eyes gleamed at the sight or the armor, a set that appeared to be about his size. Seeing the stern look on his father face, Feyd turned toward him, tearing his eyes away from the masterfully crafted armor. He paused, sighing to himself in anticipation. He could feel his pulse running through his veins as it pumped blood and adrenaline through his body. Though anxious, Feyd spoke to Sadric, barely above a whisper, “What is it father?”
The large man turned his entire body toward his son, his armor gleaming as the light from the flames flickered over it. He knelt down to the twelve-year old, and wept.
Feyd had never seen Sadric cry. The sight of the hulking man in tears was more than he could bear and he cast his glance aside. His eyes clenched shut, and after an eternity in his adolescent mind, he heard his grieved father’s tears subside. He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and opened his eyes. For a moment, he just stared at the weathered face of his father. For his entire life, he had seen him as a magnificent knight, as unblemished in body as in virtue. Now, all he saw was a haggard old man, fearing for his son.”
“Feyd, the time has come for you to leave Solamnia. War is swiftly approaching our lands. The Knights of Tahkisis have taken Palanthas and have already set their greedy eyes upon our city. My messengers have heard a raiding party drawing near. You and your mother must leave tonight.”
“Won’t you come with us, Father?” Feyd felt he knew the answer, but had to ask, nonetheless.
“Alas, I cannot. My duty is here, to our people.” His voice wavered as he continued to speak the pained words to his son. “This may be the last time I see you. I have tried to instill the Code and the Measure upon you, and now I must insist on speaking of it once more.” The large man stood once again, his hand still on Feyd shoulder, now trembling. “Remember your honor. Honor and loyalty are paramount. Never break an oath, nor speak one in vain. Be righteous and protect those who cannot protect themselves. Honor others for their differences, for there is no one true path of life. Walk with Paladine on the most pleasant summer day and the stormiest night of the year. Never waver from what is just and you will be blessed with Paladine’s love. Life is sacred, treat it as such. Never raise your hand in anger. Treat your enemy with the same respect as you do your friends. Est sularus oth mithas.”
Feyd nodded, repeating the final sentence. “My honor is my life…”
“You long to be see-through, so nobody can tell Whenever they made you bleed your pride away Now you're driven by one track mind, initiating you Splendid flowers, blossom from the wounds The stronger the poison, sweetest smells the bloom Don't you try to stand your ground 'Cause you're only coming home”
Teardrops fell upon his armor, and he looked up from the ground. He closed his eyes, a feeling of disgrace washing over him, for he knew how the story had ended. Putting it out of his mind, he continued down the hall, which had suddenly become almost as cold and gloomy as the halls of his home on that fateful night. He came upon his destination, the door the Craig Christ’s office. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again, his gauntlets scratching the wooden surface of the door lightly. He heard a stirring from within the office and raised his fist to knock again, when the door swung halfway open, the face of the chronically pissed off GM peering out at him.
“What the hell do you want?!” Christ demanded, the words sounding more like a challenge than an actual question.
Feyd paused, then began to open his mouth. “Any fucking time sweetheart!”
Stepping back slightly, Feyd spoke, “I apologize for bothering you, but as you may have heard, the legendary Gary Gygax has past away. I was wond-“
“Who the fuck is Gary Gygax, and why the fuck should it matter to me?”
Now irritated at the man’s apparent lack of both patience and vocabulary, Feyd continued, using a more forceful tone. “If you would let me finish, sir, then you might save your indignities for someone who deserves them. Perhaps whoever reared you.” He cringed inwardly, having not meant to say that. Now it was going to be even harder for him to have his request granted. Like it or not, this was the man with the power. Perhaps that would have to be remedied. But that was not the issue at hand. “As I was saying sir, Gary Gygax is the man who single-handedly discovered the alchemy of chance and imbued the dice with it. They are powerful magical items, dice are. Able to foretell whether your next planned action will be successful or not. Since he has died, I wanted to speak a few words in the ring at the next show and have everyone observe a moment of silence for him.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You interrupted my meeting for that load of crap? No! Like I’m going to waste time on MY show so that you can ‘observe a moment of silence’ Asshole, time is money and I wouldn’t waste either on my own mother, much less a worthless sack of cosmic shit like you! You see my door? When it’s closed, stay the fuck away. In fact, stay out of my way, period. If I see you and your faggoty get-up again, I’m going to rip off your head and skull-fuck you! Are we clear?”
Feyd stood there, barely listening to Christ’s diatribe. “A simple no would have sufficed, sir. And in the future, I would suggest you conduct yourself with a little more dignity, not whining like a child who’s been taken off his mother’s teat.” He turned and walked away from Christ, shaking his head. Seconds later, he heard an enraged yell and the slam of a door.
As dawn’s rosy fingertips touched on the horizon, a few rays of sunlight slipped through the curtains of Feyd’s window. The light fell over his face and he stirred, disappointed by the encroachment of life upon his pleasant dream world. He arose from his bed and showered, having long accepted the technology of plumbing in this alien world. The hot water soothed his muscles, which ached both from the match and from the long day of wearing his armor. He stepped out of the shower, drying himself with a warm terrycloth towel. He dressed himself in his undergarments and proceeded to don his protective clothing to protect from his chafing armor.
Minutes later, he stepped out of his room and proceeded to march down the corridor, his greaves leaving scuffs on the carpet with each deliberate step. Down a flight of stairs, and he emerged in the lobby, next to a bank of elevators. He shuddered slightly as he passed the lifts. He was wary of such contraptions, after an incident of watching a childhood friend fall victim to a similar device, though of gnomish make. He shook his head at the thought of the gnome’s inventions. Reaching the door to the outside world, he stopped for a moment, wondering where the valets had stabled his horse. After something of a runaround form the valets and their manager, Feyd had finally tracked down his steed. After some heckling from the disrespectful men, and a few not so congenial words, he was off, having decided to ride to the next city, rather than board the steel monstrosity that everyone referred to as an airplane, but that in his heart he knew was a great metal dragon. He was nary half a mile from the hotel, having slowed his steed at the corner of a busy intersection, when suddenly he was approached by what seemed to be four children atop ponies.
He paused a moment, looking over them. These were no children; these were halflings. The bore cloaks of spun wool, and swords hidden, tucked into their belts. Their ponies bore leather sacks, most likely with supplies for some distant journey. One of them, a dark-haired lad with azure eyes rode ahead of the others, and spoke, “I am Elijah, and these are my companions. We are charged with a quest across the wastelands to the east. We are in need of help, and request that you might come along with us.”
Feyd looked the man over, his words ringing in his head. He paused at length, then asked, “What do you wish of me? And why is it that you seek myself particularly?”
The other three took Feyd’s response somewhat favorably, and moved forward, to the sides of their obvious leader. One of them, a younger one by the looks of it, chimed, “We need escort across the dangerous lands to the east!”
Elijah turned and cast an irritated glance at his companion, then spoke once more, “I apologize for my overeager colleagues. These two are something of fans of yours. They love wrestling, and when we spotted you, they all but decided that you were the one we should need. Forgive me for saying, but I have no taste for antics of fake battle. Or real battle, for that matter. However, I did have to admit that your name precedes you, Sir Feyd Brisbane. “
Feyd nodded as he listened, trying not to chuckle at the antics of the other three, their flushed faces and their jostling. He narrowed his attention to Elijah and spoke once more, “I do not believe you have explained your need for me, Elijah. Please do, and make haste, for I am in a great hurry.”
“We know! You’re going to Las Vegas!”
“Shut up Dominic!”
“Your mother, Boyd!”
“What about my mum?! Those are fighting words!”
A short scuffle between two of the young halflings ensued, and the other two felt fit to ignore them. Elijah replied to Feyd, “As it stands now, you have to cross the desert as well. Perhaps it would be more suitable for us to travel as we explain to you?”
“Let it be so.”
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Post by Sir Feyd Brisbane on Mar 16, 2008 14:59:47 GMT -5
“Through the heart of fire You're home, found the asylum In a world where a broken dance, on shards of glass I see fire, ruins and fire, and fire In world where a broken dance, with shattered dreams”
An hour later, the party of five rode slowly through the desert. The first hour had been a silent one, as they struggled to negotiate with the harsh dunes. However, as they found rhythm, chatter began, starting with an argument between Dominic and Boyd. Elijah rolled his eyes a bit, and looked up to Feyd. “I suppose that now would be the best time to inform you of our quest.” He reached under his tunic with one hand and grasped a silver chain. Pulling it off his neck, he held it up as he rode, the chain’s small cargo bouncing as it dangled.
Feyd looked upon the golden ring with a sense of awe. It was perfectly round and captured the sunlight in an alien way. Though at a casual glance it would have seemed very plain, the craftsmanship of the golden band was superb. Feyd let out a sigh as he looked upon it.
Elijah held the ring out to him, and at his side, his silent companion shook his head. “This is not a good idea Elijah. How do we know we can trust him? He could make off with it and we would fail!”
Elijah briefly put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, as though to ease him. “Sean, calm yourself. This man is a knight. Perhaps you cannot see his noble mien, but surely you know of his noble deeds. Surely his virtue is not in question!”
The other man, seemingly allayed, nodded and fell silent once more. Elijah looked back at Feyd. “This is a ring of great evil, and we are on a quest to destroy it. It was created deep within the fiery bowels of a mountain and imbued with the spirit of the most evil creature to plague this land. It can only be destroyed by being cast into the volcano where it was made.”
“I do not understand. Why do you need me in this undertaking? You have three other companions. Surely between the four of you, you may be able to reach the mountain to destroy it.”
Elijah sighed and continued, “Unfortunately, it is not that simple. The ring corrupts those who bear it, turning them evil. Simply by having it in one’s possession causes them to become immoral, and all those around him become covetous. That is why it must be you. You are the noblest of all those we have met, which is why you may be able to bear its wrath, at least for the time it takes to reach the mountain. Further, you are much larger and stronger than any of us and could easily defend yourself from us if the ring bent us to its will. I ask you to bear this burden, even though it is not your burden to bear.”
Feyd closed his eyes for a moment, sweating. His armor was heavy upon him and the blazing desert sun baked him within it. Though he felt lightheaded, he commanded his attention to his compatriot. “I shall do this for you Elijah.”
The small man smiled, dropping the ring and chain into the knight’s hand. “And now on for less weighty discussion. If I may ask, why do you wear such heavy armor? Especially on a day such as this?”
Feyd looked down to his armor, and realizing once again the intense heat of his bulky armor. He reached for his waterskin, which was strapped onto one of the saddlebags. Unhooking it, he raised it to his lips and took a deep drink. Then he looked to Elijah and answered, “A man that I look up to died very recently. In my country, when knights mourn the loss of someone important to them, they wear ceremonial armor like this set for a predetermined amount of time, only to take it off to sleep. I still have one more day after today. It is a dishonor to remove it otherwise.”
The conversation continued for a while until once again, the two halflings were being loud and obnoxious. When the settled, they both rode to Feyd, one on either side of him. He looked to Dominic, who asked, “We were wondering about your upcoming match with Benedict Phoenix.”
Feyd shrugged slightly, though the movement looked like anything but slight as his behemoth suit of armor raised and lowered. “What of it?”
He was bombarded with a flurry of questions.
“Do you think you can win?”
“Is he really from another dimension?”
“I heard he travels through portals! Is that true? Have you seen it?”
“Have you gotten to meet his girl, Esperanza? If nothing else, I’m going to that show just to see her.”
Feyd chuckled at the two men and their childish questions. “I don’t know whether or not I will win. I know that I can. I have the skill to be able to win a match against my opponent, just as he has the skill to beat me. Fate shall decide who will emerge victorious. Either way, to see another man from Albanasia would be a nice change. So, if he is from another dimension, then I suppose I would have to be as well, though I do not recall going through any sort of portal. However, I suppose that it is quite possible that he did.” He omitted any answer to the final question, not seeing any real bearing in it.
