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[Elistara]

Alright everyone, thanks to Zorax for suggesting this.

Here is how it will go down. Your entry must be posted on this thread in way of a reply. This will just make it easier for us to have a master list of the entries.

The contest will run from 10-24-2009 to 11-01-2009. Judging will take place starting on 11-02-2009.

The winner will be awarded 100 game credits, and if possible, something very special. I won't spoil it until I have a chance to speak to Bell.

This contest will happen from time to time, and there will be a post showcasing the winners and their entry.

All entries must be between 200-750 words. I decided to add a cap because imagine if everyone wrote 5000+ word entries? It would take far too long to read and judge them. I also like the idea of seeing what people can do within those boundaries. Many people can write brilliant role-plays, but can you do it within guidelines?

Spelling and grammar count, so make sure and double check your entries before posting them.

Good luck, and have fun!

Edit - I forgot to mention, no off-topic, no discussions, etc... That will make me have to delete them, and probably disqualify you. So pleas,e don't do that, I really don't want to have to do either!

Edit #2 - This is about your wrestler, not about random topics like "The Fairies of Pluto invading the Space Ninja's of Uranus" like Joose asked...

Edit #3 - Since Mr Pain asked, your segment can be about an abstract wrestler you have not created if you want. It just needs to be within the setting of this game; a.k.a. wrestling.

[Snapshot]

(The story of my unnamed wrestler. I think it's fitting. 516 words not counting what's in this parenthesis. Enjoy!)

A warrior lives his life for a number of reasons. They fight for glory. They fight for honor. They fight for themselves. Sometimes, however, they fight for their families. They fight to defend everything they care for from those who would seek to deal them harm.

A light drizzle of rain sprinkles a battlefield, diluting the blood of the fallen heroes of both sides. The scorched earth underfoot is only barely visible under the slain. Each one of these men died here with a story. Each one died for something they believed to be bigger than themselves. Every so often however, that something bigger chooses them. That something bigger lies in Asgard.

Asgard, the land of the Gods, lies within the highest branches of the World Tree. They quibble amongst themselves for little more than political power and prestige amongst themselves. The foot soldiers of these wars are chosen from the slain in our world. They are hand selected by death goddesses they call "Valkyries".

Imagine the pride you can feel when you know your father is out on the front line, defending your country from the invading hordes from the north. When a month passes without word of him upon the front line, your feelings tend to change. When that letter finally arrives that he was slain in battle, you're crushed. When the sergeant hands you your father's weapon and a single cerulean plume though, you're supposed to feel pride. The mark of the Valkyrie. Your father has been chosen.

For a little bit, I suppose I was. Yes, it was my father chosen by the death goddess. It's a great honor to be thought of above all other mortal warriors, but there's more to it than that. Upon news of his death, my mother slipped silently into depression. That depression quickly spiraled into madness. Our country, the very one my father died to help protect, did nothing for us. The gods, the ones who saw fit to rip my father from us at his prime, did nothing for us. It got me thinking.

The gods would fight amongst themselves and steal our fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters for little more than a lark? What's to say they didn't plan those wars to get us to fight amongst ourselves? What makes you think they don't just use this world as a crucible to fuel their next string of cage fights between what they see as little more than animals? Well, no more!

The day my mother took her knife and plunged it into her own heart out of despair, I made a vow. No more would our world be ruled by those who would rather seek our pain than our rise. No more would I let another family be destroyed by the god's machinations.

I will take my father's sword, and I will plunge it into the heart of the death goddess that took him from me. Upon her corpse, I will leave the very plume she left me with. I will have my revenge, even if that costs my life.

Especially if it costs me my life.

[Cody]

Life. The gift we have been given that leaves us searching our brains for answers. What is life? Why was I created? Do I have a soul? – You see, every day, I run these questions and many more through my head every day. Why? Because the thought of human life or any life for that matter, intrigues me. I mean, don’t you just find it a little bit strange?

