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Rise of the Dark Templar
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RAGE
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#1
05-25-2019, 06:14 PM

“You see Mister Polamolau,” he said as he brought the dark statue closer to me, “For all your reputed studies, you simply don't know anything about the Baphomet. This is where you find the answers, though you may not like them.”

I felt an all pervading sense of 'other' begin to push it's way through my system. I felt like perhaps I no longer had much time to be me.

* * *
A FEW DAYS EARLIER
* * *

I sat in my office fielding a call from, of all people, Chris Page.

“Chris,” I said, “to what do I owe the pleasure...or lack thereof”

He giggled in that special way he only does when he's high as giraffe pussy, “Aw, don't be that way! I called to offer you some work,” he said, barely hiding his glee.

“Okay, Chris, this is where I remind you,” I began, my usual exasperation showing, “I no longer wrestle. I have a law degree these days...I do legal work. Alternatively, I also work as a private investigator from time to time. What I no longer do is wrestle. Besides, didn't you shutter the doors on the WGWF. One would think that would limit the amount of wrestling you, yourself do.”

“It would be...but I got a call from your old stamping grounds, the XWF,” he said.

“Delightful,” I responded, “Go have fun.”

“I would,” he replied with a stoned giggle”but they are gonna do some War Games thing...and well, we are the heroes of War Games...I kind of want to knock their dicks in the dirt.”

“Sounds delightful,” I replied, “If you need legal representation, I am there...otherwise, let the Young Turks and you have all the fun.”

“Look man,” he replied, attempting to be serious, “There aren't too God damn many people I trust more than you. I need you man!”

“Let me think about it, Chris,” I said with a sigh.

“Great,” he replied, “I'll let them know you're on board.”

“I'm not...” I began to yell, but the phone was dead. The asshole had hung up on me.

I hung up the phone and then I noticed the gentleman standing in the doorway to my office. He was wearing a by God Tweed suit, right out of the fifties with a dingy, battered fedora on top of a bald head. He looked like he had been dipped in oil and allowed to dry. His face was pinched and weasel-like.

“I'm sorry,” he said in a voice like a sinister whisper, “am I interrupting something?”

“Only an idiotic phone call,” I replied, “who are you and what can I do for you?”

“The name is Darin, Darin Hitmarsh,” he said, “I seek something dangerous and you have a reputation for taking dangerous cases.”

I sighed. What was with today? People trying to get me to do things I don't do anymore.

“I never take dangerous cases because they are dangerous, the few times I take dangerous cases, usually someone's life is on the line. Good Day, “ I put my head down to fill out the form that I had been working on.

“Well, the danger is to the world at large,” he said, “are you familiar with something called The Baphomet?”

I sighed again.

“Yes, I am familiar with the Baphomet, a construct cobbled together by the church to claim the Templars were devil worshippers so they had an excuse to take their money and lands,” I replied.

“That is what most of the world believes, but the truth is the Baphomet was created by a group made to be a Satanic answer to the Templars,” he began, “It was a simple idea, taking the virtue and the devotion of the Templars and copying it in the service of evil.”

“My, how fascinating,” I responded, “Please, make sure you close the door behind you on your way out.”

“The point is,” he continued, ignoring me, “They created the Baphomet...a creature of Satanic Service, and when they saw the writing on the wall, something that their heroic counterparts missed entirely, they made sure that one of their holes was redecorated as a member of the Templars and they left the Baphomet “hidden” within...although making sure it's hiding spot would be discovered. In those days, belief and truth were one and the same so when the Holy Mother Church saw it, they assumed that the Templars were responsible. They hid the Baphomet after it's purpose had been served or so they thought.”

He paused long enough for me to interrupt...I chose not to. I figured if I let him get the story out, maybe he would go away.

“However,” he continued, “the Dark Templars had a prophecy. A belief that when the Baphomet resurfaced and they would make a resurgence into the world. That they would rise again, more powerful than ever, to lead the world into Darkness!”

“Sounds like an amazing season of American Horror Story. I love that show, other than that, I'm not interested,” I said not looking up.

He merely sat there staring at me. After feeling the weight of his gaze sitting upon me, I spoke again.

“Thanks for stopping by,” I said, “the security detail I am sending to come remove you is offered only to my best customers and of course, any injuries they cause in removing you are absolutely complimentary.”

