‘D’ - The End is nigh. EOD Night 1 RP
Sept 29, 2018 2:16:41 GMT -5
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Mongo the Destroyer and vastrix like this
Post by Deleted on Sept 29, 2018 2:16:41 GMT -5
At one point or another, we all find ourselves at a crossroad. A crucial moment. A time when a choice must be made, a stand must be taken.
A time when you must decide to take a chance or play it safe. A life defining moment, a moment where success or failure is less important than how you deal with it.
People say life is short, in his experience, it wasn’t. To him, life was a long and winding journey, much like the old path he now walked. A journey made even longer if one made the wrong choices.
Having grown in upon itself since his last visit, as he pushed branches from his face he marvelled at the colours that erupted all around him, fall had long been his favourite season.
Trunks of black spruce, white birch and mountain ash added to the hues of green, red, yellow and orange, all beneath a baby blue sky; he stopped to take it all in, even now he could take a moment in time to admire nature and it’s artist’s flair.
Running his hands through his braided hair, the deep red-black colour resembled his thoughts, dark and putrid. Despite his appreciation for the beauty that surrounded him; he wasn’t in the best of moods.
Twice now he had seen his goal erupt in flames. Twice he had the chance to become Riot Star Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion. Twice he had failed.
Upon losing his second consecutive triple threat match for the gold; he was lost. Worse yet, a second pinfall loss to his old friend haunted him.
There was no shame in losing to Rob Riot, or the now former Champion Shane Mitchell for that matter. Yet the string of recent setbacks weighed upon him like they did over twelve years ago when he first stepped foot in a ring.
It was right there! All he had to do was stay at the level he knew he was capable of, the level he’d been at for months now.
He had come so close during the championship tournament. He had come equally close at Shadow Wars.
Yet the result was the same, both times a new champion was crowned…both times it wasn’t him.
The trees begin thinning slightly as he trudged forward, his goal lay not too far ahead now.
A slight clearing could be seen as the winding and uneven path seemed a metaphor for his life; long, twisted and at times unfair. The enigma had endured much to this point.
Torment at the hands of RSW’s co-owner Armand Von Krauss and his sadistic wife Esmeralda. The war for Jakie Wentzel’s soul. Scratching and clawing his way back from obscurity. Capturing the Anarchy Championship. All of it; seemingly for nothing.
Following Shadow Wars he refused all booking attempts by RSW, yet when questioned about it said he’d still make the trip to Georgia following their African tour.
There was something else to attend to. Something more important to him than continuing his quest to once more be recognized as one of the premier talents within a promotion…he would prove himself to be one of the premier talents within any promotion.
The End of Days was coming, RSW could wait, for now.
A sixteen man inter-promotional tournament, he’d decided to go back to his roots, not just within a tournament bracket, but to a place he thought he’d left behind.
Past the thinning tree line, he steps into a small clearing to a familiar sight. Slightly disheveled, but still standing.
Taking a deep breath, he remembered the last time he felt this way; when he hid himself away from the world. This was where he slept.
He remembered cutting each tree. He cleared this small speck of wilderness himself using all of his anger, all his of pain. For weeks he poured it all into each and every swing of the axe.
He remembered chopping each log into roughly fifteen foot lengths. He didn’t need much room.
Insulated with tree sap and moss, it had served him well in the years he’d walked away from the ring. The years he embraced his darkness. He wondered if it would serve him again now.
His opponent had been announced as James Franklin Karn. He didn’t know much about him, he didn’t need to. That was the beauty of his approach.
Too many wrestlers studied tape and prepared for specific opponents, the enigma had abandoned this approach since returning. He prepared for every one, no one opponent. His goal was to be ready for anyone, any time.
When it came to his opponent, he’d seen his kind before.
Entering the tournament as a ‘legend’, Karn was essentially using his status within the network to essentially give GUNS an extra participant within the brackets.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad move, but it showed something about the man he’d face. Karn was at a crossroads of his own.
