<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - "Road To X-treme" Dev. Show RP Archive]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Sun, 10 May 2026 05:00:46 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[A Tale Told Twice]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12529 Wed, 04 Jun 2014 20:45:23 -0700 Vellore Brommer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12529
But today wasn't a day like these.... No today was the day after Vellore's sixteenth birthday, the day that Vellore was finally promoted to a purple belt! The amount of time he had been training was just enough to match that of a typical brown belt but Vellore was only 16 now, he had to be 18 to reach brown or even black belt level! Either way he was now one step closer to his ultimate goal of the black belt, though he was unsure of why it was considered such a feat. He often found himself wondering if he truly loved the sport or if he just loved the look on Derek's face every time he had won a gold medal at a tournament or been given a new belt.

He knew that Derek had saved his life, and letting him down was simply NOT an option, so he would always decide it didn't matter weather he did or didn't love the sport. As long as he could grab someone's leg and make them submit or break their leg, he would be happy.


Today the slightly older, but still very young Vellore and his father figure Derek were out on the town. Celebration was in order for Vellore's new advancement in belt rankings. Derek knew just the place... A very female dominated bar/restaurant, think hooters or twin peaks multiply it by 10 because of the Brazilian girls and you will know almost how amazing the place was. The women wearing practically nothing walked right up to young Vellore and stared her pretty brown eyes directly into his.

"Como posso ajudá-lo hoje gracinha?" The beautiful half naked lady caught Vellore's attention immediately, he began following her into the restaurant not even waiting for Derek to exit the vehicle that had gotten them there. This would be Vellore's greatest regret on this day.

Some believe in "Karma", when you do good things, good things happen to you. When you do bad, the bad comes right back. Vellore was unsure how to take the thought of karma. He would love to believe in it but when such a bad thing happened to him at such a young age, the kidnapping and potential death of his mother, he knew that karma couldn't be true. He was always a good child....


Poor Vellore....



Two car doors open...


SLAM! SLAM!


Two car doors shut....



The two intimidating men walk over to the little beat-up car that Derek was finally getting out of to accompany his protegee in the bar. But that would not be the night that Derek was going to have. Not even close.



CRUNCH!



The sound of Derek's nose being broken with a single punch. The blood began to pour out immediately. Not a single word was spoken, and Derek didn't go down from the punch. Instead he stood his ground. His head was angled downwards after the punch and after his eyes were done rolling around in the back of his head he was able to focus on the blood that was trickling down his face onto his brand new white shoes.

His head slowly raised to face the two giant men. With his head now angled upwards he whipped away the blood quickly and threw a punch of his own. The Muay Thai background was definitely a bonus in this situation with the punch connecting with the man on the left's stomach and making him bend over just far enough so that Derek could send a brutal knee directly into his orbital, successfully shattering it and creating a lump the size of a golf ball on the mans face, knocking him out cold.

But with all of the focus on one man he wasn't able to watch the other who dropped down the the level of Derek's legs and picked him up over his own head slamming him down on Derek's own car windshield!


CRASH!



The windshield didn't completely give way but did indent and shatter along the entire plane. Derek didn't let it slow him down, almost like he were some type of... I don't know... animal... who could like.... heal instantly? Ringing any bells? No? That's ok we don't know who Cain is either....

Derek hopping up off of his own car in a fit of rage throws a lunging right hook towards the behemoth of a man, only to have it countered and a punch connect directly with his own face. This punch stunning Derek and sending him flying backwards hitting his own car again this time taking out the driver side mirror. Like the car already wasn't a piece of shit...

The unknown assailant looks down towards his partner who is bleeding pretty badly and just shakes his head, the man walks over towards Derek and picks him up by his hair dragging him towards a large van with tinted windows. But one thing this giant man didn't expect or notice, Vellore had finally came out of the bar trying to find out why his father figure had been stalling.

"NO! NOOO! NOT AGAIN! NÃO OUTRA VEZ!"]]>
But today wasn't a day like these.... No today was the day after Vellore's sixteenth birthday, the day that Vellore was finally promoted to a purple belt! The amount of time he had been training was just enough to match that of a typical brown belt but Vellore was only 16 now, he had to be 18 to reach brown or even black belt level! Either way he was now one step closer to his ultimate goal of the black belt, though he was unsure of why it was considered such a feat. He often found himself wondering if he truly loved the sport or if he just loved the look on Derek's face every time he had won a gold medal at a tournament or been given a new belt.

He knew that Derek had saved his life, and letting him down was simply NOT an option, so he would always decide it didn't matter weather he did or didn't love the sport. As long as he could grab someone's leg and make them submit or break their leg, he would be happy.


Today the slightly older, but still very young Vellore and his father figure Derek were out on the town. Celebration was in order for Vellore's new advancement in belt rankings. Derek knew just the place... A very female dominated bar/restaurant, think hooters or twin peaks multiply it by 10 because of the Brazilian girls and you will know almost how amazing the place was. The women wearing practically nothing walked right up to young Vellore and stared her pretty brown eyes directly into his.

"Como posso ajudá-lo hoje gracinha?" The beautiful half naked lady caught Vellore's attention immediately, he began following her into the restaurant not even waiting for Derek to exit the vehicle that had gotten them there. This would be Vellore's greatest regret on this day.

Some believe in "Karma", when you do good things, good things happen to you. When you do bad, the bad comes right back. Vellore was unsure how to take the thought of karma. He would love to believe in it but when such a bad thing happened to him at such a young age, the kidnapping and potential death of his mother, he knew that karma couldn't be true. He was always a good child....


Poor Vellore....



Two car doors open...


SLAM! SLAM!


Two car doors shut....



The two intimidating men walk over to the little beat-up car that Derek was finally getting out of to accompany his protegee in the bar. But that would not be the night that Derek was going to have. Not even close.



CRUNCH!



The sound of Derek's nose being broken with a single punch. The blood began to pour out immediately. Not a single word was spoken, and Derek didn't go down from the punch. Instead he stood his ground. His head was angled downwards after the punch and after his eyes were done rolling around in the back of his head he was able to focus on the blood that was trickling down his face onto his brand new white shoes.

His head slowly raised to face the two giant men. With his head now angled upwards he whipped away the blood quickly and threw a punch of his own. The Muay Thai background was definitely a bonus in this situation with the punch connecting with the man on the left's stomach and making him bend over just far enough so that Derek could send a brutal knee directly into his orbital, successfully shattering it and creating a lump the size of a golf ball on the mans face, knocking him out cold.

But with all of the focus on one man he wasn't able to watch the other who dropped down the the level of Derek's legs and picked him up over his own head slamming him down on Derek's own car windshield!


CRASH!



The windshield didn't completely give way but did indent and shatter along the entire plane. Derek didn't let it slow him down, almost like he were some type of... I don't know... animal... who could like.... heal instantly? Ringing any bells? No? That's ok we don't know who Cain is either....

Derek hopping up off of his own car in a fit of rage throws a lunging right hook towards the behemoth of a man, only to have it countered and a punch connect directly with his own face. This punch stunning Derek and sending him flying backwards hitting his own car again this time taking out the driver side mirror. Like the car already wasn't a piece of shit...

The unknown assailant looks down towards his partner who is bleeding pretty badly and just shakes his head, the man walks over towards Derek and picks him up by his hair dragging him towards a large van with tinted windows. But one thing this giant man didn't expect or notice, Vellore had finally came out of the bar trying to find out why his father figure had been stalling.

"NO! NOOO! NOT AGAIN! NÃO OUTRA VEZ!"]]> <![CDATA[Xtreme Files Part One]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12712 Wed, 04 Jun 2014 04:12:55 -0700 Cain]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12712 He walked down the hallway toward the office of his superiors. He was a rookie in this business. Fresh out of the FBI traiming academy of (REDACTED). This would be his first ever official assignment for the organization. The young man was well dressed in his black and white G-man suit. His black hair back in his ponytail, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Of course he was clean shaven. As he stepped through the door, the grizzled veteran looked up from his paperwork. There are no smiles. The level of professionalism is higher than any ever witnessed in any business. The director offered the young man a seat.

"Agent Harris, take a seat."

"Thank you, sir." He sat down across from the older man. "Your secretary said you have a mission for me?"

"Yes. Observe the screen."

Suddenly, a large hdtv screen lit up on the wall on the east side of the room, near a water cooler. Security footage from a local gas station played. At first there was just the clerk. A young black man wearing the uniform. Nothing outstanding. Then, the door opened to the store. In walked a man..a huge man. He wore a pair of boots, blue jeans, Misfits t-shirt, and a black duster. The director zoomed in on the man's face, which was very demonic looking. Sharp cheek bones. Sharp eartips. Dark obsidian eyes. The director paused the video.

"Meet Cain."

"Cain, sir?"

The director nodded his head, swallowing back tears. The young black male on the tape was very familiar, at least to him.

"Yes, son. Cain. The man you see on that tape is believed to be the two thousand year old son of Adam and Eve."

"Sir, with all due respect, please don't joke with me."

"I'm afraid I'm not joking, Agent. We've gotten our hands on his DNA and tested it. It matches no known person living today."

"That's...impossible."

"Watch."

Fast forward.

The director fast forwarded the tape to where Cain was about to attack the young man. The young man pulled a Colt and fired at Cain, hitting him in the chest, blowing a huge hole in it. The young agent's eyes went wide as the bullets fell out on the floor, the hole closing. Cain doing what he always does...ripping the young man to shreds. Eating his heart. Then picking up the gun and shooting the camera with the gun

"Oh....my...god."

"That young man..." his eyes welled up with tears. "...my son. That's what has brought my attention to this."

"Oh...but of course you cannot get involved yourself, right?"

"Right. Which is where you come in, Agent Harris."

Family. Kids. Agent John Harris had those as well. On one hand, that made him want this case. On the other, he knew that becoming involved might not be a good thing. What if the Beast found out and killed HIS family? However, hearing of the man's pain drove him. He knew someone had to get vengeance for his director. He sighed as his conundrum began haunting him already.


Meanwhile

Her breathing quickened as she heard his footfalls behind her. The woods were dark, lit with a full moon. Misty. In fact, that was this young blonde in a t-shirt and panties' name. Misty hid behind a nearby tree, her left ankle swollen and throbbing. Cain stepped into the clearing, sniffing the air.

"Come on out, slut. You're on your period, I know you're here. I can SMELL tuna!"

Misty held her breath, trying not to cry. She knew he would hear her. Her mistake was probably offering to suck his dick for his autograph. She looked down at her ample breasts, the ink still fresh. As she looked up, she shrieked.

"AHH!"

He put his finger on her lips.

"Shhhh....don't worry Misty. I am not going to kill you. I just want to give you a memento of our meeting."

The dumbass smiled.

"Oh? Really?"

"Mmmm hmm. You can take pictures and put it on your facebook. Just...trust me, Misty."

She closed her eyes as the Beast dragged his canines across her neck...then...she began screaming loudly as he bit down into her neck and began using his claws to carve his autograph into her flesh. But deep down...Misty loved it. The camera panned upwards towards the full moon, the screams turning into moans of both pain and pleasure. And a lion like roar filled the night...


Back In the Office

The director went over the notes with young Agent Harris, examples appearing on the screen as he explained.

"Subject has the ability to heal very quickly, coupled with enhanced senses. Enhanced senses are believed to be used for hunting prey. Also, the subject's speed is ungodly, as is his strength. He..."

"Wait. Isn't this a better suited case for the X-Files division, sir?"

The director sighed and shook his head.

"Yes, unfortunately, but Mulder and Scully were unavailable. Seeing as how they were actors and do not exist. There is no X-files division of the FBI, Harris. UFOs? Weather experiments. Abductions? Water headed gay dudes with a penchant for sodomy. This is the first real threat the FBI has ever encountered. A real monster, if you will. You, Harris, were the top of your class at Quantico, so we put you on this case. We need you to find an eliminate this monster before he kills again."

"But he looks invincible! How can I kill what cannot die!?"

"Keep your voice down, son..." responded the director sharply. "...this is G4 Classified. Only you and a hand full of mercenaries will know about this. Your mission is to investigate and eliminate Cain. Actually, capture him so that we may study him, but he killed my son, so..."

"Understood, sir..."

Mercenaries? X-Files? Cain uncharacteristically raping ayoung blonde? What's next?

-To Be Continued-
]]> He walked down the hallway toward the office of his superiors. He was a rookie in this business. Fresh out of the FBI traiming academy of (REDACTED). This would be his first ever official assignment for the organization. The young man was well dressed in his black and white G-man suit. His black hair back in his ponytail, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Of course he was clean shaven. As he stepped through the door, the grizzled veteran looked up from his paperwork. There are no smiles. The level of professionalism is higher than any ever witnessed in any business. The director offered the young man a seat.

"Agent Harris, take a seat."

"Thank you, sir." He sat down across from the older man. "Your secretary said you have a mission for me?"

"Yes. Observe the screen."

Suddenly, a large hdtv screen lit up on the wall on the east side of the room, near a water cooler. Security footage from a local gas station played. At first there was just the clerk. A young black man wearing the uniform. Nothing outstanding. Then, the door opened to the store. In walked a man..a huge man. He wore a pair of boots, blue jeans, Misfits t-shirt, and a black duster. The director zoomed in on the man's face, which was very demonic looking. Sharp cheek bones. Sharp eartips. Dark obsidian eyes. The director paused the video.

"Meet Cain."

"Cain, sir?"

The director nodded his head, swallowing back tears. The young black male on the tape was very familiar, at least to him.

"Yes, son. Cain. The man you see on that tape is believed to be the two thousand year old son of Adam and Eve."

"Sir, with all due respect, please don't joke with me."

"I'm afraid I'm not joking, Agent. We've gotten our hands on his DNA and tested it. It matches no known person living today."

"That's...impossible."

"Watch."

Fast forward.

The director fast forwarded the tape to where Cain was about to attack the young man. The young man pulled a Colt and fired at Cain, hitting him in the chest, blowing a huge hole in it. The young agent's eyes went wide as the bullets fell out on the floor, the hole closing. Cain doing what he always does...ripping the young man to shreds. Eating his heart. Then picking up the gun and shooting the camera with the gun

"Oh....my...god."

