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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
Goliath in a David mask PT.3
Author Message
Ally Worsted Offline
Totally new here



XWF FanBase:
Nobody

(can't get crowd reactions; awkward; probably going to be fired soon) 


#1
03-08-2017, 12:51 PM



The scene opens up to a muggy moonlit night on a lush, palm covered hillside just beyond the prison from which Buronan and Dimas have escaped. It's only been several hours since Buronan had killed the cartel prison guard named Tyson and escaped with Dimas, freeing along their way at least a dozen other native prisoners. Many of the cells that Buronan entered were occupied by corpses of prisoners departed from starvation or other means of torture.
Grotesque would be but a mere euphemism in describing just what our hero witnessed while walking into these cells.

But none the less, Buronan and Dimas were free from the hell they'd been forced into living now, and were for the time being accompanied with one of the men they had freed, a very muscular, beastly looking man named who calls himself Omar. The other inmates who had escaped, went on with Dimas' blessing to return to their homes, but Omar chose to stay behind, showing graciousness for his salvation.

A much needed, but short lived breeze sweeps down from the heavens and onto the hill that Buronan and Dimas are scaling. It makes a gentle whistle as the touches down on night tainted grass and carries over the valley behind the men that leads back to the prison. The two are exhausted and in much need of food and water, so when Omar noticed a small, fairly uninhabited market a few miles back, he ducked off from the group to gather some supplies as Buronan and Dimas continued moving on.

"I'm wondering what's taking Omar so long to return. Do you believe he's been captured?"

Buronan asks while lightly holding on to Dimas' hand, being gentle with his much older, much frailer companion.

"I do not sense such. But we should rest here now, give Omar time to find us."

The two plop down on the hill, looking back toward the prison, which is but a speck of grey coloring miles away now, only visible by the gift of the moonlight. Buronan nods toward Dimas with an agreeing 'hum' and looks up toward the moon, closing his eyes briefly while taking in the serenity of his freedom. Up on this hill it's quiet, only the sound of the wind rustling through the choppy leaves of the palms. It's calming and it's honest.

Buronan reflects on his state of amnesia, thinking about just how close he actually felt to feeling himself once again. This rush he experienced, the total joy of looking into the eyes of a purveyor of savagery and evil, watching his eyes silently scream for mercy as he continued to ram that key in and out of his stomach. It's amazing how literally grasping death in ones hands can make one feel so totally alive. Buronan knew this was a part of him, something he was meant to do as he continued to pick up little pieces of himself everywhere that he's lost.

Dimas breaks the slience between the two:

"There is an old [country's name redacted] legend of a spirit of a boar who comes from da wildaness at night. He is small, but fierce and unforgiving. He destroys da crops of da farmers who practice harmful will toward others."

"Why is it a boar?"

Buronan asks,

"Becasue da boar is of God. It is da nature who is here of da earth to judge man. It takes back from those who only take..."

"What is it's name?"

"Babi Ngepet and I can feel that it is with our land tonight."

Just then, down at the foot of the hill Omar appears, carrying with him a small basket filled with fruits. Omar excitingly hollers out a laugh as he sees his two friends sitting in the cover of some palm trees near the top of the hill and stomps his large bare feet in the dirt covered bottom of the hill, making his way up toward them.

"Guys! I finally find you!"

Buronan smiles back at Omar's happiness, watching him fumbling around with the fruit as he hastily makes his way toward them.

"Good, Omar! We knowing you would find us."

"Ha Ha!"

Omar finally makes it up the hill and topples down between Dimas and Buronan, tossing them each a piece of juicy native fruit to help quince their thirst and hunger.

"Eatings up!"

Omar is a dark skinned, dark eyed man wearing a hijab with a long scar coming from the corner of his right eye down to about the center of his cheek. A lash he claimed he received for being disobedient while working in the opium fields. It's sad because the man is truly a gentle giant. The stature and curves you would find sculpted in honor of a Greek deity, yet the demeanor of child desperate for love.