I reach for the phone, about to punch the code for building security.

“Your parents,” he said, “rather your mother. She did most of the work on this, Mister Logan.”

My hand freezes. I did not often think of my murdered parents. They were both students of history as well as scholars and professors. I knew my mother had an interest in the Templars...I had no idea she had done any digging into the subject. I looked up at Mr. Hitmarsh.

“You have exactly two minutes to get to the point at which time, you will leave or I will throw you out myself,” I said.

“Your mother,” he began, “did her graduate thesis on the Templars and because of her exhaustive method, uncovered a few snippets of the Dark Templars. She spent the rest of her career digging and trying to find the pieces of this ancient secret. She discovered the Baphomet...it would have been her greatest scholarly victory...had she not been murdered.”

“So,” I asked as cold as I can manage, “what would you like me to do.”

He handed me a safety deposit box key.

“Merely take a look at this,” he said, I acquired it from your mother without knowing what it was. If you look through this cache and find no reason to investigate further...then stop...but if you are interested, you will find leads enough to follow inside.”

And I sighed as I took the safety deposit box key. That was the first step...

Chapter 2: Moroccan Malediction


I would love to tell you the safety deposit box was empty...that it contained nothing more than a few photos of a loving mom, her husband and her son. I hoped it contained windows into another time giving me a chance to peruse the past, and wonder how that boy might have become someone other than me.

I would love to tell you that...but it would be a lie and I do not engage in petty falsehoods that serve no purpose. Other than a vacation photo or two tucked into an accordion file that could have only come from the '70's...it was all business. Notes about the Templars, interviews with experts on the ancient order and their place in the world, snippets of articles and pages of books that pointed to her discovery that there WAS such a thing as the Dark Templars...and that they spent much of their time doing their best to muddy the waters between themselves and the real Templars.

Most interestingly, was a snippet of an interview with Doctor Janet Wolters, a Templar expert who claimed that she had located a Dark Templar bolthole just outside of Casablanca, in Morocco. And so it was I found myself on a flight to Casablanca in the Kingdom of Morocco located in Northeast Africa.

Upon landing I was met by Maurice Marché, a black man of French descent and a man I had worked with on numerous occasions when situations brought me overseas. So it was he was waiting for me as I stepped off the plane.
“Logan,” he yelled as he stepped forward and hugged me in an embrace I was not prepared for. His skin was dark, he was bald and 7 feet tall. He smiled often and his size belied the effervescence of his personality.

“Maurice,” I choked, pushing him backwards, “I'm glad you count Morocco as one of your homes. I really need help on this one.”

“No problem, man,” he said with a large smile, “Casablanca isn't what you'd expect from your American movies..but, there is a lot here and it's all about knowing who to ask!”

“Meaning,” I asked, curious as to where this was headed.

“I spoke to Professor Robert Al-Ghaten, a local Professor at the University of Morocco here in Casablanca and he is aware of this bolthole as you called it,” he said walking me to the luggage pick-up, “He and his team will meet you at the hotel and he will give you a tour of the place.”

“You can be quite efficient,” I said, “When you want to be.”

With luggage gathered he led me to a small, battered vehicle which surprised me by starting and purring like a kitten. He drove me to the American Hotel where I had a room ready. I dropped off my things in my room, told Maurice I would see him at lunch and continued to review my mom's file on the Dark Templars. Before I knew it, there was a knock in my door and Maurice was on hand to take me down to Rick's Cafe, the restaurant located within the hotel where I got my first look at Professor Al-Ghaten. He was tall, exceedingly so with a face so angular that it looked like he might have been carved from stone. He wore a simple white thobe with a red fez. He smiled thinly when I arrived. He stood and shook my hand.

“RAGE,” he said with a smile, “I am quite the fan!”

“That's fabulous,” I said attempting to hide my distaste, “These days I go by Logan.”

“Of course,” he said, the grin never leaving his face, “So, Maurice told me that you are following up on your mother's research on the Dark Templars. It must be rough following up on something that the greater part of the world doesn't believe exists.”

“To be honest,” I replied, “I didn't believe in it until a man walked into my office a few days ago. He claims that there are those who believe the Baphomet is rising.”