But alas, Boyd asked again, “Have you met Esperanza? She’s just so… oh just thinking about her….” He grinned, his eyes glowing lustfully.
Dominic laughed and shook his head at his friend. “I’m not sharing a tent with you. You can sleep on the cold desert sand.”
Feyd chuckled and rode a little ahead of them, deep in thought. What did he know about Benedict? Their respective countries had never had any dealings in the past, but he knew where it was. The man did look imposing though, and he knew he would have to try his hardest to win their battle. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and he once again took up his waterskin, this time pouring some of the cool liquid of his head. He immediately felt a bit better, though he knew it was just a short reprieve.
They rode on into the day, the Elijah having moved up next to Feyd again. The other three straggled behind a bit, though Sean had directed his attention to Feyd and Elijah a look of jealousy drawn over his face. The day waned and the heat began to subside. When the sun began to fall beneath the horizon, a cold wind picked up, sending a chill through the companions.
Elijah turned to Feyd, “I think we should set up camp, that way we can start out in the morning before it gets too hot. We should be able to reach the mountain and the city by nightfall tomorrow.”
Feyd nodded, stopping his horse as the foot of a large dune. “Sound thinking, Elijah.” He dismounted, and following suit, the others did as well. As they began to set up their tents, they could hear an ominous ululation in the distance. Feyd ignored it, driving the pegs for his tent down into the sand. Because of the winds sending the sand across the desert, he knew there would be no fire this night, so he opted to keep his armor on during the night. He knew all too well to salvage any warmth he might be able to.
He crawled into the tent, Sean having said that he would take first watch. As he lay in its confines, he could hear the howling again. Paying no mind, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
“It's burning inside you, it's emotional hell And you keep on smiling, upon the icy tides A stream of fire, to sweep the fears away Seems like forever, too long you've had to wait Locked in darkness, for wicked harmony Little angel thrown away, she'll be back another day”
He could feel the slight rock of the ship as it sat unmanned on the rolling waves. They had docked for the night, but he had stayed on the ship, under lock and key. Though he had long grown accustomed to it, it did not matter. Tonight was not like any of the other nights. He tossed and turned on his cot, tortured by grotesque dreams.
He awoke with a clear mind. He sat up and looked around the bare cell. He went to the door, and tried to open it, but it was locked from the outside. He stood there, and knocked on the door. A moment later, he could hear the click of the lock and the door slowly creaked open.
No longer was he confined! Only a single man stood between him and freedom. The officer who was at his door examined him, “What do you need, Charles?”
He looked over the man. Atop his head was a white hat with a blue brim. He wore a blue uniform with six shiny brass buttons down the front. On his left breast, asundry medals. At his hip, a sword. A sword…
He formed his words with effort. “I do not know who this Charles is. My name is Feyd.” With that, he struck upward, an open palm finding the man’s throat. He was met with a choked reply as the man tried to cry out through his collapsed windpipe. As the man clutched at his throat in pain, Feyd reached forward and gripped the hilt of the sword. The man struggled, trying to jump to the side and wretch Feyd’s hand away, but his grip was too strong. The man grabbed Feyd’s arm but was met with a pummeling hand to the gut, doubling him over. A downward fist on the man’s back knocked him to the ground, and Feyd easily slipped the sword out of its scabbard.
The sword was a curved affair, with an ivory hilt and a gold-plated hand guard. Feyd inverted it and thrust the blade deep into the man’s back. The man whimpered in pain against the floor, blood seeping from his mouth. Feyd twisted the blade and the man began to quiver. Once he removed the blade, the body moved no longer.
He stepped over the man and steadily walked down the corridor, clutching the saber loosely in his right hand. He stepped slowly, doing his utmost to remain quiet as he explored the ship, searching for the exit. He continued through the hallway, and was met with two drunken sailors, stumbling along. He ducked into a perpendicular corridor and waited. The men passed him and he struck. The blade slashed at the closest man, who staggered and yelled. A second swipe yielded a disembodied head rolling across the floor.
The second man turned in Feyd’s direction just in time to see the saber thrust into his chest. As the man expired on the sword, he was held upright. Feyd tugged on the blade, which trembled at the force, but remained, held in place, having pierced through the man and become caught in the grating of the wall. He raised his foot and pressed it to the chest of the man. Gripping the hilt with both hands he pulled again, pushing off with his foot. He was rewarded with a sickening crack as his foot broke the ribs of the dead man, and his sword once again free.
Once again he wandered the halls. He encountered a few more men, dispatching them from the shadows as he continued looking for a way out. Ahead there was a door, and the hall began to bend. He tried to open the door, but found it was locked. But that would not stop him.
He hacked once, twice, thrice, and more until he had lost count and the wooden door was splintered along its entire right half. Then he kicked, and the door burst inward with a loud crack. He stepped inside and within the confines of the room was an extravagant bed, in which a man was rising. It was the wrong room. But Feyd could leave no witnesses to his escape.
“Charles! What the hell are you doing in here?” Then the captain saw the bloody sword. He jumped to his feet and made for his desk. Feyd moved toward the man. When he had come within sword’s reach, the man turned around, with a sidearm in his hand. As Feyd struck with the saber, the man fired, a bullet finding its way into Feyd’s side. But ti was too late, for the blade was now deeply embedded into the man’s side, snaking into his ribcage under his arm.
The man fell to his knees, and as Feyd strained to pull the sword out, blood spurted from the mortal wound. Feyd turned again, leaving. He held his side, blood pouring from his wound as he limped along. The next door he found opened to a flight of stairs going upwards. At last, he had found the deck.
He forced himself up the stairs and when he reached the deck, he could see the sun flirting with the horizon. It broke the night sky and Feyd began toward the dock. But, much to his disdain, the sailors were now returning to the ship after their night of leave. He knew that he had lost too much blood to stand a defense, but he also knew that he would not be able to hide or get away from them all, even with their inebriation. He stood his ground, wielding the sword as the men made their way onto the deck.
The first two men came aboard and were met with three quick horizontal slashes. They fell and he stepped forward onto the platform. The next men, having seen their fallen comrades began to race upward. ‘If only I can hold here,’ Feyd though ‘then I can funnel them to me only two or three at a time.’ As the next few men neared him, he struck at one, a red ribbon appearing across the man’s throat. He stepped back and made another slash, catching the arm of one of the other men.
The men both lunged forward, knocking Feyd off balance and back onto the deck. He had tripped backwards and the men rushed forward. He scrambled to get up, and when he did, he found himself in the midst of fifteen more men, shouting and bearing short blades.
The battle was fierce, with pockets of men lunging at him with their knives, only to retract their hand with fingers missing. More men met their gods at the tip of Feyd’s blade. Unfortunately, the strain of holding the men at bay and the lightheadedness of his blood loss proved too much for him. As the sun began its ascent, he dropped to his knees, sending a prayer to Paladine, then fell unconscious.
“Through the heart of fire You're home, found the asylum In a world where a broken dance, on shards of glass I see fire, ruins and fire, and fire In world where a broken dance, with shattered dreams”
Feyd awoke with a start, the desert winds having blown vast amounts of sand within his tent. The flap of his tent was open, and the air was putrefied by the rank odor of death. On his armor lay a layer of the blanketing dust, and he stood with effort. His side hurt fiercely, likely from having slept in his armor. He left the confines of the tent and was met with a horrific sight.
To his right lay his horse, in a pool of blood and sinewy organs. Its beautiful coat marred with dried blood. Its belly had been torn open, as though by some wild beast, and he cursed himself for ignoring the howling the night before. He forced his eyes away and saw crimson stains on the golden sand, and no trace of his companions. Their tents were torn, and the ponies similarly slain, but none of the tiny men. No corpses, nor even footprints.
He raised his head, releasing an enraged shout, and began to gather his things. The sun already hung high in the heavens. His pack had been ripped apart, his rations strewn about the sand, now pieces of inedible waste littering the dune ahead. His waterskin held only a scant few drops of water.
He knew it would not be a good day for travel, but in such a condition, he had no choice. For all he knew, his companions had been slain or captured. It made sense, whoever came and killed the horses must have been looking for the ring. But then why had the not made an attempt on his life?
Because they did know it was he who bore it. Naturally they would have heard of the four halflings carrying it, but nothing of a knight. And perhaps the sight of him had been so foreboding to them that they had decided it was best not to disturb him at all.
Now filled with a renewed sense of strength, he trudged on. He would take the ring to the mountain of fire. He would honor his oath, even if they were dead and it no longer held substance. He climbed the dune slowly, his armor bogging him down greatly. And he began his long journey against the cutting winds of the desert.
He walked for what seemed lifetimes. The desert gave the feeling of never ending and many times he had wondered if he had just been wandering in a large circle. The sun blazed down upon him, making him flush in the heat. His armor felt heavy, and his face was soaked in sweat. He was wracked with fever, coughing and hacking.
He stumbled and collapsed, falling face first into the burning sand.
“Now see the cornered children, I see them off the beaten track Embracing and crying, freezing and dying Come seek humiliation, now let them dance Liberation cruelty free, dance toward the gallows tree”
As Feyd stood outside the keep, he shuddered beneath his cloak. He awaited his mother, who was making her way to the gate after talking to his father. He had been dismissed from Sadric’s chamber after his father had helped him into his armor for the first, and most likely, last time. In the minutes when Sadric had been gently clasping the clips and tugging and the belts that held the armor on him, his father had been the kindest to him that he could remember. It simultaneously overjoyed and greatly saddened him to think about.
Swearing the oath to his father to protect his mother seemed so long in the past, even though it had been mere minutes earlier. If it were possible, he felt years wiser than he had when his mother had woken him on that cold winter’s eve. He pulled the cloak tighter around him as the tremor of the wind ran through him, going straight to the bone. He swore to himself that he would not. For better or for worse, he was a man now, even if he was only at the tender age of twelve. And men bore the cold in silence.
Not even when his mother appeared at the gatehouse did he let out so much as a whimper. She approached him with a warm smile, and they made their way down the worn avenue around the city. Feyd had opted, with his father’s encouragement, not to take horses, for it would be hard to maintain their path as they sneaked through the forest outside the city.
As they walked, Feyd could feel his sword slap up against his thigh. He tightened the loop around its scabbard and it stilled. He looked to his mother, who was wrapped in a warm cloak, covering her many layers of clothes. A note of envy struck his heart, and he quickly dispelled it, even as the biting wind made him long for the comfort of his bed and fur blankets. ‘Envy is unbecoming of a knight,’ he told himself as he searched his mind for memories of warmth to combat the numbing air.
They entered the forest quietly, slipping between two large oak trees whose boughs had grown wrapped around one another, forming a natural archway. They negotiated with the steep incline of the hill, the sound of snow crunching beneath their feet. He heard his mother begin to hum and he smiled. He remembered the old Solamnic song that she had used countless times to sooth him as a child. A song of Huma, the hero of the lance, who rode his platinum dragon into the raging fury of Tahkisis, the nine-headed dragon goddess. A song of honor, even though the council of the knighthood refused to regard Huma as little more than a petty renegade knight.
His thoughts wandered, and the cold no longer stung him, for now he was sitting astride the back of a great beast, riding in the air alongside the ancient hero. He did not notice the snap of twigs around him as the bandits drew near.
He heard the whistle of an arrow as it flew at him, catching his cloak and tearing a jagged hole through it. He drew his curved sword, readying himself, and looked to his mother, who cried out.
“Feyd! A war band!” Her words were muffled by the sweeping wind, but he heard her nonetheless. Five men emerged, shadow figures at the summit of the hill, their cloaks dancing in the wind.
