Post by tai4165 on Sept 11, 2016 16:57:00 GMT -5
*CLANK*
The chime of iron against iron, a sound sudden and terrifying that leaves most with at least a shudder down their spine. To warriors that clad themselves with honor and blood, however, there is no serenade sweeter by which mortal man has ever strummed. This hymn echoed and danced through the worn down equipment yet crashed against the brick and cement walls that sealed one lone figure within it’s grasp. The air was chilled in the darkness of the room and the only sounds were the slight buzzing of the cheap air conditioning unit and the controlled almost inaudible breathing of Bruno Armstrong.
*CLANK*
The bits of silence that remained were broken once again by that thunderous clash of metal. His figure rose, his gauntlet clenching his tattered and worn out towel from around his neck and wiping the sweat from his brow. The forging of a weapon is a process that the greatest of knights never took for granted for it was a long and arduous labor that was the difference between life and death. This has not changed. Wiping down his machine before grabbing his shirt off of it, he stared at this small foreign hole in the wall gym one last time before he left out the door, passing the flickering 24-hour sign as he walked one step closer to his time in the ring.
In the far corner of the gym laid a pile of sand and the sandbag that was busted open and bruised on what remained. A small piece of paper that had a scribbled out apology and his contact information rested on top of all of the rubble.
Fire was in the air as the sun made it’s way west only after setting the surrounding area ablaze for hours. One man in a WCF sleeveless shirt was reclined on the park bench looking upwards towards the sky, seemingly waiting for something.
“I’m guessing you’re Armstrong right. Couldn’t have chosen a hotter day to do this outside could you?”
Bringing his head back to the upright position to see Hank Brown rallying his camera crew to follow him as Armstrong rose from his seat and had a microphone promptly in front of him. He could see that they were already rolling, the camera pointed at him and the red light next to the lens was blinking. So he smiled and began his debut into the world of the WCF.
“Well this place is special…”
“Why’s that?”
Armstrong didn’t answer and instead turned to look at the tower that loomed over them.
“Nice statue”
“You think? Well how about we take a closer look…”
He began walking toward the Vulcan’s tower but the interview wouldn’t stop just for a scene change.
“Anyways…How do you feel about your match Sunday?”
A pause was felt as the group entered the elevator. A strange feeling…like the calm before a storm filled the elevator during this brief lapse. Then before the doors of the room close his voice broke the silence into nothingness.
“What do you know of Roman Myths?”
“Um…good stories when you’re a kid”
“They are, but there’s always one that lights the fire within me.”
With those words, they arrived at their destination. Outside the now opening elevator door was an observation deck under the posed statue.
“Vulcan, the god of the forge. A god in his own right, appreciated for his gifts but shunned for how he looked. In all honesty, I grieve for this tragedy but thank him for his creations. His works transcended time and it all started from single coal that wasn’t put out yet. From that one unextinguished flare we were given the principles of the blacksmith where the crudest ore found in the depths of the earth and give way to a champions triumph.”
He paused looking at the interviewer.
“I’ve found that there is little difference between a blacksmith and a wrestler. One shapes metal and the other shapes the person. We destroy our rigid bodies and bring them to their limits so that they will build up and become stronger. They destroy the metal’s rigid nature with the blaze of a fire and the force of a hammer so that it can be molded into a weapon. I’ve forged my body in blood and sweat so that I…become a weapon in that ring, one that nobody is going to or can stop. My opponents are strong? Well, I’ll just have to be stronger.
“We have The Golden One, Steven Singh, an interesting metal to have as a nickname. You see it’s a very pretty nugget, shiny and glimmering on the outside…but it’s soft. But that’s just a normal nickname for a superstar so let’s go to his other nickname, Jack of All Trades, Master of One. So what is this trade that you have mastered newbie? Knitting? Gardening? Or bragging? I’m not saying that you don’t have some impressive feats behind you, but you don’t master wrestling until you fight every warrior on every plain of this earth and beat them within an inch of their lives. Are you saying you’ve done this? Because if you have then I’ll eat my words with a fork and knife. But until then, beat me in the ring or change your tune. As for “The Sure Thing”, I’d bet good money against it if I was as smart as you say you are.”
“Jay West on the other has already made his enemies before ever stepping foot into the ring. Look, I have no problem with him but it’s one thing to tweet about being a king and telling people to kneel to you, but why? What reason have you given to anyone in this company to take you serious? You have a great bravado that I hope doesn’t disappear in the ring this Sunday, but there’s a big difference between confidence and arrogance. I try to keep trash talk off of social media if I can. Why? Because anything anyone has to say to me, they can say to my face right before they feel a Rampart Punch across their face. A knight fights not with rumors or slander, but with his weapons bloodied by his enemies. So if you really “came here to dominate”, then stop the useless dribble from your twitter fingers, get into the ring, and beat me if you can.