A waiter came by and I ordered a coffee...which is quite a different affair than in the States. The Professor ordered a tea. He also ordered a chicken tagine that he wanted to share.

“There are certainly those who believe that,” he said, “but then again, there are those who believe the Devil is real and walks the earth...and not in the cool way like the show Lucifer.”

“You know,” I replied, “You know a lot more about pop culture than I expected.”

He merely shrugged, “Pop culture is a name for a collective of things liked by the masses, studying it says a lot about the society that deals with it. Look at it this way, in what is popularly called the Dark Ages, the Catholic Church was pop culture”

An involuntary shudder passed through me.

“So the bolthole,” I asked, nudging the conversation back on track.
“Think of it this way,” he began, “The Dark Templars never wanted to be known for what they were, what they wanted was to trade on being an actual Templar and thus then their actions when turned towards evil would besmirch the whole of the Templars, turning both the people, and more importantly the Church against them.”

“I got as much from my mother's research,”I said, hoping he had more to add.

“The bolthole was discovered early in the '70's,” he continued, “and was originally identified as a Templar safehouse...used when the church began to persecute the Templar. But it is too old, also, a secret room was discovered with several scrolls, all of which pointed to the Dark Templar. Much of that material is still questioned but as it is tested it begins to bear out that there were Dark Templars and they hid there so that they could make appearances as the Templar themselves.”

“Awesome,” I said, “so when can I see the place?”

“Your Friend Maurice is waiting to take us there now,” he replied with a smile, “my team has been preparing the place for your arrival.”

I finished my coffee and had a final bite of the rich and savory tagine and we headed outside.

We exited the restaurant together and found Maurice smoking the largest blunt I have ever seen (and remember, I hung out with Spice One briefly)leaning against his janky looking sedan. He opened the back door to let Al-Ghatan take a seat in back, while I sat in the front seat.

Maurice drove and even with his reckless driving it was still an hour drive until we were well into the countryside surrounding the city of Casablanca. Maurice parked the car along the side of the road and we walked into the forest.

“This place was found quite by accident,” the Professor began while we walked, “Two children found it while playing.”

“That's...” I began, “fairly creepy.”

“Creepier than you know,” Al-Ghatan replied as if he were speaking to his class, “It seems like the bolt hole had provisions for not only hiding out and the odd religious ritual, but for torturing as well...as if they were prepared to dig out information. To think of what went on in that place and have it discovered by children...it boggles the mind”

With that we came to the base of a mountain, the Professor led us around a boulder and walked into it's shadow and seemingly disappeared. Maurice followed him and I saw the trick. Hidden in the shadow of the boulder was a stone door that swung on a central hinge, soundlessly, closing seamlessly behind as you entered. The engineering of it was amazing.

Once inside, there were torches in sconces about every twenty feet.

“Your team spared no expense to make this authentic,” I said.
I wiped my forehead. It seemed very warm all of the sudden, and as the sweat leaked into my eyes, the torches seemed to have a glow around them.

“Well, to be honest,” he replied, “the sconces and the torches were here, it was merely a monetary decision to use them.”

As I walked in, I realized there seemed to be some moisture in the air, I cleared my throat to no avail. The hallway emptied into a large round chamber, clever wooden pegs had been hammered into one wall to use to hang cloaks, a small room off to one side seemed like it might have been fully stocked at one point as a larder. This looked like a good place to hide out.

“So,” I began, but my voice turned to gravel forcing me to clear my throat once more, “so...where did they do rituals”

The Professor led me over to one wall where a staircase going down had been cleverly hidden. Maurice and I followed him downstairs. The atmosphere seemed suddenly oppressive and I almost stumbled on the stone steps down.

“When did they stop using this,” I asked.

“Funny story, that, “ Maurice said.

“Oh never,” the Professor responded, “it's still used to this very day...”

That's the last thing I heard before I lost consciousness.


Chapter 3: Transformation


I came to suspended from the ceiling in a large wooden rack. Maurice, The Professor and several others I didn't know were surrounding me and the room was filled with the booming chorus of a strange chant. The floor of the room featured the traditional five pointed pentagram, pretty much the Medieval symbol of evil. The walls, what I could see of them, were adorned with pictures...after some time, I could see these were paintings of the breaking of commandments and deduced there had to be ten of them.