Karn also felt he had something to prove to himself, to those watching, to all the promotions out there. He might have taken a backstage role, but that didn’t mean he was done.
His use of holds and maneuvers echoed ‘D’s’ own style, well rounded, willing to take any opportunity the opponent presented.
Utilizing a brain buster variant and a triangle choke; Karn’s choice of preferred moves showed a traditional approach despite his wealth and trappings of excess. Both moves had varied, but dangerously basic setups. ‘D’ would need to be patient.
Both men prided themselves on their endurance, their stamina, their durability and willingness to fight through pain and adversity to reach their goal. Each man had been a Champion, each of them had been around the block.
For over a decade, the mystique he’d built around himself had been his calling card, but here it was useless…neither man had likely heard of the other. There was one thing he’d noticed.
‘Pride cometh before a fall’ the old saying went, and anyone willing to call themselves a legend just to circumvent space limitations for a tournament likely had pride to spare.
Someone parading around the confidence level of JFK would leave an opening, then he’d take the kill shot. There’s be no need for a grand conspiracy or a grassy knoll; when he assassinated this JFK... everyone would know where the shot came from.
Walking around the cabin, he let his sorrows return to him. Belle’s death as Damien took his first breaths. Giving Damien to Mikey and Clara to run away from his pain. The years spent away from the world. His shoulder slumped with the weight of his sadness.
He scanned the structure, recalling every inch. The first thing one would notice would be; since they didn’t occur naturally, there were no windows. Only darkness dwelled within those four walls.
Swinging the door open, the tied roots that held it give way to rot, sending it crashing to the dirt ‘floor’ tearing years of cobwebs down with it.
Light flooded the space, a musty smell assaulted his nostrils. Other than the layer of filth that had collected in his absence, it was just how he’d left it.
Everything was taken from the land, the trees that had surrounded this place, became part of it’s very essence. Everything from a small, but functional cot to a makeshift table came from the trees cleared to built this retreat.
The stones surrounding the fire pit and the dried and rotted logs within it told him no one had found his refuge, now no one ever would.
Running his hand through the shadows, he feels his way through the patches of grass that had sporadically grown, he smiled. He’d made up his mind.
Through all the uncertainty and doubt, he knew what he must do. JFK, James Franklin Karn represented something he had strayed away from; the unknown. It was time to go forward.
Arranging the crumbling fuel in a pyramid, the splintering logs would provide their own tinder and kindling, his hands moved quickly, excitement brought his blood to a boil, his pulse raced.
Staring at the flint and steel in his hand, he knelt closer.
Striking it; the sparks land among the driest fare. With the skill of a practiced woodsman, ‘D’ slowly nursed a fledgling flame to life as a loving mother might nurse a sick infant. Slow, patient; the enigma took his time.
Blowing on the embers, as the flame rose his mouth hung open. It wasn’t possible, was it?
“Welcome back.” Stood craved into the upper logs, draped in shadow only visible when the fire leapt to life, gaining enough strength to cast it’s light throughout the glorified hut.
The marks were fresh, at least compared to the dirt that had settled upon everything else, a black handled dagger was driven into the log and served as physical punctuation.
Someone had been here after all, and whomever they were…they knew he’d return.
Rolling a stone from the fire pit, ‘D’ glances around before settling on his course. Tossing anything that would burn at the flames, soon smoke began to fill the room.
Grabbing the dagger, he turns on his heel, it now seemed that this would be a shorter trip down memory lane than he had planned.
With a renewed energy, the black clad enigma emerges from the cabin like a wraith to once again disappear into the tree line.
First California, then Georgia; the coming months would be a challenge, and soon he’d know if he were truly up to it.
The cabin would burn or it wouldn’t, he couldn’t look back now; he’d simply leave it to chance. The whole forest could burn with it…he no longer cared.