"That young man..." his eyes welled up with tears. "...my son. That's what has brought my attention to this."

"Oh...but of course you cannot get involved yourself, right?"

"Right. Which is where you come in, Agent Harris."

Family. Kids. Agent John Harris had those as well. On one hand, that made him want this case. On the other, he knew that becoming involved might not be a good thing. What if the Beast found out and killed HIS family? However, hearing of the man's pain drove him. He knew someone had to get vengeance for his director. He sighed as his conundrum began haunting him already.


Meanwhile

Her breathing quickened as she heard his footfalls behind her. The woods were dark, lit with a full moon. Misty. In fact, that was this young blonde in a t-shirt and panties' name. Misty hid behind a nearby tree, her left ankle swollen and throbbing. Cain stepped into the clearing, sniffing the air.

"Come on out, slut. You're on your period, I know you're here. I can SMELL tuna!"

Misty held her breath, trying not to cry. She knew he would hear her. Her mistake was probably offering to suck his dick for his autograph. She looked down at her ample breasts, the ink still fresh. As she looked up, she shrieked.

"AHH!"

He put his finger on her lips.

"Shhhh....don't worry Misty. I am not going to kill you. I just want to give you a memento of our meeting."

The dumbass smiled.

"Oh? Really?"

"Mmmm hmm. You can take pictures and put it on your facebook. Just...trust me, Misty."

She closed her eyes as the Beast dragged his canines across her neck...then...she began screaming loudly as he bit down into her neck and began using his claws to carve his autograph into her flesh. But deep down...Misty loved it. The camera panned upwards towards the full moon, the screams turning into moans of both pain and pleasure. And a lion like roar filled the night...


Back In the Office

The director went over the notes with young Agent Harris, examples appearing on the screen as he explained.

"Subject has the ability to heal very quickly, coupled with enhanced senses. Enhanced senses are believed to be used for hunting prey. Also, the subject's speed is ungodly, as is his strength. He..."

"Wait. Isn't this a better suited case for the X-Files division, sir?"

The director sighed and shook his head.

"Yes, unfortunately, but Mulder and Scully were unavailable. Seeing as how they were actors and do not exist. There is no X-files division of the FBI, Harris. UFOs? Weather experiments. Abductions? Water headed gay dudes with a penchant for sodomy. This is the first real threat the FBI has ever encountered. A real monster, if you will. You, Harris, were the top of your class at Quantico, so we put you on this case. We need you to find an eliminate this monster before he kills again."

"But he looks invincible! How can I kill what cannot die!?"

"Keep your voice down, son..." responded the director sharply. "...this is G4 Classified. Only you and a hand full of mercenaries will know about this. Your mission is to investigate and eliminate Cain. Actually, capture him so that we may study him, but he killed my son, so..."

"Understood, sir..."

Mercenaries? X-Files? Cain uncharacteristically raping ayoung blonde? What's next?

-To Be Continued-
]]> <![CDATA[I Can, But I Won't]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12591 Sat, 31 May 2014 11:51:47 -0700 Arryn Connolly]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12591 Frodo, I would be sad that your head is buried so far up your own ass (or maybe it's the collective asses of the shitheads you beat) if I didn't already guess that would happen. I missed the points? No, you're just fumbling around, trying to cover your ass because you realize just how fucking cracked your points really were. Now, I'm not going to judge you for that one. I know if I said some stupid fucking bullshit and got called on it, I'd cover my ass too. But, that hasn't happened yet. Not by a long shot.

Hell, Frodo falls into the same category he accused me of fitting throughout this little promo, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Slapping him in the face with his own dick is after all something that should always be reserved for the finish.

Reminding me of what I am? A lowly piece of shit, eh? Oh, I get it now! Obviously this is correct and that's how I ended up your opponent! See, I'm sure Heyman wanted to book things so they'd be even. Three pieces of shit in his show where everything else is slightly worse. I'm no stranger to self deprecation, Frodo. Yet, this whole shit thing falls worse on you than me, seeing as again, I'm your opponent. If I am as shit as you claim, then Heyman's flat out admitting to me and everyone else that the only thing you're capable of beating are well, lowly pieces of shit. Way to go Frodo, way to go.

But wait, the guy who doesn't care about the established order of things is still considering my worth by, get this, established order of things! Just because you admit your fucking hypocrisy, doesn't make you any less of a raging hypocrite. Jesus Christ, and you're acting like you're in any way intelligent? How about you keep talking about shitting, you actually sound knowledgeable there.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Wait a fucking second here.

When, oh when did I ever say anything, anything about being a special snowflake? If anything, it seems more like you, with your "I don't give a fuck but I actually do" attitude is the one thinking he's special. Not the person calling you out on all of your bullshit. Also, random tangents off into the realm of nothingness really prove how fucking absent minded you are, bitch. Do the Jessie Pinkman thing some more.

Come on, say more stupid things.

Like about how I'm the one acting like a stuck up cunt when you're the smarmy, wannabe intellectual bringing up irrelevant scientific terms in an attempt to sound smart. What's next? Are you gonna talk about sharks? Whales? Minerals? Oh, talk about how I'm "cookie cutter" when you play the role more generic than me. Hell, you manage to overlap the same cunty attitude you accuse me of with the "smart, but lazy stoner" image. Shit, is this a fucking comedy that's technically rated R but marketed mainly to teenagers? Are you playing every role? What's next, "hilariously" inept adult-

Oh right that is next.

Or was it first? No matter. The matter is that's all you are, if you really wanna get into this whole "oh, you're playing a personality that's overdone!" thing. You're a collection of the worst, generic character traits in a comedy.

Charming. It really is.

Also, since you're the fucking moron, Morbid did break her victory streak. You should know this already, but all of those random encounters where he "pinned her for her title," your words not mine, for the record, are officially sanctioned matches. If they weren't, you'd have the X-Treme title right now. See how that works?

Right, you haven't pulled your head outta your ass yet.

No no, you see for someone who was so adamant that I got you misunderstood, you sure do a whole lot of misunderstanding yourself! In regards to the losses you advertised, I was bringing up your promos where much like this week, you weren't singing their praises, not Gunn nor NAZI.

But what did you start doing right after you lost?

Surgically attached your lips to their assholes. Now, no mention of how Tommy Gunn is "only good at laying down for Kendall Sawyer, and beating a person who barely shows up for his matches."

Once more, your words. Not mine. And hell, allow me to present the source of this little gem so Frodo can't backtrack and claim he never said it.

Actual, 100% visual proof of Frodo being a fucking hypocrite.

Are you letting yourself fall into that second category now? That's cute, you flip flopping bitch. In the "wow, how much more pathetic can this guy get" kinda way.

So no, I didn't take your two examples and regurgitate them back at you. If you were half as smart as you try to look, you'd know that already shithead.

There's very little left of this promo that requires to me say anything further because Frodo's own stupidity led him on a temper tangent. Y'know, the more I listen to him talk, the more and more I'm sure if that IQ test was given out to the XWF's employees, he'd score slightly above Peter Gilmour and way below Morbid Angel.

I'm sure you know what that means.

So, this is Frodo Smackins.

The , hypocritical, protohipster cunt who can barely outsmart Peter Gilmour...

...But certainly can't beat him in a wrestling match.

I can't say I expected anything more.]]> Frodo, I would be sad that your head is buried so far up your own ass (or maybe it's the collective asses of the shitheads you beat) if I didn't already guess that would happen. I missed the points? No, you're just fumbling around, trying to cover your ass because you realize just how fucking cracked your points really were. Now, I'm not going to judge you for that one. I know if I said some stupid fucking bullshit and got called on it, I'd cover my ass too. But, that hasn't happened yet. Not by a long shot.

Hell, Frodo falls into the same category he accused me of fitting throughout this little promo, but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. Slapping him in the face with his own dick is after all something that should always be reserved for the finish.

Reminding me of what I am? A lowly piece of shit, eh? Oh, I get it now! Obviously this is correct and that's how I ended up your opponent! See, I'm sure Heyman wanted to book things so they'd be even. Three pieces of shit in his show where everything else is slightly worse. I'm no stranger to self deprecation, Frodo. Yet, this whole shit thing falls worse on you than me, seeing as again, I'm your opponent. If I am as shit as you claim, then Heyman's flat out admitting to me and everyone else that the only thing you're capable of beating are well, lowly pieces of shit. Way to go Frodo, way to go.

But wait, the guy who doesn't care about the established order of things is still considering my worth by, get this, established order of things! Just because you admit your fucking hypocrisy, doesn't make you any less of a raging hypocrite. Jesus Christ, and you're acting like you're in any way intelligent? How about you keep talking about shitting, you actually sound knowledgeable there.

Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Wait a fucking second here.

When, oh when did I ever say anything, anything about being a special snowflake? If anything, it seems more like you, with your "I don't give a fuck but I actually do" attitude is the one thinking he's special. Not the person calling you out on all of your bullshit. Also, random tangents off into the realm of nothingness really prove how fucking absent minded you are, bitch. Do the Jessie Pinkman thing some more.

Come on, say more stupid things.

Like about how I'm the one acting like a stuck up cunt when you're the smarmy, wannabe intellectual bringing up irrelevant scientific terms in an attempt to sound smart. What's next? Are you gonna talk about sharks? Whales? Minerals? Oh, talk about how I'm "cookie cutter" when you play the role more generic than me. Hell, you manage to overlap the same cunty attitude you accuse me of with the "smart, but lazy stoner" image. Shit, is this a fucking comedy that's technically rated R but marketed mainly to teenagers? Are you playing every role? What's next, "hilariously" inept adult-

Oh right that is next.

Or was it first? No matter. The matter is that's all you are, if you really wanna get into this whole "oh, you're playing a personality that's overdone!" thing. You're a collection of the worst, generic character traits in a comedy.

Charming. It really is.

Also, since you're the fucking moron, Morbid did break her victory streak. You should know this already, but all of those random encounters where he "pinned her for her title," your words not mine, for the record, are officially sanctioned matches. If they weren't, you'd have the X-Treme title right now. See how that works?

Right, you haven't pulled your head outta your ass yet.

No no, you see for someone who was so adamant that I got you misunderstood, you sure do a whole lot of misunderstanding yourself! In regards to the losses you advertised, I was bringing up your promos where much like this week, you weren't singing their praises, not Gunn nor NAZI.

But what did you start doing right after you lost?

Surgically attached your lips to their assholes. Now, no mention of how Tommy Gunn is "only good at laying down for Kendall Sawyer, and beating a person who barely shows up for his matches."

Once more, your words. Not mine. And hell, allow me to present the source of this little gem so Frodo can't backtrack and claim he never said it.

Actual, 100% visual proof of Frodo being a fucking hypocrite.

Are you letting yourself fall into that second category now? That's cute, you flip flopping bitch. In the "wow, how much more pathetic can this guy get" kinda way.

So no, I didn't take your two examples and regurgitate them back at you. If you were half as smart as you try to look, you'd know that already shithead.

There's very little left of this promo that requires to me say anything further because Frodo's own stupidity led him on a temper tangent. Y'know, the more I listen to him talk, the more and more I'm sure if that IQ test was given out to the XWF's employees, he'd score slightly above Peter Gilmour and way below Morbid Angel.

I'm sure you know what that means.

So, this is Frodo Smackins.

The , hypocritical, protohipster cunt who can barely outsmart Peter Gilmour...

...But certainly can't beat him in a wrestling match.

I can't say I expected anything more.]]> <![CDATA[The Only Certainty is That There Are No Certainties]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12541 Thu, 29 May 2014 23:47:00 -0700 Arryn Connolly]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12541

“The fuck is your problem?”

Joshua, climbing into the driver’s seat of the white 2008 Nissan Altima, shoots a quizzical glance over to Arryn; who was struggling with the seatbelt. Hearing what he asked, yet not caring enough to give an answer, she sneers his way before clipping the belt into place and making herself comfortable in her seat. He pulls the driver’s side door shut and jams the key into the ignition, and once the car comes to life, he pulls out of his parking space and takes off, out of the lot. Being on the side facing the building on the way out, Arryn turns her head to look away from the driver, only to engage in some unexpected prolonged eye contact with a suspicious McDonald’s employee. Dressed in the corporate logo brandished costume, the employee reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. Unsure as to what he was planning on doing, Arryn clutches tightly onto the knife hidden by her palm and places it against her chest. With a deep breath, and without breaking eye contact, she mutters under her breath to the only person in the car with her:

“There’s someone watching us.”

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter? No, I said there’s someone watching us.”

“Who?”

“Some employee who probably wants to play hero. We could pull over right now and I could go in there and tell him just how bad of an idea it would be if he were to try anything. It isn’t like we’re expected anywhere anytime soon.”

“Calm yourself. We don’t even know what he’s doing; he won’t call the cops. Why would he?”

“Right, he won’t call Emergency Services. That isn’t what I’m fucking worried about. That motherfucker’s gonna report us as something suspicious, mention the Al Qaeda thing and the next thing we all know; Homeland Security’s gonna be knocking over our fuckin’ doors with their Patriot Act boners. Is that what you want because that sure as hell isn’t what I want.”

“Right, and whose fault is it that we look suspicious?”

“Both of ours, asshole. This all falls back on us. Not just me.”

Not once does she take her eyes off the man who now stands with the ability to incriminate the pair throughout the exchange. The man flips his phone length wise and reveals to himself a keyboard, which he uses to type up the license plate number of the car as the tail end passes by his field of vision on its way off the premises. Only once he’s completely out of sight does Arryn look away, opting to stare directly ahead, out the windshield. She pulls her hand away from her chest and opens up her hand, arching her head downwards to see the folded up knife in her clutches.

“And for God’s sake, put that thing away.”

“Not until you think of something to get us out of this mess. Until then, I’m keeping this thing right where I can get to it.”

