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Twisted Experience and TCW - View topic - Non-Match Feuding
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 Non-Match Feuding 
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Linda McMahon
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Joined: Wed Mar 16, 2005 3:01 pm
Posts: 6242
Darkness walked through the streets of Philadelphia alone and shrouded by midnight. This was home...in a strange way... ‘Home' in the sense of belonging one derives from a home, ‘home' in the way it feels natural and right to be there.

He had no home besides the lonely night now. For almost five years this had been the only home he had known.

He and Coren had been lucky to escape from Dante's clutches in the end. Shabadoo's spies had gotten wind of what was about to happen and the police were informed. The boys in blue had arrived in the nick of time to prevent two of 411fed's most well known faces disappearing from television screens forever.

That's all they meant to most people anyway...

Darkness realised then that everything his colleagues had said to him in the last few weeks was correct. It was strange for him to be doing this, to be turning himself into some kind of bizarre celebrity when all he craved was to walk the Earth and seek his retribution where he may.

Well, that quest had led him here and now he would see this through to its end. If victory meant holding a golden belt above his head while Americans chanted his name then that's what would happen. Darkness knew that victory would be his. Anything else was almost unthinkable to such a man.

He had only been beaten once, after all.

He rounded the corner and almost walked straight into John Doe. ‘Almost' because Darkness was aware of the man on a fundamental level long before he came into view.


"Hey, Darkness," Doe said, flashing his characteristic lop-sided grin.

"Are you alright?"

"Still feeling kind of groggy...I don't know what happened to me back there."

"Me neither, though I believe I saw the man responsible."

"Anyone we know?"

"I think not."

John shrugged, "Well...I'm alright now, I guess. Don't remember much before the cops arrived though."

Darkness nodded and leaned against a graffiti-spattered wall, "What happened to Dante?"

"Well, they closed down his club. Natalie Portman turned up in Dante's office and...well, it's all a bit of an embarrassment as far as I can work out."

"Will there be any repercussions?" Darkness asked.

"I doubt it. Dante is too well connected and no one remembers enough to charge him...unless you have any plans to go down to the police department?"

"I doubt my testimony would be worth much," Darkness said with a grin - an expression which looked strange on the gaunt warrior's face.


"I'm legally insane," Darkness explained and chuckled at Doe's raised eyebrows, "Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime," he added.

"Yeah, there's a lot you need to tell me about, I think," Doe said, his expression turning grim.

Darkness met his partner's eyes and shook his head, "I'm sorry, John. I can't involve you in this."

"In what?" Doe demanded, his every movement radiating frustrated anger, "I've somehow gotten caught up in something totally bizarre and totally outside my experience!"

"Well, you're memory only goes back six months..."

"Yeah, but I've read an awful lot in that time. I know more than most what constitutes ‘normal', Darkness - and you ain't it."


"So tell me!"

"I can't involve you, John," Darkness repeated, turning back the way he had come. His progress was halted by Doe's vice-like grip on his arm. Their eyes met again.

"I'm already involved."

The moment stretched as Doe looked into Darkness's steel-grey eyes without flinching. Finally Darkness spoke.

"The last time I allowed people I care about into my life, I lost my home, my wife, my..." Darkness's voice wavered and Doe stepped back, shocked at the emotion his sometime ally was showing.

"...my daughter..."

Doe looked at his friend and saw tears long unshed in the man's eyes.

"I can look after myself, Darkness," John said slowly, "But I think you need someone to watch your back."

"I never needed anyone before..." Darkness said, turning his back on Doe. Once again, the larger man halted his progress, this time with a hand on his shoulder.

"You really care about me?"

Darkness turned back and frowned, "Well...of course...I mean..."

John grinned, "That makes you my first official friend then. That I know of..."

Darkness returned his friend's grin.

* * *

As the sun rose the day before Endgame, Darkness walked through the arena. The corridors were silent, devoid of life, but a strange sound caught the lone man's attention.

Something was coming towards him with a soft rustling inaudible to most humans. It moved fast, several feet above the ground. Calmly, Darkness crouched low and drew his sword, his eyes in the direction of the approaching disturbance.

What came towards him couldn't have surprised Darkness more. It was a raven.

Darkness straightened and turned his sword point towards the floor. There was no danger here...only serendipity...

As he moved the sword the raven spread its wings. For a split second an image formed from the two moving objects...


Darkness felt like a thunderbolt had hit him. He hadn't seen that crest in some nine years. Why would it appear to him now? And what was a raven doing in an arena?

Seconds later, his second question was answered as a masked man in a tight-fitting black outfit rounded the corner.

"Buddha? Buddha?!"

The raven flapped around as if confused and then returned to its master, alighting gently on the newcomer's outstretched arm.

"Sorry if he startled you," the masked man said, and Darkness imagined he must be grinning apologetically under his goggles, "I don't know what got into him - he's been content to sit on my arm for days now and suddenly he goes flying off down the hall."

"It's quite alright," Darkness said, sliding his sword back into the scabbard on his back. As they exchanged a nod and he walked away from the man he would later learn answered to the name ‘Obsidian', Darkness reflected on the odd coincidence that had just transpired.

- lots and lots of short fiction, written by me, regularly updated.

- it's a space opera novel I wrote.

I have some shit on Kindle too: ,

Tue Sep 06, 2005 1:11 pm
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Post Origins- Chapter One
note: all foreign languages have been "translated" and are written with "{}"

Chapter One: Lightning

Loyang, capital of Henan Province, China. 539 AD.

**Bodidarma's walking stick tapped gently on the door of the temple. The scholarly knowledge of the Shaolin Ssu (temple) was legendary, even though the order had only been in existence for forty years. Bodidarma tapped again, harder this time. He rested the end of the stick on the ground and leaned against it slightly, waiting. Still, no answer.**

**The Indian monk found this strange. His first thoughts were that no one was home. Perhaps the temple had been disbanded. Attacks by outlaws and lawless armies were not unusual. Bodidarma listened intently, his head tilted slightly to catch even the slightest sound. A moment later, he heard the light crunching of dirt under foot. Someone was at the door. Bodidarma's brow furrowed once again. He raised his walking stick and tapped once more.**

Voice: {What do you want?}

Bodidarma: {I seek entrance to your famed temple.}

**Bodidarma's ears picked up on the muffled sound of two men talking quietly. A moment later, he heard the crunching sound as the speaker turned back to the door.**

Voice: {Leave. We have no business with you.}

**The Indian monk's eyebrows lifted in surprise. Had the temple changed this much that a fellow monk was not allowed entrance? The scholarly knowledge in the temple was overwhelming.**

Bodidarma: {I must gain entry. I am no mere beggar, I am a monk from the South of India. I seek to exchange knowledge.}

**There was another pause as Bodidarma heard more speaking. A moment later, a new voice, much clearer, came from behind the door.**

Voice: {We have no need of further knowledge.}

Bodidarma: {To whom am I speaking?}

Voice: {Fang Chang, the temple's abbot.}

Bodidarma: {Fang Chang, I have travelled many hundreds of miles through treacherous terrain. I have braved both robbers and the elements just to reach you. You say there is no way that I may enter?}

**There was another pause.**

Fang Chang: {No.}

**Bodidarma nodded thoughtfully. His face transitioned into a frown. The Shaolin had forgotten the compassion behind their teachings. He would show them the genuine power of his faith. He raised the walking stick and tapped gently against the door.**

Bodidarma: {Very well. I will honor your wishes. There is a cave, just near here in the side of the mountain. There I will stay, in meditation, until you change your mind.}

**Without further word, Bodidarma turned and walked away. He made his way to the cave, little more than a depression in the side of the mountain, and sat down, his legs crossed. Bodidarma's eyes stared straight ahead at the wall of the mountain. There he stayed.**

**This lasted for nine years. Bodidarma never moved, never slept, never ate, never drank. He only stared at the mountain, his eyes never blinking. His stare eventually bored a hole right into the cave wall. The monks were so impressed by this display of both faith and power that they finally allowed him entry.**

**That is the myth. The truth was that Bodidarma made his way to the cave and sat down, legs crossed. There, he meditated day and night for several days. He would dimly be aware of monks passing by as they would journey to the river for water and would pick berries in the mountain's shadow. He would faintly hear them whispering as they passed. Then, one day, Bodidarma heard a sound beside him and turned to see the back of a monk as he hurried from the cave. His eyes moved down beside him and saw a small flask of water and a plate of bread and fish. This was how it began. After several years, the monks became accustomed to the Indian monk and began to talk with him, openly discussing the teachings of Buddhism. When they were not there, Bodidarma meditated. Finally, the inspiration of his teachings, along with his deep faith, impressed the monks enough where they demanded he gain entry to the temple. Fang Chang, outnumbered, relented. This was nine years after Bodidarma arrived. Finally, Bodidarma stood in front of the doors to the Shaolin Ssu and watched as they opened, allowing him access.**