Scientists... every day, they continuously beat their heads in with mental hammers until the answers they seek come out, yet they are still ignorant of all the possibilities. This world we live in… it’s based around logic, but what if our logic is wrong? What if everything we believe in, everything we know is just the tip of the ice berg?

You see, people call me strange because I believe. I believe in all different types of ‘illogical things’ that seem completely unrealistic to everyone around me, because they’ve grown so accustomed to the way things apparently are, that the thought of something more, something bigger than ourselves, bigger than this so called ‘God’, more complex than we could ever understand existing frightens them.

Humans, fragile creatures, easily scared, but not me, no. I believe that one day people will grow to accept and believe my way of life. The time it takes does not matter, as this body is simple a vessel for my soul. Once this one dies, I shall move on to the next and continue to spread my way of life, and through my teachings, we as humans shall become stronger. I will diminish this fear that holds us back; the boundaries of what current ‘logic’ is will no longer restrain us. Things that seemed like impossible feats to us will become as simple as a card trick, and we as a race shall evolve.

Just imagine it, a world where only those willing to push past the limits that have held us back for so long will survive. Those willing to break free of their chains, to become something else, will strive! Nothing will be able to stand in our way. Things like space will become mere playgrounds for us. The universe will be in the palm of our hands.

I’ve already found the perfect place to start converting people into my belief. Professional wrestling, inside the ring where bodies are broken, and minds are torn apart. Soon, the professional wrestlers of the world shall follow my beliefs, and when they do, I’ll be just one step closer to getting through to the rest of the world.

Sadly, that goal is still years away from completion, so for now I shall disappear into the wrestling world.

Let the Chaos begin.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's about a psychopath who is hell bent on forcing his beliefs onto people. He believes his soul can live on in other bodies which will continue his work, so he's trying to slowly take over the wrestling world and force them into believing him with violence, then the world with professional wrestling (TV time and shiz.)

Idk, made it up before.

[Zorax]

Should really hand in an RP seeing as a I suggested it.

I really don't know what to write, seeing as my bio 'The Story of Zorax' is over like 6 parts and hence probably over the 750 word limit...


So I'll take a shot at RPing with Zorax as a heel. Haven't done that a lot.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Our cameras return ringside, where we see a newcomer standing in the ring, with a microphone. He is receiving a lukewarm reception from the crowds, who clearly would rather see the more established stars in his place. He begins to speak...

Zorax: WAZZZZZAAAAA!!!

The crowd livens up a bit. A few fans cheer, a few yell back 'Wazza'. A section of the crowd seem to know Zorax, and remember him for his exploits in Relentless Wrestling and WWC. But most of them remain unmoved...

Zorax: I see some of you here know me here. But how could you not? You would have to be living under a rock for the last few months to NOT know who I am!

But then again...judging by this crowd...I guess many of you couldn't even AFFORD to live under a rock...

A chorus of boos break out, and Zorax smiles

You see...I am not like you people. I am not an Average Joe who goes about his daily life, doing his boring routine job, talking to his dull, average friends and then going back home to his bland and uninteresting family. I am far, FAR better.

More boos break out now, the crowd aren't liking this! Zorax continues on regardless, pointing at different members of the crowds.

I am better than you, I am better than you, and I am certainly better than YOU! And you all know it!

The crowd is giving Zorax huge heat, and Zorax is lapping it up

You know why? Because I have accomplished more in my short career than all of you could even DREAM about accomplishing!

Because in the space of a few months I have reached heights higher than you guys could even
imagine!

It's because I have more talent in this one, tiny little finger than all of you have combined!

I am stronger, smarter, faster, and better than all of you will EVER be.

HUGE boos from the crowd, and Zorax continues on regardless

I am better than anyone in this crowd, and I am for damn sure better than any other wrestler in this building!

And you know this is true, you all do. Because when you get back home, to your boring, miserable lives, you will think of this show. And you will remember it. And you will remember me. And you will go to bed, wishing you could have even a minute FRACTION of the ability and talent I posses.