The three of them sit there quietly for a moment, only the sound of Omar smacking his mouth as they maul down on their bountiful basket of fruit, juices trickling down from their jaws onto their chests. Relishing in the joy of natural nourishment.

As they finish up eating, Dimas asks that Buronan leads him on up to the top of the hill, and so he does. The sight from the top, facing away from where the prison was is a miraculous sight indeed. There's a huge valley with two sides separated by a winding, snake shaped river that barrels on into sights unreachable. On one side a plain with what appears to be at least a hundred acres of plowed farm land backing up to a quaint little village. On the other side of the river the terrain is filled with thick jungle for as far as the eye can see.

"Dis is where da journey for you begins. Da journey of our Buronan. Dat will be yo name now.

This was actually the first time that Buronan had been called by his new name.

"And I forgot to tel you...

Omar interjects,

"I have something else fo you. Da semblance of those divine."

Omar pulls from his back pocket a black cloth mask. Buronan leans down as Omar puts the cloth over his head, concealing completely his identity.

"Hyang."
"Hyang."

Omar and Dimas nod and speak out that obscure word in unison. Buronan looks on at his friends, his eyes welling up underneath the mask.

"Da Hyang is da divine spirit dat moves through these lands in mystery, just as you do. It is promised to restore da balance of good and evil here. Omar will now take me back to my home..."

"But Dimas, the cartel... they'll find you there. They're probably already waiting."

"And while dey find me there, it is there dey will be looking fo you... remember, dey is a reason dey found you such a threat to lock you away. But meanwhile you, Da Buronan will be else where."

Dimas points out toward the visible village down in the valley.

"Go dare, Buronan. As the Babi Ngepet carried by da winds of Hyang. Take back from da takers. Restore da balance. Be unpredictable as you were wit Tyson, be nature. We will tell of yo story.

Buronan reaches out and hugs Dimas, kissing his forehead just as Dimas had kissed his back in the prison.

"You are lost no more. Dis..."

He says while poking Buronan in the heart,

"...dis is who you are..."

To be continued...




Michael, Micheal, Micheal...

I knew you were foolish, but I must say you're really outdoing yourself now.

"EXTRA! EXTRA! READ ALL ABOUT IT: MICHAEL GAYBOI GRAVES IS HIS WORTHLESS DARK WARRIOR GIMMICK AGAIN AND IT STILL SUCKS!"


What did I tell you, Mike? Didn't I tell you that I already had you defeated mentally speaking, and that all that was left was for the physical results to unfold as they so naturally will?

Well you've proven it now . You're french fucking toast and there's not a goddamn thing that you or your pathetic Slumdog Millionaire partner Peter Puffing Gilwhore can do about it! I spoke loosely before about your pathetic little identity crisis between your straight and gay self, and now you've gone full homo again putting it on display for the entire world to see. Frankly, it's embarrassing. Oh, how raw and edgy you are! Just like Finn Balor flipping on and off the demon when he needs his "dark powers" to succeed. How fucking trite. Well just like Finn all that'll do is get your punk ass sidelined with injury for the next six months, hell it may even be the end of your career, pussy.

See what you fail to realize is that by whipping out your mom's makeup and getting done-up like some tranny Misfits knock-off you're proving to everyone that you know you can't defeat not just The Buronan, but Cadryn either. That you have to channel and manifest some dark energy, which really equates to nothing more than you using a few more curse words here and there in your typical suck-ass promo work where you waste everyone's time whining over win loss records like a little girl; oh and watching Pon and Zi porno while you cut yourself in your mom's basement after a hefty, earth shattering quest in a game of D&D that you play all alone.

We go from Michael Graves in promo #4 at approximately 9:52AM; to "Dark Warrior"
(ooooh so fucking frightening) Michael Graves in promo #5 at approximately 9:53AM. We're supposed to believe that this is somehow a different entity, a more meancing, more maniacal force- yet the dog shit still smells like dog shit, dude. See, and that's the problem with doing a bunch of worthless ass pre-recorded garbage like you've been doing to try and gain an edge.

