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Current XWF board time: 07-05-2020, 06:38 PM (time should display as Pacific time zone; please contact Admin if it appears to be wrong)                                                                
X-treme Wrestling Federation BOARDS » Warfare Boards » "Wednesday Warfare" RP Board
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Whiskers of Graybeard
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thewizard Offline
Wizard, The

XWF FanBase:
Kids, disabled people, casual fans

(fighting the odds; helps others; disliked by most adult male fans)

Post: #1
06-30-2020 07:35 PM

OOC – I want to apologize to Kris for missing the soft deadline. Busy week, etc etc...we’ve all heard it before. Bottom line is I failed to give you a max effort, the effort you deserved. Sorry about that, man. Look forward to meeting again down the line!

It’s Sunday. A day most people utilize for relaxation purposes. I’m no different. Whether working a regular job or sitting around playing video games all day, Sunday has always been a cheat day. A day off from...whatever weird-ass routine I’ve fallen into.

Same goes for Ed. I must be paying him too much. The man is at the spa while I lay in bed, a prisoner to thought. At the mercy of regret. An unenviable position - for one of us. The one most in need of support. Life, right?

But, I’m feeling kind of down today.

If you’re listening to this, then you’ve experienced a shitty moment. A bad situation. A lamentable encounter. Typically, the remorse is instant. Whether you stand up for yourself or fall victim to a one-sided, nasty affair, remorse is inevitable. That feeling of self-loathing, internal guilt. The idea that you could have stopped it, prevented it, avoided could have done SOMETHING other than course you chose.

We all feel it. It’s inevitable.

It had taken me the better part of a week but, remorse finally struck. Perhaps it had to do with the disappearance of Mof, leaving me alone for the first time in a while. I woke up, remained in bed, stared at the ceiling and relived the attack from Warfare. Over and over in my mind.

The lights go out. Mastermind’s crappy music hits. He appears. He knees me in the gut. He takes a hammer from Kris von whatever the fuck, he hits me in the back, pulls me back up and drops me with a DDT.


Yea, I said it – Ouch.

It really, really fuckin hurt.

Pain of the physical variety wasn’t the only recourse as a result of Mastermind and his band of merry malcontents. Mental anguish had set in.

Celebration. Euphoria. A mother fuckin party! Those should have been the words lining the marquee that announced my nocturnal activities on that particular evening. An evening in honor of my very first XWF victory.

Instead, I sat in my hotel, icing my head and back while Mof did some impromptu, pro bono, amateurish counseling.

“It’s fine,” I kept repeating, holding the icy bag to the back of my neck. “I’m fine.”

And, I was. Only until – I wasn’t.

Getting out of bed took more effort than usual. My body was plagued by a dozen anchors, the heaviest placed right atop my chest. Moving simply felt next to impossible.

A bathroom mirror provided no relief. My image was putrid. I looked horrible. Turning to the side, I eyed the giant welt right in the center of my back, between the top of my shoulder blades, just at the base of my neck. Any higher and we might be talking some serious, permanent damage. Leaning in, I touched the still tender portions of my forehead, where Mastermind dropped me on my crown with a vicious and effective DDT. It left me laying in the ring...the very ring where I tasted professional victory for the first time in my career.

My eyes locked onto the red-irritated portion of my head. I stared. And stared. The afflicted skin seemed to pulse and twitch. It seemed to jiggle. It’s perceived movements felt derisive. I loathed the sight of it. Rearing back, I brought my fist forward.



You got me, Mastermind. I’m man enough to admit that. I should have seen it coming. Everybody paying attention knows I’ve been rattling that cage of yours for about a month, now. Only a coward would refuse to fight back.

A coward you are not, sir.

Or, well, not a FULL coward. I mean, it did require the help and encouragement from three other individuals to come down to the ring and handle a man who had already gone through the wars and rigors of a professional wrestling contest. But, hey, no big deal. I’m sure that’s all part of your mind mastery...a skill us normal plebs are unable to comprehend.

You’re a warrior, Mastermind. Willing to stand up and face whatever comes your way.

So, naturally, I find myself taking on one of your loyal soldiers. Kris The Hammer von-german-sounding-name. I have to hand it to you, Mastermind...or Kris. Usually, it takes a person a few minutes to figure out how someone earned their moniker. But, The Hammer...well, that’s a pretty obvious one, as evidenced by the giant welt on my back.

You see, it’s the simplicity of it all that I respect so much about you and your group, Mastermind. You attempt to control minds, hence the name – Mastermind. It’s brilliant.

Kris is called The Hammer. So, he carries around a hammer. Masterful.

That woman in your group is obviously, you call her Crazy. And, just when people might have thought you guys were getting a little too predictable, too throw them a massive curveball by spelling Crazy with the y in front of the z, followed by double e’s. It’s fucking brilliant.

Oh and let’s not forget Antony. Leaving out the H, that’s mastery at its finest, sir. Again, keeping people on their toes. And he’s called the jerk. Now, I’ll be honest...I don’t know much about Mr. Jerk. He was evidently too nervous to enter the ring until AFTER I’d been hit with a hammer and dropped on my head. But, I’m going to guess, based on his nickname, that he’s a wise-cracking, sarcastic...hell, SARDONIC guy. Flippant, even. Again, just a shot in the fuckin dark.

Hell, even the name says it all. Misfits. A bunch of pieces that shouldn’t fit together...but they do!

I have to admit, it’s intimidating standing in the face of such genius. I’m not quite sure how I’m going to achieve success against you or any member of your group. But, I shall try.


“Fuck!” I threw my video game controller across the room. It slammed into the wall. Hunched forward, a pack of frozen pizza bites sat firmly against the swell in my back. The screen told the story, “Game Over.”