But you won't and you never will.

And that's why you'll come back. Day after day, week after week, show after show. To watch ME, to bask in my greatness, and to secretly hope and desire that one day, maybe just one day, you could be even a little bit like me.

But that day will never happen, and you will continue to sit in those stands, the mindless drones that you are, and watch ME dominate.

You know...they say Life, is a lot like a game of Cricket.

Only the best survive.

And I AM the best.

Zorax drops the mic, and exits the ring to HUGE boos from the crowd. The show cuts to ads...

[Niv]

Had to edit an old RP.. but well, here it is:

_____________________

Our scene opens outside of a local bar in downtown Sacramento. To describe the place as a dive would be unearthly generous. The front door hangs by a thread, dirt and graffiti litter the area and several of the windows are busted out. A row of motorcycles line the section of street in front of the building, old school bikes and the hardened men who own them. And outside the front door, several men in leather and covered in tattoos hoot and holler as they enjoy their beers and bull with each other. The sounds of laughter, yelling and a muffled hint of music fill the air and emanate from the bar, truly the kind of place most people go far out their way to avoid. However, on this night, two individuals have gone to great lengths to find such a place and their journey has led them to the darkened sidewalk just across the street. There we find the enigmatic Mister Jingles, cold eyes locked on the front of the building as he runs his tongue along the corners of his mouth, ready for whatever chaos he may end up in on this night. But next to him, the force holding him back is the mysterious Handler, a man of culture, of experience and most importantly, a student of chaos. The Handler looks across the street at the burly men, each more intimidating than the next, and cannot help but to grin.

I'm well aware that this particular location is a bit unconventional for what all of you small-minded people out there have come to expect from Jingles, but this location serves a very unique, very specific purpose. In simple terms, this establishment is a den of iniquity, home to a host of rogue elements, individuals who often stray away from the accepted norms of society for a more vicious, more violent way of life. These are the kinds of people who are often shunned or avoided by you normal members of society, pushed away because so many of you are scared of what they might do. Scared by stories of the boogeyman, by tales of monsters and men coming for you in your beds and so, society has groomed you to turn a blind eye to these people, to simply leave them to their own sub-culture and look upon them curiously from afar. Men such as my monster, Mr. Jingles. -He smirks- Look at it...the strife, the bitterness, the raw aggression that simply oozes from this place.

Here next to me, is a man of proven aggression, a man who is more often than not, defined by the unbridled violence he inflicts upon others, a man who stands unintimidated, a man who welcomes the levels of anger, rage and depravity that the true nature of human beings can only provide him.
Sirs, Jingles is beyond Heaven and Hell, beyond good and evil. He is beyond the concept of alpha and omega, he simply IS and that is all that is required of him! Next time you will look this abomination performing, you will be looking  into the eyes of the single most destructive force to ever terrorize the wrestling business. No matter who his opponent is, I can assure he will stand firmly within the fiery depths of hell, and there won’t be a way out for him! Jingles will come looking to taste your blood, to feed off your pain, to nourish himself on the screams. You have no idea how much Jingles is about to change this company...and it will never, EVER be the same!


-black-

[Colby Cash]

A man stands alone in a parking lot, with nothing but a few cars surrounding him. He stands directly under a streetlight, the only light that can be seen. A highway can be seen to his left, with occasional flashes of car headlights flying by. The man has a blank expression on his thin face. None of his emotions can be seen until he begins to speak.

“We all make mistakes, big and small. We lose focus, we become lazy, we lose our heads and grow angry, and we stop caring. We have all been there, but not to the level I have.”

There is sadness in the man’s voice and he begins to hang his head. The man pauses, composing himself, and then begins to speak again.

“Yes, I made a huge mistake, one that changed my life, for the drastic worse. My two greatest influences in my life, gone because of my lack of focus, because of my laziness, because of my anger, and because of my carelessness.”

