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+---- Thread: Game of the Ring (/showthread.php?tid=42715)
Game of the Ring - JimCaedus - 01-20-2022
======€@£|)μ$======
CAEDUS REWIND: Twice now Jim Caedus has had the life torn from his mortal form and twice again his soul has landed in (for all intents and purposes) "Purgatory". The initial experience was brief; a choice presented to return for a potential happy life or, to indeed "move on". No surprise there, Jim had opted for life and woken from death, the entire event forgotten. His second experience 18 years later, however, following a lethal boar grizzly bear attack (suspiciously reminiscent of an unsuccessful attack 4 years prior) in November 2021......
The veil securing the dam bursts and the memory of Jim's first visit returns in a flood.
The sensations are all the same.
He doesn't panic.
He recalls what's to come and he's confident in his choice...
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Nothing happens.
No flash of a future.
No feeling of unspoken questions arise.
Comfort and confidence dissipate.
A new feeling arises.
...Dread...
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...Dread...
The feeling amplifies.
The walk to your own execution.
Treading water at sea on a moonless night.
Freezing darkness.
And below...
Horror in the abyss.
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The image of his own lifeless body awaiting his return taunts him before his mind's eye.
Like snapshots in a montage, he sees the faces of everyone he loves, relives snippets from times shared. His home...his dog Chewie. Everything he'd accomplished since his return...the 24/7 Briefcase...his chance to now reclaim the Universe, slipping away... He can't die now. Not now.
Alarm and urgency.
He attempts to calm himself. Perhaps he's just being impatient.
It'll be okay...
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It feels as if it's been an eternity but there is no clear sense of time. Still... The images of what he's losing, once so clear in his mind's eye, are beginning to fade. He's starting to forget what he even looks like...
Alarm and urgency return, combine and give rise to outright panic.
He has to get back.
There's an illogical but understandably intense desire to run.
Find an exit.
He envisions himself jogging across the stars.
He feels as if he is moving.
Or rather, the space is moving around his stationary being.
Is that what's happening?
In his mind's eye he can see himself on the track back in junior high, shooting forward from the starting line.
The disorienting feeling of space now spinning around his stationary being is debilitating. Had he a stomach, he'd be vomiting.
He halts all motion...then pictures extending his arm and palming the underside of a sphere.
He rolls the space.
The space does indeed roll.
An infinite loop of invisible scenery.
A hamster in a ball.
Trapped.
How long has he been at this now?
His mind feels clouded. Drunk. Drugged.
He feels disconnected.
It's getting worse...
Desperation.
He can no longer form the thought but the feeling is there...
Pleading.
...nothing in response...
He can't escape.
He can't scream.
...he..he can't...
Despair.
Dread. Panic. Anger. Desperation. Despair.
They overwhelm him.
A maelstrom of emotions with no way to convey them.
They threaten to tear all that he is apart. Scatter his consciousness.
He can't contain it.
He explodes.
An expulsion of emotion unexplainably as substantial as physical impact.
And for an instant there is an image...
As if viewed through a keyhole, an ingress, beyond which lies-
The image, and memory of, are violently removed.
In their place, an abstract form here in the space with Jim that he can only barely perceive...
"Dead...Again p.2"
~GUARDIA~
You are here.
It isn't a revelation.
It is an unspoken, though painfully clear and resolute "understanding" invading his consciousness.
It is also something, anything, on which to focus. A connection has been made. An access. His mind begins to clear.
Without hesitation, instinctively, he pushes back.
No.
You are here.
The chaos of his mind starts to coalesce, he pushes an emphatic
No.
You are here.
Anger surges, shattering forced understanding.
NO!
The abstract stabs a response like an invisible tendril into Jim's mind for the timespan of a hummingbird's flap, he can feel it, before it draws back.
Confidence begins to blossom as he forges ahead, forming coherent thought through the dissipating mental fog.
Free.....me.
The abstract is perceived to grow and darken.
YOU
Jim senses, impossibly, a physical impact and his "sight" grows cloudy.
ARE
A second impact and this time his "sight" is completely removed.
HERE
A third impact. Jim feels as if he's pinwheeling in darkness, what mental clarity he'd gained back obliterated once more.
He can't recall what it was he was just doing, can't seem to focus on any one...thing at all, no matter how elementary, infinitely spinning with no seeming loss of speed. To the contrary, faster...and faster...and fas-
A golden haired, blue-green eyed twelve month old rolls around in an infinite circle on a large play mat, beaming and giggling.