Joshua lets out a sigh and lightly taps on the brakes as the car hits a red light. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and whistling, he runs the cogs in his head at max speed to try and work out some sort of temporary solution to this problem that could go one of two ways: either with Arryn being right and the feds frothing at the mouth to take down something that no one has any evidence on regarding potential illegal acts or with the feds not caring due to lack of hard evidence. Though the second option was easily the more feasible, Arryn’s mind was wrapped around the first and no amount of convincing could get her to think different. As such, Joshua had to think of some asinine answer to a situation that won’t happen. Or, did he?

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Because I was the one who brought it up. We’re a team here, I shouldn’t be doing everything. Jeez.”

Yes, he did.

“I got it.”

Arryn’s ears perk up and a smile starts to form on her lips. Nothing too noticeable yet, but she isn’t the type to hide elation.

“I’m listening.”

“We do nothing. You’re fucking paranoid. Calm down and think rationally for a second. You really think that the feds will swarm us over a comment and some McDonald’s employee’s testimony?”

“You’re right, you’re right. What was I thinking?”

Arryn chuckles, or at least tries to as the hand holding the knife falls into her lap. The light turns green and down the road they go, back to the cramped one bedroom apartment the gang the pair belonged to lovingly referred to as the Clubhouse. Silence dominated the rest of the trip, as Arryn, still unconvinced with Joshua’s logic tried to calm herself down and Joshua, realizing how long it’d take for his answer to sink in, tried not to provoke her. So, awkward as it was, the silence was also a welcome distraction from the bickering that’d ruled the meeting.

***

“What do you think they need all those guns for?”

Came the voice of Audrey Tucker as the details of the meeting left Joshua’s mouth. Neither Arryn nor Joshua bothered to ask the question to their customers, but the power of assumption would dictate the only reason a gang of revolutionaries would need firearms.

“Hmm, I dunno, maybe they wanna build some fuckin’ Children’s Hospitals outta some AK’s? Why the fuck else do you think idiot? To shoot some motherfuckers, and preferably in their eyes, some government motherfuckers.”

“Shit, was she this pissed all day Josh?”

“Just about. I’d say this was a better day for her overall. She may have threatened, but she didn’t attack anyone this time.”

“Oh fuck you both. I don’t hear either of you complaining when I’m saving your asses.”

“Shut up, all of you. Some of us are trying to get some sleep here!”

That was Marcus Perkins; the de facto slacker of the group. Short and fat was he, with shaggy, unkempt dirty blonde hair and a five o’clock shadow that straddled the delicate line between unshaven and unable to grow anything beyond this. He was a sorry sight, that much was certain and because of that his job was primarily kept to organizing meets and deals. Stumbling out of the single bedroom, Marcus rubs his eyes and throws up a middle finger at his allies, who greet him with scoffs and muttered vulgarities.

“So, what’d you guys end up scoring for the guns?”

“Four twenty five.”

“No shit? I take it back; that’s news I’d gladly wake up for.”

“That, and the fact that it’s four in the afternoon, right?”

“I’m a night person Audrey, duh.”

“Right, that’s probably part of the reason you get sun burns from Vitamin D lamps.”

“Oh, shut up. I didn’t ask for you approval.”

“How about I give you another reason to be awake; let’s head out for drinks. On me.”

“Wow, who knew you could be generous Arryn?”

“This isn’t me being generous. This is me being in the mood to get shitfaced and do something I’ll probably regret in the morning. Also known as how I feel every second of my life, but since there’s nothing else we need to do today, I figured I’d hold off suggesting it until now.”

“Always the charmer.”

“I try. Marcus, you might wanna put on like fifteen pounds of sunscreen. SPF three thousand or whatever it is your albino ass needs.”

“Fuck off, both of you.”

With that, the group of four departs from the squat, one bedroom place in search of…

Oh, fuck it. It isn’t like they’re going to find anything groundbreaking there or anything. That’d be utterly ridiculous.

Or, would it?

Probably.]]>

“The fuck is your problem?”

Joshua, climbing into the driver’s seat of the white 2008 Nissan Altima, shoots a quizzical glance over to Arryn; who was struggling with the seatbelt. Hearing what he asked, yet not caring enough to give an answer, she sneers his way before clipping the belt into place and making herself comfortable in her seat. He pulls the driver’s side door shut and jams the key into the ignition, and once the car comes to life, he pulls out of his parking space and takes off, out of the lot. Being on the side facing the building on the way out, Arryn turns her head to look away from the driver, only to engage in some unexpected prolonged eye contact with a suspicious McDonald’s employee. Dressed in the corporate logo brandished costume, the employee reaches into his pocket for his cell phone. Unsure as to what he was planning on doing, Arryn clutches tightly onto the knife hidden by her palm and places it against her chest. With a deep breath, and without breaking eye contact, she mutters under her breath to the only person in the car with her:

“There’s someone watching us.”

“What?”

“Did I fucking stutter? No, I said there’s someone watching us.”

“Who?”

“Some employee who probably wants to play hero. We could pull over right now and I could go in there and tell him just how bad of an idea it would be if he were to try anything. It isn’t like we’re expected anywhere anytime soon.”

“Calm yourself. We don’t even know what he’s doing; he won’t call the cops. Why would he?”

“Right, he won’t call Emergency Services. That isn’t what I’m fucking worried about. That motherfucker’s gonna report us as something suspicious, mention the Al Qaeda thing and the next thing we all know; Homeland Security’s gonna be knocking over our fuckin’ doors with their Patriot Act boners. Is that what you want because that sure as hell isn’t what I want.”

“Right, and whose fault is it that we look suspicious?”

“Both of ours, asshole. This all falls back on us. Not just me.”

Not once does she take her eyes off the man who now stands with the ability to incriminate the pair throughout the exchange. The man flips his phone length wise and reveals to himself a keyboard, which he uses to type up the license plate number of the car as the tail end passes by his field of vision on its way off the premises. Only once he’s completely out of sight does Arryn look away, opting to stare directly ahead, out the windshield. She pulls her hand away from her chest and opens up her hand, arching her head downwards to see the folded up knife in her clutches.

“And for God’s sake, put that thing away.”

“Not until you think of something to get us out of this mess. Until then, I’m keeping this thing right where I can get to it.”

Joshua lets out a sigh and lightly taps on the brakes as the car hits a red light. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and whistling, he runs the cogs in his head at max speed to try and work out some sort of temporary solution to this problem that could go one of two ways: either with Arryn being right and the feds frothing at the mouth to take down something that no one has any evidence on regarding potential illegal acts or with the feds not caring due to lack of hard evidence. Though the second option was easily the more feasible, Arryn’s mind was wrapped around the first and no amount of convincing could get her to think different. As such, Joshua had to think of some asinine answer to a situation that won’t happen. Or, did he?

“Why do I have to do it?”

“Because I was the one who brought it up. We’re a team here, I shouldn’t be doing everything. Jeez.”

Yes, he did.

“I got it.”

Arryn’s ears perk up and a smile starts to form on her lips. Nothing too noticeable yet, but she isn’t the type to hide elation.

“I’m listening.”

“We do nothing. You’re fucking paranoid. Calm down and think rationally for a second. You really think that the feds will swarm us over a comment and some McDonald’s employee’s testimony?”

“You’re right, you’re right. What was I thinking?”

Arryn chuckles, or at least tries to as the hand holding the knife falls into her lap. The light turns green and down the road they go, back to the cramped one bedroom apartment the gang the pair belonged to lovingly referred to as the Clubhouse. Silence dominated the rest of the trip, as Arryn, still unconvinced with Joshua’s logic tried to calm herself down and Joshua, realizing how long it’d take for his answer to sink in, tried not to provoke her. So, awkward as it was, the silence was also a welcome distraction from the bickering that’d ruled the meeting.

***

“What do you think they need all those guns for?”

Came the voice of Audrey Tucker as the details of the meeting left Joshua’s mouth. Neither Arryn nor Joshua bothered to ask the question to their customers, but the power of assumption would dictate the only reason a gang of revolutionaries would need firearms.

“Hmm, I dunno, maybe they wanna build some fuckin’ Children’s Hospitals outta some AK’s? Why the fuck else do you think idiot? To shoot some motherfuckers, and preferably in their eyes, some government motherfuckers.”

“Shit, was she this pissed all day Josh?”

“Just about. I’d say this was a better day for her overall. She may have threatened, but she didn’t attack anyone this time.”

“Oh fuck you both. I don’t hear either of you complaining when I’m saving your asses.”

“Shut up, all of you. Some of us are trying to get some sleep here!”

That was Marcus Perkins; the de facto slacker of the group. Short and fat was he, with shaggy, unkempt dirty blonde hair and a five o’clock shadow that straddled the delicate line between unshaven and unable to grow anything beyond this. He was a sorry sight, that much was certain and because of that his job was primarily kept to organizing meets and deals. Stumbling out of the single bedroom, Marcus rubs his eyes and throws up a middle finger at his allies, who greet him with scoffs and muttered vulgarities.

“So, what’d you guys end up scoring for the guns?”

“Four twenty five.”

“No shit? I take it back; that’s news I’d gladly wake up for.”

“That, and the fact that it’s four in the afternoon, right?”

“I’m a night person Audrey, duh.”

“Right, that’s probably part of the reason you get sun burns from Vitamin D lamps.”

“Oh, shut up. I didn’t ask for you approval.”

“How about I give you another reason to be awake; let’s head out for drinks. On me.”

“Wow, who knew you could be generous Arryn?”

“This isn’t me being generous. This is me being in the mood to get shitfaced and do something I’ll probably regret in the morning. Also known as how I feel every second of my life, but since there’s nothing else we need to do today, I figured I’d hold off suggesting it until now.”

“Always the charmer.”

“I try. Marcus, you might wanna put on like fifteen pounds of sunscreen. SPF three thousand or whatever it is your albino ass needs.”

“Fuck off, both of you.”

With that, the group of four departs from the squat, one bedroom place in search of…

Oh, fuck it. It isn’t like they’re going to find anything groundbreaking there or anything. That’d be utterly ridiculous.

Or, would it?

Probably.]]> <![CDATA[Stuck in Meetings All Day]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12527 Thu, 29 May 2014 17:00:10 -0700 Arryn Connolly]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12527 “So, what? We’re doing business with some motherfuckers with radical political leanings? What’s next? Fuckin’ Al Qaeda?”

That last question was enough to get the other customers in this McDonald’s to cast shocked glances to the booth in the center of the dining room where it came from. Said booth contained four faces; three of which were glaring at the fourth. Arryn was, of course, that fourth and yet almost oblivious to the silent outcry her less than eloquent reaction, she kept her same shocked expression, staring back into the eyes of the man sitting next to her. Sighing, the man held his open palm up to the pair sitting across from them and with his other hand, grabbed a hold of Arryn’s shirt, pulling her in close. He exhaled before speaking, sending a rush of warm halitosis infected breath almost directly up her nostrils. Arryn rolled her eyes before the man forcing her to pay him attention began to speak in a low whisper, waving his hand to the crowd in hopes of getting them to turn back to what they were previously doing.

“Shut your fucking mouth for two seconds, will ya? This is a good opportunity.”

“Yeah Joshua, politics are the best venture to get into. Why don’t one of us just run for President while we’re at it? That’ll show how serious we are!”

Just then, one of the men on the opposite side of the booth decides to open his mouth, cutting the woman responsible for the outburst off.

“Excuse me, but are you two quite finished with your little quarrel? Because if you’re deciding on not going through with this transaction my colleague and I can just find someone else to match your offer. It really is no skin off our backs.”

“Hold up. Arryn, play nice.”

“Fuck you.”

Surprisingly, the prying eyes of the other patrons fell back on their own food and conversations. The ploy had worked, for now. Now, all Joshua hoped for was that there were no more outbursts attracting their attention. Arryn once again rolled her eyes and turned her head away from the conversation, instead focusing on the floor tile.

Paying no mind to his assistant’s mental checkout, Joshua cracks his knuckles and lays his hands on the table. The awkward feeling that radiated from this exchange of information taking place in public, in a fucking McDonald’s no less, was really starting to seep in at this point and was amplified by Arryn’s outburst. Prying eyes or not, having someone present whose uncouth remark was almost enough to alert the luckily apathetic civilians seated all around the establishment was enough to put a damper on the mood. At this point, Joshua was certainly regretting his decision to bring her with him, as opposed to someone who could be trusted to maintain a certain level of professionalism; even if they were faced with something they may or may not have agreed with personally.

“So, are we going to have a civil discussion without anyone snapping now?”

“Don’t worry, next time I snap; it’ll be your neck.”

“Arryn.”

“Hey, I’m not yelling am I? Besides, the two seconds you told me to shut my mouth for have elapsed. Asshole.”

“Alright. We’ll take that as our cue to get out of your hair.”

The appointed spokesman for the organization, alongside his mute compatriot slide over to the end of the booth, the former just about to stand up when Joshua’s voice rings out.

“Wait. Let’s talk this over.”

“I believe your assistant’s proven that talking things over isn’t something she’s too eager to do, and honestly your business isn’t worth dealing with her rampant unprofessionalism. Maybe someday in the future, when you have better control over your employees we’ll consider looking you up again. For now however, my colleague and I feel it best to look for—“

“Wait! Don’t mind her; she’s probably just on her period. Isn’t that right?”

Punching her hard in the arm underneath the table, Joshua leans in and whispers into Arryn’s ear:

“You know we need this.”

Turning to the pair settling back in the cheap plastic seats of the booth and putting their backs against the grainy, splinter inducing wooden backrests, Arryn clears her throat and proceeds to sell the lie fed to her.

“Yeah, that’s right. I got the equivalent of Niagara Falls shooting out of my snatch and that’s put me in a pretty bad mood. Apologies.”

The sarcasm was blinding. As in, so apparent in her disinterested tone that it transcended the barrier of sound and became a visual so bright that anyone looking her way who wasn’t protecting themselves with sunglasses (indoors) would be stricken down with a sudden bout of blindness. The spokesman sighs, but remains seated nonetheless. Either he believed the obvious lie or more accurately was bluffing about having a fallback plan in case this deal fell through.

