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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » "WAR GAMES" PPV RP Board
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#1
10-20-2014, 10:59 PM

WizardEvertrustWonder


  • I count him braver who overcomes his ⇉> desires,
    than him who conquers his
    ⇉> enemies;
    for the hardest victory, is the victory over self.

    -Aristotle




The clicking of his voice recorder welcomes us.

As I stand here at this crosswalk with a few other people, they can't help but to glance at me and wonder who this well dressed pedestrian is who's talking into a tape recorder, waiting with them to cross this preposterously busy street. The smirk and chortle one of them exhibited just now upon hearing me speak is a welcomed reaction. Looking ahead I see it; ahhh yes and it's what we've all been waiting ever so patiently for…

the walk signal

And while it's an everyday part of the lives of these people walking nearby, I still can't help but to find the utmost hilarity in all of this stop-and-go hokum. To think intelligent beings who can manipulate matter should need to come to a complete standstill while they wait for a signal is perhaps the most shining example of just how troubled this particular stage of humanity truly is. Delays, collisions, lost directions, stop signs, red lights, more delays—the endless myriad of downright depressing expectations this world has for a setting of physical conveyance, and why? Why should a street walker need to wait at an intersection? Why should a driver need to stop for a red light? Why is there even a need for a street at the same level as those who walk, and why is this Earth's idea of walking so restricted to physical force?

Say it with me, friends: Because it's just the way it's supposed to be.

Very good, my loyal listeners; you've earned your first cookie of the day.


The people walking down the sidewalk with me in this heavily populated American city seem to find my commentary amusing; that's right I saw you laughing at my cookie remark. It's perfectly alright. Looking ahead, I can see another crosswalk waiting to stall my foot-progress and I am reminded of just how much time I spend in a given day just keeping my own desires in check. I know this wasn't exactly what Aristotle meant, but I still feel he would be very proud of my self control in recent weeks. I could easily be levitating right now; feet hanging freely and relaxed as I glide ahead without so much as one miniscule drop of physical exertion. Why aren't I, though? Because I wouldn't exactly fit in very well if these people saw me floating past them like some kind of superior lifeform who isn't bound by their flawed apprehensions of the laws of natural quality. I'm trying to get as far as I can in this adventure called "posing as a regressed, partial humanoid of Earth 5.3, human year 2014"—and I'm doing it all without "cheating" as the others who dwell in my original realm would call it. Ok, maybe some cheating which has left Lovermind Vincent Lane thinking me a wizard wonder, but I've been very good about limiting myself for the most part.

"You're weird, mister!"
-the blonde teenager walking with his parents


Weird doesn't even begin to describe it, little boy. Ah yes, look how you distance yourself from me and walk behind your parents who have decided to cross to the other side of the street altogether. Run far from the crazy man talking into a voice recorder as he enjoys the weather on this fine Earth day right in the middle of some city in the United States.

"Haha this dude's not in Kansas anymore."
-another random pedestrian walking with a friend who is also laughing


Well it's good to know I'm not in Kansas or I'd be late to my meeting. And there we go, just up ahead stands the plain, unmarked building in which I am scheduled to conduct some very important business for which I'll be turning this recorder off. This business I'm about to conduct is another example of me playing by the rules of this "game" as I see it all. These mostly synthetic, seriously disabled copies of what real people are supposed to be like; it's fascinating to pose as one of them and journey through my day with the same crutches they see as mere extensions of themselves and their livelihood. Eyes, to look ahead and see physical barriers ahead. Ears, to listen for verbal communication from other beings. A mouth, to express my own self through the vibrations and tones that have been wrongly accepted as a necessary component of communication for countless years. It's simply amazing what you people know as senses and just how crippling those "senses" are to true states of awareness and metaphysical influence. So much is wrong; no other variant of the human race or any subhuman race is living such a constringed existence. A common tool such as weight becomes a hindrance to these drones around me as they expel energy… the meaning of physical distance is contorted into a time consuming task to take on in your travels, and even something as simple as direct communication is virtually nonexistent here.