The all too familiar pang of the broken-hearted hits. Jim clings to the feeling before the vision fades, anchoring to it, killing the pinwheel and jarring him lucid like metaphysical smelling salts.
His "sight" bleeds back in, cloth absorbing liquid...and there it is, the abstract form, currently phasing in and out of Jim's perception (there and gone...there and gone...).
His captor. Keeping him in the dark. Away from his loved ones. His mortal life.
Another all too familiar feeling now courses through his incorporeal form...
B
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Swiftly it fills him, overwhelms him...threatens to destr-
Jim doesn't just crank the valve, he kicks it clean off, expelling his rage like contents under extreme pressure.
The wave bursts forth, a glob of energy expanding throughout the space with the speed of a viper's strike.
The space tremors...
...and what appears before Jim's "eyes" steals the breath he can't possibly have from the lungs he doesn't possess...
![[Image: dwREBXT.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/dwREBXT.gif)
The massive abstract form, struck clear from it's veil of imperceptibility, whatever serving within it as the components (corporeal or otherwise) for function and existence now failing, it's very life force erupting like arterial spray in colorless cracklings of release until-
![[Image: GIJja2z.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/GIJja2z.gif)
-the abstract form slows to a halt, seemingly super heated from the inside out until it's surface bursts into flames-
![[Image: IeArGoY.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/IeArGoY.gif)
-and without a sound, it detonates.
Jim's incorporeal form is battered in the blast, the sensation of swinging a thick metal pipe onto another slab of metal while bare-handed reverberating through him.
CAEDUS REWIND: Twice now Jim Caedus has had the life torn from his mortal form and twice again his soul has landed in (for all intents and purposes) "Purgatory". The initial experience was brief; a choice presented to return for a potential happy life or, to indeed "move on". No surprise there, Jim had opted for life and woken from death, the entire event forgotten. His second experience 18 years later, however, following a lethal boar grizzly bear attack (suspiciously reminiscent of an unsuccessful attack 4 years prior) in November 2021......
| CONTINUED DIRECTLY FROM "DEAD...AGAIN" in SEWIN' UP A SCHISM http://xwf99.com/showthread.php?tid=42604 |
The veil securing the dam bursts and the memory of Jim's first visit returns in a flood.
The sensations are all the same.
He doesn't panic.
He recalls what's to come and he's confident in his choice...
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Nothing happens.
No flash of a future.
No feeling of unspoken questions arise.
Comfort and confidence dissipate.
A new feeling arises.
...Dread...
...
...
...Dread...
The feeling amplifies.
The walk to your own execution.
Treading water at sea on a moonless night.
Freezing darkness.
And below...
Horror in the abyss.
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The image of his own lifeless body awaiting his return taunts him before his mind's eye.
Like snapshots in a montage, he sees the faces of everyone he loves, relives snippets from times shared. His home...his dog Chewie. Everything he'd accomplished since his return...the 24/7 Briefcase...his chance to now reclaim the Universe, slipping away... He can't die now. Not now.
Alarm and urgency.
He attempts to calm himself. Perhaps he's just being impatient.
It'll be okay...
.
.
.
.
.
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.
It feels as if it's been an eternity but there is no clear sense of time. Still... The images of what he's losing, once so clear in his mind's eye, are beginning to fade. He's starting to forget what he even looks like...
Alarm and urgency return, combine and give rise to outright panic.
He has to get back.
There's an illogical but understandably intense desire to run.
Find an exit.
He envisions himself jogging across the stars.
He feels as if he is moving.
Or rather, the space is moving around his stationary being.
Is that what's happening?
In his mind's eye he can see himself on the track back in junior high, shooting forward from the starting line.
The disorienting feeling of space now spinning around his stationary being is debilitating. Had he a stomach, he'd be vomiting.
He halts all motion...then pictures extending his arm and palming the underside of a sphere.
He rolls the space.
The space does indeed roll.
An infinite loop of invisible scenery.
A hamster in a ball.
Trapped.
How long has he been at this now?
His mind feels clouded. Drunk. Drugged.
He feels disconnected.
It's getting worse...
Desperation.
He can no longer form the thought but the feeling is there...
Pleading.
...nothing in response...
He can't escape.
He can't scream.
...he..he can't...
Despair.
Dread. Panic. Anger. Desperation. Despair.
They overwhelm him.
A maelstrom of emotions with no way to convey them.
They threaten to tear all that he is apart. Scatter his consciousness.
He can't contain it.
He explodes.
An expulsion of emotion unexplainably as substantial as physical impact.
And for an instant there is an image...