Across from me, strung up in what appeared to be the same wooden frame I was in, was what I at first thought was a burned corpse, but as I looked, I realized that it was something more or less. It was perhaps a figure of wood, a figure of a naked man that had at some point been set afire. But whatever it was, it's eyes were open and I swear to you that they were as real as yours or mine.

“You see, RAGE or should I call you Mister Polamolau,” Al-Ghatan said as he brought the dark statue closer to me, “For all your reputed studies, you simply don't know anything about the Baphomet. This is where you find the answers, though you may not like them.”

I felt an all pervading sense of 'other' begin to push it's way through my system. I felt like perhaps I no longer had much time to be me. The things eyes locked onto mine as a dark intelligence began to force it's way into me, pushing into my being layer by layer.
“As the Baphomet takes you over,” the Professor continued, “you will feel like you are being disassembled...unmade, and in a way you are. The Baphomet will find the essential YOU and reinforce it while discarding moral imperatives that have no right in thinking humans. You will be remade in the image of the Dark Lord and him you will serve while being the very Lord of reality.”

I wanted to scream but any control I might have had over my body was long gone. I could still feel the invading intelligence of the Baphomet as it made it's home in my mind and my soul. The part of me that was still human felt a pain and terror I never thought I could...but the part of me watching what was going on...it only watched, impressed by the efficiency of the organism.

“Even now,” The Professor exclaimed, “Your system is being evaluated, cleaned..., made ready to host the Baphomet...and he will bring darkness to this world!”

And suddenly, I and the Baphoment were one. A single mind, a united consciousness. And we were both united at the moment by the company in the room surrounding us. I strained and flexed and the wood and rope that surrounded me came undone and I dropped to the floor.

“Bow, fools” I cried, and grabbed the nearest cultist by the head driving my knee into his skull, “your reward is at hand!” For the next hour I beat, pummelled, grappled and kicked these men, splitting skin and breaking bones. I roared in pleasure awash in their fear and pain and blood. Soon I began to tire and I walked back towards the car. I was surprised that at some point I had had the presence of mind to take the keys from Maurice. I had just made it to the road and the sun was burning my eyes. I reached in and found a pair of sunglasses that I snapped open and slid over my eyes. I felt a cold sense of purpose washing over me as I pushed a button on my phone.”

“Page,” I said, “don't talk, just listen. I'm in.”

He might have said something after that...butI had hung up at that point. RAGE is the WORD. I AM RAGE! And the WORD will be spread.


Insert your Schticky BS Here

RAGE is walking through an airport in a black pea coat carrying a valise. As he walks a reporter ambushes him.

REPORTER: RAGE! RAGE! Can I get a word?

RAGE: I'll give you two...fuck and off.

RAGE continues to walk. The Reporter chases after him.

REPORTER: So, you're returning to XWF a place that you haven't been for almost a decade...any thoughts.

RAGE: None that I could dumb down enough for you to express.

REPORTER: But WAR GAMES! JAMES RAVEN! THE BIG FIGHT!

RAGE spins around whipping off his sunglasses.

RAGE: You want to know? Fine. Why XWF? Why now. Because a friend asked. The XWF ceased to exist as I know it a long time ago. The place that exists now may have a few familiar faces but so did the WGWF. So I don't consider this by any means a “homecoming”. This is a business relationship between me and the management of the current XWF. That's all I know and that's all I care about. The fans are idiots and how they achieve their spastic validation is beyond my concern.

As far as James Raven goes, I no longer know him and he certainly has no idea who I am. Say what you want of our vaunted fights and storied rivalries the people that fought those wars only exist on celluloid we have both evolved and I will stack my current evolution against any on the current roster and come out on top.

The past is the past and while it is a rudder that brought us to where we are currently...it is merely an origin story and we all change a lot from our origin. Just ask Batman...or Superman...or Kyle Shayne.

This is a brand new game kids and you will discover at War Games just how much I've evolved. Think you know me? You know NOTHING! Good day!

RAGE snaps his sunglasses back on and pushes the reporter into the wall. He sweeps past the camera and disappears.
[-] The following 3 users Like RAGE's post:
"Loverboy" Vinnie Lane (05-26-2019), Darius Xavier (05-25-2019), James Raven (05-25-2019)




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