“Alright. I’m listening Joshua. Start talking.”

“Me? You need to name your price.”

“Very well. Fifteen dollars.”

“You’re bullshitting, right? Because right now, we both know that you need us. Not the other way around. Keep up with your shit and we’ll walk.”

“Maybe we’ll steal them from you. What will you do? Call the police?”

“Oh, now you’re playing difficult?”

“Not playing. With the level of disrespect my—“

“I don’t give a shit about how disrespected you feel. I stopped right after you sold yourself out. Here’s the deal now; you either name a reasonable price, or we’ll walk and you’ll have nothing. I’m sure having to explain to all your commie friends how you and Silent Knight over there shit the bed will be a fucking blast, am I right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Sheesh, if I wanted to hear someone do nothing but curse, I’d talk to her for an hour.”

With a look of shame plastered on his face; the one synonymous with realizing how your entire façade was crushed in front of you, the spokesman sighed and laid his hands in his lap. Arryn, finally turning back to look at the pair seated opposite her and Joshua smiled at the ashamed expression and locked her eyes on his. Unblinking, she reached under the table for a butterfly knife she kept hidden in her sock just in case either man decided to try anything fishy. Considering her, well what some would call addiction for confrontation, this wasn’t something that would end well for the two revolutionaries. Joshua, looking aside and noticing the slight motion slapped his hands down on her knee as an unspoken command to stop. To which she flat out defied, sliding the blade up her leg and laying it rest in her lap, wrapped in her hand.

“Three hundred K.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you disrespecting us.”

“Fine, thee fifty.”

“You’re getting there…”

“Four?”

“Four twenty five. For wasting our damn time. My people will call your people to set up the drop, friend.”

Joshua smirked and put his hands behind his head, letting out a short chuckle.

“Here’s to a long, prosperous friendship, partner. Arryn, our job here is done.”

“Good, I was getting sick of looking at these two.”

“Remember: four twenty five.”

Joshua reached over the table and slapped the spokesman on the arm, sliding over to the end of the booth as Arryn stood up.

“Partner.”

Laughing, he slid the rest of the way out of the booth and followed Arryn to the exit and to the car they arrived in, leaving the McDonald’s employees with one important question:

Who sits in a restaurant for over a half hour without ordering anything at all?]]> “So, what? We’re doing business with some motherfuckers with radical political leanings? What’s next? Fuckin’ Al Qaeda?”

That last question was enough to get the other customers in this McDonald’s to cast shocked glances to the booth in the center of the dining room where it came from. Said booth contained four faces; three of which were glaring at the fourth. Arryn was, of course, that fourth and yet almost oblivious to the silent outcry her less than eloquent reaction, she kept her same shocked expression, staring back into the eyes of the man sitting next to her. Sighing, the man held his open palm up to the pair sitting across from them and with his other hand, grabbed a hold of Arryn’s shirt, pulling her in close. He exhaled before speaking, sending a rush of warm halitosis infected breath almost directly up her nostrils. Arryn rolled her eyes before the man forcing her to pay him attention began to speak in a low whisper, waving his hand to the crowd in hopes of getting them to turn back to what they were previously doing.

“Shut your fucking mouth for two seconds, will ya? This is a good opportunity.”

“Yeah Joshua, politics are the best venture to get into. Why don’t one of us just run for President while we’re at it? That’ll show how serious we are!”

Just then, one of the men on the opposite side of the booth decides to open his mouth, cutting the woman responsible for the outburst off.

“Excuse me, but are you two quite finished with your little quarrel? Because if you’re deciding on not going through with this transaction my colleague and I can just find someone else to match your offer. It really is no skin off our backs.”

“Hold up. Arryn, play nice.”

“Fuck you.”

Surprisingly, the prying eyes of the other patrons fell back on their own food and conversations. The ploy had worked, for now. Now, all Joshua hoped for was that there were no more outbursts attracting their attention. Arryn once again rolled her eyes and turned her head away from the conversation, instead focusing on the floor tile.

Paying no mind to his assistant’s mental checkout, Joshua cracks his knuckles and lays his hands on the table. The awkward feeling that radiated from this exchange of information taking place in public, in a fucking McDonald’s no less, was really starting to seep in at this point and was amplified by Arryn’s outburst. Prying eyes or not, having someone present whose uncouth remark was almost enough to alert the luckily apathetic civilians seated all around the establishment was enough to put a damper on the mood. At this point, Joshua was certainly regretting his decision to bring her with him, as opposed to someone who could be trusted to maintain a certain level of professionalism; even if they were faced with something they may or may not have agreed with personally.

“So, are we going to have a civil discussion without anyone snapping now?”

“Don’t worry, next time I snap; it’ll be your neck.”

“Arryn.”

“Hey, I’m not yelling am I? Besides, the two seconds you told me to shut my mouth for have elapsed. Asshole.”

“Alright. We’ll take that as our cue to get out of your hair.”

The appointed spokesman for the organization, alongside his mute compatriot slide over to the end of the booth, the former just about to stand up when Joshua’s voice rings out.

“Wait. Let’s talk this over.”

“I believe your assistant’s proven that talking things over isn’t something she’s too eager to do, and honestly your business isn’t worth dealing with her rampant unprofessionalism. Maybe someday in the future, when you have better control over your employees we’ll consider looking you up again. For now however, my colleague and I feel it best to look for—“

“Wait! Don’t mind her; she’s probably just on her period. Isn’t that right?”

Punching her hard in the arm underneath the table, Joshua leans in and whispers into Arryn’s ear:

“You know we need this.”

Turning to the pair settling back in the cheap plastic seats of the booth and putting their backs against the grainy, splinter inducing wooden backrests, Arryn clears her throat and proceeds to sell the lie fed to her.

“Yeah, that’s right. I got the equivalent of Niagara Falls shooting out of my snatch and that’s put me in a pretty bad mood. Apologies.”

The sarcasm was blinding. As in, so apparent in her disinterested tone that it transcended the barrier of sound and became a visual so bright that anyone looking her way who wasn’t protecting themselves with sunglasses (indoors) would be stricken down with a sudden bout of blindness. The spokesman sighs, but remains seated nonetheless. Either he believed the obvious lie or more accurately was bluffing about having a fallback plan in case this deal fell through.

“Alright. I’m listening Joshua. Start talking.”

“Me? You need to name your price.”

“Very well. Fifteen dollars.”

“You’re bullshitting, right? Because right now, we both know that you need us. Not the other way around. Keep up with your shit and we’ll walk.”

“Maybe we’ll steal them from you. What will you do? Call the police?”

“Oh, now you’re playing difficult?”

“Not playing. With the level of disrespect my—“

“I don’t give a shit about how disrespected you feel. I stopped right after you sold yourself out. Here’s the deal now; you either name a reasonable price, or we’ll walk and you’ll have nothing. I’m sure having to explain to all your commie friends how you and Silent Knight over there shit the bed will be a fucking blast, am I right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that all you’re going to say? Sheesh, if I wanted to hear someone do nothing but curse, I’d talk to her for an hour.”

With a look of shame plastered on his face; the one synonymous with realizing how your entire façade was crushed in front of you, the spokesman sighed and laid his hands in his lap. Arryn, finally turning back to look at the pair seated opposite her and Joshua smiled at the ashamed expression and locked her eyes on his. Unblinking, she reached under the table for a butterfly knife she kept hidden in her sock just in case either man decided to try anything fishy. Considering her, well what some would call addiction for confrontation, this wasn’t something that would end well for the two revolutionaries. Joshua, looking aside and noticing the slight motion slapped his hands down on her knee as an unspoken command to stop. To which she flat out defied, sliding the blade up her leg and laying it rest in her lap, wrapped in her hand.

“Three hundred K.”

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you disrespecting us.”

“Fine, thee fifty.”

“You’re getting there…”

“Four?”

“Four twenty five. For wasting our damn time. My people will call your people to set up the drop, friend.”

Joshua smirked and put his hands behind his head, letting out a short chuckle.

“Here’s to a long, prosperous friendship, partner. Arryn, our job here is done.”

“Good, I was getting sick of looking at these two.”

“Remember: four twenty five.”

Joshua reached over the table and slapped the spokesman on the arm, sliding over to the end of the booth as Arryn stood up.

“Partner.”

Laughing, he slid the rest of the way out of the booth and followed Arryn to the exit and to the car they arrived in, leaving the McDonald’s employees with one important question:

Who sits in a restaurant for over a half hour without ordering anything at all?]]> <![CDATA[It's all about PUSSY!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12520 Thu, 29 May 2014 00:16:07 -0700 Morbid Angel]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12520



/////Day One.





On day one of my experiments I have taken it upon myself to study and notate the results to answer the ultimate questions that are most commonly asked. How long does it take for a cat to starve in the different elements? I had received a small family of cats from a charity. 6 cats in all.

I had locked one in a cage on the back deck, in the elements with no cover from the rain, snow or blistering cold winds. Note the outside temperature today is 20 degrees.

The second one was kept in a cage next to it but to keep things in a professional way, I placed the face in a bin of water giving the cat enough space to have his shoulders and head above the water level. Again the temperature is 20 degrees.

The third cat I placed in a cage next to the furnace to see if heat will have a factor. The temperature next to the furnace was 95 degrees direct.

The fourth one I let loose in the attic with no cage. I let it loose to see if space will factor in an early death. Attic temperature is 40 degrees.

The fifth I have in a cage on the third floor of my home. The temperature is moderate enough for anyone to walk comfortably. The cage is placed in a far corner and covered with a thick black sheet allowing in no light. Room temperature is 65 degrees.

The sixth I placed in the second floor bathroom inside the bathtub and filled it with enough warm water so that it’s shoulders and head were above water level to match Cat number 2.



9:16AM on day one of the experiment I have taken notice that the cats outside are not enjoying the cold weather here in Germany, the cat inside the water bucket seems to be lagging in movement rather quickly. The other cat spent most of the day curled up in a ball presumably to keep warm with a withering success rate as the temperature drops five degrees to 15.

Cat number three seems to be trying to escape the heat. It gets so hot down here that when I went to get the new temperature reading I could actually feel the heat tighten the skin on my face.
The cat became unkind, especially when I nudged it with a fire poker to check for life.

Cat number four was uncooperative when I tried to corral it to check Life status, after some chasing in the small crawl space I caught the outraged kitty to check on it…the punches I threw at it will not effect the experiments…they were all face shots.

Cat five was calm and wanted to be held. Life signs were normal

Cat six was also calm and very eager to get out of the water. This was not in its future.



I allow the cats to sit for the following 15 hours in their own environments.


The time is 12:25AM. The outdoor temperature is negative 4 degrees

I check Cat one. The cat is near death, letting out a weak meow before collapsing in my hands.

Cat one died at 12:32AM from the cold weather.

Cat two is also dead. The water frozen with half its face submerged in ice. The time of death is not certain but was most likely sometime within the last 15 hours.

Cat three is not doing well in the basement. It is still at 95 degrees. Some of the cats fur has fallen out and bubbled up burns are forming where the fur was no longer. The cat clings to life.

Cat four has been running around all day and is now curled up on the floor in the way back. The attic temperature was now at 19 degrees due to the nighttime temperature drop. The cat is still alive and has a lot of run left in it.

Cat five is doing well

Cat six has also died sometime within the last 16 hours. Apparently of drowning, but we will not be sure until we examine the lungs during tomorrow’s autopsy.




Man-”I have read enough of this!”


Morbid Angel-”You like it?”


Man-”NO! How can you even hold your head up high after this?! Your study on animal cruelty is utterly disgusting!”


Morbid Angel-”Not animal cruelty. It’s actually a study on death and it’s environments…those cats didn’t suffer and even if they did…I didn’t see it.”


Man-”Two of them were frozen to death, you drown one and god only knows what happened to the others!”


Morbid Angel-”They all died for science. Actually if you skip to page 301, you will see that the cat that was upstairs in the cage survived for over two weeks with no food and finally I took it upon myself to see if this living animal had anything different inside than the others did. So I cut him open while it was still alive…living makes for a more pure result when testing. Do you have any idea why that cat lived for so much longer?”


Man-”Mr. Krizchiev, I don’t want to know.”


Morbid Angel-”That sly fucking cat was eating its own shit! I mean who knew that eating shit would prolong your life!”


Man-”KYRIL!”


Morbid Angel-”What?…I get a little excited about science…”



Man-”XWF allows you to publish one book and most people do books on their life stories not the death’s of some abandoned cats. Who gave you these cats anyway?”


Morbid Angel-”Well, they weren’t exactly given to me…I took those bastards! Those fucking cats kept shitting on my grass and puking all over…fucking animals…ANIMALS I SAY!”


Man-”I want you to take this book and get out! Get out before I call the police!”


Morbid Angel-”The Police?”


Man-”Yeah!”





Morbid pulls a gun from his waist band and points it at the ceiling.





Morbid Angel-”MOTHER FUCKER, I AM BETTER THAN THE FUCKING POLICE!”




The man puts his hands up. Morbid slowly brings the gun down and rests the barrel on the cover of his book and slowly cocks the hammer back.




Morbid Angel-”Now, are you saying that you don’t like my book?!”


Man-”No sir! I thought it was really good!”


Morbid Angel-”Oh…I thought it dragged a bit in the middle.”


Man-”In the middle…yes…it dragged.”


Morbid Angel-”So you liked it?”


Man-”Yes…I liked it a lot.”


Morbid Angel-”Then what’s the big fucking deal, bitch?…besides you said you didn’t read it all…are you fucking lying to me?!”


Man-”No sir. I would never lie to you.”


Morbid Angel-”Is it because you respect me or is it because I have a gun ready to blow your fucking face off!?”


Man-”The Gun.”


Morbid Angel-”The gun what?! You mean you don’t fucking respect me? I get all fucking mad when people don’t fucking respect me!”


Man-”I also respect you.”


Morbid Angel-”Because of the gun?…JEW! Just publish the fucking book!”


Man-”OK, I will get it sent off today.”


Morbid Angel-”Excellent!”