**Bodidarma, now called Ta Mo by the monks, observed immediately that the Shaolin Buddhists were very limited in their meditation skills. In fact, they were almost nonexistant. As he studied the vast sums of literature, his mind also pondered how to help the Shaolin monks improve their bodies and souls. Finally, he came to a conclusion one day: The Shaolin monks were too weak to commit their minds fully to the art of meditation.**

**From there, Bodidarma began to lay out certain exercises and positions that would maximize the strengthening and toughening of the Shaolin. These were the fundamental beginnings of Chinese Kung Fu. Ta Mo incorporated movements from Indian martial arts, as well as yoga. Many of the Shaolin of the time were retired soldiers and were able to add their own movements to the system. Shaolin Kung Fu was born. Thus ends the history lesson and thus begins our story.**

550 AD.

**Ask any of the monks that were there that day and they will say that he seemed like a ghost. He came from the early morning fog and made his way to the door without being heard or seen. It was only when his knuckles rapped upon the heavy wooden doors that his presence was known.**

**The monk who answered the door was surprised to see the little man standing there. The force behind the knock had him expecting a behemoth, what he got was a man of meek stature. He was thin, appearing to be on the younger side of middle age. His hair was already white in areas and he had a long beard. The monk would later tell others that the most striking feature of this little man was his eyes. They seemed to dance with some inner light, as if his spirit was shining so brightly that the body couldn't hide it all.**

Man: {May I come in?}

Monk: {What is your purpose?}

Man: {To teach and to study.}

Monk: {What are you here to teach?}

Man: {Anything that people are willing to learn.}

**The monk was taken aback by the directness of the man's response. He looked the little man up and down, noting his odd foreign attire. His features didn't say much about his nationality, nor did his clothes. He seemed to represent little parts of every type of person.**

Monk: {One minute, please. I must discuss this.}

Man: {Of course.}

**The man began whistling a tune, rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back. The monk stared at him for another moment and then closed the door.**

**Several minutes later, the door opened fully and Ta Mo emerged, flanked by the monk that had answered the door originally. Ta Mo looked at the small man, caught mid-whistle.**

Ta Mo: {You are here to study?}

Man: {Yes.}

Ta Mo: {And teach?}

Man: {Yes.}

Ta Mo: {Where are you from stranger?}

Man: {Around. I've been wandering for some time now.}

Ta Mo: {Then it is no coincidence that you came here?}

Man: {No, I knew I would find myself here eventually. I did not know when or who would be here.}

Ta Mo: {You are here to learn the ways of Shaolin?}

Man: {I am here to learn from the Shaolin and to teach the Shaolin.}

Ta Mo: {What is your name stranger?}

**The little man smiled. Ta Mo felt his alertness fading away. There was nothing sinister behind that smile. In fact, it seemed almost familiar and inviting. This little man seemed like some old friend.**

Man: {I do not have a name.}

Ta Mo: {Meaning you do not wish to tell us.}

Man: {No. It means that I do not have a name. I never got one. Should I ever have one, I would be most happy to tell you.}

**Once again, the smile proved infectious. Ta Mo returned it and then stood aside, motioning at the entrance.**

Ta Mo: {We would be most honored to have you, stranger.}

**The years passed. The tiny man had an almost unlimited capacity to learn. He quickly mastered the fighting arts and learned to improve his balance. In exchange for this physical knowledge, he taught the Shaolin scholars languages and philosophy that he had picked up on his travels. His knowledge of the world seemed limitless. He spoke of strange lands and people thousands of miles to the west.**

**It was the man's ability to learn and move so quickly that finally earned him his first name. Ta Mo, upon losing a contest of unarmed fighting skills for the first time in his life, marvelled at the efficiency of the small man.**

Ta Mo: {You move like lightning!}

**That comment was all it took. From that moment, the strange man of minor stature, but enormous ability, became known as Lei, which means lightning.**

Death squares all accounts.
~Vietnamese Proverb

Wed Sep 14, 2005 1:11 pm
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Unintentionally Hilarious
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Joined: Fri May 14, 2004 8:17 pm
Posts: 1816
Location: Cali,Bitch
Post this posts says "I owe rach "
*We fade into the ECF/411 hallway*

*Yes even though I reported that GQ just got killed by Stoner's blank shot last feud, well I also said that he was killed in the Ghetto/Lord Blood's 2nd feud together :wink: .....Anyways I brought that up cause we see GQ stumbling around the hallway with a HUGE bottle of Jack Daniels with him....*

* He stops at one door apparently he can still read it says on the door " ECF World Champ"*

GQ: Ooooooo yeah....

*GQ then walks in takes a swig of his JD and looks at "Rachel Hunter"*

GQ: Hey hoWs it goin baaebA..

"RH": ......................................................

GQ: howzzzz bout u shoWWW ME Y yur world champ



*2 hours later*

GQ: Oh yeah.....UH uh.....Yeah give it too me Rach!!!!

*The door then suddennly opens*

* 5 people wearing Ashton Kutcher masks then run in*

5 people: U'VE BEEN PUNKD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GQ: Huh? what? WTF?

*They then reveal themselves to be GhettoGrass*

GQ:Hey me and the champ are getting it on..get teh fuck outta here!!!

Aco: Actually thats the exact same Katie Vick.

Sto: The same one HHH fucked.


AXD: Bought it offa Ebay for $5 k

*Seems like the combanation embarrasment and the drunkness makes GQ go nutz and jump out the 1-story window,land on his neck and well u no the rest.

*Rach then walks in*

Rachel: What the hell is going on ?!

*the members then run out.....Ghettofire runs back in*

GF: Hey their all in relationships...I NEED HER U UNDERSTAND RIGHT !

Rachel: Yeah.............................................sure......just go :evil:

------------------------------------i was forced to---------------------------------------------------

"He expects a show two days ago, yo. Two. That's a lot of days."- :coren:

Thu Sep 15, 2005 12:51 am
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Joined: Tue Apr 16, 2002 12:00 am
Posts: 2420
Location: Nesbit, MS
LIVE from Indianapolis!

Coren v The Husher
Kojack/RDV v Mac Avoy/Stown
a Ghettograss member v The Technician
The RoXoRz v Supreme
Red Menace & Reggie B Fine v Sith Lords
Dante v Lance v Obsidian
Bruce-666 v Shadow v Ultima
Darkness v The Hammer
Acid Misfit v Bisley
John Doe v Rachel Hunter

Cameron Jones sits at a table in a restaurant eating a piece of a vegetarian pizza while staring at the TV mounted up in the corner. A beautiful red-head sits across from him. To his left & her right, sits Cameron's autistic son Zach. He stares off into the nothingness of his world while Kim coaxes him to eat a piece of a breadstick.

Kim-"Come on Zacky. Eat this for mommy."

Zach opens his mouth & she places the food on his tongue. He closes his mouth & begins to chew. She smiles a smile that shows anyone looking that she loves this little boy that is not her biological son unconditionally. She glances over at Cameron, who has stopped looking at the TV & is now looking at her, smiling as well.

Kim-"How's the pizza honey?"

PD-"It's good. How about yours?"

She shrugs her shoulders & goes back to helping Zachary eat.

Kim-"Eh, I've had better."

Cameron nods & watches the rest of the wrestling commercial. Kim continues with Zachary, but speaks up without looking at Cam.

Kim-"You really should contact them. I know you miss it."

Cameron looks down at his food, almost ashamed that she saw him watching the wrestling card's commercial.

Cam-"You guys need me. I can't commit to that kind of travel schedule."

Silence within the noise of the busy restaurant passes for a few moments at the Jones table when Kim looks up at Cameron & reaches across the table, placing her hand on his.

Kim-"I know you still have the fire. I know you still..."

Cam-"Outside of a handful, I don't recognize any of them. I sure don't have any friends there anymore. I'd be a man alone on an island. And I don't think my body is up to it anymore."

Kim looks disapprovingly at Cameron. She rolls her eyes & takes a drink of water. Setting the glass down, she looks back at Cameron.

Kim-"You are in the best shape of your life. You are down 37 pounds. You haven't taken a bump in 4 months or incurred a serious injury in what...4 years? You're fine. And it's okay to be scared."

Cam-"Scared of the ring is not what I am. Scared of leaving you & Zach alone...that scares me."

Kim looks over at Zach & nods. Cameron looks back up at the TV.


1x ECF E-title Champion, 1x ECF Submission title holder, 1x ECF World title holder, 1x 411 IC title holder.
2x ECF Tag Team Champion (Power Inc), 2x ECF TC title holder.
1x ECF/411 TC title holder
1x TCW Tag Team Champion (w/Shadow)

PD's current record 50-29-3 (I'm 56-36-4 overall)
EWI's 5th ranked wrestler for 2005, 2004, 2002 & 2001. Way to be consistent.