As if viewed through a keyhole, an ingress, beyond which lies-
The image, and memory of, are violently removed.
In their place, an abstract form here in the space with Jim that he can only barely perceive...
"Dead...Again p.2"
~GUARDIA~
You are here.
It isn't a revelation.
It is an unspoken, though painfully clear and resolute "understanding" invading his consciousness.
It is also something, anything, on which to focus. A connection has been made. An access. His mind begins to clear.
Without hesitation, instinctively, he pushes back.
No.
You are here.
The chaos of his mind starts to coalesce, he pushes an emphatic
No.
You are here.
Anger surges, shattering forced understanding.
NO!
The abstract stabs a response like an invisible tendril into Jim's mind for the timespan of a hummingbird's flap, he can feel it, before it draws back.
Confidence begins to blossom as he forges ahead, forming coherent thought through the dissipating mental fog.
Free.....me.
The abstract is perceived to grow and darken.
YOU
Jim senses, impossibly, a physical impact and his "sight" grows cloudy.
ARE
A second impact and this time his "sight" is completely removed.
HERE
A third impact. Jim feels as if he's pinwheeling in darkness, what mental clarity he'd gained back obliterated once more.
He can't recall what it was he was just doing, can't seem to focus on any one...thing at all, no matter how elementary, infinitely spinning with no seeming loss of speed. To the contrary, faster...and faster...and fas-
A golden haired, blue-green eyed twelve month old rolls around in an infinite circle on a large play mat, beaming and giggling.
The all too familiar pang of the broken-hearted hits. Jim clings to the feeling before the vision fades, anchoring to it, killing the pinwheel and jarring him lucid like metaphysical smelling salts.
His "sight" bleeds back in, cloth absorbing liquid...and there it is, the abstract form, currently phasing in and out of Jim's perception (there and gone...there and gone...).
His captor. Keeping him in the dark. Away from his loved ones. His mortal life.
Another all too familiar feeling now courses through his incorporeal form...
B
U
R
N
I
N
G
R
A
G
E
Swiftly it fills him, overwhelms him...threatens to destr-
Jim doesn't just crank the valve, he kicks it clean off, expelling his rage like contents under extreme pressure.
The wave bursts forth, a glob of energy expanding throughout the space with the speed of a viper's strike.
The space tremors...
...and what appears before Jim's "eyes" steals the breath he can't possibly have from the lungs he doesn't possess...
The massive abstract form, struck clear from it's veil of imperceptibility, whatever serving within it as the components (corporeal or otherwise) for function and existence now failing, it's very life force erupting like arterial spray in colorless cracklings of release until-
-the abstract form slows to a halt, seemingly super heated from the inside out until it's surface bursts into flames-
-and without a sound, it detonates.
Jim's incorporeal form is battered in the blast, the sensation of swinging a thick metal pipe onto another slab of metal while bare-handed reverberating through him.
The tremor in the space becomes a quake and Jim, a miniscule guppy in a violently shaken bottle of water-
The ingress.
Beyond.
Beyond.
-perceives the existence and appearance of his escape as the space pulses.
He conceives propelling himself forward...
...the space begins to fold...
...and as he closes the distance between his form and the-
He conceives propelling himself forward...
...the space begins to fold...
...and as he closes the distance between his form and the-
ingress
-the space collapses-
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Jim
through the ingress.
...elsewhere...
A being bearing sword and shield materializes and immediately kneels, bowing it's head.
It hears His word, basking in the radiance of it's Lord and King.
The Guardian of the Schism is gone.
It receives His command, reveling in the grace of it's Lord.
The Exile.
The being, still kneeling and bowing in reverence, dematerializes.
∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞
---Reykjavík, Iceland---
Jim stands stoically gazing out upon the frigid waters of the Denmark Strait, a well timed gust of crisp winter wind blowing his long, luscious blonde locks to and fro and most assuredly hardening his nipples in the process. How it doesn't work that way with penises is beyond me. Ah, Iceland. I fuckin' love it here my brothers...I can sense the spirits of my mighty viking ancestors a'callin'. I think it's about time to-
Drew washes over with a knowingly wary "oh shit" expression. Whatever it is you're scheming, forget it. Vikings weren't from Iceland.
What? Bullshit, yeah they were. You think Iceland, y'think strapping lads like myself with long blonde hair, blue eyes, big muscles and really big dicks.
You're a really big idiot if it's any consolation but vikings weren't from Iceland. Drew nudges Robert Main.
Bob lights a cigar, adding his two cents through teeth gritting down on the stog'. It's true, they weren't native to Iceland.