“And last but not least there’s Drakkein, “The Fables, The King of the Damned, The Beast from the East, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… Listen, whether you’re a demon king from the land of the Lich or an Eragon cosplayer gone horribly horribly wrong, in fact, Dragons have a long history of being taken down by a knight in shining armor. But you are no dragon, and I have no shining armor. In that ring on Sunday, all you are is six feet and two inches of wrestler that needs to be taken down to the mat while the ref counts you out. One.
Bruno raises his hand showing one finger and adding one more with every number he calls out.
Two.
Three.
He shrugs and continues.
“So come at me with your “special powers”, your many names and your mask. And I’ll just tear each one of those down with every move I make. And if you want to try and sacrifice me or any other wrestler in that ring to your wrestling gods, I have a message from them. Your gods are a lie, and you are alone.”
He looked toward the sky and smiles leaning against the railing that surrounds the deck.
“But even so, you can learn so much from lies of gods and men…just like I did with Vulcan”
“He fascinates me”
He closes his eyes and continues his story.
“For one whole day he watched and stared mesmerized by the flame and I have done the same. For Drakkein, Steven Singh and Jay West, I have watched what they’ve done before the WCF and I must admit that I’m impressed; they are all fighters who are worthy of battling on the grand stage of the World Championship Federation. It would be naïve to not realize the strength of your opponents along with their weaknesses, especially when you’re outnumbered.”
He paused for a moment and looked toward the camera before continuing.
“On Sunday we’ll walk into that ring as enemies, all of us. I’ve seen wrestlers get done in by their own partners let alone an all for one match. It’s a three on one match and should be treated as such. Will I let them beat up on each other? Of course. Will I help my enemies to defeat the others? That may come to pass…”
His stare seemed to cut through the lens.
“But at the end of that battle when we’re all battered, bruised and bleeding…I’m coming out of the ring with the win.”
The scene fades to black only to cut back another scene with Armstrong in front of the Garret Coliseum. His eyes are fixated on the people getting everything ready for the match and all of the other wrestlers who were already there.
“Guess I’m not the only one who can’t wait to get in there”
Taking an energy from his bag, he couldn’t help but feel like electricity was raging through his veins as he smelled the fire in the air…or possibly the hotdog vendor was burning his merchandise. Regardless…
“I’m a man of my word, so let’s put your money where your mouth is big-shot.”
He crushed the can in his hand and threw it into a nearby trash can before walking toward the first day of the rest of his life.
*CLANK*
The chime of iron against iron, a sound sudden and terrifying that leaves most with at least a shudder down their spine. To warriors that clad themselves with honor and blood, however, there is no serenade sweeter by which mortal man has ever strummed. This hymn echoed and danced through the worn down equipment yet crashed against the brick and cement walls that sealed one lone figure within it’s grasp. The air was chilled in the darkness of the room and the only sounds were the slight buzzing of the cheap air conditioning unit and the controlled almost inaudible breathing of Bruno Armstrong.
*CLANK*
The bits of silence that remained were broken once again by that thunderous clash of metal. His figure rose, his gauntlet clenching his tattered and worn out towel from around his neck and wiping the sweat from his brow. The forging of a weapon is a process that the greatest of knights never took for granted for it was a long and arduous labor that was the difference between life and death. This has not changed. Wiping down his machine before grabbing his shirt off of it, he stared at this small foreign hole in the wall gym one last time before he left out the door, passing the flickering 24-hour sign as he walked one step closer to his time in the ring.
In the far corner of the gym laid a pile of sand and the sandbag that was busted open and bruised on what remained. A small piece of paper that had a scribbled out apology and his contact information rested on top of all of the rubble.
Fire was in the air as the sun made it’s way west only after setting the surrounding area ablaze for hours. One man in a WCF sleeveless shirt was reclined on the park bench looking upwards towards the sky, seemingly waiting for something.
“I’m guessing you’re Armstrong right. Couldn’t have chosen a hotter day to do this outside could you?”
Bringing his head back to the upright position to see Hank Brown rallying his camera crew to follow him as Armstrong rose from his seat and had a microphone promptly in front of him. He could see that they were already rolling, the camera pointed at him and the red light next to the lens was blinking. So he smiled and began his debut into the world of the WCF.
“Well this place is special…”
“Why’s that?”
Armstrong didn’t answer and instead turned to look at the tower that loomed over them.
“Nice statue”
“You think? Well how about we take a closer look…”
He began walking toward the Vulcan’s tower but the interview wouldn’t stop just for a scene change.
“Anyways…How do you feel about your match Sunday?”
A pause was felt as the group entered the elevator. A strange feeling…like the calm before a storm filled the elevator during this brief lapse. Then before the doors of the room close his voice broke the silence into nothingness.
“What do you know of Roman Myths?”
“Um…good stories when you’re a kid”
“They are, but there’s always one that lights the fire within me.”