Thu Oct 13, 2005 4:22 pm
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Location: Phoenix

Sun Oct 16, 2005 6:16 am
Linda McMahon
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Joined: Wed Mar 16, 2005 3:01 pm
Posts: 6242
Aberystwyth, 1985

He lay there in bed feeling ill. He wasn't hungover...he hadn't been out in months. He smiled ruefully reflecting on the way his life used to be before he came here and the sort of man he'd been for those brief months over a year ago.

A knock sounded at his door, startling him. "Yeah..." he croaked and Anna stepped in. She smiled brightly, "Are you still in bed?"

"Looks like it..." he grinned, belying the sick panic he felt in his stomach.

"Don't you have lab today?" she asked with a frown.

"Uh yeah," he glanced at the clock on the floor by his bed, "It started at one..."

"Oh, baby," she smiled, concern etched on her brow, "You haven't been to anything this week."

"I know."

His voice was quiet. He'd already had a phone call from the department asking where he'd been, but he hadn't had the guts to tell them that he hated this damn course so much he was having panic attacks every morning.

"What are you going to do?"

"Go to sleep..." he said, rolling over. He could tell she stood there for a few moments watching him. He closed his eyes and refused to hear her leave.

* * *

The next day was much the same. It was a mild January day that he never saw the light of. He hadn't eaten in a couple of days, so eventually he struggled up at about seven in the evening and had a shower. They got some chips and watched a video for a bit. He wanted to stay up and do some writing...it was Friday, so it didn't matter if he didn't go to bed. He hung up whenever the faculty tried to ring him...

Weeks passed. He started ignoring his father too. Angry letters kept coming through the door and even the normally placid Anna began to get frustrated with him.

"Baby...are we doing anything for Valentine's Day?"

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "W-what time is it?"


"Valentine's Day isn't for...uh..."

"It's next week."

They didn't do anything. He had become totally crippled, it seemed. He was terrified of even leaving the house now. All his life he'd had this terror of public failure, of embarrassing himself and his inability to do even a simple thing like going to university and getting a degree had only brought his inadequacy into sharp focus.

Anna ran her hand along his desk, trailing a thick line through the dust. Her hand strayed to a thick bundle of papers. She flicked through them, reading a passage here and there.

"These are really good," she mused.

"They're alright," he rasped from the bed.

"I like the characters...Dave...Chris....the little Australian kid..."

"They're the only friends I've got now," he said with a grim smile.

She sat down on his bed and ran one hand down his face, "You need a shave..."

"I know."

"Call your dad...please?"

He turned away, "I can't."

"You have to tell him that they kicked you out."

"I can't," he repeated.

"Look...if you get a job for a couple of years, maybe you can get some money and reapply somewhere else?"

"And do what? Physics again?"

"No...english maybe..."

His thoughts wandered for a moment. A future stretched ahead of him that he knew would never be his. In another world, twenty years away, a man like him made the right choice at that moment.

"I don't think so."

* * *

He finally got that tattoo he always wanted. It was pretty cool...a flaming skull...

His dad wouldn't be happy if he ever saw it, but how likely was that now? He'd started drinking again, but not quite in the way he used to. As the guy in the bar pushed past him, he slurred a challenge at him.

Another night in the cells then...

Anna ended up bailing him out...dimly he was aware that it wouldn't be the first time that would happen. She put him to bed and kissed him. There was love in that action, but it was muted and cold.

"I have to go to my lecture, babe."

"Ok...see you later..." he said quietly.

"I love you."

He just turned away.

He knew he was a drain on her. He was running out of money after his parents cut him off and there was no way he would ever be capable of working. Anna paid his rent this semester and he spent what little he had on tequila.

His birthday came around. He celebrated by seeing some old friends that he barely knew anymore. He would have gone home in the past, but those days were gone. Anna had stayed to look after him.

He curled his lip as he stood at the door to their house, leaning on his arm, vomit covering his shirt.

"Oh God...you're disgusting..." she said, anger in her eyes for the first time ever.

"No, you're disgusting," he spat, "Running after a fucking moron like me all the time...you make me sick..."



He sealed his fate at that moment. Redemption and a fate sundered from the terrible events that he would one day be caught up in were still possible up to then. He was a violent man with a violent temper and, as drunk as he was, he couldn't see the idiotic, repellent thing he was about to do...

Anna fell back, clutching her face. Blood ran down her chin and tears filled her eyes.

He fled.

She was probably looking for him somewhere, but she wouldn't find him. He sat at the top of the hill all night, watching the surf surge below him. Dawn came. It was raining and the clouds moved angrily above him. Some spring this was turning out to be...

He stepped to the edge of the cliff. He knew what he should do.

His hand strayed to his throat, to the necklace he'd worn for years now. It seemed a shame that a gift like that would go down with him so he unclasped it and looked at the design.

He started at the bolt of lightning etched onto the metal talisman and then heard the thunder in the sky that echoed the image before his eyes.

He looked down.

And then he looked up, into the very face of God as light broke through the clouds.

There was a ray of hope...in the darkness...

A ray of hope in his ruined life.

He turned away from the cliff and put the necklace back on. He let his eyes linger once more over the town that had been his home for almost a year and a half now. He knew he wouldn't be back.

It was time to forget what he'd been before - time to find a new way of life. He had survived his greatest trial and it was his duty, he knew, to allow others to do the same.

He threw off his dirty shirt, let the rain be his baptism.

He was born anew in the storm. As the thunder pealed overhead and he fell to his knees he let his warcry sound.


A rumble answered him.


A fork of primal energy responded in the skies and then all was still.

"I am the darkness..." he said finally as he wept.

- lots and lots of short fiction, written by me, regularly updated.

- it's a space opera novel I wrote.

I have some shit on Kindle too: ,

Sun Oct 16, 2005 2:36 pm
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Post Arm candy and Material possesions
** the room is dark and quiet, we catch an outline of a figure sitting running his hands through his hair. he stands up turns around and puts on a mask before disappearing out of sight. once the figure is gone a green light flicks on and illuminates the spot where the figure was sitting. in his line of sight is a white board with what appears to be names scralled upon it, some of the names are crossed out others are not.**


DeSean "The Technician" Blackwell
Shaun Bisley
David Hardy

Distorted voice: I see you have found my list, you know you shouldn't be snooping you never know what you will see. Take for instance if i was to be sitting here without my mask you might have gotten to see who i actually was...I can't risk such things i will have to deal with you

** With that the camera drops to the ground and loses picture, the only part of the feed left is sound. through the muffled screams and thuds is heard one thing**

Distorted Voice: (except it is slightly more familiar at the present moment) You could have ruined this and then i would have killed you, but since nothing was exposed pick up the camera and i will turn this into my first official promo

** The cameraman picks up the camera and after fiddling with it for a brief moment gets it to work, he pans around the room making sure the camera is working. visible as the room pans is the usuall Jade parafanlia along with the infamous mask of Nsane perched atop an entirely Jade Skull. as the cameraman begins to pan back towards it he is interupted and forcefully manuvered back so he was facing the now Prone Jade Dragon.**

Jade Dragon: Now you all have seen my ploys eliminating veterens who have been underachieving their talent, and my sculptures that i leave as a rememberance, but what you havent seen is myself in the ring well next week at Breakout. i will make my presence felt, except this time it will not be against a underacieving veteren, no it will be against an over confident rookie. Yes i am refering to you Mr. Blackwell... ive seen your parties you and your opponent are throwing for material reasons. Now if i were you Mr. Blackwell at Havok i would focus on your match but remember i am watching and i doubt you can win, especially if your lovely arm candy dissappears part way through the match or happens to get hurt while cheering you on. Don't worry Mr. Blackwell I will do you the honor of having one of my prize posessions... a hand crafted pure jade dragon sculpture. I've let all my victims have one.

** As Jade Dragon finishes talking, you see the camera once again fall to the floor and this time losing the complete feed leaving everyone with static.**

I'm coming for you...all of you

Wed Oct 26, 2005 3:14 am
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Post A return?
In rural Hokkaido, Japan, somewhere near the mountains northeast of Asahikawa, sits the Junitaki Township. It is a tiny, empty shell. Or it would be a shell, if it had ever really been more than it is today. It has always been an empty place for empty people, started by criminals fleeing from their crimes in the west. To assure they could not be found, they travelled until the land became nearly uninhabitable, and settled there. Or here, rather, in what is now Junitaki.

The most excitement in Junitaki-cho had occured some 15 or 20 years ago, when two travellers came looking for a sheep. Although the two of them experience much excitement on their journey, the excitement of the citizens amounted to nothing more than seeing a few new faces.

Every summer, a group of municiple sheep are brought up the mountain, to feast on the lush pastureland, until the weather turns cold again, near the end of September. Every year, the land's lone caretaker brings the sheep up, cares for them during their visit, then brings them back down.

Every year, that is, until the present one. This summer, the caretaker was nowhere to be found. Instead, coming down from the mountain was a man clad entirely in black, save for a flowing red cloth belt. Not being the sort to ask too many questions, the townspeople didn't ask too many questions. So the man in black took the sheep up the mountain, cared for them during their visit, then brought them back to the town in late September, when the weather began to turn.