Well, shit. I wanted to do a viking thingy for this but as we all know, I'm an overthinking obsessive compulsive sumbitch and it has to fit like a glove...guess that's off the table. Weird though, I coulda SWORN vikings are to Iceland as my cock is to Charlie's large intestine: intimately familiar. So who the fuck famous is Icelandic then?
Björk.
Jesus, no. Who else?
Hafþór Júlíus Björnsson.
Hm?
Bjarni Tryggvason.
The fuck?
Gylfi Sigurðsson.
Whoa, whoa, whoa-
Kolbeinn Sigþórsson.
Hold up, hold up... Everyone's last name here end with 'son'?
Vigdís Finnbogadóttir.
🤣 Fuuuuuck yoooooou.. That was just a jumble 'a random nouns and consonants.
Drew and Robert pin Jim with a unified look of incredulity.
Bob, Jim here doesn't know who Vigdís Finnbogadóttir is.
He's never been the poster boy for awareness, Drew.
Lemme guess, he's an ice fisherman. Yak farmer? No wait, _lemming_ shepard.
She was the fourth President of Iceland, d-bag.
Correct hoss, from 1980 to 1996. Fourth Icelandic President, second longest running elected female head of state ever and the first democratically elected female President in the world.
That's right, so watch the- Drew double-takes at Robert, then turns back to Jim. So watch the ignorant misogynistic comments, Jim, don't embarrass us in such a woke country.
Puffing away on his cigar. A woke country without native vikings.
A woke country without native ANYONE cool to lampoon or emulate. This is bullshit, I wanna do vikings.
Why? Jim, you aren't even related to vikings, you're German/Irish for godsake.
Goddammit... Kinda makes all the times I got called a gay viking for years in the XWF all for naught now, huh? What a gip. Jim looks down, shoving his hands into his pockets. He kicks a pebble sadly, you can practically see the rain cloud forming over his Charlie Brown ass.
Sorry brother. But historically vikings came from Norway, Sweden and Denmark,
Did you say Denmark?? Yo, I'm half Irish but only 23% German; there's a small percentage Danish on my mutt side!! That means I AM a gay vi- I AM a viking!!
Drew backhands Robert on the bicep, then looks to Jim. Too bad vikings weren't FROM Iceland though, Jim, so no point in doing a viking skit.
Down in the dumps again. Yeah...yeah, that's true. Shame...
Well, there are no indigenous peoples of Iceland actually. Although, the vikings did sail here right around 874 AD to build settlements.
A spark of hope. They did??
Clenching his jaw at Robert. What in God's name are you doing?
Rob plows ahead. Yup. And according to new archeological evidence, they got here however long after the Gaelic monks from Ireland, referred to as "papar", arrived.
Painting Robert with a sus gaze. Have you been reading behind my back, Bob?
I binged documentaries when I was sick.
Rubbing his hands together. So you're saying technically the first "Icelanders" were in fact Irish and viking??
A warning tone. Booooooooob.
Technically I guess you could put it that way, sure.
Bob!!
😈 Oh. Hell. Yeah... Viking skit. Jim moves to run excitedly towards town- stopping immediately and only long enough to stoop and snatch something from the ground with an excited, Oh SHIT!! _YOINK_!!, before tear-assing away again towards town.
Well thanks a lot Bob. Knowing Jim, is galavanting around Iceland in the dead of winter while more than likely dressed up as vikings how you want to spend your time in this country? I'm trying to keep that nut outta trouble.
Still puffing away on his cigar. Oh come on Drew, what else is there to do here? Could be fun.
Jim's IRISH, Bob. After your little history lesson, he could be dragging us along for an IRISH Icelandic skit. Irish monks? That's a lot of peace and quiet and even more alcohol. You just gave up the opportunity for a whole load of drinking. You, Robert Main, the biggest lush in the XWF, just screwed yourself out of drinking! Are you happy now?
Robert considers this. Damn. You're right. Maybe we can change his mind, come on. As they both start jogging after Jim, Robert puffing away like a locomotive, Drew, you don't drink. Besides keeping Jim out of trouble, what's in it for you?
It's so much easier to pick your pocket when you're drunk, duh. Which reminds me... Drew holds out Robert's wallet. You're out of cash and I forgot your password. Hit up the nearest ATM you cheapskate.
Robert angrily snatches his wallet from Drew's outstretched hand before they pick up the pace in an effort to catch up to Jim, who's already fading off into the distance...
♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧
![[Image: lOkBYYb.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/lOkBYYb.jpg)
We catch Jim entering a specialty store, the impossible Norwegian name more so impossible to read as seen painted on the street-facing side of the shop window but in reverse from our POV inside the establishment. What the store sells however isn't so difficult to identify.
Rows and rows of Viking Age period accurate weaponry.
Heavy shields of wood and or/metal.
Elaborate sets of leather and iron armor.
His eyes twinkle as a darkening expression promising mayhem monopolizes his face.
Peter.
Fuckin'.
Vaughn.
...'bout goddamn time...
Jim leisurely eyes a rack of painstakingly embellished polearms; spears, lances, forks, halberds and the like, all secured behind employee access only glass and each bearing a hefty price tag. The sole employee, a guy behind the front counter (presumably the owner) bleats something out to the effect of the Muppet Show's Swedish Chef, Jim offering a blind and affirmative "Okay" in response, assuming it appropriate for whatever the fuck the guy said, still perusing the polearms and their elaborate carvings.
A crowd appears to be gathering outside the shop, their attention directed towards Jim who doesn't seem to notice...
Let's start at the beginning shall we?
The XWF (center of the Universe and gateway to the Multiverse. Facts), so unbelievably powerful and expansive, so filled to the brim with warriors and titans, amazons, overflows it's promotional boundaries and spills over into opposing territory (though obviously on the books, woops). Names like Betsy Granger, TNGB and Thaddeus Duke wrest gold from outside brands...like the OCW.
Facts.
Yeah Pete, I know. Viewin' your past promos here has made it clear it ain't your favorite topic. Y'may not wanna keep hearin' it...but y'can't escape it either. So keep your janitorial jizz bucket shut and listen up. It's quite literally your story...
Unrest breaks out between OCW and The XWF. Or perhaps I should say, a heapin' helpin' 'a butthurt jackassery aimed our way.
Facts.
Invasion ensues.
We see our beloved magnum opus, the Relentless three night pay per view epic, tainted (pun intended) as your former Commander in Skeet sends a pack 'a pricks to piss all over it with specific targeting of our main events as the main course.
Facts. Jim delivers the word within a growl, narrowed eyes turning sidelong towards the lens before returning to the polearms.
The gauntlet was thrown, the challenge received, so a squad 'a some 'a the best The XWF had to offer initiated a counterstrike led by General Pryce astride his aerial steed. ::chopper blade sounds::
![[Image: qjKNw2g.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/qjKNw2g.gif)
![[Image: NjfAIR7.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/NjfAIR7.gif)
Fuck OCW more better than they fucked us.
I swear to fuckin' GOD that's what Theo said; gave us goosebumps to see the eloquence drop away for ferocity. It was inspiring, that look in his eye...that man is a badass. Anyway- Jim motions to the owner and clearly indicates a specific "krókspjót" labeled Böllur.
(dick)
![[Image: D5iwWgo.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/D5iwWgo.jpg)
The owner hesitates- taking note of the growing mob out front, the majority frowning -then saunters around to take it from behind as Jim moves on...
"We came. We saw. We kicked it's ass."
Facts.
Also, long live Doctor Venkman. Unlike you (but just like my johnson) a legendary Peter.
To continue...
Jim steps over to the displays of armor.
The lines were drawn, agreements made, contracts written up. Shit would be settled on a grand stage befitting AND benefiting BOTH factions.
Representatives for Team XWF's First Salvo were clearly drawn...
...Jim Caedus...
...Betsy Granger...
...Doc D'Ville...
...Alias...
...Them No Good Bastards Bobby Bourbs and [essentially, insert name here]...
...and there among Team OCW...you.
Peter Vaughn.
The best they had to offer. Nippy top 'a the tit.
Peter Vaughn.
The custodian who stumbled into fifteen
Peter. Vaughn.
Fuck you.
Oh but then suddenly...the milquetoast twat at the reigns 'a your warhorse for whatever reason threw in the towel, flew the white flag and barricaded the _fed_ (die, Thad) from- ...hell, I don't know. Presumed destruction at our hands? Humiliation? Seein' ALL his promotion's championship belts bein' worn in the XWF? I mean, fuck else we all s'posed to think?
So anyway, he closes the OCW- but NOT before bootin' you and several others out. And those 'a you with straps...he took 'em back.
Jim selects a shirt of chain mail followed by a particularly elaborate leather and iron armor set consisting of a chestplate, pauldron, bracers, broadbelt, tasset and greaves, each of them bearing a themed emblem resembling an eye. The shop owner retrieves the mail and the armor set labeled Ræddoghe.