Because when you saw the vignette of The Buronan actually HELPING Cadryn with his drug addiction in more ways then you ever could, you completely panic and have to go back and flip around your entire script- renigging on every little empty word you've blathered over the last few days. So now you're admitting that you don't give a shit about Cadryn, even after he got clean! You should have been happy for him dude if you cared as much as you claimed you did. But you're just showing yourself to be who I already said you were- a fake fucking friend. Just like the fake demon makeup shit you smeared on your face.

You've spent all of this time trying to show to the XWF Universe in subtle way for the sloth-minded fucks who might actually enjoy your crap- that friendship doesn't matter to you because you had your heart broken by your last best friend because he was dicking down the girl who just wasn't that into you. So you killed him, just like you'll kill Cadryn, right? The end. BOO! Get that bunk ass, poor excuse of a creative foreshadow shit out of here man.

It wasn't CJ's fault that your dick was too little to please that slut. Ever heard of bros before hoes? Just like it isn't Cadryn's fault that you lose all of the fucking time thus making you insecure about your position in the XWF so you find yourself in a constant flux of identity crisis.

HAHA! And so you run around labeling yourself as a "legend" Pfft! What have I got pussywillows growing out of my peckerhole or something? You think that you're a "legend" because you claimed to have carried some title for a day who's history is completely erased from the record books? The same title that Barney dumbdick Green loves to gloat about holding with his semen stained hands? Let me explain this to you as bluntly as I fucking can bae- you're not a fucking legend, Not now. Not ever.

The only thing you're ever going to be remembered for is how often you blow it on the big stage, just like the Buffalo Bills. Ya' know, there were a number of times that Mohammad Ali was involved in a great fight, with competitors who mounted decent showings... but guess what? We never remember who they are aside from just another guy who lost to The Greatest.

I don't need to run around bolstering myself up with a bunch of cock-gagging drivel to try and make myself feel worthy to step inside of the ring; calling myself a legend, or trying to somehow count my losses as "improvement". If I were a big fucking loser like you are, I would admit it and probably move on to find a job outside of the wrestling biz that better suits me. The reality concept isn't a hard one to grasp for the lot of us, dude. You've not got it all.

All of this boils down to the simple fact that you're completely and utterly over matched; and you know it. It took less then a week since the card was released for you to completely try and change course in your promo work because you let Buronan get inside and toy with you're already fragile mind. This is exactly why it'll be no problem at all for me and Cadryn to score the win next week. FACE IT! You're a liability to yourself. You worry too much about what everyone else around you is doing instead of addressing your own sexual confusions.

I knew the second I laid eyes on you that our paths would one day cross, and that you'd be minced meat between my toes. Now that we're actually engaging in this war of words, you've proved to be the big fucking nothing that I already presumed you were. Why don't you go ahead and fight back? Flip the script again back to regular Mike Gayves and cut a promo on me in the style in which you used on Chaos. Go ahead and poke around like a worthless and try and find words you think I've maybe misspelled if my promos were in transcript form. Maybe that'll give you an even greater edge!

You're totally fucked man, and it would likely serve you best to just keep your mouth shut and keep your gay looking face off of our television sets from now until Warfare. Peter Gilmour Circa 2015 aint walking through that door anytime soon bruh, and even if he did and screamed "SUCK MY DICK!" til his tranny woman cow came on his back it wouldn't make a fucking difference.

You're too unstable, too insecure, too caught up in not knowing if you're spitting or swallowing. As I said it before, you are your worst enemy Graves. I think you'd best reevaluate your entire disappointment of a life before you dare put The Buronan's cock in your mouth again. See ya' later emo cunt. You better hope your hogwash is more interesting next time, least I rip you for being a rookie fuck again.
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