Anger rises in the man’s voice and he is almost shouting now.

“It was my stupidity that did it! It was my fault! On that same highway to my left is the last place where they lived and it’s all because of me!”

The man relaxes a little more now and his voice gets softer, showing sadness again.

“But I have learned from it. It has taught me a lesson that the rest of society doesn’t know. This is why I do the things I do. This is why I take the risks I take. I do it for them; everything I do is for them. They are the reason I am smarter, faster, stronger, and better than the rest. Because of that crash, I am the man I have come to be. Everything happens for a reason. Because of my faults, I am better. This is the vicious cycle we live by. Life takes, and life gives. Life takes, and life gives. While life took the two most important people in my life, life has given back so much more.”

A strong wind comes from the man’s left and as he walks away from the highway, the wind seems to carry him away. The camera fades to black.



OOC: Just to clear up some stuff, its about how his parent's died in a car accident. Just threw it together from bits and pieces of my gimmick.

[Norwegian Playboy]

The camera zooms in on a guy's face half covered with blood.

The guy: I bet you wondering why you looking on a bloody face. And who am i?

The guy wipes some blood off with a white towel which turns to blood red and tosses it aside.

The guy: To start off my name is John, I am called CrazyJohn cause i simply refuse to give up without a fight.

John gets a weird smile upon his face before he speaks again.

John: I have also done a lot of wrong stuff that gave me this name but I am not going to bore you with that.
My journey was long to get where I am, a lot of blood have been spilled, a lot of tears have been shed.

Blood keeps pouring down from a cut over his left eye. he uses the not so white towel again.

John: Let me tell you my story from the first time i stepped into a ring and where I am today. Well in a short version of course.

Camera zooms out from his face and show a full profile as he takes a seat on the floor and leans against the wall.

John: First time i was only 16 years old, my dad was my coach. He always supported me but not this day.
The club i was in made a bet against me and my dad joined  them as he had no belief in me for the fight.

The guy was almost 6'10 and with a large build with muscles as big as a horse.
My dad kept screaming "Just lay down, save yourself against this monster. Next match we'll take home the win".
I ignored him and just as the referee signals for the bell i take a salto to get distance from him, I ended up in my corner where dad was standing.
My opponent out of blue explodes into a spear which I manage to avoid........
But not my dad, he received it and fell from the ring to floor where he banged his head into the concrete and comatose for a week.
I won that match by using all the rage I had stored up for years. I exploded into this uncontrolable rage, when i snapped out of it the referee was raising my hand high above my head.
My dad woke up from coma 2days later, he was mad at me when i told him i won.
He went on how he had a bet against me.

John looks down on floor with a sad face for a few seconds before he looks up and laugh.

John: So I smashed a chair into his head, and he got another week in "dream" land.
My mom went crazy and tossed me out onto the street.
After a few weeks of random fighting a scout from Wrestling Havoc, offered me a roof over my head and a weekly payment if I joined him in this world.
As you maybe now understand i said yes.
So today i fight with everything i have, I still manage to pull all the rage up when needed to knock my opponent out.
Of course i do receive beatings myself, i still need the training, but one day it will be gold around my waist!

John raises up and walk away.

[JackJones]

The lights dim. Heavy guitar cuts in. A man with a black hoody and sparking white pants walks down towards the ring. Instinctively, they boo the man. The Letters JONES run up the side of his pants. He pauses for a moment, letting the vocals of; “Blood on my hands” by the Used seemingly go the same pace as his walking speed. He reaches the ring with a microphone in his hands. Soon the music fades, and a chorus of boos and chants of “You suck!” begins to erupt from the crowd.

The crowd screams, “What!” more too mock Jones then to actually know what he has in store.

Jack Jones: “Week after week I have watched a certain wrestler run his mouth. I’ve watched him antagonize me – and I’m pretty much sick of it. I’ve decided to... intervene. And I am sure you will all admire and respect my handy work.”