(fear)
Jim ignores the shields with a pft- "the best defense is a good offense"...and more offense -and moves on to the helmets. Outside, the crowd seems to be getting agitated, voices rising...and it all appears to be aimed at Jimmy himself. He glances over his shoulder to regard them, eliciting a response akin to poking at a pack of hyenas through zoo cage bars, then returns his attention to the helmets, apparently unconcerned, with a snicker.
Tell me Peter...why d'you think it is your former employer made sure to relieve you 'a the title before prematurely callin' a stop to the war and bootin' you and the others out?
Theories can be made. Maybe he smelled a rat.
But really, the only extremely solid and logical answer is this:
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-and 'e knew you'd ultimately let 'im down. I wantcha to think about that... You'd only recently snagged that strap. You'd more or less proven- I mean, against THAT roster -that you were currently a force to be reckoned with...but that wasn't enough for 'im.
He saw in you a truth I can see as well.
You're a fraud.
Yeah, you got talent. You got skill. You've managed to catch wins over my bro Drewski both here and out in Thunder Pro and you got the lofty International Championship to prove it. I ain't arguin' you're NOT a contender.
But when it comes to you bein' compared to someone the caliber 'a Doc or Alias, or someone like me- the current XWF UNIVERSAL Champion who earned a reputation as an asskicker to be feared even before his FIRST Uni title run -and when it comes to your attempts to undermine my credibility, tryna flip the script on who exactly has been the bad guy here for months...
You're a fraud.
Jim motions once again to the shop owner, pointing out his choice from among the helmets: a "spangenhelm" labeled Sýn.
(sight)
![[Image: 3VBIPD5.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/3VBIPD5.jpg)
He passes by the axes and moves on to the swords, very much taking his time while the crowd outside appears to be working themselves into a frenzy.
You're a fraud who only showed up in MY home- The XWF -because you were stripped and cast out of OCW and THEN, naturally, the _same man_ who alongside the returning Kings- who also in "no way, shape or form did so specifically to immediately and pointedly decimate Ax3" -stepped in to immediately and pointedly decimate Ax3, decides to recruit you to continue a former battle between two promotions. Only now it's not a Fed (fuck right off Thad) feud, it's a domestic plot to prevent Jim Caedus from once again attaining Universal glory AND demolish APEX as Ax3 before.
So as I show the entire UNIVERSE the measure 'a my HONOR by announcing my cash-in on Alias for a straight up match instead 'a cashin' in like I did in 2017 on [REDACTED], Boss Pryce crashes the party declarin' YOU the number one contender and tells me to "get in line". It was the discussions held between the two 'a you in private though that truly gave rise to The Exiles...shit bro, if you'd been that clever, ya never woulda been outed as whatever you had been by the owner of the OCW, which, hilariously enough...means that Theo Pryce is every bit a member 'a The Exiles as any 'a you... includin' now Chris Page whom Pryce was more than happy to support along with BoB and when BoB was a major problem here. What a shock...Boss Pryce, since his attempt to shovel Corporate Chaos my way in Leap 'a Faith, the brains behind yet another scheme to destroy everything I've managed to accomplish in The XWF and take my brothers, my only TRUE friends Drew Archyle and Robert Main, down with me. In fact, were it not for the not-very-well-publicly-disguised love for Corey Smith of Boss Lane, I might entertain the notion that anyone at all is ever truly lookin' out for my best interest OTHER than my brothers in APEX...despite attempts by outside parties to dissuade me.
You're also a fraud because you're Theo Pryce's pawn, Peter; pathetic as fuck is what you are. Anyone with half a brain would know better than to overlook the fact I was MR. 24/7, ya stupid sack 'a shit, and realize _I_ decide when and where to cash-in.
At least...that's how it's s'posed to be. We all know what really happened though, don't we Pete-
::BVVVVT::
Jim fishes his phone from his pocket to check the notification, swiping to open an MMS text and read silently...
::BVVVVT::
A tidal wave of screenshots pour in.
Jim's body language, for a moment, sags in defeat. A long drawn out moment, fuck it, as he skims through the entirety of the images sent...until his phone hand drops to his side...and he absently slides it into his pocket, draining of emotion and stiffening to erect posture. His eyes seem to darken. He returns his attention to the swords.