In the month since, the new caretaker has spent his time living very simply, as the caretaker before him, and in solitude, as the caretaker before him. However, unlike the caretaker before him, he has spent much of his time amongst the trees, meditating and keeping his skills in-tact, for one never knows when one might be called to act.

And, as this wouldn't be much of a story otherwise, the mysterious man in black is about to be called into action.

Returning home on this cold Hokkaido morning, he finds a small slip of paper atop his kitchen table. His eyes quickly dart around under his mask, but he knows that whoever left this is long gone, and certainly left no trace.

He picks up the note. It is not addressed to anyone, although presumably leaving it on his kitchen table in the middle of nowhere implies it is a note to him. The symbol at the end is unmistakable. Even if it was not signed, only one person knew where he was. The note was, as always, brief and to the point:

Return to America. Now.

And at that, the man in black heads out of his cabin, with strong hopes he'll return in time to tend to the sheep. These hopes are dashed by stronger doubts.

Wed Oct 26, 2005 5:11 am
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Thu Oct 27, 2005 2:01 am
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Post Just -_-chillin

"He expects a show two days ago, yo. Two. That's a lot of days."- :coren:

Sat Nov 05, 2005 6:54 am
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Post Huge character devolopment

"He expects a show two days ago, yo. Two. That's a lot of days."- :coren:

Thu Nov 17, 2005 5:06 am
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Post Dark places, dark plans

"Life is a hideous thing, and from the background behind what we know of it peer daemoniacal hints of truth which make it sometimes a thousandfold more hideous." -- H.P. Lovecraft

Tue Nov 29, 2005 11:25 pm
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The Nevada Desert, some 40 miles north of Winnemucca

As the sun hung low on the horizon and the darkness grew in the east, he flexed the muscles of his neck rhythmically and felt the scents moving through the air around him.

This close to human civilisation, he could sense their presence everywhere. He irritably shook droplets of saliva from his maw as the hunger began to gnaw at him. So close to fresh meat...and yet unable to reach out and tear it from their still living bodies.

His eyes narrowed as a gust of wind stirred up the sand ahead of him, bringing to him ancient, dry odours of the earth . Like all of his kind, his eyesight was poor - he didn't understand colour in the way a human would, for instance, though it wasn't correct to describe his vision as "black and white"...such a concept was entirely alien to him. No, his primary sense harkened back to his canine forefathers. The world was a great swirling mêlée of scents to his people, just as the human world was an explosion of colour and light.

As the sun sank below the distant stone columns worn into grotesque shapes by millennia of fast desert winds, he began to arch his back. Around him, his clan was stirring as night began. It was a moonless night, but it mattered not to the waking creatures - their kind had ended their moon worship many generations ago. He stretched the huge muscles in his arms, tendons like steel cabling pulled taunt stood out beneath the layer of fur that covered his hulking form.

While his clan, an extended family of brothers, sons, nephews and breeders, began to rise, his clawed fist - an appendage that sat somewhere between hand and paw - closed around the hilt of his great curved blade. The weapon, once a finely made implement of death was now encrusted with dried filth and blood, its formerly honed edge now chipped in many places. He had no interest in maintaining his sword by sharpening it, so in preference simply chipped away at the blade when it became dull to create a crude, jagged edge. It suited him well enough. He preferred his fangs and claws as weapons in truth, but the scimitar was as much a status symbol as anything else.

His grip tightened as he lifted the weapon into the air and an expectant hush fell across the camp. As the edge of the sun finally dropped over the horizon and the night closed in around them, he raised his head to the wandering stars that glittered in the firmament above.

The howl of Goth the Warglord echoed across the desert, carrying for miles over the flat terrain. His clan, dozens of lupine monstrosities just like himself, joined in with his bestial warcry, their warning to their distant prey becoming so loud that it reverberated through the earth below their feet.

As the howl died away Goth looked to his eldest son, a rangy warg wielding a flint-tipped spear and sporting a mass of knotted dreadlocks that hung down his back, "The hunt is on, Ureth," he growled, the words not quite forming in his slavering jaws. Wargs had no language of their own, being inherently incapable of any act of creation, so they mutilated what tongues they heard for their own purposes. Combined with their functional system of pheromonal communication it served them well enough.

At their patriarchs request, the clan began moving towards the west, a great tide of rippling muscle coated in matted, greasy fur. It was with reluctance that they avoided human settlements, for it would not do for more reports of their activities to begin spreading - Seth had warned them against a repeat of their careless slaughter of John Dane. Nonetheless, several of the younger wargs preyed upon the livestock of a ranch they passed in an attempt to sate the hunger that constantly gnawed away at the gut of every warg.

Seth had promised them release from the hunger - a hunger the Herald of the Abysmal Ones understood all too well, Goth knew - and because of that, they had willingly joined him. It was this that led them to their prey now.

As Goth crested a rise ahead of his monstrous pack, he let out another howl that the clan echoed a hundred-fold. The concept of ‘ambush' was another idea lost upon the wargs.

Not that the element of surprise would have served them at all against foes such as these; just as Goth's clan had scented them across the leagues that separated them before sunset, so they had been scented.

This night, warg hunted warg.

In the valley below, Dar'kath spun his twin blades deftly into his hands and growled beneath his pointed death-mask. Luminescent green eyes shone in the firelight of his own clan's camp. Unlike their enemies, those wargs still loyal to their creators did not shun the light...had not the Morningstar himself once wielded such light before the Fall?

Dar'kath reared up to his full height, some twelve feet in all, and flexed the lacerated muscles of his disturbingly human chest. The finely crafted scale armour that coated his arms moved easily with his ritualistic movements as he prepared for battle. Each of his blades scored a deep wound across his chest as his dark, half-demon blood spilled onto the parched desert earth.

"Prepare," he growled softly, though not in any tongue a human would have understood.

His own clan, a ragged but proud group of perhaps a score, readied their weapons as Goth's clan began pouring down the hillside to meet them. Wargs - no matter what entity to which they owed their loyalty - were without fear. It was only regret that accompanied the expert swings of Dar'kath's blades as he crouched low in preparation to meet his enemy.

Regret that this should happen while he lived.

Regret that his proud and honourable race should be reduced to howling, bestial monsters.

Regret that his clan, the last of the ancient line of Ul'tath the Wargsire, the first of all the demon-wolf hybrids to stalk the Earth, should perish at the hands of their own kin.

Goth and his kind had exchanged their heritage, their future, for the promise of freedom from the very thing which made them strong. It was the Hunger, the lust for raw flesh and warm blood, that drove the wargs. The all-encompassing want that could never be fulfilled made the discipline of Dar'kath a necessity. Without it they were nothing more than beasts.

The blood of Hell itself ran through their veins...but Goth had forgotten that and pledged himself to powers that were anathema to that great legacy. His creatures epitomised all that Dar'kath despised.

Around him, the few remaining wargs that still owed loyalty to Hell tensed to absorb the charge of their dark kin. The fires reflected in the burnished armour of the lithe and powerful lupine warriors as glaives, halberds and scimitars levelled.

"Throw!" Dar'kath roared suddenly, and in response half a dozen triangular shapes of wrought iron flew from the ranks of his soldiers. Each of the bladed boomerangs found targets amongst their charging foes and described wide parabolas that left more warg corpses in their wake before returning to the hands of those that had thrown them.

Their enemy was numerous however, and the attack did not slow their wild charge. Ordinary tactical doctrine would have advised against a second throw for fear of losing the boomerangs once the foe closed with them, but Dar'kath knew his clan would have no further use of them once this battle was done. Better to kill while they still could.

"THROW!" he roared a second time.

Boomerangs left warg hands and, a split second later, the space between the two clans had closed. Dar'kath never saw how many of the renegades his clan's weapons slew, for his attention was diverted by the ragged shapes that assailed him. His blades found muscular flesh beneath filthy fur and he buried his weapons up to their hilts in body after body.

"DAR'KATH!" a barely intelligible voice roared at him from a great knot of brawling forms to his left. He turned and saw Goth, surely the largest warg that had ever lived, hurl the broken forms of his family away like broken toys. Dar'kath straightened himself and prepared to meet his enemy's challenge.

He knew that his clan would not survive this night and any that did would live on only as slaves. His breeders, the proud mothers of his children, would be subject to the cruel and violent attentions of Goth's festering beasts; those of his sons that lived would be tortured and mutilated for their amusement.

Dar'kath knew that it would be worth it if only he could end the lives of as many of these monsters as possible before his end. He slammed one of his weapons into the eye socket of one of the traitor wargs, twisting it with satisfaction as the creature's blood spattered across his death-mask.

"DAR'KATH!" Goth roared a second time.