He continues to smirk egotistically as the crowd starts to panic slightly.

Jack Jones: “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Cody “The Hawk” Ankarres!”

The crowd cheers suddenly but cannot see him. Suddenly a figure drops from the lighting area, a noose tied around his throat. As the noose becomes taut with the drop, it snaps and the figure slams headfirst into the floor, blood spilling everywhere. The fans suddenly go dead silent – their hero in this situation has been slain by the villain. The lights turn on. It’s a dummy.

Jack Jones: “You’ll be surprised how realistic tomato sauce looks. I just love the impressions on your pathetic faces – the look of utter horror. If I could recreate that one more time... just so you fiends could understand what your greed is doing to the world... I guess I could make this world a better place. I-“

Suddenly, “Breathe your life into me” by Red hits the speakers and the crowd jumps in anticipation. Their hero has arrived. They watch eagerly at the entranceway for Cody to appear, but he does not arrive.

Jack Jones: “Where oh where could that Cody be. Is he... in the crowd? Is he... behind the announce table. Or maybe... just maybe...”

Jones walks down to ringside and looks under the ring. Suddenly he pulls Cody, who is bound by ropes and drags him into the ring. The fans erupt once more; some begin pelting objects at Jones who seems so proud of himself.

Jack Jones: “He finally makes an entrance.  The famous and ever-so-loved Cody Ankarres is finally in the building. Although, his movements a little restricted and he is a little sore from being knocked out backstage, it’s still your hero!”

“You sick freak! You sick freak!” The crowd begins to chant as Jones looks on with eager eyes.

Jack Jones: “So why Cody? He embodies the one you all love; who you all aspire to be. And your so called “aspirations” are the same one’s that make little African children starve. Does that make you happy? No, but consumerism does. Your greed fuels the death in the far reaches of the world. But you’re not concerned with that are you? It’s not a worry for people like you. You’re more concerned with health plans. You’re more concerned of when you can cash that big check in so you can get that 50 inch plasma high definition TV of yours!”

The smirk from Jones’ face is gone. All that is shown is his anger and wrath.

Jack Jones: “So now, because of your sins, Cody must suffer. He will become a martyr for consumerism. All your expensive tastes now come to pain for a hero of yours. But that should be the LEAST of your concerns. You’ve indirectly caused the death of thousands. Now I add another to that list – Cody Ankarres. When you see this, when you witness what you’ve caused... I want you to think about everything you’ve bought in the last couple of years. This is it coming back to haunt you.”

With that, Jones leaves the ring, gripping a chair with both hands and walking straight up next to Cody. He slams it over his head, over and over, not stopping till the blood flows from the ring. He eventually seems satisfied, throwing the chair at the now prone Cody. Medics arrive at the scene as “Blood on my hands” plays throughout the arena. Jones leaves with a satisfied smirk as the view of the ring slowly fades out.

[New character, a heel who can actually justify his actions. I lieks it. Also, 745 words ftw.]

[Hardware Harv]

(Before I begin I have a quick question. I have two wrestlers with two different gimmicks. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that I can't make more than one Roleplay per contest, but on the off chance that I can, I just wanted to clarify. That being said, here's what I am all about.)

The camera fades in on an athletic looking man with gray eyes, a short messy hairstyle, with a confident smirk, and clad in wrestling gear standing in front of a solid white backdrop. He has a gray singlet, with red elbow pads, red knee pads, and red wrestling boots.

"Ladies and Gentleman! Mark this date down on your calenders! Tonight! History...will be made! You may not realize it tonight...or even tomorrow night...but rest assured that one day...you will reflect upon your past! And you will realize that you bore witness...to the debut...of The Superior Man! Andrew Harvey!"

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey puts his hands on his hips, shakes his head, and laughs.