As smoke drifted toward the lowering sun, the whole world could burn…he no longer cared. The End of Days was upon us, it was time to begin a new chapter. He needed to find the owner of the dagger. The End was nigh.
A time when you must decide to take a chance or play it safe. A life defining moment, a moment where success or failure is less important than how you deal with it.
People say life is short, in his experience, it wasn’t. To him, life was a long and winding journey, much like the old path he now walked. A journey made even longer if one made the wrong choices.
Having grown in upon itself since his last visit, as he pushed branches from his face he marvelled at the colours that erupted all around him, fall had long been his favourite season.
Trunks of black spruce, white birch and mountain ash added to the hues of green, red, yellow and orange, all beneath a baby blue sky; he stopped to take it all in, even now he could take a moment in time to admire nature and it’s artist’s flair.
Running his hands through his braided hair, the deep red-black colour resembled his thoughts, dark and putrid. Despite his appreciation for the beauty that surrounded him; he wasn’t in the best of moods.
Twice now he had seen his goal erupt in flames. Twice he had the chance to become Riot Star Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion. Twice he had failed.
Upon losing his second consecutive triple threat match for the gold; he was lost. Worse yet, a second pinfall loss to his old friend haunted him.
There was no shame in losing to Rob Riot, or the now former Champion Shane Mitchell for that matter. Yet the string of recent setbacks weighed upon him like they did over twelve years ago when he first stepped foot in a ring.
It was right there! All he had to do was stay at the level he knew he was capable of, the level he’d been at for months now.
He had come so close during the championship tournament. He had come equally close at Shadow Wars.
Yet the result was the same, both times a new champion was crowned…both times it wasn’t him.
The trees begin thinning slightly as he trudged forward, his goal lay not too far ahead now.
A slight clearing could be seen as the winding and uneven path seemed a metaphor for his life; long, twisted and at times unfair. The enigma had endured much to this point.
Torment at the hands of RSW’s co-owner Armand Von Krauss and his sadistic wife Esmeralda. The war for Jakie Wentzel’s soul. Scratching and clawing his way back from obscurity. Capturing the Anarchy Championship. All of it; seemingly for nothing.
Following Shadow Wars he refused all booking attempts by RSW, yet when questioned about it said he’d still make the trip to Georgia following their African tour.
There was something else to attend to. Something more important to him than continuing his quest to once more be recognized as one of the premier talents within a promotion…he would prove himself to be one of the premier talents within any promotion.
The End of Days was coming, RSW could wait, for now.
A sixteen man inter-promotional tournament, he’d decided to go back to his roots, not just within a tournament bracket, but to a place he thought he’d left behind.
Past the thinning tree line, he steps into a small clearing to a familiar sight. Slightly disheveled, but still standing.
Taking a deep breath, he remembered the last time he felt this way; when he hid himself away from the world. This was where he slept.
He remembered cutting each tree. He cleared this small speck of wilderness himself using all of his anger, all his of pain. For weeks he poured it all into each and every swing of the axe.
He remembered chopping each log into roughly fifteen foot lengths. He didn’t need much room.
Insulated with tree sap and moss, it had served him well in the years he’d walked away from the ring. The years he embraced his darkness. He wondered if it would serve him again now.
His opponent had been announced as James Franklin Karn. He didn’t know much about him, he didn’t need to. That was the beauty of his approach.
Too many wrestlers studied tape and prepared for specific opponents, the enigma had abandoned this approach since returning. He prepared for every one, no one opponent. His goal was to be ready for anyone, any time.
When it came to his opponent, he’d seen his kind before.
Entering the tournament as a ‘legend’, Karn was essentially using his status within the network to essentially give GUNS an extra participant within the brackets.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad move, but it showed something about the man he’d face. Karn was at a crossroads of his own.
Karn also felt he had something to prove to himself, to those watching, to all the promotions out there. He might have taken a backstage role, but that didn’t mean he was done.