“I can’t fucking focus,” I said, staring at the ground, closing my eyes, imagining – hoping that the frozen food was expediting the healing forces already at work.

That caged animal feeling permeated throughout every fiber of my wizardly being. The hermit lifestyle is pleasing when you select it. When you are FORCED into living a life inside a shell, it becomes nauseating. Claustrophobia sets in. The walls inch closer and closer, threatening to smoke you out.

“I gotta...I gotta get out of here.”

Five minutes later, I reached for the door, half expecting Mof to make some grand, coincidental return, just in time to accompany me. There was no middle-aged man standing on the other end of the door. Only empty space. Air stood between myself and opportunity. I walked right through it.

It’s strange to think you can loathe a person one week and almost seem intoxicated by them the next. I was starting to see a pattern in my behavior – the reliance of a crutch. First, it was my former roommate. Then it was Mof. Then it was solemnity. And now, it was Mof, once again. What did this say about the alpha inside me? Did it even exist? Was I doomed to rely on others if I wanted to experience change?

These were a ton of questions. Questions that required answers long enough to fill eleventy million blue books. I didn’t have time for an internal essay. Nor did I have the patience.

So, I took a stroll.

Hands in my pockets. Head down, eyes locked on the cracked and slightly crooked cement squares, I subconsciously found myself making sure to avoid each and every crevice. Old habits, right?

There was no endpoint. The journey was the destination. I had to think, clear my head. So far, so good...the pain yanking, tugging, throbbing beneath the lower portion of my skull was nearly nonexistent. Focus emerged. For the first time since the incident, I began to apply critical thinking toward my clash with Kris...the minion of Mastermind.

People passed by, here and there. One nodded in my direction. My head lifted, ever so slightly, returning the favor. Another nod. A smile. What a friendly street. The pleasantries were doing wonders to my previously chippy demeanor. Next thing I knew, I was smiling. Not only smiling but initiating the pleasantries.



“Good afternoon!”

“Nice weather, right?”

I was a regular citizen out amongst the people, not a whiff of social anxiety. Pausing in front of a shop with tinted windows, I caught my reflection. “Hmm, maybe I should remove the robe and hood. Let people know who I am.”

Did I really need the protection of a full-body suit? Was anonymity thrusting me forward or holding me back? I wasn’t sure. All I knew was at that point, at that moment, I felt alive. There was a sense of hope I hadn’t known, personally, in a long time. As though a myriad of possibilities lay at my feet. All that was required of me was to bend over and snatch them.

A solid 6/10 female passed by, noticing me observing my reflection. I turned, half embarrassed. She smiled and kept walking. Hot damn. I was back in the game. I pressed ahead with a confidence filled strut, feeling no pain. Mastermind. Kris the Hammer. They were about as far removed from my mind as a Michelin star sits from a McDonalds.

And I’m not hating on McDonalds. That BBQ sauce is pretty damn good. I’m just saying.

You don’t believe me?

Well, fuck you then.

I turned straight into McDonalds. Because, as fate would have it, one was right in front of my left, obviously. Every fuckin body was about to experience me...lovin it.

Standing in line, I eyed the menu. I don’t really know why...I always get the same thing. Feeling kinda dumb for staring at a useless menu, I removed my phone and opened up an app.

“Hmm-hmm,” I hmm’d. “La-dee-dah,” I la-dee-dah’d. “Scoopababadeeshoutalamakatolamistacowaslothabisha,” I...hummed.

The XWF website was my destination. Hadn’t checked it out in a few days. Was curious to see what was in store for me come Saturday Savage on the 11th. Not that I wasn’t taking Kris seriously (I totally WAS)...but, ya know, we are all curious to know what’s next.

And...there it was.

My match.

A triple threat.

For a title.

“WHISKERS OF GRAYBEARD!” I exclaimed, clutching my chest. Immersed in the throes of surprise, I hadn’t realized the open register or, more importantly, the annoyed employee behind it.

Her voice cleared. Her eyes narrowed. Her voice cleared EVEN LOUDER. Finally, she turned to the person behind me. A good samaritan. He didn’t want to take my place, oh no, he wanted to alert me that super hot, delicious, and unhealthy food was mine for the ordering – I just had to step up.

So, he did what some normal people would do...he gave me a pat on the back.

OW! That fuckin hurt! Right on the tender spot. Right where Mastermind hit me with that stupid ass hammer. Geezus that really hurt. Mother fucker. It felt like a dog leaped up and bit me right in the back of my neck.

I spun around, elbow out. The dude’s jaw was wrecked. He collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The entire place went silent. Taking stock of the fallen man, I suddenly realized he stood about five and a half feet tall. He was also of Latin descent. This would no doubt not look good.

Panning the crowd I saw 100% shocked and angry faces. They were all staring at me – the bad guy.

I needed help. I needed Mof. This one, accidental incident had enough power to derail all the progress I’d made.

So much for going out and being one with the community.

It’s shit like this that keeps me indoors.


So, yea, I’m in deep shit.

Hopefully they don’t figure out who I am and cancel my ass before my match on Wednesday.

Kris, I look forward to facing you on Wednesday. Win, lose, or draw, I’m gonna make it a point to give you a receipt for Mastermind’s shitty act. Maybe then you’ll wake up and realize this dude is nothing more than a control freak dragging you along to help fight his battles.

Or, maybe not. You don’t exactly look like the sharpest knife in the drawer.

Regardless, The Wizard is coming for you on Wednesday.



I am the Wizard.

Bask in My Aura.



[Image: o92j5tuA.jpg]
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