"What's funny is I know full well...that all of you inferior mooks watching at home...are saying to yourselves 'This guy talks big for a newcomer.' and although you don't realize it yet...despite the fact I am new to all of you...I have a wealth of superior wrestling knowledge! Have any of you ever heard of a little place called the Bodyslammer's Gym? I'm probably giving all of you inferior mooks too much credit thinking that you actually have any knowledge of where someone would go to become a wrestler..."

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey stops smirking and glares with determination in the camera while clenching his fists.

"Ever hear of a wrestler named Al Snow? Yeah! His school! Although Al Snow didn't train me directly...a wrestler by the name of Crusher Kline did!"

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey glares harder into the camera visibly clenching his teeth.

"And I KNOW...that NONE OF YOU...INFERIOR...MOOKS...know...who he is..."

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey takes a deep breath, calms down slightly, and raises his left arm in front of his body with his fist still clenched.

"Crusher Kline was one of Al's top students...but he suffered a career ending injury before he reached his full potential! Despite this, once Al was too busy to run the school anymore...he appointed Crusher as Head Trainer of his gym... Crusher knows everything about wrestling that Al knows...and he taught it ALL to me! Don't believe me? I know that you mooks out there know what the Internet is! Look him up! I don't resort to inferior ideologies such as lying!"

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey lowers his arm, and laughs once again.

"I'm the real deal! I am a real life wrestler with superior genetics...and superior wrestling training...from a superior wrestler! And I know that NONE of you watching this right now can say that! That's why I'm on THE SUPERIOR SIDE of the camera...living my dream! While all of you are slaving away at a minimum wage job...that you despise with every fibre of your being...to come home to make GROTESQUE love to your GROTESQUE girlfriends...tossing and turning...ALL NIGHT LONG...wishing...dreaming...hoping for a way to be relinquished from the self-inducted rut...that you have dug yourself into because you SETTLE for inferiority!"

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey points into the camera.

"But you all have heard me talk long enough...and while I could talk about how great I am all day long...it is now time for my superior wrestling skill to do the talking for me! I will walk down that isle each and every night...step into that ring...stare a hole through my opponent...and show them as well as each and every single one of you first hand...that I AM THE SUPERIOR MAN!"

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey begins to tense up his muscles, clenching his fists by his side while clenching his teeth.

"AND DON'T YOU EVER...FORGET IT!"

"The Superior Man" Andrew Harvey maintains this stance until the camera fades to black.

[ThePhillyPhighter]

The lights in the arena turn off completely, but before anyone can start complaining that it is too dark to see anything, a spotlight is turned on. The spotlight is on the center of the ring, on a man in a red baseball cap sitting in a black steel chair. His brown eyes are staring down past his jeans and t-shirt at his feet.
 
The Man: Life is a game, boy. Life is a game that one plays according to the rules. That's from the Catcher in the Rye, and you know what? I agree. Life does seem to be a game. In case you don't know who I am, my name is the Philadelphia Phighter. But I prefer Phighter at this moment.

A smile appears on the Philadelphia Phighter's face.
 
Phighter: I know most of you probably have no idea who I am, but let me tell you something: In my last federation, I was the best wrestler. Not only was I the best wrestler in the federation, but I reached the peak of my career. There I was, holding up my championship, kissing it like it was a new baby boy. I walked to the back, and I shook the General Manager's hand, and we shared a moment of mutual appreciation. We had not gotten along that much, but you know what, for once, I thought we actually were friends. I took my paycheck, packed my bags, and went home to Philadlephia for a vacation.
 
Phighter's smile disappears. A look of anger has taken its place.

Phighter: When I came back from my vacation, you know what happened? I found this man drunk in his office, with his feet up on his desk. I kicked them off and started asking him questions. You know what? He began babbling at me. Those sick, uncomprehendable words coming at me while that evil smell of alcohol filled the room.
 
Phighter sits up in his chair and looks down at his feet.
 