Morbid puts the gun away and walks out of the room



The scene fades to a Blood Red!
]]>



/////Day One.





On day one of my experiments I have taken it upon myself to study and notate the results to answer the ultimate questions that are most commonly asked. How long does it take for a cat to starve in the different elements? I had received a small family of cats from a charity. 6 cats in all.

I had locked one in a cage on the back deck, in the elements with no cover from the rain, snow or blistering cold winds. Note the outside temperature today is 20 degrees.

The second one was kept in a cage next to it but to keep things in a professional way, I placed the face in a bin of water giving the cat enough space to have his shoulders and head above the water level. Again the temperature is 20 degrees.

The third cat I placed in a cage next to the furnace to see if heat will have a factor. The temperature next to the furnace was 95 degrees direct.

The fourth one I let loose in the attic with no cage. I let it loose to see if space will factor in an early death. Attic temperature is 40 degrees.

The fifth I have in a cage on the third floor of my home. The temperature is moderate enough for anyone to walk comfortably. The cage is placed in a far corner and covered with a thick black sheet allowing in no light. Room temperature is 65 degrees.

The sixth I placed in the second floor bathroom inside the bathtub and filled it with enough warm water so that it’s shoulders and head were above water level to match Cat number 2.



9:16AM on day one of the experiment I have taken notice that the cats outside are not enjoying the cold weather here in Germany, the cat inside the water bucket seems to be lagging in movement rather quickly. The other cat spent most of the day curled up in a ball presumably to keep warm with a withering success rate as the temperature drops five degrees to 15.

Cat number three seems to be trying to escape the heat. It gets so hot down here that when I went to get the new temperature reading I could actually feel the heat tighten the skin on my face.
The cat became unkind, especially when I nudged it with a fire poker to check for life.

Cat number four was uncooperative when I tried to corral it to check Life status, after some chasing in the small crawl space I caught the outraged kitty to check on it…the punches I threw at it will not effect the experiments…they were all face shots.

Cat five was calm and wanted to be held. Life signs were normal

Cat six was also calm and very eager to get out of the water. This was not in its future.



I allow the cats to sit for the following 15 hours in their own environments.


The time is 12:25AM. The outdoor temperature is negative 4 degrees

I check Cat one. The cat is near death, letting out a weak meow before collapsing in my hands.

Cat one died at 12:32AM from the cold weather.

Cat two is also dead. The water frozen with half its face submerged in ice. The time of death is not certain but was most likely sometime within the last 15 hours.

Cat three is not doing well in the basement. It is still at 95 degrees. Some of the cats fur has fallen out and bubbled up burns are forming where the fur was no longer. The cat clings to life.

Cat four has been running around all day and is now curled up on the floor in the way back. The attic temperature was now at 19 degrees due to the nighttime temperature drop. The cat is still alive and has a lot of run left in it.

Cat five is doing well

Cat six has also died sometime within the last 16 hours. Apparently of drowning, but we will not be sure until we examine the lungs during tomorrow’s autopsy.




Man-”I have read enough of this!”


Morbid Angel-”You like it?”


Man-”NO! How can you even hold your head up high after this?! Your study on animal cruelty is utterly disgusting!”


Morbid Angel-”Not animal cruelty. It’s actually a study on death and it’s environments…those cats didn’t suffer and even if they did…I didn’t see it.”


Man-”Two of them were frozen to death, you drown one and god only knows what happened to the others!”


Morbid Angel-”They all died for science. Actually if you skip to page 301, you will see that the cat that was upstairs in the cage survived for over two weeks with no food and finally I took it upon myself to see if this living animal had anything different inside than the others did. So I cut him open while it was still alive…living makes for a more pure result when testing. Do you have any idea why that cat lived for so much longer?”


Man-”Mr. Krizchiev, I don’t want to know.”


Morbid Angel-”That sly fucking cat was eating its own shit! I mean who knew that eating shit would prolong your life!”


Man-”KYRIL!”


Morbid Angel-”What?…I get a little excited about science…”



Man-”XWF allows you to publish one book and most people do books on their life stories not the death’s of some abandoned cats. Who gave you these cats anyway?”


Morbid Angel-”Well, they weren’t exactly given to me…I took those bastards! Those fucking cats kept shitting on my grass and puking all over…fucking animals…ANIMALS I SAY!”


Man-”I want you to take this book and get out! Get out before I call the police!”


Morbid Angel-”The Police?”


Man-”Yeah!”





Morbid pulls a gun from his waist band and points it at the ceiling.





Morbid Angel-”MOTHER FUCKER, I AM BETTER THAN THE FUCKING POLICE!”




The man puts his hands up. Morbid slowly brings the gun down and rests the barrel on the cover of his book and slowly cocks the hammer back.




Morbid Angel-”Now, are you saying that you don’t like my book?!”


Man-”No sir! I thought it was really good!”


Morbid Angel-”Oh…I thought it dragged a bit in the middle.”


Man-”In the middle…yes…it dragged.”


Morbid Angel-”So you liked it?”


Man-”Yes…I liked it a lot.”


Morbid Angel-”Then what’s the big fucking deal, bitch?…besides you said you didn’t read it all…are you fucking lying to me?!”


Man-”No sir. I would never lie to you.”


Morbid Angel-”Is it because you respect me or is it because I have a gun ready to blow your fucking face off!?”


Man-”The Gun.”


Morbid Angel-”The gun what?! You mean you don’t fucking respect me? I get all fucking mad when people don’t fucking respect me!”


Man-”I also respect you.”


Morbid Angel-”Because of the gun?…JEW! Just publish the fucking book!”


Man-”OK, I will get it sent off today.”


Morbid Angel-”Excellent!”




Morbid puts the gun away and walks out of the room



The scene fades to a Blood Red!
]]> <![CDATA[Heyman Jews!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12482 Mon, 26 May 2014 16:54:27 -0700 Morbid Angel]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12482






The scene Opens to Morbid Angel…stitches in his face and an ice pack on his neck. This has not been a very Morbid friendly week…he suffered two matches that he quit on and both were something of an oddity. Claims of Morbid Angel tapping out to an Ass Pie ran rampant on the Internet and all over ESPN. Morbid’s wild claims of not tapping were all over.


-Insert Clip of Morbid on ESPN-


Morbid Angel-”That mat was so fucking dirty that I was swatting the filth away from my face and the jewish cunts in the Heyman Alliance were fucking with me the entire time….what did you expect me to do? Sit there and take all that fucking bullshit. I quit but they cut the film and made it look like I tapped…the fucking bell never even sounded. that’s what happens when you let the jews run something! They just fuck things up…fuck things up and make ME LOOK STUPID! Fuck you Paul Heyman! You fat kike! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! And for that matter your entire team of fagwhores! FAGWHORES!”



Morbid Angel obviously distraught over the nature of this supposed loss. None could actually admit it was in fact a loss but critics and haters alike ran with it and teased Morbid Angel for everything he was worth and this made him grow increasingly mad. How dare they say he actually lost when he was attacked! Attacked by a pack of smelly hobo’s


Morbid Angel-”Hello, I am Morbid Angel of the XWF. I decided to shoot a video to talk about a few things…Not that snake in the grass Vellore or the Heyman Alliance…though they cost me a few minutes of victory…I bet money that they cannot even show you where I lost! LIARS! Morbid has yet to lose on an RTX…and isn’t that some bullshit…I beat this Romulus and then he gets the fucking RTX title? What in the fucking hell is going on? Then I turn my back on the RTX and I get stuck in a match against Frodo Smackins and Arryn…two fucking jokes! I’ve met with Frodo before when he helped me find a cell phone then the motherfucker jumped me in the ring with the help of 9 other fighters! He punched me once then I slapped him! Right in the fucking face! Frodo Smackins! I will treat you like I did your brother! Like a fucking dog! I destroyed your brother in the ring! And I will destroy you! This isn’t over! Morbid Angel is all about VICTORY! VICTORY GODDAMN YOU! Its hard enough to catch a break in this motherfucker but now I have to defend against you and Arryn…couldn’t have a title for title match with Romulus…excuse me…Cain…who by the way has yet to refute what I said to him before my match! He is running from the truth! He is nothing! He is less than shit! I AM CHAMPION WORTHY! WHY AM I NOT THE RTX CHAMPION?! This is fucking bullshit! Who doesn’t want a good strong champion like the motherfucker that has yet to lose? It is odd to me. Maybe you want the weakest link to be the champion…after all this is RTX and not Madness! I AM A MOTHERFUCKING DOUBLE CHAMPION! I have the Ark and the motherfucking Xtreme title. I WANT IT ALL! I WANT THE WORLD! GIVE ME THE CHANCE! I will raise the RTX to new heights! No more scrounging around in the fucking filth of the XWF trash! Paul, Giving the title to Cain was like putting a silk hat on a pig…If I had the title then I would crush! I WOULD REIGN VICTORIOUS! And I would be a triple champion! TRIPLE! But not that titles mean much to me…LIES! THEY ARE EVERYTHING! I WANT EVERY MOTHERFUCKING LAST TITLE HERE! Give them to me! !…and by I mean Heyman…! But like I said! I am not talking about the Heyman Alliance! Fuck them! I have a match with people! Griffin! You are and I will fucking give you AIDS!…wrong show! TABLE AND DIM! HOMOSEXUAL RATS!…fuck! Wrong show again! FUCK! Fromo Faggins! That phone you helped me buy isn’t working right! I hate you for that! FIX IT!

Arryn…I don’t know you but I can already tell that you suck! Like really suck! You know why? Because you are being quiet and no one wants to be around the quiet motherfucker that has nothing to offer anyone…speak or fucking die! SPEAK OR FUCKING DIE! Don’t fuck with me! I have been known to bite motherfuckers who don’t speak! DO YOU WANT TO GET AIDS! Because I’ll fucking give you some AIDS! I don’t even fucking care!….I’ll wait for you….cunt!”




The scene fades to a Blood Red!
]]>






The scene Opens to Morbid Angel…stitches in his face and an ice pack on his neck. This has not been a very Morbid friendly week…he suffered two matches that he quit on and both were something of an oddity. Claims of Morbid Angel tapping out to an Ass Pie ran rampant on the Internet and all over ESPN. Morbid’s wild claims of not tapping were all over.


-Insert Clip of Morbid on ESPN-


Morbid Angel-”That mat was so fucking dirty that I was swatting the filth away from my face and the jewish cunts in the Heyman Alliance were fucking with me the entire time….what did you expect me to do? Sit there and take all that fucking bullshit. I quit but they cut the film and made it look like I tapped…the fucking bell never even sounded. that’s what happens when you let the jews run something! They just fuck things up…fuck things up and make ME LOOK STUPID! Fuck you Paul Heyman! You fat kike! I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! And for that matter your entire team of fagwhores! FAGWHORES!”



Morbid Angel obviously distraught over the nature of this supposed loss. None could actually admit it was in fact a loss but critics and haters alike ran with it and teased Morbid Angel for everything he was worth and this made him grow increasingly mad. How dare they say he actually lost when he was attacked! Attacked by a pack of smelly hobo’s


Morbid Angel-”Hello, I am Morbid Angel of the XWF. I decided to shoot a video to talk about a few things…Not that snake in the grass Vellore or the Heyman Alliance…though they cost me a few minutes of victory…I bet money that they cannot even show you where I lost! LIARS! Morbid has yet to lose on an RTX…and isn’t that some bullshit…I beat this Romulus and then he gets the fucking RTX title? What in the fucking hell is going on? Then I turn my back on the RTX and I get stuck in a match against Frodo Smackins and Arryn…two fucking jokes! I’ve met with Frodo before when he helped me find a cell phone then the motherfucker jumped me in the ring with the help of 9 other fighters! He punched me once then I slapped him! Right in the fucking face! Frodo Smackins! I will treat you like I did your brother! Like a fucking dog! I destroyed your brother in the ring! And I will destroy you! This isn’t over! Morbid Angel is all about VICTORY! VICTORY GODDAMN YOU! Its hard enough to catch a break in this motherfucker but now I have to defend against you and Arryn…couldn’t have a title for title match with Romulus…excuse me…Cain…who by the way has yet to refute what I said to him before my match! He is running from the truth! He is nothing! He is less than shit! I AM CHAMPION WORTHY! WHY AM I NOT THE RTX CHAMPION?! This is fucking bullshit! Who doesn’t want a good strong champion like the motherfucker that has yet to lose? It is odd to me. Maybe you want the weakest link to be the champion…after all this is RTX and not Madness! I AM A MOTHERFUCKING DOUBLE CHAMPION! I have the Ark and the motherfucking Xtreme title. I WANT IT ALL! I WANT THE WORLD! GIVE ME THE CHANCE! I will raise the RTX to new heights! No more scrounging around in the fucking filth of the XWF trash! Paul, Giving the title to Cain was like putting a silk hat on a pig…If I had the title then I would crush! I WOULD REIGN VICTORIOUS! And I would be a triple champion! TRIPLE! But not that titles mean much to me…LIES! THEY ARE EVERYTHING! I WANT EVERY MOTHERFUCKING LAST TITLE HERE! Give them to me! !…and by I mean Heyman…! But like I said! I am not talking about the Heyman Alliance! Fuck them! I have a match with people! Griffin! You are and I will fucking give you AIDS!…wrong show! TABLE AND DIM! HOMOSEXUAL RATS!…fuck! Wrong show again! FUCK! Fromo Faggins! That phone you helped me buy isn’t working right! I hate you for that! FIX IT!

Arryn…I don’t know you but I can already tell that you suck! Like really suck! You know why? Because you are being quiet and no one wants to be around the quiet motherfucker that has nothing to offer anyone…speak or fucking die! SPEAK OR FUCKING DIE! Don’t fuck with me! I have been known to bite motherfuckers who don’t speak! DO YOU WANT TO GET AIDS! Because I’ll fucking give you some AIDS! I don’t even fucking care!….I’ll wait for you….cunt!”




