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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Good Morning, Germany
Author Message
Sebastian Duke Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Very random

(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)


#1
02-23-2015, 07:33 PM



Saturday, February 21, 2015 | 11:21 PM Local Time | Chancellor's Residence | Brandenburg, Germany


He was home for the weekend. George von Hindenburg's parents have waited for him to come home for several months. He's been at school in Bonn for the last two years and his busy social life. Combined with his academics, has forced him to stay in Bonn rather than take the near seven hour journey home to Brandenburg. Of course, that's what George makes his father think. In reality, George is never in Bonn, except on occasion to meet with his Commanding General, Benjamin Cornwallis.

George's father is Hermann von Hildenburg. The Chancellor and acting-President, or head of state, of Germany. President Heinrich passed away a few months back and with the next parliamentary elections so close, the German Government chose to not hold a special election to fill the vacant Presidency, instead, naming Hermann von Hildenburg the acting-President.

By and large, it's been a pleasant trip home. George got in around five in the afternoon on Friday. Hermann was so excited he left the Chancellery earlier than he normally would and treated his wife and only child to a fabulous dinner in Berlin. Saturday was filled with joyous laughter and joking around and tonight, Hermann and his wife turned in at half past nine.

Most people would not even consider doing what George was about to do, let alone, consider it an easy choice, as George does. In his mind, its a necessary evil. It's something that has to be done I order to accomplish these monumental goals his King wishes to achieve. George sits in the living room tonight, listening to nothing but the silence of the old large house. He passes his Illuminatus issued cell phone between his hands, just waiting for the signal. On the antique end table beside him, lies a syringe. Contained within the syringe is a cocktail of untraceable poisons.

BEEEEEP!

George's cell phone lights up.

New Message from: Matthew


Quote:“All German government and military telecommunications have been severed. Proceed immediately.”

George places the cell phone in his pocket. Overhead, he can hear multiple aircraft flying in the distance. The Illuminatus have arrived. He stands up and grabs the toxin filled syringe and heads upstairs. The steps creak beneath his feet and he thinks that even if his parents heard his footsteps, they'd think he was likely just going up to bed. George comes to a stop at the landing, listening for any sign of noise from his parents bedroom.

Nothing.

The twenty-three year old son of the German Chancellor then proceeds up the final few steps and places his hand on the brass doorknob of his parents bedroom door. It's at this moment that he finally realizes what he's about to do and starts to think about it. He only hesitates a few moments before tossing his doubts and second-thoughts out of his head for good. He quickly and quietly turns the knob and enters the room and nears his fathers side. He removes the cap from the syringe and stares down at him.

”Pater,” George whispers. Father, in German. The middle-aged Hermann von Hildenburg's eyes open wide, startled by his sons presence. George clasps his left hand over his fathers mouth and drives the syringe into his neck, then depresses the plunger, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The elder von Hildenburg stares at his son in confusion.

”Schlaf,” he tells his father, 'sleep.' And within a few seconds, all signs of life vanish from the eyes of Hermann von Hildenburg.





Sunday, February 22, 2015 | 12:14 AM Local Time | Chancellery Building | Berlin, Germany


Four blacked out Chevrolet Tahoe's, an abnormal sight in Germany, roll to a stop out by the curb in front of the German Chancellery. The doors on the vehicles all open nearly in unison. The hierarchy of the Illuminatus has arrived at their new base of operations. All of them, Jake, Matthew, Asmodeus, Sebastian and Thaddeus, take deep breaths as they look around at their surroundings then head inside the world famous building, flanked by armed military personnel.

Once inside the building, they head to the office of the Chancellor on the top floor. Security guards that are scattered throughout the building have no idea what to do. Some retreat, some try to radio other guards. It's generally mass confusion.

As they near the door to the office, all hell breaks loose, at least for a minute. A guard with more balls than brains grabs Thaddeus and wraps his arm around the boys neck. ”Aufhoren!” 'stop,' shouts the guard as he waves his pistol around, stopping on every person within the Illuminatus. The mans hands are shaky, and he's unsure of what exactly is going on.

The King of Darkness steps through the crowd of people, all frozen in fear of what might happen to their prince. Duke stops with the guards pistol pressed into his chest. The large King of Darkness slowly looks up toward the ceiling and after a second or two, the guards eyes follow. The King grabs the guards pistol clad hand. He wrenches it back, forcing the guard to point the pistol at himself. Without warning, the gun fires, blasting a bullet from the barrel and lodging itself in the skull of the guard. Sebastian then rubs the top of Thaddeus' head and slaps him on the back. Thaddeus turns back toward the dead guard momentarily and cracks a half-smile.

Most of the Illuminatus enters the Chancellor's office. The King and the Prince stop just outside the door where another guard is cowered back into the corner. ”Do you speak English?” asks Sebastian as the guard nods his confirmation. ”Did you just see what happened over there?” he asks, pointing toward the dead guard up the hallway. Again, the guard nods. ”I want you to remember that. Tell your friends, too.

“When you mess with the Cub, its Poppa Bear you need to worry about.

“If anyone threatens my son, I will kill them. Understood?”
The guard nods once more. ”Good.

“We have the building. Get your friends and all of you go home. Your services are no longer needed.”
The guard walks quickly away from the King of Darkness, thrilled to get to live another day.

The duo steps into the Chancellor's office. ”Father,” says Thaddeus as Sebastian takes a seat in front of the large wooden desk. ”Do you think I could lead Germany instead of Grandfather?”

”No,” replies Sebastian emphatically.

”Why the hell not? I'd be a good leader!”

”Because no one's going to listen to a kid that wears purple with gold flowers or leaves or whatever the hell those are.”