Phighter: I went from king of the world to king of the garbage can. You know why? Because he changed the rules. Just when he saw I was enjoying myself the most, he grabbed a can and started drinking. You know why he probably started drinking? Because I'm still on parole. Alcohol is the devil's spit...and sometimes I can't get enough. But this evil man sat there and drank it, daring me to  fall back into temptation. But you know what I did?
 
Phighter smiles a sinister smile.
 
Phighter: I grabbed the beer bottle from him. After he reached over the table, I broke it over his head. He fell back into that chair as the alcohol dripped all over the files on his desk, and blood began to pour out of his head. I've never felt so satisfied to make a man bleed. I worked to become champion, and then he wanted to ruin it for me. I still have a picture of him on my phone. Whenever I flip open my phone, his bloody body greets me.
 
Phighter reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. He holds it up. It is the handle of a brown bottle, but more than half of the bottle is missing.
 
Phighter: This bottle...it's brought out a darker side of me. A side I forgot I had. And you know what? I LOVE this side of me.
 
Phighter's sinister smile gets bigger as he stands up and drops the microphone, leaving the crowd to sit in stunned silence.

[Jack Corben]

The crowd murmurs, discussing what they've seen and what they expect to see while waiting for the next event. The speakers come to life, overpowering the crowd with unfamiliar theme music. The crowd gives no positive or negative response, instead waiting to see who will appear.

A man appears at the top of the ramp: a little over six feet tall, muscular, with black hair pulled back into a pony tail, and an almost tangible air of self-importance. Without making eye contact with the crowd, the man walks to the ring.

Once in the ring, he walks over to a turnbuckle, climbs it, and sits on top of it with his back hunched over and his eyes pointing down as though in deep thought. He begins speaking as soon as he's settled.

Jack “The Wiseman” Corben: Professional wrestling was not born in Greece, professional wrestling was born in the circus. All pro wrestling has descended from the Sideshow, and as a result has always been held back by it's nature as a low-brow attraction for small men. That is it's nature, and you cannot fight nature.

The crowd, not knowing who the man is, does not immediately begin booing, although the 'attraction for small men' comment does draw some heat.

Professional wrestling hitherto has been about attracting a cheap emotional reaction from the crowd. Men are encouraged to act better than they really are and worse than they really are in order to create the illusion of a match being about good against evil. This is no different than actors performing in a movie, but we can be better.

It's all bad writers writing bad scripts for piss-poor actors. At one time this was enough, back when the promoters could sustain the illusion, but it's becoming impossible for the Sideshow to maintain it's appeal now that people see it as it really is. People are walking away from it, they can no longer stomach it's cheap, sleazy flavor.

The crowd, obviously wrestling fans, begin booing.

You're all the devoted few, but there's a better class of wrestling fan out there that still requires quality before they'll spend their time on it. The Sideshow is incapable of satisfying them, and that's why I'm here: I'm proclaiming the end of the Sideshow.

The Wiseman looks up and scans the crowd for the first time before climbing down from the turnbuckle and walking into the middle of the ring.

Look backstage and you will find athletes only in the loosest sense of the term! I guarantee you won't find a single entertainer! The fact of the matter is that in order to build a better industry, we need better material! Not these cheap actors and over-used insults, no, we don't need fictional characters. What we need is a new class of wrestler, who is in reality so magnificent that he doesn't need to adopt a persona to be interesting.

That is the new kind of wrestler that I'm heralding! It's time for the fans to stop accepting this overused, pre-digested, simplistic, uninteresting, unartistic drivel, and demand a new professional wrestling with new wrestlers! You devoted few here tonight would happily swallow whatever moist, brown pulp these men present to you, that's why it's only logical that you would hate me. I'm speaking to those who can still think critically, that's why it just sounds like nonsense to you!

The Wiseman pauses to listen to the crowds reaction to hear if he has any support from the crowd. As would be expected, he has none, only booing, but there is one man in the front drunkenly, loudly chanting 'I love pulp.'

I'm going to save professional wrestling from itself. It's time that the old Sideshow die, and a newer, more real form of competition take it's place! With real personalities! With real hatreds!