They descended upon them, and he attacked. His blow was turned aside and he received a kick to the stomach, a blow that a normal man would have been able to withstand through the hard leather armor, but which a boy could not. He fell tot he ground then felt a blade fall upon him, cutting a slit through his cloak and striking deep in his armor. The impact alone drove Feyd deep into the snow, and a foot dropped onto his back.
“Hah! ‘Tis only a boy!” The man scoffed at him, driving his foot into his back.
Another voice broke through the wind, “Leave him here, take the woman.”
He heard the scream of his mother, but could not turn his head in her direction, having been forced so far into the freezing ground. His face burned from the snow, and he could feel the struggle as his other fought back, then a yelp and the sounds ceased.
“Let us go! Surely this town would pay a great ransom for their maiden!” Laughter came from above and around him from the evil men in reply.
The pressure on his back released and he could feel the motion of the man as he walked ahead of him. He struck forward with his sword blindly, and felt the satisfying sensation as his blade struck flesh.
He looked up to see the man having fallen forward. He tried to push himself up, but the rogue was quicker. He turned, sending a boot into Feyd’s cheek, throwing him back. Even as he lay there, dazed, he could hear the man limping away.
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Post by Sir Feyd Brisbane on Mar 16, 2008 15:02:36 GMT -5
“Boogeyman was sought and found Boogeyman has found a home In the heart of fire, he's found the asylum In world where a broken dance, on shards of glass”
He felt a hand on his shoulder and he pushed himself out of the sand, looking up. In the contrast of the bright sun ahead, he saw the dark figure of a man, clad in armor, a cloak flowing. The man began to step away from him and Feyd could see the detailing of the exquisite armor. He could see people carved into the polished white breastplate, a red ‘V’ over the left breast. On each of the tabs over the tunic, a carving of wreathes. A man wielding a torch. A soldier bearing a shield and a spear. A man with a dog. The man began to turn from him and walked up the steep dune as though it was level ground.
In front of Feyd was a waterskin. He picked it up and it was heavy. He could hear the liquid inside and opened it, taking a long drink. His throat hurt from the dry atmosphere, and the water was soothing like nothing he had ever known. He stood and looked to where the man had been. He was now at the top of the dune, walking away and paying no heed. The man had saved his life, and Feyd had not even seen his face.
Feyd forced himself to his feet and followed the man, wanting to thank him. He had no money, with which to reward him, but felt indebted to him, and wished to pledge a favor to him. He made it to the top of the dune, only to see the man starting his way to the next. He ran down after the man, but still, was unable to get any closer.
He followed the man for hours, not stopping once for rest and taking long draughts from the waterskin, which never seemed to feel any lighter. He poured water on his head, and the burning heat was held at bay. He continued onward to the man, who always seemed to get farther away. As the sun began to fall, the man was at the top of the next dune, always ahead. Before he knew it, night was upon him.
It grew dark, but he still followed the man. The air cooled, and after a time, the darkness hid the man from his view. All he could see was the faint wave of the man’s deep red cloak. He drank the last from the waterskin, the illusion of its bottomlessness long gone, and dropped it to the ground. From somewhere within him, he found the strength to run. He grew closer to the man. He continued his running, up and down the dunes, growing nearer and neared. He was finally close enough that he could almost grasp the man’s cloak. Yet the man continued in his slow, methodic walk, and still evaded him.
Feyd ran on, finally yelling out, “Stop for a moment!” He continued toward the man, who stopped and turned. Feyd had nearly reached him, but before he could see the man’s face, he had erupted in flame and disappeared in a wisp of smoke.
Feyd looked up and saw a great display of buildings and lights. He had reached the city! Relieved, he made his way out of the sand and hurried into the civilized area. He wandered through the city until, at length, he came upon a wide avenue, flanked on either side by a great variety of buildings with flashing neon lights. He walked down the avenue, and in the distance, something caught his eye.
A spurt of flame! The volcano was near. With a renewed sense of strength, he pushed on, revitalized as his mission came back to his mind, pushing away the thoughts of mere survival. He ran again, now down the street, dodging through the groups of people who walked together drinking their alcoholic beverages along the sidewalks.
He was upon it, standing at the base of the volcano. Small as it was, the ground rumbled and he knew it was going to erupt again. The pressure subsided and the spurt of liquid was thrown into the air, colored with red and orange hues. He waited to the mountain to calm, then began to scale it.
He was about halfway up the side of the fifty-five foot volcano, when he felt a stirring beneath him. He continued to climb higher, feeling the shaking of the mountain grow stronger and fiercer. When he was a mere three feet from the top, the shaking was so terrible that he could barely hold on. With one last great burst of strength, he tore the chain from his neck, and slammed the ring over the lip of the volcano.
The volcano shook more and Feyd lost his grip, tumbling down the side as it erupted once more. He rolled down to the ground, bouncing off the mountain and landing on the walk, aching all over.
“Fire, ruins and fire, and fire In world where a broken dance, with shattered dreams Heart of fire, you're home, found the asylum I see fire, ruins and fire, and fire In world where a broken dance, with shattered dreams”
He awoke in a hotel room. He did not remember making his way to his hotel, or anything after the cataclysmic eruption that hurled him to the ground the night before. His body ached, burning from the exertion of the last day. He was not wearing his armor. It was propped up in a chair facing the bed he was in, so he must have made it there of his own accord, else he would have still been in it.
After the painful minutes of getting out of bed, he stretched out his sore muscles and showered. He dressed himself in the fine clothes he found in the closet and made his way out of the hotel. He had been given directions to the arena when he was back in L.A., so he headed toward it.
The walk to the arena was painful, but otherwise plain. The gazes and stares from the people on the streets that he had grown accustomed to continued, and as usual, he ignored it. Such was the stigma of being in a foreign land. When he finally reached the arena, his legs were even sorer than before, something he had not thought possible.
He made his way inside, navigation the pale halls until he found the locker room. He smiled as his gaze fell upon the locker with his name scrawled upon it and moved toward it. He opened his locker and placed in his bag, when a white envelope fell to the floor. He looked down at it quizzically and bent over to pick it up.
He opened the envelope and looked at its contents. He stumbled backward fearfully, almost tripping over the bench between the rows of lockers. The envelope fell to the ground once more and out of it rolled a plain golden ring of masterful make.
He heard the door open behind him and people shuffling in. He turned to see the four men who he had thought dead. He gawked at them confused, even as they came upon his with great blows from wooden swords. He was knocked to the ground, victim to the merciless onslaught.
A fifth figure stepped into the door, none other than Craig Christ, who sneered at him as he was beaten. He laughed, almost maniacally, then paused, looking at the fallen knight, “Perhaps now you might think twice before insulting me, Charles.”
“Through the heart of fire You're home, found the asylum In a world where a broken dance, on shards of glass I see fire, ruins and fire, and fire In world where a broken dance, with shattered dreams”
Having tracked the men further into the forest, he now stood in a valley beneath two merging hills, surrounded by trees. The tracks split off in different directions and he stepped forward cautiously. This was a good place for his enemies to ambush him, so he proceeded warily. At the base of the hills, the five figures in cloaks appeared, and he heard laughter. They descended upon him.
Drawing his sword, he brandished it at them and one of them stopped, before beign pressed on by another. The hill was steep and momentum carried them down quickly to him. Even if they wanted to stop, they would have been unable to. He stepped forward to the closest one, driving his sword forward. He felt the impact as the sword slipped into flesh.
He removed the sword in a fluid motion and looked to the others, who had begun to alter their course and ran past him, slashing at his sides. He was struck by three separate blows and spun around to see the others disappearing into the trees. He heard movement from below and looked down at the figure, whose blood now ran over the crisp snow.
The figure murmured softly and he knelt down, still on guard. Then he noticed the sword bound to the hand of his fallen opponent. He pushed back the hood of the cloak and wept.
His victim spoke two final words, “My son…”
He wept on the night when he killed for the first time.
“Through the heart of fire You're home, found the asylum In a world where a broken dance, on shards of glass I see fire, ruins and fire, and fire In world where a broken dance, with shattered dreams”
(Lyrics: The Asylum by Edguy)
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Post by Deacon King on Mar 16, 2008 15:52:26 GMT -5
"You stupid bitch! Why would you bring that god forsaken shit into my house!?"
Deacon King couldn't find it in himself to utter another word before he stormed out of the house and away from temptation... once again.
Now, chillin' with the guys from HellYeah and finding solace in the guitar in his hands, he could think about what else it was he wanted to say...
Ignorant, good for nothing cock warmer! Sarina knew just what it was that King had gone through early in his music career. The drugs, the drug deals, and the drug dealers. The damn scar on his chest was proof enough that it was stupid of her to do something like that!
King had just finished his work-out and decided that maybe a post-weight lifting fuck might be in order. It had only taken him thirty seven seconds to glance from her to the mirror on the table to realize something was wrong. She looked strung out, and the mirror looked like somebody had been trying to kill a diabetic.
But oh no, it wasn't sugar that still peppered some spots of the glass... it was fuckin' coke, powder, snow... cocaine.
King had known she was doing it for a while, but she said she quit. She said she had quit for him...
Fuckin' liar!
Chad Grey: You okay, King?
King, hitting one final D chord on the Gibson Les Paul, glances up at Grey. He was wearing a concerned smile... and was holding a beer.
King needed a beer.
Deacon King: Doin' fine, good sir. Just found my girl with that fuckin' powder shit.
Grey winces and takes a glance at the other four members of HellYeah in the other room. Seeing them preoccupied, he takes a seat next to King and lets his gaze fall to his beer.
Chad Grey: Yeah, that shit's brutal, dude. I never really took a liking to it.
Deacon King: Well, I did... and I just don't want to see her go down the same path. I've got a lot of baggage because of that shit.
Chad Grey: I can believe it, man.
King nods and steps down on the foot pedal in front of him. The amp to his left fills with distortion and crunches the notes King begins to play. Chad, to his right, nods his head to the tune and takes another sip of his Bud Ice.
Remembering the look on Sarina's face, King abruptly cuts the tune short. This was killing him on the inside.
Chad Grey: It'll get better, man. Just talk to her about it and let her know who runs that shit.
King and Grey share a laugh before the reality of the situation settles in again.
Deacon King: Hell yeah to that, man... but I dunno'. She's stubborn... and if she keeps doing it... I might fall back into the old me.
Chad Grey: Oh hell no, dude. Screw that. Here, let me get you a beer or three. That way you can get your buzz on and jam with the band.
King looks up to decline, but Grey is already off the couch. King watches as he hits the mini-fridge and decides that maybe a beer won't be too bad.
It's not as bad what he used to do... brown and white powder was all he could think about for a while. Oh, and the yellow powder.
Pure Cocaine.
Chad Grey: Stop thinkin' so much and start drinkin' yer ass off.
King sets the guitar aside and grabs the two beers from Grey. With a smile, he opens one and quickly downs about half its contents.
Deacon King: Good... good shit.
Chad Grey: The best shit you'll ever taste, man.
King found comfort in Chad's praise of the beverage. He was right... this shit was good and it wasn't going to waste.
King, sucking back the rest of his open can, decided for another...
And ended up deciding that another fifteen or twenty times.
What had to have been a couple of hours later, King was waasssttted. Chad was on the floor, staring back at him, laughing until it looked as if it was hurting.
Though, for the life of King, he couldn't remember what was funny.
Chad Grey: Yeah... that bitch can snort all the coke she wants to. There's no tellin' how many women you've got on the side.
King jumps to his feet, wobbling backwards for a second before pointing a finger at the thin air in front of him.
Deacon King: Yeah, that bitch can ride someone else's cock to Holy... Hobbit... whatever the fuck it's called. Hollywood! I told her that powder wasn't shit to be played with.
Chad Grey: Your cock is what she should be playin' with!
Deacon King: Damn skippy, scooter!
King suddenly hurls his half-empty beer into the wall next to him with an alcoholic shatter.
Chad Grey: Hell Yeah!
Deacon King: WOOOO!