......Well, this definitely makes me feel not guilty at all 'bout messin' with Atty and Sandy Marshall. Guess I gotta punish HIM now though. Meh, ah well. And what's one less attention starved whore anyway? Amirite Pete? Y'got a few in YOUR neck 'a the woods yourself...a bonafide homewrecker. Betsy Granger, the "yo girl you gainin' weight?"-iest backstabbin' cunt formerly on the roster and Ma'am Miller, the balloonhead broad you prodded to keep pawin' at my rod leadin' up to Bad Medicine. Your next display of fraudulent limp-dickery I might add. Not Bad Medicine- well THAT too -just in general you and yours with the unprovoked targeting of APEX and myself from the get-go.
That self-proclaimed "Top Guy Slayer"- hilariously exhibiting she can't correctly identify the TOP GUY at the time in Alias -attacked me for no fuckin' reason this side 'a reality at Relentless. Callin' me a cancer she intends to cut outta the XWF, unwittingly showin' how utterly fulla SHIT she is by tryna fling concern for the XWF while at the same time takin' part in a plot to sabotage it for OCW (quick thinkin', thot). So I backhand 'er in response out in OCW and she just keeps goin' like _I_ started this. She actually signs UP- respect for bigger balls than your entire brigade, bitch -to spend a month ambushin' me with attempts to take my X-Treme strap. Problem is, Ma'am is absoLUTELY less intelligent than you- regardless 'a bein' the pissant pawn you are -so there ain't no WAY any 'a that was her idea, she can't even release promotional material without smokes and suds or the obligatory "Miller Time" in the title. Nah, that was all Theo for sure with the necessary yes-man sidekick support from you encouraging Ma'am to rack up so much karmic retribution from me it's a wonder she survived our match- which I WON, recently -out in TPW.
As ever unsuccessful as she was in relievin' me 'a the X-Treme alone, she decides, on the night I win my fifth X defense and 24/7 Briefcase, to attack me yet again and this time steal my Harley. Nice touch. I can only imagine that wasn't her brainchild either...like what happened next...
BAD MEDICINE.
You hit me with a brick in the back 'a the fuckin' head y'horse's ass, at Theo's behest and don't you deny it, allowin' Ma'am to steal the X (only to lose it days later TROLOLOLOLOLOL dipshit) and YOU to walk off with MY 24/7 Briefcase.
Mine.
And I spent a good amount 'a time tryna take it back that night, snuffin' Steve Sayors in the process (sorry Steve...like the time I kissed Dolly on the forehead, it was kinda like I didn't have control over my own actions) and culminating when YOU and The Exiles attacked Alias after 'is match with Lycana, knockin' 'im out before attemptin' to ILLEGALLY use my 'case to cash-in. And if it AIN'T illegal, wtf. Anyway, there was a fair amount 'a fluster from me in not wantin' you to successfully (if possible) use what I earned and take what I earned a shot AT...so yeah, when I was able to get my hands back on MY 'case, I did decide to cash-in- WITH an apology to Alias -to ensure the same shit wouldn't happen again. That don't make me a bad guy. That makes me fed up with your shit.
Oh but the party STILL ain't over izzit. This is when y'started in with your next concrete display of fraudulence.
Servin' up the lamest villain's avenue of attack, your very chicky, basic bitchfest on Twitter tryna discredit APEX as the heroes/antiheroes here.
![[Image: X6CyxQZ.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/X6CyxQZ.jpg)
And NOW, Peter, we can get to the bottom 'a THIS bullshit.
All the bluster 'bout who did what durin' who's match is asinine. YOU started this asshole, YOU. YOU, Miller and OCW and THEO enforced it's continuation by gettin' you involved over here. This is war, you incompetent cocksucker, WAR...and aside 'a Drewski, in APEX neither Bob-O OR I hold to the principles 'a pure good guy. We got no problem fightin' fire with fire for the GREATER good: the erasure 'a The Exiles; so stuff #s 1 and 2 'a your laundry list up your pansy puckered peg-hole, hack.
#3 I just demolished with a refresher course on the FACTS revolvin' 'round the Bad Medicine cash-in. That specific avenue was flaccid as fuck. Next?
#4, the dubious nature 'a the Tag Championship match at Bad Medicine. Look no further than the official who counted the pin, pussy, that's the ref's responsibility and didn't NO GM step out and restart the match.
Did.
They.
...Flynn and NK did everything they possibly could to shadily emerge victorious, I took it upon myself to teach a lesson, apparently the brass saw that as an acceptable slap to a duo of established CHEATERS and LET IT STAND.
So to, in ANY WAY, attempt to make ME or APEX look bad over that makes YOU look like the peabrain pawn you are, unable to figure out where the buck stops; pull your head outcher ass, idiot.