The scene fades to a Blood Red!
]]> <![CDATA[The Pain of Silence]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12399 Fri, 23 May 2014 19:43:55 -0700 Vellore Brommer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12399 To recap on our beloved Vellore Brommer's current whereabouts, Vellore and his mentor Derek Shrout have just stumbled onto a crime scene at their house not knowing that it was Vellore's own mother and a police officer who broke in and used the house for a quick hiding spot. Just a short while after they broke in the landlord was coming to collect rent, but he was in for a little more than he bargained for.... The drunken, and slightly enraged landlord walked toward the house with a shotgun in hand but upon entering got a throat full of fist! The punch laid him out and his shot gun was stolen by Rafael and Rose as they ventured on knowing that their presueres the infamous "Misfit" gang was not far behind them!

Chapter 3
Episode 1
The Pain of Silence




"And when I'm gone, just carry on, don't mourn
Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice
Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling
And I didn't feel a thing, So baby don't feel no pain
Just smile back........"




The chorus plays over and over again in the head of Rose....


"And when I'm gone...."


The mental image running through her mind of the last moment she saw her child. Her and Vellore had just walked into the Tae-Kwon-Do school, she was practically signing the young Vellore's life away with all of her signatures on the contract. She continued to sign the lines with the x's until she was told to stop. After which she turned and walked out the door, not a good bye, no I love you, nothing but the back of her head is what the small child could see as she was on a hurry out the door.

"Just carry on....."


Rose can only picture how her boy looks now. She imagines a well dressed young man who is on his way to his Tae-Kwon-Do lessons for the day. She imagines that he had never quit his Tae-Kwon-Do, not knowing that his first day there was also his last. The imaginary Vellore walked into the gym got changed and looked his opponent in the eyes... His opponent having the oddest similar features to Brodie Tyler. In Rose's mind Vellore took off with a flurry of Karate based punches and quickly finnished off the Brodie Tyler look-a-like with a swift spinning back kick, Vellore's heel connecting with the temple of the young man that looked too much like a man Vellore will be fighting in a few short days.

"Don't Mourn......"


The Tae-Kwon-Do gym and great victory of Vellore's out the window and a new picture enters the head of Rose. It's midnight, the annoying chirp of grasshoppers sounds in the background of what seems to be a shovel lifting dirt off of the ground and tossing it onto a large pile of dirt. The man in the hole is an elder teen aged Vellore. His face now has stubble, its marked by all of his striking lessons and grappling in the many hours of classes he has taken. More dirt is taken from the bottom of what is now a six foot deep hole and tossed to the top of the pile resting above ground. The dirt is followed by the shovel and then soon by Vellore. A very depressed look crosses the face of Vellore. After he gets in his own head a single tear runs down his face before he remembers to "act like a man", he straightens up his posture and grabs his corner of the coffin. Three other men dressed in all black help Vellore lift the casket and bring it towards the hole. The four men lower it onto the machine and Vellore watches desperately as the grave is filled with an empty coffin. Rose is imaginening that her son has moved on, after ten or more years most people would assume you were dead too!

"Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice"


"Mamãe!" Wait? But? What was this? Rose turns her head left to right and sees nothing but white. "mamãe" There it is again... Only more feint this time.... What is going on? Rose again turns his head and can only see a blinding white color. "rose...." The voice of her child is heard again, but again the voice is quieter.

"Rose?"

"Rose they've found us" The familiar voice awakens Rose, popping up out of her slumber Rafael pulls her back down so she is laying on the seat instead of sitting up. "ficar para baixo" The words are whispered into the ear of Rose. A car pulls up right next to the one the couple are in. The car is rolling so slowly it nearly comes to a stop when next to the stolen car Rafael and Rose are in. But then the engine cranks up again and the dark colored car with the blackened windows rolls on by and after turning a corner Rafael and Rose both sit up.

Rafael left a sweat mark on the back of Rose, his nerves had gotten the better of him and his pours opened up letting the sweat run down his face. Rose was in a similar position as her palms were moist with her nervous sweat. The deadly silence can be broken with the drop of a pin. The tension could be cut with a knife, and just as officer Eduardo slowly began to peak his head up....




BRUP-BUP-BUP!


..........

Silence again....


The car rolls backwards......



BRUP-BUP-BUP!



The windows of the car that Rose and Rafael Eduardo are occupying are shot out. The glass shattering with the dozens of bullets chattering out of the gun. The squealing of the back wheels can be hear a mile away as the gunmen in the car take off. Rafael's hand is covering Rose's mouth and her eyes are shut tightly. Some saliva is sliding down the side of his hand after she had screamed, or attempted to at the top of her lungs. Another failed hit, the men in the car were either toying with them or had honestly not seen them, Rafael thinking the later of the two scenarios. But just because the two were alive didn't mean that they were well, Rafael was laying in such a way that a bullet had pierced through the car door and gone half way into his left leg.

Now it was Rose covering his mouth while he was shouting in agonizing pain. Rose almost felt bad for her savior, but she had too felt the pain of being shot and knew it was nothing he couldn't handle. With glass riddling the inside of the car, and the police looking for the car the two were currently occupying they both knew they had to ditch it. Right then, and right there, the car was left. The keys in the ignition, the doors unlocked, the windows shattered along with some bullet holes in the side of the car door. With the blood left on the seat Rafael thought it would be the perfect cover up. The cops would think someone was killed in the car and the body taken away to be buried.

The two were ready for rest now though, travling seemed impossible until the sun came back up to fuel them, and the night gave them well enough cover to hide from any of Souza's boys that were still after them. Rose, with Rafael's arm draped over her, slowly hobbled down the street bringing Rafael along with her. It wasn't until the two were under an overpass that had a dumpster to hid behind with friendly neighbor hobos and plenty of cardboard that they two were able to rest. Luckily enough one of the homeless had gone to medical school for a short time before becoming bankrupt and was able to help stop the bleeding of Rafael's leg, but the bullet remained inside.

Now after the traumatic event in which Rafael's nightmares had nearly came true, the couple were just getting to fall asleep....


"SCHREEEEEEEECH"
]]> To recap on our beloved Vellore Brommer's current whereabouts, Vellore and his mentor Derek Shrout have just stumbled onto a crime scene at their house not knowing that it was Vellore's own mother and a police officer who broke in and used the house for a quick hiding spot. Just a short while after they broke in the landlord was coming to collect rent, but he was in for a little more than he bargained for.... The drunken, and slightly enraged landlord walked toward the house with a shotgun in hand but upon entering got a throat full of fist! The punch laid him out and his shot gun was stolen by Rafael and Rose as they ventured on knowing that their presueres the infamous "Misfit" gang was not far behind them!

Chapter 3
Episode 1
The Pain of Silence




"And when I'm gone, just carry on, don't mourn
Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice
Just know that I'm looking down on you smiling
And I didn't feel a thing, So baby don't feel no pain
Just smile back........"




The chorus plays over and over again in the head of Rose....


"And when I'm gone...."


The mental image running through her mind of the last moment she saw her child. Her and Vellore had just walked into the Tae-Kwon-Do school, she was practically signing the young Vellore's life away with all of her signatures on the contract. She continued to sign the lines with the x's until she was told to stop. After which she turned and walked out the door, not a good bye, no I love you, nothing but the back of her head is what the small child could see as she was on a hurry out the door.

"Just carry on....."


Rose can only picture how her boy looks now. She imagines a well dressed young man who is on his way to his Tae-Kwon-Do lessons for the day. She imagines that he had never quit his Tae-Kwon-Do, not knowing that his first day there was also his last. The imaginary Vellore walked into the gym got changed and looked his opponent in the eyes... His opponent having the oddest similar features to Brodie Tyler. In Rose's mind Vellore took off with a flurry of Karate based punches and quickly finnished off the Brodie Tyler look-a-like with a swift spinning back kick, Vellore's heel connecting with the temple of the young man that looked too much like a man Vellore will be fighting in a few short days.

"Don't Mourn......"


The Tae-Kwon-Do gym and great victory of Vellore's out the window and a new picture enters the head of Rose. It's midnight, the annoying chirp of grasshoppers sounds in the background of what seems to be a shovel lifting dirt off of the ground and tossing it onto a large pile of dirt. The man in the hole is an elder teen aged Vellore. His face now has stubble, its marked by all of his striking lessons and grappling in the many hours of classes he has taken. More dirt is taken from the bottom of what is now a six foot deep hole and tossed to the top of the pile resting above ground. The dirt is followed by the shovel and then soon by Vellore. A very depressed look crosses the face of Vellore. After he gets in his own head a single tear runs down his face before he remembers to "act like a man", he straightens up his posture and grabs his corner of the coffin. Three other men dressed in all black help Vellore lift the casket and bring it towards the hole. The four men lower it onto the machine and Vellore watches desperately as the grave is filled with an empty coffin. Rose is imaginening that her son has moved on, after ten or more years most people would assume you were dead too!

"Rejoice every time you hear the sound of my voice"


"Mamãe!" Wait? But? What was this? Rose turns her head left to right and sees nothing but white. "mamãe" There it is again... Only more feint this time.... What is going on? Rose again turns his head and can only see a blinding white color. "rose...." The voice of her child is heard again, but again the voice is quieter.

"Rose?"

"Rose they've found us" The familiar voice awakens Rose, popping up out of her slumber Rafael pulls her back down so she is laying on the seat instead of sitting up. "ficar para baixo" The words are whispered into the ear of Rose. A car pulls up right next to the one the couple are in. The car is rolling so slowly it nearly comes to a stop when next to the stolen car Rafael and Rose are in. But then the engine cranks up again and the dark colored car with the blackened windows rolls on by and after turning a corner Rafael and Rose both sit up.

Rafael left a sweat mark on the back of Rose, his nerves had gotten the better of him and his pours opened up letting the sweat run down his face. Rose was in a similar position as her palms were moist with her nervous sweat. The deadly silence can be broken with the drop of a pin. The tension could be cut with a knife, and just as officer Eduardo slowly began to peak his head up....




BRUP-BUP-BUP!


..........

Silence again....


The car rolls backwards......



BRUP-BUP-BUP!



The windows of the car that Rose and Rafael Eduardo are occupying are shot out. The glass shattering with the dozens of bullets chattering out of the gun. The squealing of the back wheels can be hear a mile away as the gunmen in the car take off. Rafael's hand is covering Rose's mouth and her eyes are shut tightly. Some saliva is sliding down the side of his hand after she had screamed, or attempted to at the top of her lungs. Another failed hit, the men in the car were either toying with them or had honestly not seen them, Rafael thinking the later of the two scenarios. But just because the two were alive didn't mean that they were well, Rafael was laying in such a way that a bullet had pierced through the car door and gone half way into his left leg.

Now it was Rose covering his mouth while he was shouting in agonizing pain. Rose almost felt bad for her savior, but she had too felt the pain of being shot and knew it was nothing he couldn't handle. With glass riddling the inside of the car, and the police looking for the car the two were currently occupying they both knew they had to ditch it. Right then, and right there, the car was left. The keys in the ignition, the doors unlocked, the windows shattered along with some bullet holes in the side of the car door. With the blood left on the seat Rafael thought it would be the perfect cover up. The cops would think someone was killed in the car and the body taken away to be buried.

The two were ready for rest now though, travling seemed impossible until the sun came back up to fuel them, and the night gave them well enough cover to hide from any of Souza's boys that were still after them. Rose, with Rafael's arm draped over her, slowly hobbled down the street bringing Rafael along with her. It wasn't until the two were under an overpass that had a dumpster to hid behind with friendly neighbor hobos and plenty of cardboard that they two were able to rest. Luckily enough one of the homeless had gone to medical school for a short time before becoming bankrupt and was able to help stop the bleeding of Rafael's leg, but the bullet remained inside.

Now after the traumatic event in which Rafael's nightmares had nearly came true, the couple were just getting to fall asleep....


"SCHREEEEEEEECH"
]]> <![CDATA[The End of The Cave. Pizza and Blood. Tears. And Such. (Part 1)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12387 Tue, 20 May 2014 23:27:20 -0700 Guppy Parsh]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12387 There it sat.

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRofys7Y4pkS4MY2N1m4p5...owzlATDGzM]

Supreme
With
Pineapple.

Could Guppy reach it? It seemed to move farther and farther away with every reach, with every step towards the pizza goodness. Guppy leaped but the pizza pulled itself away. Maybe this pizza wasn’t meant to be his. Maybe the pizza party was never supposed to be better than DonOLD Tramp’s gay pizza party. Who was Guppy to challenge fate? This pizza was adamant on staying away. Its capture was impossible. How does one take a wild pizza from the cave of death? Guppy could try, but there was no guarantee of success. Former Dr. Parsh came all this way for failure. Spending weeks upon weeks walking down streets and in caves and witnessing all those car accidents only served to build more trauma. Guppy Parsh was a pack mule with too much baggage.

Guppy couldn’t let that all be true.

“Please don’t run from me; please come back to me,” pleaded (the) Parsh, “I need you. I love you,”

Water pushed itself from his eyes and a puddle of tears stained the rocky cave floor. Tears of submission. Tears of failure. Tears of longing. Tears of surrender. Tears of appeasement.

The supreme with pineapple chuckled at the poor and pathetic sight. Then it pointed at Guppy and laughed some more. The supreme with pineapple was very glad it wasn’t as sad, lame, and pathetic as Guppy. If the pizza wanted to it could end Guppy with a blink. It was the most powerful pizza on this planet and in this universe. One bite out of him was an automatic ten out of ten from any pizza party critic with taste buds. “What makes you think you’re worthy enough to eat me? Why shouldn’t I just kill you and eat you?” pondered the embodiment of perfection.

Guppy was stumped. He had no plausible answers. The pizza probably should kill and eat him. His only use was crying apparently. He can’t even catch a fucking pizza. What a fucking loser. This pizza was magical, if you haven’t already gathered that, what was Guppy thinking? Why would he think he could enjoy a magic pizza? He was just a mere mortal. He wasn’t demonic. He was just a slave to his own emotions and his spectral entity master. He wasn’t even a doctor. If he were a doctor he’d at least have a doctorate in something.