Chad Grey: WOOOO!
Deacon King: wasted!
Chad Grey: I have to pee!
Deacon King: WOOO- wait, what?
Chad Grey: I'll be back...
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King, one dangerous drunk drive later, slams the door to his 98' Dodge Viper GTS and begins a drunken stumble up his porch. That bitch was gonna' get yelled at like she'd done gone interracial*!
*Let it be known that Deacon King is not a racist. Due not sue, claim racial profiling, or try and stab/shoot/rob him at 1.2*
Hitting the door, King fumbles for his keys and finally finds the one to the front door. In the mass chaos of his drunken mind, he manages to hear the click of the lock. King pushes the door open and immediately searches for his In-the-Wrong girlfriend.
The sound of a door opening and King glances to his left. King reels back with disgust and brings up a fist.
Exodus...
Deacon King: Die you worthless, wizard fucking, shit!
King lunges at Exodus and swings a wild, drunken fist at him. As if with ease, Exodus catches King's arm and swings him around into the wall. Then, too quick for drunken eyes to see, Exodus wraps his fingers around King's throat.
Exodus: I knew you'd come back here lookin' to start something. What the fuck is your problem?
King, voices swimming around in his head, latches onto Exodus' voice, but... it wasn't his. King squints to see through his haze of anger, confusion, and alcohol.
It was Hannibal Frost.... Sarina's brother...
With just enough air to speak, King attempts to calm him.
Deacon King: Whoa, big guy... simmer down for just a second.
Hannibal Frost: You came in here with what looked to me like some malicious intent! Why should I calm down?
King goes to answer, but gets a knee in the gut before a word could leave his lips.
Hannibal Frost: Nevermind, I don't really care. Although, what'd my sister do that was so bad she deserved an ass-whippin' for it?
King glances over at Sarina and begins to answer, but couldn't find it in himself to out her drug use. He really did love her... and Hannibal would never forgive either of them.
Deacon King: I'm just stressed about my match for Round 2... and I think she thought I was getting mad at her. I'm just worried I won't be able to beat this Exodus guy.
Hannibal suddenly releases King and pats him on the shoulder with a smile. It was as if his attitude had changed in a split second. Not even a shade of anger left over.
Hannibal Frost:Well why didn't you say so!? C'mon man, I know you've got a damn wrestling ring around here somewhere. I mean, you've got three pools and dirt bike track!
Deacon King: Yeah, well... I've got money comin' out of my ass; all hundred dollar bills, mind you.
Hannibal Frost: I bet, man. Well c'mon, and I'll show you a thing or two. Exodus won't know what hit him. Though, isn't he from outer space or something?
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Bright
Developmental Talent
Watching. Waiting. Ever So Patient
Posts: 39
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Post by Bright on Mar 16, 2008 19:13:33 GMT -5
The scene is a dark, cluttered and dank environment. There are two dull sources of light. Through the window, rays of sunlight bounce off the moon in the night sky, giving a spooky luminance to all it graces, while on the other side of the environment is the dull hum and glow of a television set, creepily scaring even the hardest of souls. Littering the surroundings are forgotten magazines, newspapers and food containers.
The television emits a stronger light, as two excited voices scream out from the land of broadcasts.Commentator: THIS CAN’T BE!!! WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!!! Color Commentator: I called it all along. Weakness is his stamina. Predictably, he went for the early knock out, but our new champ weathered the storm and came out on top! We always knew once we got past the 8th round, we’d be crowning a new Welterweight Ch… The TV suddenly goes dead. From behind the camera, soft, deep and disjointed footsteps are felt, not heard. A Dark figure brushes into the shot, walking over to the window. The large figure tilts his head back slightly and gazes towards the heavens. In return, the heavenly bodies above stare right back down to the figure. The figure coughs, again, it is felt, not heard, the depth in tone much lower than a normal human voice.
The figure moves his hand down the side of his jacket and allows it to dive into it’s pocket. The appendage resurfaces, clutching a small metallic object, round, but flat. The figure holds it up, allowing it to glimmer and glisten in the light. The faded engraving on it’s case spell the words “Benjamin Bright”.Figure: My name is Benjamin Bright, and for too long have I allowed myself the displeasure of failing to live up to expectation. Tonight, the global community will no longer need to worry about expectations for me, or the fact I may not live to the hype. Bright gently places the metal object on the window ledge, and turns to the camera. A man who has not aged gracefully, Bright’s face reeks of exhaustion. A tired man who is simply running out of energy. His stance however is strong and powerful, like a man who knows his own strength, this is only deterred by the slumping of his shoulders. Bright moves over to the seat, and turns the Television back on, but with no sound. A beaten man, bleeding from the mouth, is tended to by his trainers.Bright: I sit, and I watch. I watch a lot of things. Boxing, the sport of kings, is one of my preferred viewing slots for revelations. Like any sport, it is purely built on opportunity, and those who best make their opportunities into something substantial, walk out victorious. The TV in the background shimmers some more. It’s vision shows a middle aged man wearing a stripped shirt standing in between two men, holding both of them by their wrist. The man on the left of screen is battered, bruised and looks to be wallowing in his own self pity. The man on the right of screen however, is a stark contrast. Battered and bruised, his face shines of optimism, excitement and pride. In the silence of the room, the man in the stripped shirt raises the hand of the man to the right of screen. The two beaten men come together, and embrace, before the excited man is handed his championship belt.Bright: The champion could have won this in the third round, he was fighting with passion and pride. His technique was mind blowing, but the champion got careless. Knowing he can not out run his younger opponent, he gave him a window of opportunity to stall the beating, going for a more complex punch. A move if pulled off, gains more points than any combination of knock outs and winning streak. This gave his opponent an opportunity to block the risky maneuver, and last until the end of the round. This is the exact point of victory. The television is switched off and the room returns to the moonlight bathed environment it was before.Bright: Such skill he possessed, such trust in himself to allow himself to take the chance to block… Bright walks through the darkness to a desk. The sound of wood rubbing on wood breaks the almost deathly silence, with the following accompaniment of the clunking of metallic object. Bright speaks softly with his back to the camera.Bright: At VCW Live 1.2, I will have the pleasure of attempting to travel a similar path to that of the victorious boxer. Please be aware, that to my opponent, Ciaran Kennedy, there are no ill feelings. Mr. Kennedy, if copy right laws will allow me to address you by this name, this is in fact not about the match… to me at least. With Bright obscuring what he is doing, the clicking of metal keeps a metronomic pulse to the scene. As he shifts his body weight from one leg to another, the rattle of garbage against his leg percussively keeps the atmosphere.Bright: Once I was young, at the top of my field. Impressively I astounded people with my heroic acts. The editor of the New York Post once said of my in ring ability “If wrestling is scripted, then this man is free-styling”. Bright opens his coat and puts something inside it, before turning back to face the camera. The moonlight kisses half his face, leaving the other half in shadow. He turns his attention towards the ground.Bright: Those were happier, more optimistic times. I was young, excited and full of hope. Now, I have just grown into this shell of a man. Bright leans against the desk, allowing more of his face to become shadowed in the moonlight. The silence eerily looms, as Bright’s deep breaths cut through like a hot knife through butter. A cough in his throat is a startling sound, as he prepares to speak again.Bright: Ciaran Kennedy, I pride myself on being observant and patient. I see a lot more than the average person. I can see you are you, energetic and full of life. I am an old beaten war horse, who has grown stiff through unemployment. My endurance is not what it used to be, but my strength is something I have to my advantage. Just like the boxing champion who lost his crown, for me to come out of our bout victorious, I need to finish you early. Bright reaches behind himself and picks up a small cardboard box of tissues. The small paper like objects rustle as he removes a handful from their packaged home. Bright takes these tissues and wipes them across his face, drying up all the residue which had formed.Bright: And yet, even with this knowledge, I am unsure is this is possible. You see, before I can observe my opponents, and what they do better than me, I need to take a look at myself. Bright walks away from the desk and turns away from the camera, before walking towards the television. In its black screen, a faint reflection can be made out of Benjamin Bright.Bright: Mr. Kennedy, when I look at myself, really observe what’s going on, I see an aging, middle aged man, past his prime, who has lost all the drive he once had as a younger man. He was once excited to get the opportunity to win, but it now feels exactly like a job. Bright turns around and walks back over to the window, where he picks up the small metallic object he placed there earlier. The clunks in his hand and holds it up to his face once more.Bright: I do not like the lonely, cynical man I am presented with. Mr. Kennedy, please pay attention what I have to say. From an experienced man in the industry, I have learnt one major thing that needs to happen when you see something that you don’t like. Bright slowly kneels down to the ground and clears a space in the mess, where the moonlight brightly shines. He places the small metallic object and opens it, its contents facing away from the camera. The engraving of “Benjamin Bright” is clearly visible in the light. Bright returns to his vertical base.Bright: For your sake, Kennedy, I hope you realize this much earlier than I did. From inside his coat, Bright pulls a small pistol. He looks directly at the camera, the barrel precariously aimed at the sternum of its holder, whose lose grip means it bobs slightly up and down. The camera then pans down, back to the floor, where the metallic object sits. The camera focuses on this object in a deathly silence.
BANG!!!Crack… tinkle tinkle
The metallic object jumps in the air, shards of glass spewing from it’s insides. It lands with it’s opening facing the camera, sitting in a pile of its own contents. This small broken pocket mirror wobbling around from the shock is the last thing we see as the scene fades out.
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Post by Super 'Mella Bear on Mar 16, 2008 20:24:26 GMT -5
One… <Here we go…>Two… <This is it…>Th…NOO!!! NO!!!! NO!!!! NO!!!! NO!!!! NO!!!! <What the fuck?!? No, this is bullshit! I gotta end this shit now. I can’t let him come to…>Cyrus: No way!! That is not possible!! Ahriman just kicked out!! These fans can’t believe it!! Anon Ehmus calmly rises to his feet bringing Ahriman with him…he’s setting Ahriman up for something. PUMPHANDLE DVD!!! <This has to be it...> One… <Don’t kick out!>Two… <Please, don’t fucking kick out!>Three!!! <Thank you, Lord!>Anon rolls out of the ring immediately after the pin and begins walking up the ramp, staring straight ahead. Not once does he look around or absorb the adulation from the crowd. He’s too lost in his thoughts to even notice fanfare.<I’m one step closer to clearing my name…one step closer to regaining my life…>~~~ The scene changes to the entrance to the ever familiar Prison Waiting Area. The view is situated behind Anon, who is once again being escorted by a CO. The CO leads him to the same table from the last time Anon was brought here, and finds Hostyle already seated patiently. As Anon approaches the table, Hostyle rises from his chair to greet his colleague.Hostyle: Well, if it isn’t the Seraphim Falls Tournament qualifier! Hostyle reaches his hand out towards Anon, who shakes it. Both men then take their seats before commencing with their conversation.Hostyle: Very impressive, bro! Looks like prison hasn’t slowed you down one bit. I mean, your debut win wasn’t as dominating as the 2 major ones of my career, but it was still awesome, nonetheless. Anon: Thanks, I guess. It was getting kinda sketchy towards the end there, when Ahriman decided to bring that barbed-wire wrapped table into the mix! I wasn’t sure that the suit would hold up, but regardless of that, I didn’t really want things to go down the way they did. Hostyle: Yet, you didn’t stop yourself from capitalizing on the situation, and doing what was necessary to gain the victory, bro. That’s some commendable shit right there. Anon: I just didn’t wanna fuck up, Zay. My freedom from this bullshit was the only thought that was fueling me out there. Hostyle: I feel you, bro. And trust me when I say that you’ve made the Client very proud. That Ahriman was no pushover, so your win seems to have raised the confidence of the Client in you. Anon: I just hope that I can continue winning. I seriously can’t believe that I’m wrestling for the opportunity to regain my life. How the fuck am I getting away with this again? Hostyle: Under the facade of you being placed into solitary confinement for an undetermined amount of time. None of your “peers” will be seeing you for a while. Anon: That’s actually pretty clever. Hostyle: Indeedio. Anyway, let’s discuss your next opponent: John Dunn. I just picked up some intel on this bizarro bastard, and it seems is if he’s gone through a bit of a gimmick change. Anon pauses for a minute, before reaching into his pockets, and pulling out a folded piece of paper.Anon: Must have something to do with this. Anon heaves the folded paper at confused looking Hostyle, who catches it, and unfolds it. He takes a moment to read the letter, before looking back towards Anon.Hostyle: What the douche is this? Anon: You read it, didn’t you? Hostyle: Yeah. It’s the card for 1.2. Why are you showing me this? Anon grabs the unfolded sheet of paper, and remains silent for some time, while staring at it.Hostyle: Bro, are you ok? Anon: This doesn’t make sense. I’ve been carrying the letter on me since I found it in my locker so that I could show it to you. Hostyle: Dude, are you sure you haven’t been hallucinating lately? I mean, you did take some pretty bad bumps during that match. Could be a concussion. Or stress. Anon: No fucking way, am I making this up, Zay. And my head is fine. It’s just that I’m having such a tough fucking time trying to make sense out of it all. All I wanted to do was checkup on your dad before the surgery. It all happened so fast... ~Start of Flashback~ The scene switches to a view through the eyes of Anon, where he’s in the midst of entering a room within a hospital.