Dar'kath, last of the line of Ul'tath, the only loyal Warglord that now lived, the Champion of the Werekind, stood tall and bared his muscular torso to his foe in the manner of the traditional challenge of his people. At his sides, his heavy, curved blades dripped fresh blood.


* * *

Far above the battle, three figures observed the violence and heard the bestial cries.

"We should leave," Jack Dane noted with the cold detachment that had become the normal tone for him.

"They are no threat to us," Benedict assured him, "The victors will be too concerned with picking clean the bones of the vanquished."

On his other side, Marta Hayes levelled her crossbow experimentally, squinting with her good eye down the sight. She shook her head, moving the fringe that usually hung over the badly scarred left-side of her face to reveal the white orb of her blinded eye, "They move too fast," she explained bitterly.

"Your bolts would do little against the ones that will be left standing," Benedict reflected sadly, "They are protected by some power which is proof against our weapons.

Jack Dane shook his head slowly, "Wargs fighting wargs...Slayers fighting Slayers. What times are these?"

"Dark ones," Benedict replied, still looking at the fighting which was now drawing to a close below them. The last pockets of the Infernal clan were being slaughtered by the renegades now.

As Ben and Marta turned from the scene, Jack stared down at the huge creature that had just decapitated the leader of the other clan and nodded at it, "One day," he vowed to himself, "I'll make you pay..." Fingering the hilt of his rapier slowly, he stood and followed his companions to their vehicle.

- lots and lots of short fiction, written by me, regularly updated.

- it's a space opera novel I wrote.

I have some shit on Kindle too: ,

Sat Dec 10, 2005 12:43 am
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Post Prime
The light beneath the bowels of the arena was sparse. Only small pockets, provided by dying bulbs, illuminated anything. Most of the underbelly was consumed by shadow and filth. Rats scurried to and fro, carrying on with their rat business. Water dripped from rusting pipes, plunging into murky puddles of filth. Slicks of dirt and oil collected on their surface, sliding across them like detatched islands as drops disturbed them.

Through the darkness, two tiny pinpoints of light appeared, faint and blue. They moved up and down with the rhythmic motion only footsteps could provide. The occasional splash as a foot landed in standing water disturbed the otherwise quiet setting. The random rat ran away from the approaching lights as they drew nearer. The light of a nearby incandescent bulb illuminated a face that not even a mother could love, providing he ever had a mother. Behind him, like some leviathan risen from the depths, walked a masked behemoth.

Prime paused, lifting his hand in the air. His nose lifted slightly and he inhaled deeply. His face cracked into a grin, exposing metallic teeth. The weak light glinted off of their sharpened points as he looked around. The massive figure behind him stopped, not moving.

Prime: "We're getting close, Breed."

Breed continued to stand silent and still like some monstrous statue. Prime's hand lowered and he reached back, removing a chain and dog collar from Breed's gigantic hand. He turned back around, his eyes flashing from one shadowed corner to the other. He lifted the chain high into the air and rattled it loudly. The sound echoed across the pipes and through the basement.

Prime: "Here doggy."

He turned quickly as a giggle slid through the darkness, wavering on the air for a moment before vanishing like a phantom. Breed continued to stand still as Prime scanned the pipes, the dog collar at the ready.

"Tiny... butterflies..."

Prime's eyes finally noticed the tiniest of movements from a grouping of pipes near them. The sound of a popping joint told him that it was, indeed, his objective. Prime nodded his head at Breed. Breed turned and walked over to the pipes, reaching in. A second later, he withdrew his hand, which was clamped around the arm of a dirt-covered figure. The Husher clamped his teeth on Breed's hand, trying to get away, but the giant held tight, ignoring the pain and the tiny trail of bright, blue blood that fell from around The Husher's mouth. Prime walked over, lifting the dog collar.

Prime: "Hey there, buddy. Long time, no see."


Joey Joe Joe Shabadoo gritted his teeth as he followed behind his "boss." Pyro was choosing to skip across the tiled floor, encouraging his assistant to do the same.

Pyro: "Come on! It's fun!"

Shabadoo refused to answer, choosing instead to utter acts of violence under his breath. A glance to his side forced him to keep it down as the massive figure of Jack was moving beside them both. Shabadoo did his best to hide a shiver as he gazed on the silent figure, walking with his head down. Hair fell over his face, obscuring his eyes. That was something that Shabadoo was greatful for as they were some of the most haunted eyes he had ever seen.

Pyro, growing tired of his skipping game, elected to tell jokes.

Pyro: "Ok, knock knock."

Shabadoo looked up, wondering who Pyro was talking to. To his dismay, he saw that he was talking to him. He sighed heavily before answering in the least enthused voice possible.

Shabadoo: "Who's there?"

Pyro: "Justin."

Shabadoo: "Justin who?"

Pyro: "Justin Credible, looking for work! HA!"

Shabadoo faked a laugh at what was possibly the lamest joke he had heard yet. He thought he heard a deep rumbling from the vicinity of Jack that might have even been a chuckle, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. Pyro reached the door to his office and opened it.

Prime: "Hiya boss."

Shabadoo looked around the commissioner and his eyes nearly bulged from his head. Sitting in the chair was what looked to him like some sort of vampire or something equally not normal. Tubes jutted from his body in random places, pumping a glowing, blue liquid into his body. Pyro walked into his office like he had seen things like this every day. Shabadoo glanced over at the silent figure of Jack, who followed Pyro into the office, and decided that maybe he had.

Pyro sat down at his desk, facing Prime, who sat with his bare feet resting on the desk. Behind Prime stood a figure larger than even Jack. Shabadoo actually had to do a double take. The figure was as wide as two normal people and wore a massive, solid helmet of some jet black metal. In his hands, a chain was clenched. The chain trailed off into the shadows and Shabadoo wondered what was on the other end of it.

Pyro: "Hi! I'm Pyro, the commimishinier!"

Pyro thrust a thumb over at Jack and then at Shabadoo, who was doing his best to not be noticed.

Pyro: "This is my friend Jack! And that's my friend Joey Joe Joe Shabadadada Junior!"

Prime: "Nice to finally meet you. My name is Prime and this is my buddy Breed. Say hi Breed."

Breed continued to stand silently, his hand clamped around the chain. The chain rattled momentarily and a figure scuttled out from the darkness, climbing up Breed's body like a huge jungle-gym. The Husher's face peeked around Breed's helmet. Shabadoo jumped back, his fingers pointing.

Shabadoo: "What the heck is that thing!?"

Prime chuckled.

Prime: "Oops, I forgot to mention him. Meet The Husher. Don't worry, he's been fed. He won't need to eat anyone else for another hour or so."

Pyro waved happily at The Husher who giggled slightly before climbing down Breed's body and scuttling back into the shadows.

Pyro: "So what can I do for you Mr. Prune?"

Prime: "Well, gosh sir, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, me and my friend here would love a job."

Pyro nodded thoughtfully and folded his hands. He ruffled some papers on his desk, doing his best to seem professional.

Pyro: "I see. And what are your constipations?"

Prime: "...My what?"

Pyro: "Your cauliflowerations... configurations..."

Pyro glanced over at Shabadoo, a sad look on his face. Shabadoo, despite his better judgement, clarified for Prime.

Shabadoo: "He's asking for your qualifications."

Prime: "Ah, ok. Well, I'm experienced in the ways of fighting, have a good look for the whole 'mysterious past' gimmick and my friend here can crush a grapefruit in his hand."

Breed's helmeted head turned slightly towards Shabadoo and Shabadoo felt his bladder start to weaken.

Pyro: "Good. Where are you from?"

Prime: "Hell."

Jack's head snapped up and he took a half step forward. Breed turned to face him and the two gargantuan figures stared silently at each other. Prime looked at the two of them and chuckled.

Prime: "Man, I feel sorry for the referee when those two eventually face off. I was kidding about the Hell thing. We're weird, but not that weird."

Pyro chuckled happily at Prime's "joke." Jack seemed to settle down slightly, moving back to his original position. Breed did likewise, his head still turned in Jack's direction.

Pyro: "So where are you from Mr. Pine?"

Prime waved his blue hand dismissively in the air.

Prime: "I believe the term used so often around here is 'Parts Unknown.' We're from there."

Pyro: "Hmmm... Ok, I like what you've told me so far, Mr. Pen, but I have one more question and it's very serious."

Prime arched an eyebrow. Shabadoo leaned forward slightly, hoping beyond hope that Pyro would find a way to make these men leave and never come back. Pyro leaned forward, his hands still folded in front of him in as serious of a way as possible.

Pyro: "If you were a Ninja Turtle, which one would you be and why?"

Shabadoo leaned back against the wall, his eyes shut. It had been a bit too much to hope that normalcy would ever rear its head in this office. Prime sat back thoughtfully.

Prime: "I suppose I would be Leonardo. He's also fond of blue and is the natural leader of the group."

Pyro: "Neat! You're hired! We'll get back to you about a match soon, Mr. Pride!"