His use of holds and maneuvers echoed ‘D’s’ own style, well rounded, willing to take any opportunity the opponent presented.
Utilizing a brain buster variant and a triangle choke; Karn’s choice of preferred moves showed a traditional approach despite his wealth and trappings of excess. Both moves had varied, but dangerously basic setups. ‘D’ would need to be patient.
Both men prided themselves on their endurance, their stamina, their durability and willingness to fight through pain and adversity to reach their goal. Each man had been a Champion, each of them had been around the block.
For over a decade, the mystique he’d built around himself had been his calling card, but here it was useless…neither man had likely heard of the other. There was one thing he’d noticed.
‘Pride cometh before a fall’ the old saying went, and anyone willing to call themselves a legend just to circumvent space limitations for a tournament likely had pride to spare.
Someone parading around the confidence level of JFK would leave an opening, then he’d take the kill shot. There’s be no need for a grand conspiracy or a grassy knoll; when he assassinated this JFK... everyone would know where the shot came from.
Walking around the cabin, he let his sorrows return to him. Belle’s death as Damien took his first breaths. Giving Damien to Mikey and Clara to run away from his pain. The years spent away from the world. His shoulder slumped with the weight of his sadness.
He scanned the structure, recalling every inch. The first thing one would notice would be; since they didn’t occur naturally, there were no windows. Only darkness dwelled within those four walls.
Swinging the door open, the tied roots that held it give way to rot, sending it crashing to the dirt ‘floor’ tearing years of cobwebs down with it.
Light flooded the space, a musty smell assaulted his nostrils. Other than the layer of filth that had collected in his absence, it was just how he’d left it.
Everything was taken from the land, the trees that had surrounded this place, became part of it’s very essence. Everything from a small, but functional cot to a makeshift table came from the trees cleared to built this retreat.
The stones surrounding the fire pit and the dried and rotted logs within it told him no one had found his refuge, now no one ever would.
Running his hand through the shadows, he feels his way through the patches of grass that had sporadically grown, he smiled. He’d made up his mind.
Through all the uncertainty and doubt, he knew what he must do. JFK, James Franklin Karn represented something he had strayed away from; the unknown. It was time to go forward.
Arranging the crumbling fuel in a pyramid, the splintering logs would provide their own tinder and kindling, his hands moved quickly, excitement brought his blood to a boil, his pulse raced.
Staring at the flint and steel in his hand, he knelt closer.
Striking it; the sparks land among the driest fare. With the skill of a practiced woodsman, ‘D’ slowly nursed a fledgling flame to life as a loving mother might nurse a sick infant. Slow, patient; the enigma took his time.
Blowing on the embers, as the flame rose his mouth hung open. It wasn’t possible, was it?
“Welcome back.” Stood craved into the upper logs, draped in shadow only visible when the fire leapt to life, gaining enough strength to cast it’s light throughout the glorified hut.
The marks were fresh, at least compared to the dirt that had settled upon everything else, a black handled dagger was driven into the log and served as physical punctuation.
Someone had been here after all, and whomever they were…they knew he’d return.
Rolling a stone from the fire pit, ‘D’ glances around before settling on his course. Tossing anything that would burn at the flames, soon smoke began to fill the room.
Grabbing the dagger, he turns on his heel, it now seemed that this would be a shorter trip down memory lane than he had planned.
With a renewed energy, the black clad enigma emerges from the cabin like a wraith to once again disappear into the tree line.
First California, then Georgia; the coming months would be a challenge, and soon he’d know if he were truly up to it.
The cabin would burn or it wouldn’t, he couldn’t look back now; he’d simply leave it to chance. The whole forest could burn with it…he no longer cared.
As smoke drifted toward the lowering sun, the whole world could burn…he no longer cared. The End of Days was upon us, it was time to begin a new chapter. He needed to find the owner of the dagger. The End was nigh.