Anon: I remember entering your dad’s room, and witnessing the dreadful site of a broken man, with not much life left in him. He had tubes protruding from every which way. Various sounds flooded my hearing: from beeps and humming, to air being pumped. I couldn’t help but feel utterly depressed at the site of your dad lying helplessly on that hospital bed as I approached his bedside. I grabbed his right hand and sighed heavily, as I stared at the man sleeping peacefully before me.
Then suddenly, I remembered about the second chance that I would soon be giving him by donating a part of my liver to him.
Mr. Tavarez begins to stir, until he finally wakes up from his slumber.
Anon: The thought of being able to save your dad filled me with so much hope and pride, and I then noticed him come to. When his eyes met with mine, I smiled at him and told him “Don’t worry, Mr. Tavarez. All of your suffering will soon be over.”
After I told him that, his eyes widened, and he began to freak out. Startled by his reaction, I dropped his hand, and attempted to understand what his problem was. Since he had a respiratory tube down his throat, he wasn’t able to verbalize his instructions, so he started pointing towards his IV Drip. The beeping began to increase in frequency, and since I wasn’t able to make sense of his request, I began to panic, as I stood next to the IV Drip.
The physically weak Mr. Tavarez grabs hold of the tube attached to his arm.
Anon: Your dad then began to tug on his IV line, so I figured that what he wanted was for me to disconnect him from the tube. I took action, instead going for help, which was a bad move, as the beeping ended up drawing attention to the room.
A nurse suddenly bursts into the room, and which distracts Anon from what he was doing.
Anon: The first thing that the incoming nurse noticed was me seemingly tampering with your dad’s IV Drip, which prompted her to call security. I tried the best that I could to explain myself, but the guards weren’t having any of that, as they roughed me up to restrain me, knocking me out in the process.
Anon blacks out after being struck in the temple with a nightstick.
~End of Flashback~ Anon: Next thing I know, I’m being taken in by the cops, and convicted for murder. During the investigation, they would find all sorts of evidence pinning me to the crime, including an IV Drip bag filled with pure alcohol that was the cause of your dad’s death. I was fucking setup! The cold-hearted, cowardly fuck somehow knew enough about me to royally fuck me, Zay. I shouldn’t here locked up in here, while that asshole killer is still free roaming around. I shouldn’t be enduring his punishment, being made to fight for my freedom, while some pathetic excuse for a human being, who’d rather make money off of the situation before aiding me in proving my innocence! This is fucking bullshit!!! Hostyle: Bro, calm down. I agree about the Client’s method being heartless, but at least you’re being given the opportunity to prove yourself. Plus, you’re not alone. We will get you out of this shithole, man. Now unfortunately, it’s time for me to head out. I’ll catch up with you at the show. Hostyle stands up from the chair, and shakes Anon’s hand.Hostyle: And don’t worry about the match. I seriously doubt that Dunn’ll be even close to as motivated in winning the title as you. No one on that roster is, actually. Hostyle walks towards the exit, as the scene fades to black. ~~~ ~Night of VCW 1.2~ The suit-clad Anon is shown sitting hunched over on a locker room bench engaged in heavy contemplation. John Dunn suddenly walks in donning his new V costume, and interrupts Anon’s trance.Dunn: Hey, I just wanna let you know that I have no god damn beef with you, Anon. Anon: Ditto. Dunn: I think that this is nothing but bull-raping-cunt-shit, and that fucking Christ’s afraid of having us faces unite against him and his sex slaves, which is why he’s pitting us against each other. Anon: You may be right, John, but I haven’t been directly or indirectly affected, so forgive my lack of anger towards our boss. Taken aback by Anon’s response, Dunn just nods in agreement, and begins to make his way towards the exit. Dunn: Fair enough. I’ll be catching you out there then. I hope that you won’t be holding anything back. Anon: Wasn’t planning on it. Dunn: Heh. And hey, if that period-stain-herpe-rash, Christ, does end up giving you trouble; just know that you can count on me to lend a hand. Anon: I’ll keep that in mind. John Dunn finally exits the locker room, leaving Anon all alone.<Christ is the least of my worries, Dunn. My mind is on defeating you. But if Christ does fuck with me, then I’ll be more than happy to join in on his condemnation…>~~~ ~After conversation with Anon~ The scene switches to the roof of the prison facility containing several helipads. Hostyle is shown exiting the roof entrance with the CO who has been escorting Anon recently, following close behind. They both stop a few steps in front of the roof entrance/exit, before Hostyle turns to the CO.Hostyle: Dopetastic job on keeping a close eye on Anon, and on retrieving the letter for me, Officer Leon. Go take the wife out on an expensive trip, on me. Leon: Thank you, Mr. Tavarez. Hostyle hands Correctional Officer Leon an envelope of an undisclosed amount of money, before they both part ways. Hostyle pulls out the anonymous letter and a lighter, and sets the piece of paper ablaze.Hostyle: You almost got away with it, Morticia. Looks like your little bro’s going to have to do things solo this time around… Hostyle drops the burning letter onto the roof, and walks towards one of the choppers, and the scene fades out to a view of the quickly disappearing letter.
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Post by The Pyro on Mar 16, 2008 20:55:46 GMT -5
We fade in to... well... near nothingness. In the dim light, we see that we are outside. We can make out the faint outlines of trees and a few cars. A flashlight clicks on, acting as a spotlight as it illuminates a singular cylindrical firework, about the size of a cigarette.
Young Boy: Mommy, will this be loud?
Mother: No, sweetie, not this one.
Young Boy: Oh, ok.
The flashlight’s radius of light grows bigger on the firework as a man with a small gun-shaped lighter walks towards it. He pulls the trigger of the gun and a small flame erupts out of the tip. He then proceeds to light the fuse, running away and turning off the flashlight. The fuse runs down and disappears for a moment before the firework erupts in a ball of green light. The firework scampers around on the ground as it changes colors to purple, orange, and back to green. The kid's figure is lit slightly by the firework, and in that light, we can see a fascinated smile creep over his face. The firework finally subsides.
Young Boy: That was a cool one, Mommy! Can we do another one?
Mother: No, we are going to do a larger firework this time. It will be a bit louder, so do you want me to hold your hand?
Young Boy: No! I'm a big boy now. I'm not scared.
The kid remains defiant as the older man takes a hexagonal fountain and unwraps it. He places it down several yards away from the mother and child and lights the fuse. He again runs away to stand by his family and enjoy the show. The fuse burns away and starts a chain reaction of beautiful red and gold sparks. The sparks then change to blue and begin to rise higher, before changing again to red and gold and dying down at the same time.
Young Boy: Magnificent!
Mother: Where did you learn that word?
Young Boy: School. Mrs. Maxwell taught it to me.
Man: Hey, I'm doing our big finale now. Andrew, you want to come help light it?
Mother: Jeff! Your son is only six.
Father: Let him have some fun. It's a holiday.
Andrew: Mommy, please?
Mother: Oh, fine.
Andrew: Thank you!
Andrew runs up to where the previous fireworks have been lit, while his Dad picks up a two feet by two feet plywood board with various fireworks wired together. His Dad sets the board down and points out to Andrew where to light the fuse. He does so, and he runs back with his Dad to watch the show. The fuse winds down and the fireworks fly. Cleverly wired together, the board has as many as three fireworks going off at the same time, in a beautiful array of colors. A group of all green-colored fireworks ends and moves on to a red, white, and blue trio when his brother speaks to him.
Wait...
His brother wasn't born back then. We fade in to present day, in a bedroom, presumably Andrew's while his brother leans on the door frame.
Brother: Reminiscing about your first experience with fireworks again?
Andrew: No.
Brother: Bullshit, you have that dreamy look in your eyes again.
Andrew: How do you know?
Brother: I've heard the story about twenty times, and every time you tell that story, you get the same look on your face. And you have never once looked the same way when doing anything else.
Andrew: Goddammit, Ian.
Ian: Hey, whatever. What brought on the memories this time?
Andrew: I'm just really excited right now. I finally get to use my obsession for fire, under legal terms.
Ian: Semi-legal.
Andrew: Semi-legal terms. Now I'm able to set fire to things, and not have a criminal record for arson.
Ian: You already do have a criminal record for arson.
Andrew: You aren't helping.
Ian: Just sayin'.
Andrew: Go away and let me finish my flashback. You're ruining the ending.
Ian: Thanks for the brotherly love.
Andrew: Now away with you.
The two share a smile and Ian leaves. He tries to recall where he was.
Right, the good part.
So, the camera fades back in to the family with their child. The red, white, and blue pyrotechnic show continues for a few seconds before moving to a row of roman candles set up like a tepee. The randomly colored shots go off in synchronization. In the midst of the display, an errant shot escapes and lands among a branch of the trees. The branch harbors a few embers, before starting to smoke and bursting into flames.
Andrew: Did you plan that too, Daddy?
Father: Not exactly, Andrew.
The fire quickly spreads to nearby branches as the fireworks display continues. Andrew's dad scrambles for a hose while the last fountain of the finale finally finishes in a shower of gold sparks. Andrew's mom takes Andrew back farther away from the fire as his Dad begins to try to put it out. The fire spreads more quickly than he can put it out, though. The mother begins to realize the futility of it and calls 9-1-1. In the confusion of it all, Andrew wanders away and begins to construct a small pile of sticks and fallen leaves, taking the lighter gun with him. He lights the leaves in several places. and watches his fire begin to grow brighter. The camera then focuses on the sadistic smirk on his face as we see the chaos behind him, before fading out.
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Post by Great Nodnarb on Mar 16, 2008 21:04:33 GMT -5
The Scene opens with Great Nodnarb standing in front of the arena waiting for his first match.)
Nodnarb: My first match will be great.
Person: Excuse me. Mr. Nodnarb can I get an interview.
Nodnarb: Who are you?
Person: My name is Ricky Hernandez. I work for a local wrestling fan club and I would like to get an interview.
Nodnarb: Are you a great interviewer?
Ricky: Sure.
Nodnarb: To be great though, you need a great name.
Ricky: Okay, what is my name?
Nordnarb: Your name is Little Foreign Guy in a Suit.
Ricky: Little Foreign Guy in a Suit? I don’t want to be named that.
Nodnarb: Do you want to be great or not?
Ricky: Fine.
Nodnarb: Good, you get your interview now.
Ricky: What do you think about your fatal fourway match tonight?
Nodnarb: Wait, I have a fatal fourway match?