Shabadoo sighed heavily, wishing that this day would end. Prime stood up, giving the tiniest of nods, and moved to the door. Breed followed behind, pulling on the chain. The Husher slid from the shadows, pausing just long enough to lunge at Shabadoo's throat. Breed yanked him back and the three moved out into the hall. Shabadoo quickly ran up and slammed the door shut.

Pyro: "I thought they were nice, how about you guys?"

Shabadoo: "Nice!? They had a... a thing on a chain!"

Pyro: "So?"

Shabadoo: "So!? So, clearly, they are psychos! We have enough of them running around here, we certainly don't need anymore!"

Pyro: "Hmm... You know what Joey?"

Shabadoo: "What?"

Pyro: "You seem upset. I know what will cheer you up."

Shabadoo glanced over at the silent Jack, wondering if Pyro was going to feed him to him.

Shabadoo: "What's that?"

Pyro: "Another knock-knock joke!"


Wed Dec 14, 2005 3:30 pm
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Chapter -13

* See the"-" it's not a dash/hyphen, it's a negative sign, so that means this post is going to be all about the past of a certain member, the number stands for how old they are and the member we're going to focus on this time is...the envelope please.....Acolyte!*

* We then flashback to a thirteen year-old boy, reading one of those weird Goth books about vampires and other equally weird topics, he's in his room, Goth posters on the wall, and remember folks this is taking place during a time where being Goth was a frowned upon thing (not that its any cooler now)*

"Cordazer, breakfast is ready"

Cordazer: Cool.

* Acolyte, or maybe should I call him by his real name- Cordazer Smith, heads downstairs book in hand, and sits down at the table with his parents, but continues reading his book*

Mom: Cordazer, do you think you can stop reading your book for just a couple minutes honey.

Cordazer: No, I'm on the best chapter; Abraxxias is about to admit to Necormantix that he is his evil twin brother sent from the seventeenth level of hell and he must give him the antidote or Abraxxias himself will turn into a vicious cannibalistic beast...

Dad: You can learn about hell at church on Sunday Core, now eat your breakfast and put down that damn book...

Cordazer: Fine.

* Cordazer then finally reluctantly puts down the book. He knew his parents just didn't get him, and they couldn't understand him no matter how much he tried to explain anything to them. But he could also see the worried look on his parent's faces get more and more worried the more Gothicized he gets*

Mom: So your dad and I were thinking that it is that time of the summer were we go on vacation...

Cordazer: Have fun.

Dad: No actually son your mother and I were thinking about taking you with us...

Cordazer: *drops fork* you what?! No I got plans...

Mom: What plans sweetie, are you going to read more of your horrific books?

Cordazer: No, I got plans with my girlfriend and my other friends!!

Dad: Jenny is also on vacation, and your only friend is Dag and he's gone fishing with his dad and uncle for a month...

Cordazer: Well...........................Okay fine....

* Cordazer then storms upstairs*

(Mumbles to himself) "Stupid Goddamned parents, I hate them"

* back in the kitchen*

Mom: This is going to be a perfect opportunity for us to make Cordazer a little more spiritual...

Dad: And you're sure you read the brochure correct. All they do in this town is just worship...

Mom: Yes, honey, the population of the town is a little under seven hundred, and they have the main worship gatherings once every hour...

Dad: What's the name of the place?

Mom: I'm not sure what the exact name is, but they claim that their all one big family, called the "Nosnam's".

Dad: Sounds great...

Mom (shouts upstairs to her son): "Cordazer pack up all your clothes we're planning on leaving around eleven..."

Cordazer: Whatever.

* The Smith family then packs up all of their belongings, Cordazer's clothes all consisting of black, his black t-shirts his collection of crosses, his black saggy cargo jeans, his black eye-liner, yes this kid was very Goth....very*

* All of the family head downstairs. Cordazer didn't have any younger or older siblings he was a spoiled only-child, like myself. Cordazer is the type of Goth kid I hate the most, they have a pretty good life, they have great parents, they get three square meals a day, and yet they still say that hate their life, and that they are more miserable than poor kids in third world countries like India, but that's just me...oh yeah and one more note- their music is very hard on the ears*

* But that's one good thing. Cordazer hated Goth music. He found it very annoying, and yet he still loved the books and style*

Cordazer: Let's just get this damned thing over with.

Mom: Don't have the attitude honey, if you go in mad your gonna be sad!

Cordazer: I'm sure your right mom...

* And so it was that the Smith family left the good part Hell's Kitchen in their old fashion Woody, the place they were leaving for- they weren't not sure- but me being the official Ghetto Grass author I know the name of the town, and the name was- I'll tell you later*

*Cordazer and his family had a pretty decent trip to the unknown suburb, Mr. & Mrs. Smith (no pun intended) sang along to oldies, but Cordazer like the little outcast he is, didn't once even think about humming or singing along with his parents, he just sat there with his portable tape-player playing "Rush's 2112"*

Dad: We're here son.

Cordazer: Whoopee...*twirls fingers*

* The town seemed pretty normal. Not very many, about a maximum of a thousand people had to of lived there*

* The Smiths then go and check in the hotel ‘Hotel 66'*

Motel Manager: Hello, may I help you?

Dad: Yes, we have a reservation...

Manager: Name please?

Dad: Smith...

* The manager and the creepy looking bell boy then look up at the whole family as if Mr. Smith had just said something that just changed their whole lives*

Manager: Ah yes we've been expecting you...

Bellboy: I'll take you up to your room and give you your room key...

Mom: Thanks!

* The bellboy then takes the whole family through the musty smelling elevator *

* There's really weird sounding orchestra music playing from the elevator instead of the normal jazzy melodies. They finally reach the 6th floor. They get out and the bellhop walks them down to room 13.*

Bellboy: Here's your room, and I hope to see all three of you at midnight mass this evening...

* Cordazer's parents had both totally forgot that the main reason that they came to this town was for the active worship ceremonies *

Cordazer: Worship?!

Dad: Son, we never ask you to go to church with us just do this for us....

Cordazer: FINE!

* Acolyte then lays down on his bed...puts "Pink Floyd" in his tape player, and goes into loner mode *

Dad: Let's see what time is it?

Mom: Um, about eight forty five, so we got awhile till the service starts, let's take a nap...

* Cordazer's bed is closer to the window so while he's listening to "The Wall" he just stares out the semi-decent view of the hotel, the view included a couple of local businesses and one huge building with not a cross but a weird delta-gram type of thing on top of it *

Cordazer (mumbles to himself): I recognize that sign....

* The future wrestler known as Acolyte takes out his book from his baggy cargo jean pocket, and looks on the back, and he's correct. The thing on top of the building is identical to that on the book *

Cordazer (to himself): I guess that's cool...

* Any inquisitive teen like me would go out and investigate it, but no, one- Cordazer was the type of kid that really didn't care all too much, and when he made a statement to his parents he kept it, and second of all- Cordazer was more tired than his parents from the two hour journey from Hell's Kitchen to the now confirmed town known as- "Allersellen"*

* Cordazer then shuts his eyes and falls asleep, having wicked dreams about wickedness and cool stuff like that*

Three Hours later

* Cordazer's eyes then blink open. His "Floyd" cassette has long past stopped and he looks at the "NEW" digital clock and its reads "11:45" so that means he slept for about three hours*

Cordazer: Mom? Dad?

* Cordazer realizes that his parents are gone...he just figured that they had gone early for the midnight mass and just decided to let him sleep while they go out on the town. He figures he better go being that the service starts in about fifteen minutes, and he promised his parents that he would go so he figured, "What the hell"*

Cordazer: Dang this place is creepy....

* As the little Smith looks around the town of Allersellen he notices all these weird buildings, shaped in indescribable shapes... There is literally NO ONE around the town, even when he exited the hotel the managers and all the bell-hops were gone. Cordazer continues to leave his hands in his jacket-sweater pockets and the hood over his head, he finally notices the same building he saw earlier with the delta-gram symbol that looked like the symbol on his Goth-book...It's the main church of the whole town, he enters the Allersellen church, there is an usher at the door handing out programs*

* The church is freakin' packed I mean like no seating whatsoever-100% FULL in a church that seemed like it fit about 700. Cordazer tries to find his parents, but to no avail- the place is just too fucking packed so he decides to hang out and stand in the back with 20 other people*

Cordazer: So this is where everyone is...

Guy Standing beside him: Yeah midnight mass is quite the attraction, but tonight is a special night...

Cordazer: What's so special about tonight?

Guy: Well there's going to be a special ceremony at the end...

Cordazer: Cool *shrugs shoulders*

* After everyone's seated down on the church pews, our main boy can finally see the alter area, it basically looks like any normal Anglican alter, except that damn insignia is where a cross would normally be*

Cordazer: If you don't mind me asking but what is that sign called?

Guy: It's the "Keywork".

Cordazer: Cool.

