The sun poked itself through the trees, looking over the valley and lighting it in the brilliant blaze of its golden rays. Down in the valley, there sat a camp. Tents were set up on the perimeter, forming a large square around the rest. In the middle, there sat a campfire, although all that was there at this instance in time was a mess of charred wood and ashes blowing away in the light, morning wind. Weapon racks adorned the side of each tent, the largest of which belonged to the largest tent. The housing of the leader of this new group of recruits.

Inside one of the recruits' tents, we see the first one to awaken, the black armor that was the standard issue already covering him from head to toe. Pulling the second glove over his right hand, he steps out of the tent, the glistening light of the sun pounding on his eyes, but not in the slightest wavering his spirit. He continues walking, closer and closer to the burned out campfire, the sweltering heat already drawing sweat from under the surface. At the campfire already was a man, dressed lightly in a bloodstained white tunic. A helmet made of stone and a touch of iron was donned on his head, the metal shining in all directions. His face callous and drunken with experience, from the wrinkles on his forehead down to the scraggly beard that hung off of his chin.

Without a word, the recruit and the man look each other over. One's eyes met the other's face guard, followed by an approving nod from the man with an easily visible face. The recruit comes a tad closer and takes a seat on the hollowed out log that the other man was sitting on. In the distance, looking toward the other tents, the two can see others approaching, fully dressed in armor that matches the recruit's. Sweat was pooling under the training man's body, forming a new layer between the armor and his bare skin and making it hard to concentrate on anything other than the possibility that he may sweat himself to death.

From a further distance, beyond the glistening, blinding horizon, the simultaneous gallop of multiple horses can be heard, barely, over the groans and complaints of the other recruits. Moments later, the horses were in plain view, along with several armed bandits with their eyes set on this camp. The approaching recruits began to panic, seeing nothing but bandit horses from every direction. One began to run back to his tent to grab a weapon, however he was cut off. An arrow, coming from the hills to the west of the camp pierced through his chest, sending a spurt of blood up through his mouth, and stopping him dead in his tracks.

The bandits on horseback rushed into the camp, the arrow being their signal. Several recruits stuck in the middle of their paths were cut down, the long swords carried by the horseback men slicing through their armor, skin, and ripping body parts away from the whole. A pool of blood began to form on the ground where after a span of only thirty seconds, thirteen of the twenty inhabitants of the camp laid dead.

At the campfire, one man got off of his horse and approached the recruit and the man. Seeing the bloodshed by himself and the others onto the rest had made him overconfident. His bloody sword served not to intimidate the two, only to add fuel to their fire. The two turned and looked at each other once more, nodding again and simultaneously pulling out weapons of their own. A sword for the man, and a hammer for the recruit.

Nervously, the bandit tried going back to his horse, only to realize that it had scampered off, spooked by the sounds of battle and screams of pain. The two men quickly surrounded him as the bandit dropped his weapon to the ground and began to beg for mercy.

He got none.

As he was speaking the terms of his surrender, the recruit came up behind him and smashed his head into the dirt with the hammer, sending bone, flesh, blood, and brain matter flying across the ground and soaking the already blood drenched grass in even more death. An outraged face graced the face of the man, but he was quickly over it, remembering the events that had just taken place. The two silently decided to retreat from the area, knowing that they couldn't take out an army of bandits alone.

"When the time is right, we will have our vengeance." The man said, a tang of anger mixed with sorrow dotted his voice. They turned to the east, where no bandits stood between them and freedom. Running from the camp, they both took one look back to see what was being done. A flash of orange and yellow light overtook the encampment's tents. In a matter of moments, the entire camp would end up like the campfire.

Burnt out.


Night of Ladders, a beautiful place for this one to make its in ring debut in the promotion known as XWF. A million dollar opportunity lays in the wake of the one who can climb the ladder and pull down the contract for a guaranteed shot at the XWF Television Title, held by one named Mister Satellite. This one however, needs not give a lesson on the occurrences here to the talent who are already fighting for the shot themselves. Speaking of the group who are already committed to the match themselves, this one has decided to give its thoughts on each competitor that it will be facing in the match.

The one named Caliban seems to favor himself in this match, a trait it no doubt sees in a majority of the participants, however where the others have something to show for how they know this to be true, the one Caliban does not. For although he has made himself known in the federation for his entire time here, he hasn't been one to show what he can do. In that one's debut, it lost a Rumble that another debuting entrant won. This one, the one speaking, sees the one Caliban not as a threat to take the match, but more as one to attempt at hindering progress. Whether or not it will prove successful in the task that it could actually accomplish has yet to be seen. This one expects a response that pokes fun at the speaking pattern and the use of the third person, however nothing particularly cutting. All flash and no substance, the would be ready made motto for the one named Caliban's career.

Wrestler Eighty-Two. How does this one even start on the one it is supposed to speak about? It cannot, due to how glaringly apparent each and every single one of the flaws are. Not a single soul could possibly believe that the one named Wrestler Eighty-Two could do so much as land a move in this match, right?

The next uses a pun in her chosen name. Sincere Lee Wild. A play on the phrase Sincerely, which in layman's terms mean seriously or truthfully. Admitting that that one is indeed wild by the name. One could consider that a clever addition, but not this one. All it sees in this ploy is that that one is using it to cover for an apparent lack in the ability to be, in the eyes of all, wild. That one has to shove the fact that she is indeed 'wild' in the faces of those that the one with the name faces to seem as though she was truly considered 'wild.' Insecurities reign supreme in that one's head, and insecurities don't result in victories.

Hunter Payne, who like Lee Wild, uses the name Payne as a relation to the word pain in an attempt to make people believe that he can cause it. Again, if it has to be put in the name of the person, it likely isn't true. I expect little from this man, except for him to make a fool of himself.

Jonny Rebel, who had some nice words for this one. This one does wish it could give some back, but it can't in good conscience lie to someone it just met. The fact of the matter is that continuously trying to enforce the fact that that one is indeed a 'Rebel' just proves how much of a conformist it is. Three in a row, all suffering from a case of needing to compensate for a lack of provability with a name. How saddening.

Matt Lennox, who wishes to have a new start. A new start that will result in the same end, this one can assure. No one wishes for a new start when things are going their way, so it's safe to assume that things will take a turn for the worse with Mister Lennox sooner, rather than later.

Swift Ion, are as it likes to be called now, X Ion. That one comes in assuming everyone to almost lay down for him and that he is the surefire bet to win the match and that everyone else is just wasting their time. This one does not see it that way. This one instead expects that Swift X Ion will fail miserably in his attempt and then act like it doesn't matter. As is the case with the things he loses, for this one did research on his past. Asking a man who beat that one for a rematch proves it. Ion will fail, and most will laugh. This one, will be too busy focusing on the others.

Sokolov Red, Keegan-Michael Kay, and Tri Bute, this one admittedly knows little about.

Lastly, the one named Alexandra Callaway. The odds on favorite in this match, and seems to be in a romantic relationship with the man who she would be facing if she wins, Mister Satellite. A conflict of interest that could easily be avoided had she not been in the match in the first place, however this one does not question her resolve. This one wonders however, the ability she would have to defend against all the others, and be on the watch out for it.

There it goes, all. When it comes down to it, there's only one logical choice to be the victor of this match. The one that all will doubt.

This one.