Ricky: Yeah, didn’t you see the card.
Nodnarb: I don’t pay attention to that stuff.
Ricky: I thought you were great though.
Nodnarb: Watch it L.F.G.I.A.S. I am great. Who are my opponents?
Ricky: Apathy, Andrew Carpenter, and Thomas Hookton
Nodnarb: Are they great?
Ricky: Yeah, I would say so.
Nodnarb: Damn, I guess I’ll have to get ready.
Ricky: How are you going to do that?
Nodnarb: By going to my parent’s house
Ricky: Do they live around here?
Nodnarb: I think. Do you want to come with me?
Ricky: Sure, how are we getting there?
Nodnarb: Jetpack.
Ricky: Jetpack?
Nodnarb: Yes. A Jetpack.
Ricky: Where the hell do you get a Jetpack?
Nodnarb: Black Market.
Ricky: Are you sure we can’t just take my car?
Nodnarb: No, Jetpack is quicker. No traffic, we can fly over the traffic.
Ricky: Okay, if you say so. Where is it?
Nodnarb: Already on me.
Ricky: How did you do that? That wasn’t there a second ago.
Nodnarb: I told you I was great.
Ricky: What have I gotten myself into?
(Nodnarb grabs his hand and takes off.)
Ricky: I couldn’t get a warning.
Nordarb: You can’t be great if you are warned.
Ricky: Are you sure you know where you are going?
Nodnarb: Of course I do.
(20 minutes later)
Nodnarb: There it is.
Ricky: Do you know how to stop this thing because I think I’m going to be sick?
Nodnarb: Actually, I haven’t figured out that part yet.
Ricky: What?
(Nodnarb and Ricky crash into a mailbox. Meanwhile, inside the house)
Woman: What was that noise?
Man: Let me check. (He checks) It’s that crazy guy who thinks he is our son.
Woman: I thought you told him we weren’t his parents.
Man: I did. The guy is insane. (Nodnarb knocks on the door.)
Nodnarb: Mom, Dad open the door. It’s your son. (Man opens door.) Aren’t you glad to see me?
Man: I told you I’m not your dad. We are not your parents and you broke my mailbox.
Nodnarb: Sorry, dad.
Man: I’m not your dad.
Ricky: I don’t think that is your dad.
Man: Who are you?
Nodnarb: His name is Little Foreign Guy in a Suit.
Ricky: Actually, my name is Ricky.
Man: How did you get stuck with this freak?
Ricky: I wanted an interview.
Man: Why?
Ricky: I work for a wrestling fan club and he is a wrestler.
Man: Crazy guy, you’re a wrestler?
Nodnarb: A great wrestler
Man: Well, wrestling is gay. Only fags wrestle.
Nodnarb: Dad, why can’t you accept my career?
Man: Because I am not your dad. Now you better leave before I call the cops.
Ricky: We better go.
Nodnarb: Your right.
Ricky: Your Jetpack is broken though.
Nodnarb: Don’t worry. I have a hot-air balloon in the garage.
Ricky: When did you put that in there?
Nodnarb: When I came here earlier.
(Nodnarb and Ricky get away in the hot-air balloon as soon as a cop arrives.)
Ricky: That was a close one.
Nodnarb: Dad seemed a little angry.
Ricky: That wasn’t your dad.
Nodnarb: Are you sure?
Ricky: I don’t know. Let me see what you look like without the mask.
Nodnarb: A great wrestler never takes off his mask.
Ricky: Then we will never find out.
Nodnarb: I know. That is all that matters.
Ricky: Are we heading back to the arena yet?
Nodnarb: No, we have to stop at the Greatest Place on Earth.
Ricky: Where is that?
Nodnarb: I can’t tell, but I can tell you it is over there.
Ricky: Where exactly are we at?
Nodnarb: I told you. I can’t tell you or you will be killed.
(Nodnarb and Ricky hit the ground and get out of the hot-air balloon.)
Nodnarb: You are now on hallow ground L.F.G.I.A.S. This is The Greatest Place on Earth.
Ricky: Are you sure we are still on Earth?
Nodnarb: Never mind that. We need to go into the Great Temple.
Ricky: Do we have to?
Nodnarb: Yes, all the great ones do.
(They head into the Great Temple.)
Guard: Stop! Who goes there?
Nodnarb: Great Nodnarb.
Guard: Who is this guy with you?
Nodnarb: Little Foreign Guy in a Suit.
Guard: You may pass.
Ricky: Where exactly are we going in this place?
Nodnarb: To the top.
Ricky: How do we get to the top?
Nodnarb: An elevator. What are you stupid?
Ricky: Well, I figured in a crazy place like this there would be some special way.
Nodnarb: Nope. (Walks into elevator.) Okay, we want floor 3,000,489.
Ricky: What?
Nodnarb: Ah, your right. We want floor 3,000,490. Let’s go.
Ricky: Wait. (The elevator skyrockets to the top.) It’s official. I’m going to throw up.
Nodnarb: You’ll be fine. The Great Master wants to see us.
Ricky: Who is The Great Master?
Nodnarb: The Greatest Being in the whole galaxy.
Ricky: A guess that answers my question.
Nodnarb: Look there’s the door to his room.
Ricky: Let’s go in.
Nodnarb: Are you insane? You have to ring the doorbell first.
Ricky: Oh, my bad.
Nodnarb: Where would you be without me?
Ricky: At home, where I would feel safe.
Nodnarb: Just ring the bell.
Ricky: Fine. (Rings bell.)
Voice: You may come in.
Nodnarb: You heard it. Let’s go in.
(They go in.)
The Great Master: Hello Nodnarb. I see you have brought A Little Foreign Guy in a Suit.
Nodnarb: Yeah, he is my interviewer.
Ricky: Why can’t you people call me Ricky?
The Great Master: Because you can’t be great being named Ricky.
Nodnarb: I told you, Little Foreign Guy.
Ricky: I want to go home.
The Great Master: Nodnarb, why have you come to me.
Nodnarb: I have a VCW wrestling match and I don’t know how I’m going to win.
The Great Master: You pin one of your opponents.
Nodnarb: Is that all I have to do?
The Great Master: Yes, that is all.
Nodnarb: Thanks, see you later.
Ricky: Wait. We came all this way just for that answer.
Nodnarb: He told me all I needed to know.
Ricky: Maybe, you should ask him who your parents are.
Nodnarb: I know who my parents are.
The Great Master: Actually, you don’t know who your parents are.
Nodnarb: I don’t.
The Great Master: Those people you think are your parents are not your parents.
Nodnarb: Then who are they?
The Great Master: I lost a bet to the man you think is your father. To get revenge I told you that you were his son. I knew you would annoy that guy pretty good.
Nodnarb: Then who are my real parents?
The Great Master: I don’t know. I found you one day knocked out in a back alley. You had no idea who you were so I took you under my wing.
Nodnarb: So the only way I can find out who my parents are is to get back my memory.
The Great Master: Exactly.
Nodnarb: How am I going to do that?
The Great Master: You will need to find The Ultimate Master.
Nodnarb: There is an Ultimate Master.
The Great Master: Yes, but nobody knows where he is.
Nodnarb: Have you ever met him?
The Great Master: A long time ago.
Nodnarb: Thanks Great Master for all your help.
The Great Master: If you ever need me, you know where to find me.
Nodnarb: Yes, I do.
Ricky: Can we go back to the arena yet?
Nodnarb: Are you kidding? We have to find the Ultimate Master.
Ricky: But your match starts in a couple of hours. You don’t want to give up your chance to be VCW Champion do you.
Nodnarb: I have a shot at the VCW Championship.
Ricky: If you win the Seraphim Falls Tournament, you are the champ.
Nodnarb: Why doesn’t anyone tell me these things? We got to get back to the arena.
Ricky: Finally, let’s go home.
Nodnarb: Wait, my hot-air balloon is missing.
Ricky: How do you know? We haven’t went back down the elevator yet.
Nodnarb: I can feel it. (They go back down the elevator.) I told you it was gone.
Ricky: How did you know that?
Nodnarb: Nodnarb Senses.
Ricky: How are we going to get back?
Nodnarb: Don’t worry. We can call Enterprise, they will pick us up.
Ricky: Of course, but how do they get out here.
Enterprise guy: Hello, did somebody call.
Nodnarb: We did.
Ricky: No fucking way.
Nodnarb: Come on L.F.G.I.A.S. We got to hurry.
(They get back to the arena on time.)
Ricky: Finally, we’re home.
Nodnarb: L.F.G.I.A.S., I’m making you my official interviewer. That means you must go with me everywhere.
Ricky: Are you sure? I don’t want to bother.
Nodnarb: No, you must come with me. We have a contract.
Ricky: I didn’t sign a contract.
Nodnarb: Remember, back in the hot-air balloon when I asked you if you could spell your name for me.
Ricky: Yes. Ah, you son of a bitch.
Nodnarb: What you don’t want to find The Ultimate Master.?
Ricky: No, I want to stay here.
Nodnarb: Too bad, I own you. But don’t worry. I won’t do any gay things to you. Nodnarb doesn’t roll that way.
Ricky: Good, I guess.
Nodnarb: So are you with me.
Ricky: I guess I have no other choice.
Nodnarb: Good, I will be VCW World Champion.
(Scene fades away.)
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Exodus
Lower Midcarder
A mystery wrapped within an enigma
Posts: 112
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Post by Exodus on Mar 16, 2008 23:56:01 GMT -5
And I went to the Devil’s door and I knocked, knocked, knocked Everything around rocked, rocked, rocked The Devil answered and said there ain’t no room Hell is full, everyone predicting doom – Anonymous Entry Number Two – First Reaction[/b] The year? 100 CE. Pliny the Young has taken the consulship of a weakening Roman Empire. The Hopewell Native American culture has just formed from the remains of various other tribes. Christian are finally forming their own doctrine outside of the direct teachings of the Christ and instead are building on the words of men who came after his death.
And Exodus, the physical embodiment of God's Wrath, has landed on Earth.
The Spirit of Wrath crashed hard into what is now Serbia, the powder keg nation in the Balkan region; a region always near explosion from the beginning of time. Exodus fell hard from Heaven and he hurt, he hurt for the first time in his eons of existence.
Flesh has a tendency to do such things.
Exodus does not take this expulsion kindly, he is filled with rage and fury; whether it is righteous or not is a matter left up to others to judge. However, this rage quickly manifested itself as he released a violent yell, a yell that ruptured the ear drums of the Balkan lions, a species annihilated on that day.
Lions are considered a pure and noble creature, one wise beyond its years and one with the capacity to lead amongst its beast peers. This purity scarred Exodus as he once knew such prestige, such honor and glory when he was the Wrath for the Father until he decided to rebel. Thus Exodus annihilated every one he could find, his hate for such a pure beast is matched by only one thing…
His hate for God.
Exodus hated God, Exodus hated God more then he had ever hated anything before. Before being cast out, Exodus only envied the Father and wanted from Him what he felt he deserved due to his unique creation and the work he had done for God as a personal soldier and executor of His Wrath against mortals. However, after being cast out to Earth, Exodus became very bitter over the entire situation, he felt he had been slighted by the Almighty in this situation and would stop at absolutely nothing to reclaim his spot in Heaven and depose God from His throne.
After landing on Earth, Exodus knew that this world of flesh, bones, and feeble minds was not for him and he needed to find someone or something to do with the supernatural world in order to connect with and hopefully establish an army to fight against Heaven itself. Thus, Exodus ventured to Hell.
Hell is a unique phenomenon in the realm of Creation, a true abnormality. The fiery pits of Hell are nothing more then a protection put into place by the Father upon the beginning of the Third World in order to prevent the denizens from venturing into the Second World’s remains, the true Hell. When Creation was shifted to the Fourth World and the Third World was filed away, many of the mortals who escaped the Third World hid in Hell and some even attempted to call it home and maybe even their own domain, beings such as Hades and Hel. It was in the hunt for these beings that Exodus first saw Hell.