Here we are; the place of business I've traveled so far to get to, all using common physical means of transport. And as I pull open the glass door, I already see him.


The clicking of the stop button as Evertrust goes about his normal, everyday business with just another normal, everyday bag of flesh, blood, bones and tears.

In the meantime, let's see what Evertrust had to say about recent events in the XWF. Most specifically, here is what he had to say to his captain, Eli James.







My Dearest Eli James,


My name is Evertrust. I, Evertrust… but you already knew that;
it's how you were able to make the strongest play in the entire XWF War Games draft
when you heard my decree demanding to be a first round pick and you accepted truth for what it was. Trust and Truth, side my side, what can go wrong? My fellow speaker of truth and believer in trust, I give to you my word that I will bleed for you in ways you've yet to see another air swelling flesher demonstrate. My commitment to you, my commissioned War Games officer, is unbridled suffering and shock on levels no sensory receptor can accept and no frame of projected thought may presuppose. They will suffer for their sins, Eli. They will suffer for their good deeds, Eli. They'll suffer simply because that is their place while within the confines of raw engagement with the likes of I, Evertrust. Do you remember when I spoke to you in a dream, Eli? Do you recall those breaths I never took? Those names I never spoke? Of course you do; it's why we're here now; it's why we've already won.

Names, Eli.
Implanted into your mind by the echoes of the very truth you preach.


Names, Eli.

Justin Sane… the most valuable newcomer to this place and a name that so many simpletons pushed to the side in favor of those they recognized or felt comfortable with. They stuck with the devils they knew, but not you, Eli… oh not you. You accepted your superior grasp of sanity and remembered that razor-like susurration in the scorching light. You knew that a team was going to exist that contained I, Evertrust and Justin Sane; and more importantly than that, you were shown a vision of those names standing tall in blistering waves of disillusioned victory. There is not a name who opposes us who would stand a chance in combating Sane's onslaught, but he's not even the final addition to our unit.

And so the names did continue, Eli.

Ghost Tank… the monstrosity who has come closer than anyone else in the inexorable flurry of attempts to take the championship gold I possess—an X-treme Championship surpassed only by one, Eli—that being the Universal Championship itself. How appropriate that the two highest ranking champions in all of this reputed realm of "X-treme" swiftly take on the abomination to mankind known as the one and only Ghost Tank. There is a man on the opposing team, Eli; I'm not sure if you've ever heard of him. His name is Steven Kessler, and he claims to have toppled foes in the past who surpass everyone on our team… yet in his debut appearance here, he failed in a match that saw Ghost Tank's hand raised as a co-winner. You see, Eli, not only did we choose the team who is most in touch with reality but we also chose the superior fighters. Ghost Tank doesn't need to claim to have beaten imaginary forces before coming to the XWF who were supposedly better than those on the opposing team, because he's already beaten one of the members of that failing team who is oddly enough considered a strong component. That whisper in the darkest light of all has proven fruitful, Eli. Ghost Tank will rake the very flesh from our foes while they so blindly claim their own superiority to us in their deplorably barren words.

And then there was
one

name

left.

Tyroil Smoochie-Wallace… the zealous athlete with all the potential in the world and all the desire to please his coach. And on the night of these games of war, Eli, you are that coach. You see the very moment Tyroil was drafted to this team it completed our circle; the perfectly constructed organism of malign properties that will function as a destroyer of worlds. Tyroil's will to win is likely enough, on its own, to overcome the entire flock of wingless birds Azrael has called forth's will to win. In other words, I can smell and taste Tyroil's desire and it outweighs anything that will stand opposed to us this week. Take that want for victory and infuse it with the raw, psychotic frenzy of power that Ghost Tank shall unleash upon them. Now add in just the right amount of insanity, trust and truth, and what do you have? No, not a check mate…

A god damned slaying—one of atrocious proportions, to be precise.
















































































LOOKING FOR SOMETHING?
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