* There is no organ, which is kind of a surprise to Cordazer; because the last time he went to church (like 5 years ago) he distinctly remembers organ music being blared out loud. Also in the alter area there is no one there, and there were no acolytes or Presiders making there way down the aisle*

* After 5 minutes or so (exactly at 11:59) out walks a long brown haired man with a lot of facial hair, he stands behind the podium*

Man: Welcome all to the first gathering of the new day, and first off I want to welcome a family of visitors that has come to view our town on their vacation- the Smiths. They're right there in the thirteenth row Cordazer and Heather, and their son, Cordazer Junior standing in the back next to Mr. Sataniz.

* Satan? What the fuck? Thinks young Acolyte *

Man: And also today we will have a special Presider, to congregate us over the special ceremony at the end...

* An hour goes by and so far the service has been like any normal service at an Episcopal church, but now its time for "communion" and things are starting to feel weird when the special Presider is brought out and Cordazer Sr. recognizes him from an article he read in the newspaper about some upstart church in San Francisco- the man is Anton LaVey the founder of the Church of Satan*

Cordazer Sr.: Oh shit honey, did you happen to look up what religion this church is?

Heather: Um, well, not really...

* Even before the thought of escaping crosses the Smiths' minds they are then held tightly by the people sitting next to them and Cordazer Jr. is being held by "Mr. Sataniz", and is forced watch on while his parents are brought up to the alter*

Anton: Prince of Darkness we give you these sacrifices today and we hope it'll make you happy, therefore amen.

* The facial hair man takes off the black cover from the top of the alter table to reveal that Keywork mixed in with a dark-red pentagram*

Man: Tonight the powers of the Keyworkers and the Satanists unite for one glorious occasion and that occasion is now!

* Anton LaVey then prays over Acolyte's parents, and Acolyte then just closes his eyes.*

~ A lot of years later ~

* We see an older looking Cordazer backstage from one of those church things where the guys who run it are complete cons, and they just push back on the needy persons head and tell them that they're healed and they start going into convulsions, well Cordazer is that coning asshole. He just completed an entire service, and raked in over a couple hundred thousand dollars.*

Cordazer: That was one helluva service day wasn't it?

Some Dude: Yeah we're getting a midnight paid programming slot on PAX every Wednesday now!

Cordazer: We are?!

Some Dude: Yeah man and people can call in and pledge money!

Cordazer: Oh man I got to do something to promote this stuff.

* And right on cue in walks in this man with black baggy pants and a white baggy shirt and a purple camouflage bandana*

Cordazer: You wanna autograph or something?

Purple Camo: No I just heard what you said about promoting your service...

Cordazer: Yeah, you know about that stuff?

Purple Camo: Yeah I manage wrestlers...

Cordazer: Wrestling?! Are you crazy? If I break my leg then I'll have to heal myself and then all the people will figure out its all just a big croak and then I get taken off the air and lose all the money, no way!

Purple Camo: Trust me you can just cut a promo about your healing crap and then be in a tag match, but I can arrange for your partner to carry the match.

Cordazer: Carry?

Purple Camo: Do all the wrestling.

Cordazer: Sounds like a good idea, but how is this promoting me?

Purple Camo: My show airs syndicated shows every Friday night, and it might make you look cool to teenagers.

Cordazer: Sounds like a pla...

Purple Camo: No wait it doesn't stop there! The thing you said about breaking your leg. What if you fake break your leg, and then "heal yourself" on your show?

Cordazer: My God, that's the greatest idea I've ever heard!

Purple Camo: I'd thought you'd like it, we'll talk details by phone.

Cordazer: Cool.

~ To Be Continued ~

"He expects a show two days ago, yo. Two. That's a lot of days."- :coren:

Sat Dec 31, 2005 11:50 pm
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Former TCW Tag Champion
current record hell I don't know

Fri Jan 13, 2006 4:34 am
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Post The Real Canadian Controversy

"He expects a show two days ago, yo. Two. That's a lot of days."- :coren:

Sun Jan 29, 2006 8:23 am
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Post During that dark time...
Stown seats at his place in Los Angeles County...15 or so miles east of Los Angeles. His band mates are still in rehab so Stown is just wrestling. He is waiting for the next PPV so he can do something.



Man, I've been wrestling for almost 6 months and they are still in rehab...what a joke. Everytime they are about to get out...they do a line. They may never get clean, fucking losers. I'm tired of waiting for them. If I didn't start wrestle, what the fuck would I be doing? Working some crap job, waiting for them to get clean...selfish bastards. Maybe it's time for me to move on, I've been doing pretty well wrestling. I've got a couple title shots and I think I've become a name that has been in part of PPV's non-stop for months now without any breaks. If there is a PPV, Stown is there...that has to count for something. What happen to me at the last PPV? I heard that voice, things slowed down and next thing I know I'm outside and 20 minutes of my life passed...and I don't even know how and why. I'm thinking FAR too much!

I wonder what is on TV.

Stown grabs the remote and flips through the channels

Damn, its been a while since I've been home and just done nothing...I miss it, barely. They changed the fucking channels!!! Damn it! 37 is now MTV....hell.

Carson Daly's voice

"New #1 song on TRL today!!! Avenged Sevenfold "Bat Country""

Back to Stown's thoughts
Holy hell! There are on TRL!!! And #1!!! Damn, things have changed since I've stopped being in a band. I remember them being as big as we were...what a shame for them and us. They sold out and we aren't really a band at the moment. Great, just fucking great. Now I'm in a grand mood.

Stown turns off the TV in digust and turns on the stereo

What do I want to listen too?

He grabs a large stack of CD's next to the stereo and goes through them, one by one.

Social Distortion, Tiger Army, Bowie, Cash....I want something I haven't listened too for a while. There we go. Some Dick Dale, theres nothing like some Surf rock.

Stown puts the Dick Dale CD into the stereo and seats down on his bed

Your rite, there really isn't anything like surf rock.

What the hell! This again! Who are you and what the fuck do you want!

I can understand why your freaking out...there is no real good explaination because it's only 2006.

What the holy hell are you talking about! It's been 2006 for over a month now, dumbass!

I know that, don't talk to me like I am an idiot. I'm a.....

Finish your sentence! So I can find out something about you then smash your face! I like to know how I nearly kill.

You must calm down. The angerer you get, the faster time passes by.

What are you talking about! Explain why everything is black and why I can't see you!

All that will be explained in time. I did this again now so you won't think that the bar incident was just a one time thing. You are something special...you will realize that in time. This is not the time.

What is your name! I tire of your repeated jargon and unclear answers. You haven't given me a clear answer once! What is your name!

Do not worry Stown. Do not fear me because I need you...the world needs you.

Damn it! Enough of this!

You are rite, this is enough for today. The next time...

NEXT TIME! What is your problem!

Everything will be explained the next time. Third times the charm...that is a commonly used quote back in your time.

The unknown voice leaves Stown's head and everything goes back to normal


Damn it! Again with that fucker!

Stown seats down and realizes that the Dick Dale CD that he just put it is not playing

It's done playing? How much time passed?

Stown looks at the clock, 15:28

So just 5 mintues or so passed...I can live with that. Sees whats on TV again.

Carson Daly's voice again
"Avenged Sevenfold couldn't keep the #1 spot today and fall to #2...here is Bat Country!"

What the hell!? It's just been 5 minutes!

Stown changes the channel to CNN

Anderson Copper's voice

'Top stories for 2/8/06"

WHAT!!! It's the 8th!

I got society's blood running down my face.

Wed Feb 08, 2006 3:14 am
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The camera fades into the backstage area, the sounds of voices and people setting up the ring and various stage equipment can be faintly heard, the camera pans across the area until it stops on two shoes one a males, and another a females. The voices of people talking and laughing can be heard in the background. The camera slowly moves up until it stops on the smiling faces of DeSean and Tiffany. Tiffany is laying on DeSean's side under his arms with her hands on his stomach. Tiffany taps DeSean on the shoulder and points to the camera.

DeSean: Oh they want me to say something? Those who are watching this at home want to know what's on my mind. You wanna know what's on my mind. Tiffany?

Tiffany: What's on your mind babe?

DeSean: Ring of Honor, or more importantly ROH fans. Now before I start let me say I don't have a problem with wrestling fans, wrestling fans put money in my pocket. They help support this business, what I have a problem with are fans that don't respect what I do. Who have something smart to say at the drop of a dime. ROH fans have this idea that they're smarter than anyone else when it comes to wrestling they think they can do what I do and do it better. I can read, I visit the websites and I see haters saying "DeSean sucks, he can't wrestle." "DeSean's performance at Bedlam brought the Thunderdome match down." Let's get something straight none of you losers can out wrestle me, and none of you fucks know a damn thing about wrestling!

You think because you sit on your computers and talk shit on a message board, that you're all of a sudden an expert. That you're hot shit all of a sudden? It means shit that's what it means. It's sad really, because you guys can't accept the face that I didn't fall on my ass. That I'm not in some indy promotion wrestling in front of 50 people. You all wanted me to fail in the WWE, and it happened I got cut before I made it on the full roster. You were all happy when you heard the news "DeSean Blackwell gets released by the WWE" every single one of you said I told you so. So what happens next I sign with 411/ECF one of the top promotions in the world!