Exodus’s first venture into Hell was less of a journey like this one would be and more of a violent invasion. Exodus used the magic of Heaven to penetrate the very fabric of existence mixed with his unique status as a formless being in order to pass into Hell and stand against the gods of old. Each one fell before him, each battle bloodier and more destructive then the last. Finally the last god of the Underworld, the Greek deity Hades, was impaled on the flaming sword of Exodus as Satan watched on.
The Morningstar and his court of demons watched as Exodus did battle with the Third World denizens, they knew that Exodus was not allowed to harm them in his mission and thus they supported him in order to simplify the struggle for power over the remains of the Second World, remains filled with unique energies that a mortal mind could never hope to comprehend. After Hades fell, Lucifer smiled at Exodus and told him to leave his realm; Exodus could only grimace at the being he once knew so very well when he was seated to the right of the Almighty. He was not allowed to exact holy retribution no matter how much his mind urged him to.
Exodus was not sure that this non-violence courtesy would be extended this time around.
However, Exodus traveled on. While he was able to bend the threads of reality last time around in order to achieve entry into Hell, this time Exodus was forced to wander the Earth to find the one spot where Hell and the mortal realm intersected, the spot where the Second and Fourth Worlds meet in glorious harmony.
He needed to get to Stonehenge.
Stonehenge was created not long after Earth; the stones placed into their specific spots by the angels who came to Earth to work for God and eventually fathered the Nephilim giants against His will. This was done to mark the spot where Hell crossed over with Earth, to create a spot where the supernatural could cross into Earth and give those who believed power in order to balance the Earth with the powers that other sources could generate like the Third World denizens who crossed over from their world when it fell under God’s might.
Exodus traveled long and hard to reach the land of Britain, to reach the fabled gathering of rocks to begin his journey into Hell. He finally reaches England at the turn of the New Year to 101 CE, his journey long and hard. Exodus was embittered even further by his journey; his interactions with the humans drove him to hate them, to despise them. The pagans were self righteous fools, unbelieving in the Creator who gave them everything and instead choosing to worship mortal beings long dead at the hands of Exodus while the Christians all carried the martyr complex feeling as if they were always suffering for their faith when actually the tides of the world were slowly beginning to shift in their favor.
When it came down to it, both groups were fools.
Exodus knew exactly what he was looking for when he reached Stonehenge, he muttered the incantation quickly and fluently to cause the furthest stone to the left to shift, revealing a spiral staircase directly into the Earth. Looking around quickly to make sure no fleshy mortal was watching him; Exodus marched forward to the staircase and descended into the Earth. Well, not quite into the Earth; Hell exists in a realm of Creation completely separate from Earth just like Heaven and the only reason it is considered to be underground to Earth is the fact that the entrance to Hell, a place where the fabric separating the two realms is the weakest, is a staircase downward.
Exodus descended the stairwell somberly, knowing what was ahead. After an eternity of downward movement, the ground finally levels out to the Bridge of Dread, the bridge souls must cross on the way to Purgatory. Deceased souls tainted by the eternal darkness of the foulest of foul in Sin, Sin so amazingly heavy and powerful, are pulled down by the vacuum like suction of the abyss below to depths of Hell. Knowing that he is blessed/cursed to wander on the thin line separating good and evil in the universe Exodus was forced to dive off the bridge in order to reach Hell instead of being sucked down like most traveling such a path.
Exodus did not plummet far; he landed quickly on the edge of a river, the River Styx. Charon waited impatiently.Charon:[/color] Climb aboard quickly cursed one, Acheron waits for no one. Exodus complies but does not answer; he feels wasting words on this demon servant would be useless. Charon pushes his hand out for a fee causing Exodus to stare him down mercilessly, a stare still blessed somewhat by the gaze of Heaven. Charon knows quickly that this ride would be charity or else he would lose much more then his time. Charon pushes his way through the river silently as Exodus contemplates what his next move shall be, what he shall do upon his return to Heaven? Would he slay God mercilessly like He did to his predecessor? Would he keep Him around as a consultant? Would he annihilate all of Heaven, Hell, and Earth simply to start all over again?
Would he even need Creation to please him?
What is the benefit of Creation to the Almighty? Does He need people to validate Him and His existence like the mortals need others to validate themselves? Are humans really made so much in His image that He is forced to suffer all the insecurities they possess, the only way to alleviate them to pass the burden on to the mortals below?
This is a conundrum that definitely must be considered.
Exodus had much to consider, much he needed to think about before that time came. The books he read while exiled to the far corners of Heaven taught him much of the Time Before, the existence before the one we now know. The tale is a twisted and confusing one that took much time to sink fully into the hungry mind of Exodus.
There had been a Creation much different then the one now known, the mortals and the divine existed hand in hand. The Creator was foul and biased; he blessed those who did him favors far beyond those who spoke freely about the unfairness of the social systems put into place. The Creator took an extremely direct approach to governing over his Creation, he slaughtered those who opposed him and thus for eons he went unchallenged. However, eventually one Being decided that the system must fall.
An army was gathered, Creation raged with fury as the Creator battled the one who would be his Replacement. Finally the Creator fell, all his power transferred to Allah, the One who opposed him. Allah took all those who remained after the war throughout Creation and delegated to them powers and duties in order to prevent a second such totalitarian regime from taking over His new Creation.
These new beings were the angels and His most trusted lieutenant was named the Morningstar.
The Morningstar who Exodus was going to meet and discuss the future of all of reality.
Charon’s ferry pulled up to the riverbanks signaling the approach of Hell, the heat was increasing as Exodus stepped off of the ferry and began to wander towards the gates of Hell, gates guarded by a beast Exodus had met once before, the three headed canine Cerberus.
Cerberus was a beast who had existed in the Third World. Mindless, he simply served whoever offered his next meal to him. Exodus used this to his advantage when he did battle on the Third World by using Cerberus to fight the Third World “deities” and offered them up as meals to his hungry jaws, all three of them. Due to the fact that Exodus was able to use Cerberus so effectively in his battles, God allowed him to continues existence as a guardian of Hell; chained up so he could do no harm to the mortal so loved by the Creator.
Cerberus’s undying loyalty allowed Exodus to simply pass by him without as much as a whimper.
Exodus stepped through the gates of Hell by was stopped by what seemed to be an invisible wall. He pound incessantly on the wall, crying out for assistance in his struggle. His level of anger slowly rising, Exodus begins to threaten not only those in Hell by all of Creation simply due to him being stopped from reaching the one being in existence who might be able to help him.
Just as the Hosts of Heaven demanded, Hell would never house Exodus.
The Hosts foresaw the fact Exodus would look to assemble allies due to his rage at his expulsion and thus offered a deal to Lucifer to prevent Exodus from gaining entry into Hell. Lucifer would receive the right to allow his demons to return to the Earth and possess those who resided there, a right they lost after Christ suffered on the cross. Knowing the threat posed by the demons was much less then that of Exodus and his empowered fury, this tradeoff was a small price to pay for protection from a combined army of Lucifer and Exodus.
Thwarted by Heaven’s fear of the unknown factor he had come to be once again, Exodus was forced back to Earth to search for a new method of vengeance. The question still remained though…
Was a simple thirst for knowledge really worth a fate worse then eternal damnation?------ [/center] We return to Exodus sitting in what looks to be a conference room styled after the architecture of the Gothic style. He twiddles his thumbs and plays with his mask, the mask that is slowly becoming the bane of his eternal existence. Exodus knew that his face must be hidden, his Master had explained it to him thoroughly that the hiding of his face was done to protect his identity from those whose power is threatened by his mission to topple Heaven, those deeply vested in the religious world of today.
However, that did not mean Exodus liked it.
He was also not sure about the alliance set up for him with Eric Ahriman and Vendetta Championship Wrestling General Manager Craig Christ and who knows who else would be drawn into this horrid affair. However, it was not his place to decide such matters or even to decide what his next step would be. Exodus had long ago surrendered himself to his Master when the Master placed him on the path towards Heaven, a path he is so close to reaching the end of.
The Master who had just seated himself across the table with a scowl on his face.Master:[/color] Exodus, I see you are well and I am glad to report you shall only be doing better once the next wrestling show starts. Exodus:[/color] I still do not understand why we have chosen such a diluted form of proud mortal combat to be the launching pad for my public career. Could we have not chosen a profession such as acting in their imaginary worlds or singing their pointless ballads? Master:[/color] Because these professions do not allow you the completely anonymous nature that wrestling can grant you. It is only here you can become famous while wearing a mask and a jumpsuit; only here you can become a powerful figure in the public eye without once showing your face and threatening our mission. Exodus:[/color] But what are we afraid of? I am immortal, my blessing and curse. Master:[/color] You may be immortal Exodus but you are not indestructible. That…God will not let you die but do not doubt He will gladly leave you crippled from a bullet wound to the spine. Exodus:[/color] There is more to it then that, I know there must be. Master:[/color] Only once in human history has a mortal defeated one of the Divine in combat when Jacob wrestled the angel and won. From that moment on the Divine feared the sport of wrestling, they cursed it due to the fact they had been bested. Societies who glorified the sport, societies like the ancient Greeks, were cursed to fail and were maliciously fed the lies of false gods and foul deity like figures. Thus we empower you through wrestling and thus draw His attention. Exodus:[/color] And once I have His attention the plan is put into place? Master:[/color] Indeed it shall and you shall ascend to Heaven in a cloud of glory having bested your Other Half without ever laying one finger on Him. And then I shall ascend beside you to take the spot at your left hand. Exodus:[/color] And my Son on the right. And thus it was revealed just like that within a matter of only minutes, the true intention of the Master in all of this, this being the greatest plan of rebellion against God and all of His Creation since the fall of Lucifer. He did not want to be God, he knew such a responsibility would overwhelm his now mortal mind and it would destroy him entirely. However, he could be transformed into divinity, he could transubstantiate into the equivalent of the Morningstar when Exodus, the only being with the true ability to take power from the Almighty, takes control of Heaven. And Exodus’s only request in all of this is that the being sitting on his right be the Christ, the one denizen of Heaven Exodus considers pure, the being he considers as much his Son as He is the Son of the Father.Master:[/color] So are you prepared for Deacon King? He presents a much different threat to your well being in this competition so named for the highest order of angels then Chris Austin ever could. Exodus:[/color] The Seraphim, God’s personal army of willing and undying soldiers. It is so ironic indeed that my beginning in this accursed sport is based so strongly on the false assumption I am an angel, one of those empowered at the beginning of Creation by the Almighty. Thus many assume the naming of this tournament applies strongly to me as I would be a Seraphim who fell. Apparently they are not paying close enough attention to tell a difference which is a perfect analogy to show the normal reaction of man to all situations even slightly beyond their comprehension. Master:[/color] You can wax poetically on the subject of misconceptions for a lifetime and more due to your eternal existence but that does not prepare you for the coming contest of man against man, well close enough to man. Exodus:[/color] Man is a wretched pile of secrets wrapped in the Sinful bondage called flesh. Deacon King is no different then most other men, a being empowered simply by an urge to commit Sin after Sin and taking in no account the pain he places upon those unfortunate enough to care for him and his existence. Deacon King had the world handed to him by a God given talent; he was blessed from birth to ascend the ranks of excellence with his charming ability to craft pleasing melodies. However his vices quickly caught up to him and his body began to deteriorate from an overload of Sin, an excess of evil flowed through his veins. He fell nearly hard as I did so long ago; he crashed to rock bottom and knew not what to do. Unlike I, however, Deacon reacted rashly by throwing himself into a new venture, the world of professional wrestling while I patiently worked towards goal after goal in order to reach my former levels of power. This shall be Deacon’s downfall as I will show him what such rash decisions will do, what living on the edge of Sin will do to one who has already dipped himself into the pools of evil so many times before. Sin has a nasty tendency to eat one alive even after they think they have exorcised their personal demons. Exodus arises from the table like a phoenix arising from the ashes, powerful and strong due to a complete rebirth. Exodus seems beyond confident in himself and his abilities for they are abilities that have been tested time and time again throughout the eternity of existence.Exodus:[/color] If we are done with this meeting and all details of coming ventures have been worked out, I must take my leave of absence in order to prepare to do Mister King a favor that will change his world. Master:[/color] And what kind of favor will that be? Exodus:[/color] I shall put Deacon King down quickly and painfully to save him from allowing his Sin to consume him from within and destroy him and everyone he has ever loved. At least that way they can blame his failures on me and my superiority by nature instead of his obvious flaws due to his embrace of Sin. That the kind of gracious God I will be. And then there is darkness, darkness that may one day be eternal if Exodus’s will be done…
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Post by The Pyro on Mar 17, 2008 2:20:53 GMT -5
Voting to be added to the Ravid/S&M match when the missing promo is posted.