The pizza laughed again; its pineapples crackled in glee, as it smelt Guppy’s tasty fear. The cheese boiled in anticipation as its crusty jaw opened, “No good reasons, eh?” that must’ve been the magic Canadian bacon talking. “Then prepare for your death. You were not demonic enough to enjoy me. You were not brave enough to taste me. You were not quick enough to indulge in my hurricane of flavor,” the pizza inhaled its own steam.

Guppy reached for the pizza one last time, but only received a cut from a razor sharp pineapple slice for his trouble. The wound opened. The blood dripped onto the pizza, mixing with the tomato sauce. The supreme with pineapple reacted oddly; it began to twist and contort. Guppy let out a sigh of relief; his blood must’ve stunned the magic pizza! He quickly leapt backward and snatched a pizza cutter off of the cave wall directly behind him. He’d slice the supreme with pineapple up before it could come to!

Guppy turned to face the pizza of his destiny, his right hand armed with the round blade, but he wasn’t prepared for something this wicked and evil. The blood did not weaken the magic supreme with pineapple; in fact, it became even stronger and more powerful than it once was before. “SUPREME WITH PINEAPPLE AND BLOOD!” roared the magic pizza. Guppy’s non-doctor blood began to seep out of the pizza in all directions. It was raining blood and doom. The magic pizza’s crusty and hungry mouth kept advancing on Guppy. The once again powerless Guppy once again cried. He was just a tiny fish in the magic pizza’s pond.

However the tears weren’t like the ones before. They hit the cave floor and joined a puddle of Guppy’s blood. It sent out a shock wave. A signal. Only a trained ear could hear this call. Did it reach its target?............................... .....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Guppy Fin............................................]]> There it sat.

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRofys7Y4pkS4MY2N1m4p5...owzlATDGzM]

Supreme
With
Pineapple.

Could Guppy reach it? It seemed to move farther and farther away with every reach, with every step towards the pizza goodness. Guppy leaped but the pizza pulled itself away. Maybe this pizza wasn’t meant to be his. Maybe the pizza party was never supposed to be better than DonOLD Tramp’s gay pizza party. Who was Guppy to challenge fate? This pizza was adamant on staying away. Its capture was impossible. How does one take a wild pizza from the cave of death? Guppy could try, but there was no guarantee of success. Former Dr. Parsh came all this way for failure. Spending weeks upon weeks walking down streets and in caves and witnessing all those car accidents only served to build more trauma. Guppy Parsh was a pack mule with too much baggage.

Guppy couldn’t let that all be true.

“Please don’t run from me; please come back to me,” pleaded (the) Parsh, “I need you. I love you,”

Water pushed itself from his eyes and a puddle of tears stained the rocky cave floor. Tears of submission. Tears of failure. Tears of longing. Tears of surrender. Tears of appeasement.

The supreme with pineapple chuckled at the poor and pathetic sight. Then it pointed at Guppy and laughed some more. The supreme with pineapple was very glad it wasn’t as sad, lame, and pathetic as Guppy. If the pizza wanted to it could end Guppy with a blink. It was the most powerful pizza on this planet and in this universe. One bite out of him was an automatic ten out of ten from any pizza party critic with taste buds. “What makes you think you’re worthy enough to eat me? Why shouldn’t I just kill you and eat you?” pondered the embodiment of perfection.

Guppy was stumped. He had no plausible answers. The pizza probably should kill and eat him. His only use was crying apparently. He can’t even catch a fucking pizza. What a fucking loser. This pizza was magical, if you haven’t already gathered that, what was Guppy thinking? Why would he think he could enjoy a magic pizza? He was just a mere mortal. He wasn’t demonic. He was just a slave to his own emotions and his spectral entity master. He wasn’t even a doctor. If he were a doctor he’d at least have a doctorate in something.

The pizza laughed again; its pineapples crackled in glee, as it smelt Guppy’s tasty fear. The cheese boiled in anticipation as its crusty jaw opened, “No good reasons, eh?” that must’ve been the magic Canadian bacon talking. “Then prepare for your death. You were not demonic enough to enjoy me. You were not brave enough to taste me. You were not quick enough to indulge in my hurricane of flavor,” the pizza inhaled its own steam.

Guppy reached for the pizza one last time, but only received a cut from a razor sharp pineapple slice for his trouble. The wound opened. The blood dripped onto the pizza, mixing with the tomato sauce. The supreme with pineapple reacted oddly; it began to twist and contort. Guppy let out a sigh of relief; his blood must’ve stunned the magic pizza! He quickly leapt backward and snatched a pizza cutter off of the cave wall directly behind him. He’d slice the supreme with pineapple up before it could come to!

Guppy turned to face the pizza of his destiny, his right hand armed with the round blade, but he wasn’t prepared for something this wicked and evil. The blood did not weaken the magic supreme with pineapple; in fact, it became even stronger and more powerful than it once was before. “SUPREME WITH PINEAPPLE AND BLOOD!” roared the magic pizza. Guppy’s non-doctor blood began to seep out of the pizza in all directions. It was raining blood and doom. The magic pizza’s crusty and hungry mouth kept advancing on Guppy. The once again powerless Guppy once again cried. He was just a tiny fish in the magic pizza’s pond.

However the tears weren’t like the ones before. They hit the cave floor and joined a puddle of Guppy’s blood. It sent out a shock wave. A signal. Only a trained ear could hear this call. Did it reach its target?............................... .....................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................Guppy Fin............................................]]> <![CDATA[rollin in]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12298 Sat, 17 May 2014 08:37:11 -0700 The Under Duker]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12298 ]]> ]]> <![CDATA[If Only....]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12248 Fri, 16 May 2014 11:25:08 -0700 Vellore Brommer]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12248
A few hours after "Lost and Found"



The red and blue flashes of the police lights lit up the otherwise pitch black sky. The rotation of the lights was enough for Vellore to think if he were a kid who had seizures he would be on the ground right now. Derek and Vellore are both standing behind the yellow police tape that is separating them from their home that looked shitty before, but now with the tire marks in the lawn and what seems to be dead guy in the doorway of their home it can only look that much shitty...er. Vellore continues to stare into one of the circling police lights as Derek is trying to find a police officer that speaks English... Hell Broken English would be good at this point!

Running from car to car asking the same question Derek feels as if he is going insane.


"English?! Mother Fucker do you speak it?!"

"Quê?"


Running.... Running... Running...

Asking again....


"Quê?"


"To hell with this..." The words rushing through the mind of the Brown Belted American, who is fairly confident he could take most of the police officers that are in the area, all at the same time... well it is kind of his job to beat people up....

Derek ducks under the yellow tape and darts towards the door. He notices the man that is laid out in the door way has a sheet over his face and most of his torso but not his entire body yet. Plenty of numbered markers are on the floor around what must be evidence. The empty bottle of vodka rolls around by its evidence number showing that someone in the instance was drunk.

Approaching the downed man Derek is rushed by officers pulling him away from his own home. The group of police men grab and tug Derek all the way back to the yellow tape and push him on the other side of it. Most of the police men go back to what they were originally doing except for two who are now blocking Derek from re-entering the yard.

But that was all it took for Derek to know who the man was, the vodka, the short stubby figure, all that was missing was his shot gun and some shells. It was Derek's landlord coming to collect money but by the looks of one of the windows someone had broken into the home and attacked the landlord upon leaving.

An officer finally walks up to Derek,

"There were two people, a man and a women. They both broke into what I am assuming is your home, hid here for quite some time, then left once this man arrived. Do you know this man?"

"Yeah, he is the landlord. He always brings his bottle of Vodka." Derek points over towards the empty bottle rolling by the evidence number. "But he also always brings a shot gun.... So I'm confused on how someone got the upper hand on him! You would think-" Mid sentence Derek is cut off by the officer.

"A Shot gun?" The officer looks concerned and reaches up to his shoulder he clicks one side of the walkie talkie inwards and begins chanting some sort of message in his native language. The screeching sound of the walkie talkie is heard after his lets go of the button.

"So where the fuck where you when I was looking for someone that spoke English?!"

"That doesn't matter, right now we have a serious situation on our hands, we believe that who ever was breaking into your house was actually attempting to harm you and this boy. You two may need to spend the night with us down at the station...."

"Woah! WOAH! WOAH! This little guy's got his first nogi tournament tomorrow and he is going to be knee barring the shit out of all of his competitors!"

"It looks like his first nogi tournament will have to wait..." The amount of people who understand what jiu-jitsu is in Brazil would surprise you. Even the look of "grapples ears" (cauliflower ear) is considered attractive in Brazil!

"But Derek.... You said-"

"Listen kid I'm sorry but it's just not safe for you to be out on the streets when someone is trying to kill you."

"No worry, I kill them first."]]>
A few hours after "Lost and Found"



The red and blue flashes of the police lights lit up the otherwise pitch black sky. The rotation of the lights was enough for Vellore to think if he were a kid who had seizures he would be on the ground right now. Derek and Vellore are both standing behind the yellow police tape that is separating them from their home that looked shitty before, but now with the tire marks in the lawn and what seems to be dead guy in the doorway of their home it can only look that much shitty...er. Vellore continues to stare into one of the circling police lights as Derek is trying to find a police officer that speaks English... Hell Broken English would be good at this point!

Running from car to car asking the same question Derek feels as if he is going insane.


"English?! Mother Fucker do you speak it?!"

"Quê?"


Running.... Running... Running...

Asking again....


"Quê?"


"To hell with this..." The words rushing through the mind of the Brown Belted American, who is fairly confident he could take most of the police officers that are in the area, all at the same time... well it is kind of his job to beat people up....

Derek ducks under the yellow tape and darts towards the door. He notices the man that is laid out in the door way has a sheet over his face and most of his torso but not his entire body yet. Plenty of numbered markers are on the floor around what must be evidence. The empty bottle of vodka rolls around by its evidence number showing that someone in the instance was drunk.

Approaching the downed man Derek is rushed by officers pulling him away from his own home. The group of police men grab and tug Derek all the way back to the yellow tape and push him on the other side of it. Most of the police men go back to what they were originally doing except for two who are now blocking Derek from re-entering the yard.

But that was all it took for Derek to know who the man was, the vodka, the short stubby figure, all that was missing was his shot gun and some shells. It was Derek's landlord coming to collect money but by the looks of one of the windows someone had broken into the home and attacked the landlord upon leaving.

An officer finally walks up to Derek,

"There were two people, a man and a women. They both broke into what I am assuming is your home, hid here for quite some time, then left once this man arrived. Do you know this man?"

"Yeah, he is the landlord. He always brings his bottle of Vodka." Derek points over towards the empty bottle rolling by the evidence number. "But he also always brings a shot gun.... So I'm confused on how someone got the upper hand on him! You would think-" Mid sentence Derek is cut off by the officer.

"A Shot gun?" The officer looks concerned and reaches up to his shoulder he clicks one side of the walkie talkie inwards and begins chanting some sort of message in his native language. The screeching sound of the walkie talkie is heard after his lets go of the button.

"So where the fuck where you when I was looking for someone that spoke English?!"

"That doesn't matter, right now we have a serious situation on our hands, we believe that who ever was breaking into your house was actually attempting to harm you and this boy. You two may need to spend the night with us down at the station...."

"Woah! WOAH! WOAH! This little guy's got his first nogi tournament tomorrow and he is going to be knee barring the shit out of all of his competitors!"

"It looks like his first nogi tournament will have to wait..." The amount of people who understand what jiu-jitsu is in Brazil would surprise you. Even the look of "grapples ears" (cauliflower ear) is considered attractive in Brazil!

"But Derek.... You said-"

"Listen kid I'm sorry but it's just not safe for you to be out on the streets when someone is trying to kill you."

"No worry, I kill them first."]]> <![CDATA[I came. I see...]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12238 Wed, 14 May 2014 07:44:20 -0700 Cain]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12238 ....I will conquer.

You win? That's what you do? That's great.

I win too.

More often than not, people bow before me and admit their defeat.

I'm not like you, Gunn.

I lost to Morbid Angel, but that's okay. I actually had the balls to take an undefeated Hell Beast's challenge

He remains undefeated, but I came closer than anyone. The problem was that I showed him mercy and for that, I paid the price.

But you? Tommy Gunn?

I will not show you mercy on that night. I will never show you mercy, no matter how much you beg.

Mark my words.

You will beg. You will drop to your knees before me and you will beg me for mercy. But there will come none.

I will show you what I do and that is destroy my prey.

Unlike you I need not hunt my prey from afar. With a sniper rifle.

We all know it takes a big man to kill someone from a hundred feet away. Or two hundred. Or however many feet a coward such as yourself chooses.

So maybe I haven't beaten any big names here in the XWF. But at Road to Xtreme, that will change in one night.

Thomas, you have no idea the Beast of which you set yoir sights on, because at the end of the night your legacy will go crashing into a sea full of Canaanites.

Your legacy will fade, and the only thing left of you will be this lovely tombstone I paid for...

[Image: O80vrzN.jpg]


You're welcome. Burn in hell, you trash talking piece of filth.

-End Scene-
]]> ....I will conquer.

You win? That's what you do? That's great.

I win too.

More often than not, people bow before me and admit their defeat.

I'm not like you, Gunn.

I lost to Morbid Angel, but that's okay. I actually had the balls to take an undefeated Hell Beast's challenge

He remains undefeated, but I came closer than anyone. The problem was that I showed him mercy and for that, I paid the price.

But you? Tommy Gunn?

I will not show you mercy on that night. I will never show you mercy, no matter how much you beg.

Mark my words.

You will beg. You will drop to your knees before me and you will beg me for mercy. But there will come none.

I will show you what I do and that is destroy my prey.

Unlike you I need not hunt my prey from afar. With a sniper rifle.

We all know it takes a big man to kill someone from a hundred feet away. Or two hundred. Or however many feet a coward such as yourself chooses.

So maybe I haven't beaten any big names here in the XWF. But at Road to Xtreme, that will change in one night.

Thomas, you have no idea the Beast of which you set yoir sights on, because at the end of the night your legacy will go crashing into a sea full of Canaanites.