Of course ROH fans can't accept this, so now it's "DeSean signed with 411 and ECF a garbage wrestling promotion!" "DeSean is a shitty wrestler, so of course he's going to sign with a shitty promotion"

Tiffany: Now that's ironic

DeSean: You're right it is because ROH is doing a cross-promotional feud with CZW. Combat Zone Wrestling! Ultraviolent Combat Zone Wrestling! Or should I say Garbage Wrestling Promotion CZW, ECW wannabe CZW! Or should I say ECW wannabe Ring of Honor.

Tiffany (mockingly): R-O-H, R-O-H, R-O-H

DeSean: Let's make a comparison here, 411/ECF has two primetime television shows. 411/ECF has monthly PPV's, we sell out every arena we go to. We tour the whole United States we're going to have a overseas tour! While ROH has a syndicated TV show, they're shown in maybe 3 or 4 states, they have to share a building with 3 other indy promotions and ROH is going to be out of business in the next 3 months. If ROH doesn't kill itself, TNA or the WWE will. Remember our final night in Ring of Honor, everyone was calling you a slut.

Tiffany: And they were calling an asshole and a sell out?

DeSean: Yea exactly, how many of their heroes are leaving ROH for the greener pastures of the WWE and TNA, and 411/ECF! How many? Are those guys called sellouts? Are your precious heroes' sellouts? Those same wrestlers that ROH fans claim can kick my ass are leaving. It used to be we can kick DeSean's ass, to Samoa Joe can kick DeSean's ass. CM Punk can kick DeSean's ass, Generation Next, Jay Lethal, Homicide, Shelly, Low Ki, AJ Styles and Danielson they can all supposedly kick my ass!

What those fans failed to forget is that on my last night, I called out every wrestler that was backstage to face me one on one in a fight. No one took me up on my challenged, I even turned my back and no one came out. Yet they can kick my ass. Let's first get this straight none of you fucking dorks can kick my ass, and none of you ROH wrestlers can kick my ass. You guys can talk shit on your Livejournals, your Myspace blogs, your Xangas saying this shit, that shit but in the end you won't face me like a man. Joe give me a one on one see if I don't fuck you up. AJ Styles I'll come to Orlando, and kick your gay ass all over Universal Studios! You guys don't want really want to go there do you? I mean ROH fans brag about stiffness like that's what makes a great match but I go to a promotion where every match is a shoot fight, not a worked shoot but an actual fight. There is real hatred, there is real animosity here. Not some I hate your guts but I'll shake your hand bullshit! I wanna know something Tiff

Tiff: What's up?

DeSean: I wanna know if you have any Tampons? Some maxi pads?

Tiff: I might, why?

DeSean: Because I plan on going back to ROH, and handing all the1500 fans in attendance tampons, because they all act like pussies!

Tiff: We might have to get some of those old school big ass tampons, because I think there's going to be major leakage, a lot of flow.

DeSean: They bitch and moan about their favorite wrestlers not getting any exposure but then that wrestler leaves, goes to a bigger company and now he's a sell out. You remind me of music elitist who diss MTV. For one thing it's not selling out, and if you're favorite artist does sell out then maybe they didn't have that much integrity in the first place but that's another rant for another time. My attention is on ROH fans, the elitist fans. There's nothing much else I can say about ROH fans except this, if you really think that you can do a better job than I can, if you think you can kick my ass. That's fine it's no sweat off my back I've been dealing with haters my whole life, so you can keep hating and whining on your fucking computers, because while you're crying I'll be laughing. Because your hatred won't stop me from becoming successful, it won't stop me from winning world titles here. So while you're crying at your computers, I'll be driving my ass to the back to the bank cashing the fat checks that I get for being just me, the same reason you people hate me is the same reason I get paid.

DeSean makes an X symbol with his hands, and then holds his arms out

Tiffany (again mockingly but softly): R-O-H, R-O-H, R-O-H

Tiffany then blows a kiss at the camera as it slowly fades to black [/i]

Former TCW Tag Champion
current record hell I don't know

Tue Mar 14, 2006 8:24 pm
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Post The Enlightment Begins
Just has Stown is about to leave for Havoc, he recieves a call

Is this Stown?

Yea, whos this?

This is Steven's mother. He wants to see you. He's 2 days away from finishing his rehab. So, if you can stop by and visit him. He would love to see you in person. I know hes been watching your wrestling matches.

Well, I'm about to leave for the next pay-per-view...

Steven's Mother
Just 10 minutes. He wants to talk to one of his best friends and about the band. He really wants to get the band going again.

I suppose I can stop by for a few.

Steven's Mother
Thank You! He'll be so surprised!

Stown gets in his car and drives to Steven's rehab clinic. He knows exactly where it is because hes been there several times. Thing is, he hasn't been there since he started wrestling some 7 months ago. His memory holds up well enough to not get too lost on the drive. He parks and goes inside the clinic.

I'm here to see Steven.

Ok, I need you to fill out this form.

I've been here before, you have all my info on record.

Sir, I need you to...

The clinic adminstrator walks in as the nurse is giving Stown a tongue lashing

Amy! Do you know who this is? He's Stown from 411/ECF wrestling! He's a superstar! Just him go.

He still needs to fill out the paper work.

NO HE DOESN'T! I'm tiredof your attitude and you disobey me in front of a superstar. In fact, YOUR FIRED!

What? No, please!?

HAHA, dumb bitch.

Stown, go on ahead. Steven is in Room 394. No one will badger you anymore.

Stown makes his way down the long hallway and knocks on Steven's door. No reply so Stown walks in.

Steven! Whats up man! Why didn't you ask the knock?

I didn't hear it. Who are you?

Your kidding rite?

Oh ya, I remember! Your that dude that wrestles and completely forgets about his friends and his band.

...is that how you see things?

You know it. It's been like 8 months since I last saw you.

Look asshole! You've been in this fucking clinic for 2 years now. Star and Farrari are in even worse shape than you with their rehab. You expect me to fucking waste away working some crappy minimum wage job while the 3 druggies get cleaned up. I waited for well over a year before I decided to wrestle. I put MY life on hold because of you 3 dumbfucks. How many times have you almost been out of this place? Six...Seven times? Every fucking time your about to get out, you find a needle and some coke and waste away another 3 months of your live! I don't fucking care anymore! Reach for the Sky, get high and overdose.

Yea, this time is different. I'm full of anger this time around.

Really? Your so full of shit its amazing and I'm gonna prove it.

Stown takes off his leather jacket and pulls out a needle and an 8-ball of cocaine. He tossed the 8-ball on Stevens lap.

Is this...?

You know it.

I'm not gonna do it...not this time. You fucking loser! I've been watching your matches and all you do is lose. Sure, you have your spots but you fucking lose every time. Whats that called....oh yea, a jobber. Your a fucking jobber!

Stown looks at Steven and then smiles. Stown only smiles when hes about to do something violent and Steven knows it.

Oh oh oh...I'm sorry!

Look, its over. Our band is over! I'm stick to death of waiting. Your the reason why Star and Farrari are in rehab.

The band is over.... Give me that needle.

Stown gives Steven the needle and Steven injects himself with the cocaine.

....what a surprise. I'm sick of watching you waste away. Fuck this I'm....

(Stown goes back to the 'blackout' zone. This is the 4th time this has occured.)

Do not worry, this is the best solution for all parties involved.

What are you talking about!? Damn it, I want some straight answers!

I know you do and I will explain everything the next time I connect you.

NO! I want to know NOW! Thats it, our conversation is over! Get me back to normal. I want you out of my mind and back into Steven's room!

That is fine with me. I only needed to connect with you for a brief amount of time. Once you awake, you will see what I mean. I will be connecting shortly, once you see what I have done using your body.

What!? Your using my body?
(Stown returns to Steven's room)

What the fuck did I just do!!!!

Stown looks down and sees that he has a pillow in his hands. The pillow is over Stevens face...suffocating him. The eightball of cocaine is 90% empty and Steven's arm is filled with fresh marks. Stown removes the pillow from Steven's head. Obviously, Stown is a much bigger man due to wrestling and Steven's constant drug use. Stown was able to suffocate him with ease. Steven's eyes are rolled back and blood is pouring out of his eyes and mouth.

Stown falls to the floor in complete shock.
(Stown is back to the 'blackout' visual. A dark place with nothing except a chair for Stown to seat on. This is the 5th time.)

Stown, I did what was best for you and the entire world.

...........I just killed my best friend.

Technically...I killed Steven. Tell me properly introduce myself. My name is Dr. Fox and I am from the future, 2048 to be exact.

I got society's blood running down my face.

Sat Mar 18, 2006 10:59 pm
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