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Deacon King vs. Exodus Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd BrisbaneSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan DunnSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max Singles Match:Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal FourwayGreat Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton PLUS an update on Chris Austin's condition after Exodus's brutal post-match beatdown, Erich Ahriman and Exodus speak out about their alliance with Christ last week, details regarding the Wildcard stipulation are divulged and Romeo’s 1.3 opponent is revealed!
PROMO ONLY until Sunday, March 16 11:59 PM PST. VOTING ONLY until Tuesday, March 18 11:59 PM PST.[/center]
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Cain Ravid
Lower Midcarder
"Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over."
Posts: 106
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Post by Cain Ravid on Mar 17, 2008 6:17:39 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Deacon King vs. Exodus Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Eric Ares vs. Gregory BestSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan DunnSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max Singles Match:Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal FourwayGreat Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton[/center]
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Post by Super 'Mella Bear on Mar 17, 2008 8:46:20 GMT -5
Deacon King vs. Exodus Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
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Mr. Thomas Hookton
Lower Midcarder
If Heaven Rides Against Us, Then Gods Be Damned
Posts: 117
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Post by Mr. Thomas Hookton on Mar 17, 2008 12:58:19 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
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Post by Great Nodnarb on Mar 17, 2008 15:08:49 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
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Post by Deacon King on Mar 17, 2008 16:46:05 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
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Bright
Developmental Talent
Watching. Waiting. Ever So Patient
Posts: 39
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Post by Bright on Mar 17, 2008 18:11:57 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Deacon King vs. ExodusSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Eric Ares vs. Gregory BestSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd BrisbaneSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max Singles Match:Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal FourwayGreat Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton[/center]
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Post by Mortus on Mar 17, 2008 18:42:16 GMT -5
Exodus Eric Ares Sir Feyd Brisbane Jonathan Dunn Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max Benjamin Bright Thomas Hookton
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Exodus
Lower Midcarder
A mystery wrapped within an enigma
Posts: 112
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Post by Exodus on Mar 17, 2008 21:13:52 GMT -5
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Thomas Hookton
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Post by kennithnoisewater on Mar 17, 2008 21:32:47 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
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Post by Eric Ares on Mar 17, 2008 22:52:33 GMT -5
Tonight we take a look at an animal renowned the world over for its passion and intensity. A beast that holds no remorse for those different from it and is motivated by a powerful need for gang violence. Tonight we look into the bottom rung of any society, welcome to….. Eric Ares guide to Soccer Hooliganism. A look into the psyche and psycho of the common soccer hooligan. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to see me, I know it must be hard to ignore your beer swelling, ugly ass significant other and stare at my Adonis like physic, but I thank you for taking the time to watch. Even you gay bastards, you can look but don’t touch, this means you Jonathan Dunn. I know it might be odd for me to run a program about an animal I am going to utterly destroy soon in a wrestling ring, but I am a firm believer that to face an enemy you must know your enemy. Gregory Best claims to be one of these vile creatures, so I thought I would take you along my journey to learn more about him. So without further ado, let us begin. Oh and for anyone not just satisfied by listening to my voice there will also be many “Aresisms” at the bottom of the screen, ala: “Eric Ares is better than your mother, but not above using her to insult you” These will be there to help move along the program as well as help express thoughts I cannot be bothered to speak out loud. “Because you just aren’t worth it” First off let us look at the Hooligan Society Hooligans, or Hooliganites as they prefer to be called which is a long word so from here on out I will refer to them as Hools, are first and foremost a pack creature. They gather in ravenous groups to support their favorite squad and consume many of the most despicable alcoholic beverages in order to actually pretend the sport of soccer is anything other than mind numbingly boring. But that they are simply male and not hot cheerleaders for a sport that matters less than Paris Hilton is not their defining characteristic. The gang battles between rival clubs “posses” really are. You see every now and then a pack of Hools will fall upon another Hool who supports a different club. As they are alone and vulnerable the Hools will descend on the lone opponent and deliver a brutal gang beating to him. “See Gang Rape 72 – The Gregory Best Edition” This could spark a gang retaliation by the Hools friends leading to a Soccer Hooligan gang warm, kind of like monkeys flinging shit at each other but less civilized. This pack mentality is what makes the Hool such a terrifying sight. Because whenever you see one Hool, there will always be more nearby. “Probably somewhere up in his colon.” Now there is a very important reason I have chosen to show you the main reason to fear the Hool. Because the Hool we have been following in recent weeks Gregory Best has chosen to cheerlead a team not supported by any other Hool in the world. He has forsaken the pack mentality and struck it out alone. Now for most animals this could be anything from a rite of passage to a noble trait to want to prove oneself. Sadly for Gregory this is not the case, he simply is not welcome by the other packs. As a child Gregory was picked on by the many young Hools for being horrible at football, which as an aside is what lead him to become a cheerleader, but also caused a severe dislike by young Best of ever sharing or playing with a pack. “Although he did love to play with himself.” As the young Hool grew older he found a team that no one in their right mind would ever love, and grabbed hold for dear life. This was his ticket to independence. “And an ass whooping by Eric Ares.” This leads us to our next area, Hooligan fighting talents. The common hooligan is nothing to fear in its own right. They are like the hyenas of bar room brawls, never willing to take on anything else unless it is dying or they outnumber it eight million to one, basically they are the chicken shits of fighting. But when you put them into their packs they are at their most dangerous because even a lion can be pecked to death by millions upon millions of sheep. “But it only takes on Hooligan to fuck a sheep.” Gregory Best again has given that up, and only fights mano on Hool. However this is not to take away from his personal fighting skills. Gregory Best has had a life time of experience trying to avoid being gang raped by the members of other packs, having to fight off entire groups by himself, and failing miserably. “Best’s Buttf*** Productions anyone?” So his fighting talents are slightly above the normal Hool. However that is only in his native land of Hooliganville, where the Hools only have other Hools to worry about. Sadly Mr. Best has shown yet more aptitude for the idiotic by leaving his own comfort zone and entering the world of professional wrestling. His abilities were taken to the limit in his first match and he has since then tried his best to increase his wrestling repertoire. Sadly as a Hool he has not the cranial capacity to see that…… Alright, enough of this shit. Had you going for a moment didn’t I, you honestly thought I was going to do a documentary little thing to try and upstage my soccer buddy in this match. Well your wrong, because as rushed as I am to get this out before I head to the ring that isn’t what I am about. “It’s not?” No, its not. Anyway the doc thing is done, you can go home now, I don’t need you anymore. “But you said we would go out tonight.” You could run a teleprompter and weren’t ugly, I’d say anything to get you to do my work for me. “You’re a horrible person, I can’t believe I trusted you.” Yeah, neither could I. Oh and I almost forgot, here is the condom I told you I used. Relax, relax, the doctor said there is only a sixty percent chance it will burn when you pee. You still there? Darla…. Excellent, free graphics and a lay, what a way to prepare for a match. Now where was I? Oh yes, Mr. Best. You see one thing I said in that little “mockumentary” was really true. You come from a culture of pack animals; you don’t know how to stand on your own two feet. You are kind of like a small baby bird that tried to jump from the nest of soccer into the air of wrestling, and fell flat on your face. Me I’m more the owl that’s going to see you on the ground struggling to get back to the air and failing until I swoop down and mercifully put you out of your misery. I mean if it’s not bad enough that your trying to join a profession me and many others spent years preparing for and being poor at it, you are also trying to bring soccer popularity in this nation. That I WILL NOT stand for. First off soccer isn’t even what you want to call it, you want to call it football. Football is not a bunch of guys in too short panty shorts running around trying to play with a communal ball till one of them scores. No it is a national pastime for the Americans and something Canadians vaguely pay attention to. Which is more than anyone can say for soccer. Don’t give me any of that “It’s big over here” shit either. It’s only big there because you pansy ass British bastards can’t provide any decent athletes to play a physical sport. Sure you have rugby, but lets face it that’s just a glorified game of grab ass with men huddling around each other like a circle jerk. You sir followed a sport of weaklings and bitch fighters and expect to step into the sport of kings without any training. I have trained under the best wrestler to ever come out of Nova Scotia and a member of a legendary wrestling family. I have bled and sweat for hours every day for years in order to be ready for this moment and you want to fuck it all up by being able to throw a kick? Oh look, I can kick too. Gregory hate to tell you this but I just learnt your ENTIRE wrestling repertoire in under seven seconds. So why don’t you just go back to playing footsies with your byes? Because I know how to do things in that ring that you can’t even dream of, and nothing you do between now and then is going to change the fact that you do not measure up to me. Now I if you’ll excuse me I am going to go do something you soccer boys love to watch but can never do yourself, score. Get ready Gregory, because when I get finished with you, you will have to watch your footie through a straw. “That made no sense.” It didn’t have to bitch, I’m Eric Ares.
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Post by Ro on Mar 18, 2008 7:16:36 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus - King, you had a solid start to the promo but that start did not tie at all with the second half, which should have been way more longer and pronounced. You only had a fleeting mention of Exodus, and Hannibal Frost popped out of nowhere with the handy explanation of being Sarina's brother.
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best - While Eric Ares wasn't admittedly at the top of his game, this one, like always, was up to standards. However, RaTo turned me into a Gregory Best mark with this promo, and though it was quite short, it was effective, and I am voting for the hooligan as a mark.
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane - Okay, I'm gonna go out and say that SFB has posted a three-poster because of me. It was a misunderstanding and it had led to this rather unnecessary excess. Anyway, my vote goes to SFB, despite Ben's good handling of the situation, effectively contributing to SFB's story by including him in Ben's mythos, and I like that.
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn - I couldn't tell if Matt was actually using Anonymous as a vessel to rant against Anon Ehmus the character.
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy - Ciaran left way too much to be desired.
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton - All good showings from Nodnarb, Sleg and Jay. I have to give the vote to Mr. Hookton as I can relate to his character the most... but I am a bit of a pyromaniac myself, yes.
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Post by Craig Christ on Mar 18, 2008 10:15:42 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Deacon King vs. ExodusSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Eric Ares vs. Gregory BestSeraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max Singles Match:Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal FourwayGreat Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton[/center]
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Post by Ciaran Kennedy on Mar 18, 2008 10:27:47 GMT -5
Vendetta Championship Wrestling 1.2 Live from the Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Deacon King vs. Exodus
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Eric Ares vs. Gregory Best
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Benedict Phoenix vs. Sir Feyd Brisbane
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Anon Ehmus vs. Jonathan Dunn
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 Cain Ravid vs. Sam & Max
Singles Match: Benjamin Bright vs. Ciaran Kennedy
Seraphim Falls Tournament Round 2 - Latecomer's Fatal Fourway Great Nodnarb vs. Apathy vs. Andrew Carpenter vs. Thomas Hookton
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