Hate me if you want; in fact, I want you to. I want you to experience hating someone for who they actually are instead of hating them for the gimmick a drunken promo writer developed. Hate it, but the days of the cartoonish Sideshow are coming to a close. I swear it!

The Wiseman puts the microphone down while a smattering of boos run throughout the crowd. With a look of self-satisfaction, he exits the ring and begins heading back up the ramp to backstage. After a few moments, the crowd breaks into a chant of “bring out the chicks! Bring out the chicks!”

“Woot for boobs!”

[Gangrene]

Ok I thought I would just write something up and see how it goes.....any way here goes nothing.....lol.....


Story Name: Bar Talk....

Vincent open's the story up , he is an bartender , but on the side he is also an wrestler. Who hope's that one day he will become one half of the world's heavyweight tag team champion's of NWA Wrestling......

Vincent:"Sure is different around here without Curtis.

We see Vincent Black, clean shaven with his hair trimmed slightly, standing behind the bar, wearing a black "Hardcore Drinking" bartender t-shirt. Next to him is the always lovely Heidi, wearing a matching t-shirt, except the sleeves are cut off to reveal what appears to be a new tattoo on her shoulder. It has some green and pink in it.

Heidi: "Yeah, but his baby girl is on her way right now, darlin'. He's gonna be so happy when he come's back. It was good of you to give him this week off, with pay."

The door open's, and in walk's Chet, all by himself. No cameraman. No microphone. He's wearing a black windbreaker and jean's. He walk's to the bar, sits down, and smile's.

Chet: "Vince. Heidi. How are you guy's?"

Heidi respond's with a smile , and start's some idle chatting, but Vincent walk's away for a moment. He come's back with a shot glass of what appears to be beer of some sort. He set's it down in front of Chet.

Vincent:"Try this....

Chet take's the drink , and start's to drink it....

Vincent: Bubba and I are thinking of brewing our own stuff , but we're not quite sure if it's gonna pan out. Your opinion?"


Chet: "Well, Vincent, it look's like living in the South has finally taken it's toll on your accent. I hear a little bit of a twang in there, buddy."

Vincent look's at Heidi, who just laugh's as Chet taste's the brew.

Then promptly spit's it out.


Heidi and Vincent both start to laugh, as Chet look's up in disgust.

Chet:"What in the hell was in that glass?!" he yell's, and Vincent simply replie's "Just purged my keg line's. Figured you'd like it."

Chet shake's his head, still with the "bitter beer face" look. Heidi look's up to Vince and smile's before walking away. Vincent walk's around the bar, and sits next to Chet, who look's like he's finally recovered from the content's of the glass.

Vincent:"What bring's you around here, little man?"

 Chet: "I'd like to talk to you about you and Master P being the number one team in NWA, and facing a team that is without-a-doubt one of the hottest team's in NWA history."

Vincent smile's, yet it's not a calm, relaxing one.

Vincent:"Well, Chet, let me tell you a story. It start's off with a man named Vincent Black, who back in 2008, was one half of the best tag team that year. The Best of the Best.

Master P , and I took our opponent's out easily, methodically, and brutally. We bled, sure, but we made our opponent's bleed, as well.

This year, we was in the Best of the Best Tournament, but couldn't get it done. No way, no how. We lost to some second rate reject's who couldn't even beat up my on moma. These reject's where , The Freak and SHutdown.....but you know what , these reject's don't stand one chance in hell of beating me and Master P again?! A word of advice for those two morons... don't show up."

Vincent stand's up and walk's behind the bar as a few more customer's walk in. He reach's down, and place's a Bud Light on the bar in front of Chet and pop's it open for him, before walking to the next set of customer's to ask how they are, and what they'd like to drink.

THE SCENE FADE'S TO BLACK AFTER VINCENT SET'S THE BUD LIGHT ON THE BAR....

[Elistara]

Closed.

Ok judges, get to work!