Thaddeus looks back at his father with a dejected look on his face.

[Image: Game-of-Thrones-Season-4-Episode-1-Joffrey.jpg]


”Better than guyliner,” Thaddeus finally responds.

”Touche.”

”If the two of you don't mind, we have some very important business to tend to here,” Asmodeus interrupts, shrugging off the playful banter between his son and grandson. ”We've just basically stolen a nation and those matters trump whatever the hell it is you two are going on about.”

”What's our next move?”

”By morning, the world will learn of the untimely death of the Chancellor. I think it'd be a good move to get something, like a speech prepared and sent to all the radio stations in the country. Like propaganda. Play it on a loop. Then, when we're ready in a day or so, Father Asmodeus, you'll need to go on the television. To put a face with the voice. To alleviate fears. That sort of thing.”

”We can record your radio loop now,” Matthew chimes in. ”Would you like me to draft a speech for you?”

Asmodeus leans forward from behind the desk, leaning his elbows on the surface and palming his face. He rubs his tired eyes, trying to reawaken himself. ”No,” replies Asmodeus as he rests his hands on the table. ”I can drum something up.”

Numerous sirens can be heard in the distance, coming closer as the seconds pass. Jacob moves the curtain and looks outside.

”What's our status on the bases?” the King asks, looking toward Matthew.

Matthew pills out his tablet and starts searching through tabs. ”All bases, save one, are secured. Their military is essentially ours.”

”And our forces? Are they en route to the Chancellery?”

”They'll be here any second, Sire.”

”Sebastian, I don't think these cops like us. They got automatic rifles and one of them is yelling at us through a bullhorn.”

”Don't they realize these windows are sound proof?”

Jacob continues to stare out the window on the street below. Law enforcement officers are scattering all over the place and hunkering down under cover. Just then, seemingly coming from nowhere, several tanks round the corners on the street, taking the police force by surprise. A few of the tanks run over and crush a couple of the police cars and the police just look on, stunned at what they're seeing. The lead tank comes around with its cannon and fires, blowing up a police car. The tank commander pokes his head out and starts yelling in his own bullhorn, ordering the police forces to stand down.

”Well, I don't think the police are going to be much of a problem anymore,” Jake says with a slight laugh.

Matthew sets a voice recorder down in front of Father Asmodeus, who begins to speak in German, ”Good morning, Germany...”







You know, Doc? You're definitely right about one thing. I do look down upon them from my Throne of Darkness. It really is good to be King, isn't it?

When I say that I look forward to facing you, I don't mean this week. It is sure to be a classic and all of that, but see, there's this linger of doubt that neither of us will be at one hundred percent by the second round. It's human nature to get a little tired after battle.

No, what I mean is, aside from this tournament and the Intercontinental Championship, Doc, I want to face you one on one because you are the only new face in this sad sack of shit they call the XWF roster, that I think will really challenge me.

Mentally.

As well as physically.

And who doesn't love a challenge?

Sometimes Doc, when I look at you, its like looking in a mirror.

Only not.

What I mean is, I see so much of myself and my own characteristics, all those things that make me tick, every time I look at you. You like to torture your opponents. So do I. You show no mercy. Neither do I. You like to take what you want. So do I. There's a lot of similarities between us Doc. More similarities than differences.

It's not the same XWF it was when I went on my hiatus.

Another true statement from the Doctor of Shrug-onomics. You act as if I haven't earned my absences, Doc. Do I offend you by leaving because I grow bored of the same old faces in the same old places doing the same old things they've always done?

I leave because I get bored, Doc. I come back, when I feel like kicking a little ass. I came back because there's so many new faces to stomp into the fucking dirt.

There's one thing you're wrong about, though. I give zero fucks who respects me. Why? Because the reality is, that regardless of whether my opponent respects me or not, I'm going to hurt them just the same. It's kinda what I do.

My victory over you won't stand out to me. Just another name to add to the resume. It will, however, stand out to you, because you said yourself, maybe not in so many words, but you did say it, and that's that you have no real competition in the XWF.

Well, Doc. I think you met your match.

When it counts, Ricky Desmond succeeds. So your match last week didn't count? Maybe you should stick to managerial duties. At least then, your appearances really won't count and you'd be correct.

Fucking idiot.

Oh hey, XWF fans, Ricky Desmond says I was never that good. Yet my FORTY-TWO wins, my Universal Championship. My United States Championship. My Tag Team Championship, longest reigning ever, by the way. My North Korean Championship. My Xtreme Championship. My two Trios Championships. My 24/7 Briefcase and my World War X winning pin, tell a completely different story.

Let me know Desmond, when you accomplish even one of those things. I'm a legend gilded in gold. You're a myth surrounded by your own false hopes.

By the way, I'd focus on Hysteria if someone would kindly tell the masked fool that he has a match this week. I know he released some sort of promo earlier but it was the equivalent of shit, on tape. Don't get me wrong Desmond, your is shit too. Just surprisingly, less shit than his shit.

This is so shitty.

I'm going soft. Slowly but surely, I'm fading to nothing. Except the fact is, Dick, that I'm better than ever.


Quote:”I am 100% sure that I will win the whole god damn thing.”

But wait, there's more!

I feel like Billy Mays and the Shamwow!

It's so exciting!


Quote:”So, if I were you, I wouldn't get ahead of yourself.”

There's something there about a pot and a kettle.

Like Gilmour, I digress.... That's right after I shake my damn fucking head.

You wanna take me out back and shoot me? You wanna put me down?

Try it, Dick.

I dare ya.

What's this button do?



[Image: QEcXvQs.jpg]
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