With those words, they arrived at their destination. Outside the now opening elevator door was an observation deck under the posed statue.
“Vulcan, the god of the forge. A god in his own right, appreciated for his gifts but shunned for how he looked. In all honesty, I grieve for this tragedy but thank him for his creations. His works transcended time and it all started from single coal that wasn’t put out yet. From that one unextinguished flare we were given the principles of the blacksmith where the crudest ore found in the depths of the earth and give way to a champions triumph.”
He paused looking at the interviewer.
“I’ve found that there is little difference between a blacksmith and a wrestler. One shapes metal and the other shapes the person. We destroy our rigid bodies and bring them to their limits so that they will build up and become stronger. They destroy the metal’s rigid nature with the blaze of a fire and the force of a hammer so that it can be molded into a weapon. I’ve forged my body in blood and sweat so that I…become a weapon in that ring, one that nobody is going to or can stop. My opponents are strong? Well, I’ll just have to be stronger.
“We have The Golden One, Steven Singh, an interesting metal to have as a nickname. You see it’s a very pretty nugget, shiny and glimmering on the outside…but it’s soft. But that’s just a normal nickname for a superstar so let’s go to his other nickname, Jack of All Trades, Master of One. So what is this trade that you have mastered newbie? Knitting? Gardening? Or bragging? I’m not saying that you don’t have some impressive feats behind you, but you don’t master wrestling until you fight every warrior on every plain of this earth and beat them within an inch of their lives. Are you saying you’ve done this? Because if you have then I’ll eat my words with a fork and knife. But until then, beat me in the ring or change your tune. As for “The Sure Thing”, I’d bet good money against it if I was as smart as you say you are.”
“Jay West on the other has already made his enemies before ever stepping foot into the ring. Look, I have no problem with him but it’s one thing to tweet about being a king and telling people to kneel to you, but why? What reason have you given to anyone in this company to take you serious? You have a great bravado that I hope doesn’t disappear in the ring this Sunday, but there’s a big difference between confidence and arrogance. I try to keep trash talk off of social media if I can. Why? Because anything anyone has to say to me, they can say to my face right before they feel a Rampart Punch across their face. A knight fights not with rumors or slander, but with his weapons bloodied by his enemies. So if you really “came here to dominate”, then stop the useless dribble from your twitter fingers, get into the ring, and beat me if you can.
“And last but not least there’s Drakkein, “The Fables, The King of the Damned, The Beast from the East, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… Listen, whether you’re a demon king from the land of the Lich or an Eragon cosplayer gone horribly horribly wrong, in fact, Dragons have a long history of being taken down by a knight in shining armor. But you are no dragon, and I have no shining armor. In that ring on Sunday, all you are is six feet and two inches of wrestler that needs to be taken down to the mat while the ref counts you out. One.
Bruno raises his hand showing one finger and adding one more with every number he calls out.
Two.
Three.
He shrugs and continues.
“So come at me with your “special powers”, your many names and your mask. And I’ll just tear each one of those down with every move I make. And if you want to try and sacrifice me or any other wrestler in that ring to your wrestling gods, I have a message from them. Your gods are a lie, and you are alone.”
He looked toward the sky and smiles leaning against the railing that surrounds the deck.
“But even so, you can learn so much from lies of gods and men…just like I did with Vulcan”
“He fascinates me”
He closes his eyes and continues his story.
“For one whole day he watched and stared mesmerized by the flame and I have done the same. For Drakkein, Steven Singh and Jay West, I have watched what they’ve done before the WCF and I must admit that I’m impressed; they are all fighters who are worthy of battling on the grand stage of the World Championship Federation. It would be naïve to not realize the strength of your opponents along with their weaknesses, especially when you’re outnumbered.”
He paused for a moment and looked toward the camera before continuing.
“On Sunday we’ll walk into that ring as enemies, all of us. I’ve seen wrestlers get done in by their own partners let alone an all for one match. It’s a three on one match and should be treated as such. Will I let them beat up on each other? Of course. Will I help my enemies to defeat the others? That may come to pass…”
His stare seemed to cut through the lens.
“But at the end of that battle when we’re all battered, bruised and bleeding…I’m coming out of the ring with the win.”
The scene fades to black only to cut back another scene with Armstrong in front of the Garret Coliseum. His eyes are fixated on the people getting everything ready for the match and all of the other wrestlers who were already there.
“Guess I’m not the only one who can’t wait to get in there”
Taking an energy from his bag, he couldn’t help but feel like electricity was raging through his veins as he smelled the fire in the air…or possibly the hotdog vendor was burning his merchandise. Regardless…
“I’m a man of my word, so let’s put your money where your mouth is big-shot.”
He crushed the can in his hand and threw it into a nearby trash can before walking toward the first day of the rest of his life.
*CLANK*