Your legacy will fade, and the only thing left of you will be this lovely tombstone I paid for...

[Image: O80vrzN.jpg]


You're welcome. Burn in hell, you trash talking piece of filth.

-End Scene-
]]> <![CDATA[Come again?]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12236 Wed, 14 May 2014 05:08:06 -0700 Tommy Gunn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12236 So let me get this straight...I make a claim that you, Romulus have beaten only no names since you have gotten here and what do you do?

You respond by listing not the glorious names of those you have bested but instead you list the names of the Warfare GM's whom you claim tasked you with trimming the fat?

Really?

That's the best you can do you big bitch?

Prove my point?

Thank you for that.

I see you are reading from the Book of Frodo, but just a hint in case you didn't know, that strategy didn't work.

Not in the least.

See while you were off beating no names I've been beating real actual wrestlers.

Did you see my handy work at the Royale? Taking out half the field?

How about the complete and total domination in my first singles match?

The guy didn't get a single move off on me.

Not one.

Then came the tag team match where I bested a wanna be soap opera star named Minxs and the former tag team champion Griffin MacAlister.

I did that.

Oh and while you claim that I was being silent, I was actually focusing on my match for Madness.

Which I won by the way.

Not sure if you saw that but I did.

I won.

Because I'm a winner.

It's what I do.

And I do it well.

As for this future you are proposing...you need not worry about that.

Let me fill you in on the present.

You see here in the present I am the guy that has taken down every single obstacle that has been put in front of him.

While you?

You know what, I don't even know what you do.

That's how little I give a flying fuck about you.

You claim to be a monster, a beast, who devours human souls, who craves for glory.

You sound like the bastard child of Peter Gilmour and that asshole from the movie 300.

You know which asshole I'm talking about.

Here's the deal Romulus, Cain, or whatever the fuck you want to be called.

You are just another obstacle on the Road to X-treme and just like every other unfortunate fuck that has gotten in my way I will take you out and then I will move on.

Don't take it personal.

It's not you, it's me. ]]> So let me get this straight...I make a claim that you, Romulus have beaten only no names since you have gotten here and what do you do?

You respond by listing not the glorious names of those you have bested but instead you list the names of the Warfare GM's whom you claim tasked you with trimming the fat?

Really?

That's the best you can do you big bitch?

Prove my point?

Thank you for that.

I see you are reading from the Book of Frodo, but just a hint in case you didn't know, that strategy didn't work.

Not in the least.

See while you were off beating no names I've been beating real actual wrestlers.

Did you see my handy work at the Royale? Taking out half the field?

How about the complete and total domination in my first singles match?

The guy didn't get a single move off on me.

Not one.

Then came the tag team match where I bested a wanna be soap opera star named Minxs and the former tag team champion Griffin MacAlister.

I did that.

Oh and while you claim that I was being silent, I was actually focusing on my match for Madness.

Which I won by the way.

Not sure if you saw that but I did.

I won.

Because I'm a winner.

It's what I do.

And I do it well.

As for this future you are proposing...you need not worry about that.

Let me fill you in on the present.

You see here in the present I am the guy that has taken down every single obstacle that has been put in front of him.

While you?

You know what, I don't even know what you do.

That's how little I give a flying fuck about you.

You claim to be a monster, a beast, who devours human souls, who craves for glory.

You sound like the bastard child of Peter Gilmour and that asshole from the movie 300.

You know which asshole I'm talking about.

Here's the deal Romulus, Cain, or whatever the fuck you want to be called.

You are just another obstacle on the Road to X-treme and just like every other unfortunate fuck that has gotten in my way I will take you out and then I will move on.

Don't take it personal.

It's not you, it's me. ]]> <![CDATA[The Devil's Advocate?]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12235 Wed, 14 May 2014 04:50:38 -0700 Cain]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12235 It was a cold rain. But Cain wasn't phased. After all he'd been conditioned for such things all his life. He thought back to four hours ago. That moment in his bathroom where he heard a new voice in his head after stepping out of the shower. The voice had whispered to him, saying "Come to me, nephew.". Only it was a female's voice. One that Cain hadn't heard. He most definitely didn't recognize it. But now, as he stood in a cemetary, he knew he had to follow it. For some reason, he felt like he should leave Miako at home and so he did.

Lightning flashed, and thunder crashed as he leaned back against his nineteen sixty seven vintage Chevy Impala. He pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Newport. Red. He raised the cigarette to his lips, the flame from his weather proof dancing in the wind. He commented to himself as he puffed on the cigarette...

"Picked a bad night to come out, eh?"

(Indeed. But someone wishes to meet you, Cain. She's heard so much about you. She is very proud of you.)

"Proud? Of me? Heh."

He filled his lungs with smoke and billowed it out like dragon's fire.

"Noone could be more proud of me than I am, Legion. Noone. Didn't you see what I almost did to Morbid Angel?"

(Show mercy and practically get raped? Yes, we saw that. We also saw the dwarf king pin you for the Ark of the Covenant.)

He rolled his eyes, blowing smoke out into the air. He knew better than anyone that this past week hadn't gone so well. But still, he pressed on. He tried to keep a positive attitude, and due to his confidence that wasn't that difficult. But those two facts remained. The relevance was that he showed mercy and lost focus. He lacked focus and someone, or something wanted to help him with that. The rain died down slowly, and lightning streaked the sky once more. This was when he heard the whisper once more.

"Come to me, Cain."

His eyes darted back and forth for a moment. The voice had taken on a more physical precense now. There it was again...

"Come...to...me..."

...and it emanated from deeper in the cemetary. As if hypnotized, he made his way into the graveyard. Entranced. He continued to follow the feminine voice, and he smelled something in the air. Like a mix of lavender and sulfur. Not overpowering. He did come upon a dilpidated mausoleum. It was the size of a large house, with a large angel statue on each corner. Of course, the door was made of pure marble, and there were some ancient carvings in latin. Yes, the language spoken over two thousand years ago. Romulus looked at the text, confused.

Quote:Ad primam sanguine primogenitus victores spoliis ire. Quodam die ego ad te venio. Et loquar ad te, et audiemus. Nos magnarum gloriam.

The first born son of Adam and Eve looked down at the door for a few moments. He wasn't sure what to do at first. Which is why "The Voice" guided him.

"Open ....it....."

He looked up at the sky, almost as if that was the location of the voice.

"But how?"

"Kneel. Read his words, dearest."

Almost as if he kmew exactly what to do, he stepped backward. He dropped down to a knee and looked at the stone at his feet. Cain brushed away dirt, and read the next inscription, also in latin.

Quote:Solum potestis adipisci primogenitus sanguine virtus.

(Apparently, you need to shed your own blood. So do it.)

He narrowec his eyes.

"So you are saying that I need to cut myself to open the door?"

(It should be obvious, Cain. She wants you to prove your loyalty to the darkside.)

"To the darkside? What is this, Star Wars?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and from it produced a pure silver butterfly knife. He flipped the knife open, a slight breeze whistling over the razor sharp blade. As he held the palm of his hand open, he pressed the sharp blade against his palm. He dragged the blade and blood trickled down from his hand, dripping onto the latin inscription. He squeezed his palm and the blood poured, the door slowly creaking open. He stood, the wound on his hand closing. As he looked up, he noticed the source of the voice, greeting him with a seductive grin.

[Image: T7e0mjo.jpg]

"Aunt Lillith?"

Another seductive grin from the beautiful first born woman. She circled The Original Beast, and placed a hand on his chiseled chest.

"My, how you've grown."

How he has grown indeed. How, indeed.

-End Scene-
]]> It was a cold rain. But Cain wasn't phased. After all he'd been conditioned for such things all his life. He thought back to four hours ago. That moment in his bathroom where he heard a new voice in his head after stepping out of the shower. The voice had whispered to him, saying "Come to me, nephew.". Only it was a female's voice. One that Cain hadn't heard. He most definitely didn't recognize it. But now, as he stood in a cemetary, he knew he had to follow it. For some reason, he felt like he should leave Miako at home and so he did.

Lightning flashed, and thunder crashed as he leaned back against his nineteen sixty seven vintage Chevy Impala. He pulled a cigarette out of his jacket pocket. Newport. Red. He raised the cigarette to his lips, the flame from his weather proof dancing in the wind. He commented to himself as he puffed on the cigarette...

"Picked a bad night to come out, eh?"

(Indeed. But someone wishes to meet you, Cain. She's heard so much about you. She is very proud of you.)

"Proud? Of me? Heh."

He filled his lungs with smoke and billowed it out like dragon's fire.

"Noone could be more proud of me than I am, Legion. Noone. Didn't you see what I almost did to Morbid Angel?"

(Show mercy and practically get raped? Yes, we saw that. We also saw the dwarf king pin you for the Ark of the Covenant.)

He rolled his eyes, blowing smoke out into the air. He knew better than anyone that this past week hadn't gone so well. But still, he pressed on. He tried to keep a positive attitude, and due to his confidence that wasn't that difficult. But those two facts remained. The relevance was that he showed mercy and lost focus. He lacked focus and someone, or something wanted to help him with that. The rain died down slowly, and lightning streaked the sky once more. This was when he heard the whisper once more.

"Come to me, Cain."

His eyes darted back and forth for a moment. The voice had taken on a more physical precense now. There it was again...

"Come...to...me..."

...and it emanated from deeper in the cemetary. As if hypnotized, he made his way into the graveyard. Entranced. He continued to follow the feminine voice, and he smelled something in the air. Like a mix of lavender and sulfur. Not overpowering. He did come upon a dilpidated mausoleum. It was the size of a large house, with a large angel statue on each corner. Of course, the door was made of pure marble, and there were some ancient carvings in latin. Yes, the language spoken over two thousand years ago. Romulus looked at the text, confused.

Quote:Ad primam sanguine primogenitus victores spoliis ire. Quodam die ego ad te venio. Et loquar ad te, et audiemus. Nos magnarum gloriam.

The first born son of Adam and Eve looked down at the door for a few moments. He wasn't sure what to do at first. Which is why "The Voice" guided him.

"Open ....it....."

He looked up at the sky, almost as if that was the location of the voice.

"But how?"

"Kneel. Read his words, dearest."

Almost as if he kmew exactly what to do, he stepped backward. He dropped down to a knee and looked at the stone at his feet. Cain brushed away dirt, and read the next inscription, also in latin.

Quote:Solum potestis adipisci primogenitus sanguine virtus.

(Apparently, you need to shed your own blood. So do it.)

He narrowec his eyes.

"So you are saying that I need to cut myself to open the door?"

(It should be obvious, Cain. She wants you to prove your loyalty to the darkside.)

"To the darkside? What is this, Star Wars?"

He reached into his jacket pocket and from it produced a pure silver butterfly knife. He flipped the knife open, a slight breeze whistling over the razor sharp blade. As he held the palm of his hand open, he pressed the sharp blade against his palm. He dragged the blade and blood trickled down from his hand, dripping onto the latin inscription. He squeezed his palm and the blood poured, the door slowly creaking open. He stood, the wound on his hand closing. As he looked up, he noticed the source of the voice, greeting him with a seductive grin.

[Image: T7e0mjo.jpg]

"Aunt Lillith?"

Another seductive grin from the beautiful first born woman. She circled The Original Beast, and placed a hand on his chiseled chest.

"My, how you've grown."

How he has grown indeed. How, indeed.

-End Scene-
]]> <![CDATA[Mister Gunn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12227 Tue, 13 May 2014 19:00:16 -0700 Cain]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=12227 Hello, Thomas.

This is your friendly neighborhood murderer, Cain, speaking. I heard everything you said about me and of course I responded in kind. I said all the stuff I wanted to say in order to get my point across.

My point has been gotten across, because you haven't spoken.

Not since you did this very same thing I'm doing.

It's odd really. Odd that you would call me a false beast yet you'd suddenly maintain radio silence.

Not your words, I know. My perception. My perception of what you say is that you don't believe in monsters.

That's fine.

Many people do not. I understand that there are skeptics. It is human nature.

Let's talk about MY human nature, or what's left of it.

Northern Championship Wrestling. Two Time Television Champion. World Heavyweight Champion.

New England Championship Wrestling. First and only Revolutionary Champion.

Federation X. Superstar Champion. ICON Champion. Two Thousand Twelve Solidarity Cup Winner.

The point is, Thomas, that you don't seem to understand that this isn't simply a gimmick you are facing. I am as real as they come and this has lead me to championships.

"Boring stories" aside, I am hungry. Not for food. Not for human hearts, but for glory.

John Cena?

Daniel Bryan?

Ric Flair?

John Paul Levesque?

All of them are great, but soon, the only name in this business that will matter is the one I have taken.

Romulus.

Heinrich.

Winters.

Good day to you, sir.

-End-
]]> Hello, Thomas.

This is your friendly neighborhood murderer, Cain, speaking. I heard everything you said about me and of course I responded in kind. I said all the stuff I wanted to say in order to get my point across.

My point has been gotten across, because you haven't spoken.

Not since you did this very same thing I'm doing.

It's odd really. Odd that you would call me a false beast yet you'd suddenly maintain radio silence.

Not your words, I know. My perception. My perception of what you say is that you don't believe in monsters.

That's fine.

Many people do not. I understand that there are skeptics. It is human nature.

Let's talk about MY human nature, or what's left of it.

Northern Championship Wrestling. Two Time Television Champion. World Heavyweight Champion.

New England Championship Wrestling. First and only Revolutionary Champion.

Federation X. Superstar Champion. ICON Champion. Two Thousand Twelve Solidarity Cup Winner.

The point is, Thomas, that you don't seem to understand that this isn't simply a gimmick you are facing. I am as real as they come and this has lead me to championships.

"Boring stories" aside, I am hungry. Not for food. Not for human hearts, but for glory.

John Cena?

Daniel Bryan?

Ric Flair?

John Paul Levesque?

All of them are great, but soon, the only name in this business that will matter is the one I have taken.

Romulus.

Heinrich.

Winters.

Good day to you, sir.

-End-
]]>