#5, whining about what happened to Miller's Harley after he STOLE MINE never returned it, ungrateful for the fact I ain't a rat who runs to the cops. And then 'a course you pricks blew mine tf up so I guess that settles THIS claim as well.
Just like the fake ass claim you made to Derrick Diamond about NOT attackin' me last Warfare only to see it end up as you doin' exactly that...with another brick to my head no less. Poetic.
In all honesty, I'm DYIN' to find out what you'll be lyin' 'bout durin' our match's hype cycle (blow me, mob) with the narrative you'll try- and fail, believe me -to paint. What's it gonna be, bunghole, huh?
Gonna tryta keep the "evil APEX" avenue goin' despite the fact it ALREADY comedically led like Looney Tunes right off a cliff...ESPECIALLY given the incredibly hostile atmosphere as of late in the XWF with weaklings wagin' war en masse on APEX?
I hope not.
Y'gonna tryta spin my "retirement" Caedus Coda _work_ as anything other than said work?
I REALLY hope not, that only failed due to me WAY oversellin' it, eliciting public outcry, and it was either watch the
What else?
Y'gonna tryta say I ain't payin' you enough attention as if your past promotional material against OTHERS hasn't included you bitchin' 'bout me and APEX, showin' precedent for YOUR tendency toward distraction? Oh wait, I get it... you wouldn't say that (unless I'm overestimating what little intelligence I believe you have), you'd be more clever, combine it and say you've ONLY truly been focused on me, right? That why you lost to Flynn, fuck-o? Too busy boilin' over me to make your career here matter? Y'may potentially think that'll play well in a MATCH with me...but it unfortunately proves you ain't disciplined enough to make it ultimately work for you when you FAIL against others I've defeated. And don't gemme wrong, that type 'a tunnel vision will most DEFINITELY make our match- a Street Fight -an ultraviolent spectacle to behold...but it'll see you make mistakes I'ma capitalize on even with "Sometimes The Beast But Always The Least" Chris Page involved- and he WILL be, we both know it. We all know I'ma be needin' to kick Page in the pussy as I beat Peter off. Which is exACTLY why Drewski- he'd facepalm for me over that last line -will be accompanying me in the match; even-Steven, ya Beast-skeet slickened heathen.
Segue-
-into the special stipulations for the match I'm now OFFICIALLY requesting 'a the staff. We shall indeed flatten each other's faces in what will undoubtedly become a two-on-two/potential handicap on Caedus Street Fight...but given all the hell your Exiles have caused over the past months, it dawned on me that's gonna hafta come into play here. You fucked me over as a team, well, now you'll be winnin' or LOSIN' as a team, twat. For this Street Fight I request-
All other Exiles members MUST be contained. Not only for the benefit 'a the fans and the main event match (at least to the extent possible with a snake like Page involved) but because they've proven they can and WILL interfere. The container: a sturdy cage with remotely operated drop flooring held aloft above a tank filled with Blue Goo. Now, I KNOW Peter Vaughn is familiar but for erryone else, it's the liquid you see in the bottom 'a port-a-potties. Like your bricks to my thick skull, Pete, poetic. The moment you lose- SHOULD you lose -your precious Betsy Granger, Bam Miller and "Venom" Xavier Lux (lame name, X-Lax) take the plunge into a sea 'a blue-dyed biocide, deodorizer and surfacants. 💙 I'd assume it's all a custodial wet dream but I doubt your comrades will see it as such should you fail. Imagine Betsy's blow-up. She'll cut your cock off and drop the lot 'a you like she drops everyone else who puts trust in 'er, filthy fuckin' stable slut. Anyway, should I be granted my requests, this match shall henceforth be known as a- x$xSANITATION STREET FIGHTx$x -and no worries, we'll leave the xbux off the table here. |
How's all that sound, 'uh? Oh I'm sure you'll have plenty to say on the subject as you continue on course to discredit me and that's fine. Like I said before, shouldja bring the current chaos at play into this and tryta twist it on me, as if I'm dividin' my attention, not only do I want ya to remember what I said about your OWN clear mistakes made in the same vein...but I want you to take into account, once more, Bad Medicine. I was double-booked. Had no choice but to divide my attention didn't I? And yeah, Miller walked away with the X (100% because you hit me with a brick) but what else came 'a the night? Tag Team Championships. Arguably a "forced" cash-in on Alias. I walked outta Bad Medicine with two separate titles after havin' to divide my attention and YOU, why, you left empty handed.
Who here can handle distraction and who here can't?
Y'think anything I been doin' in context with the Undercard Mob has been takin' my attention away from YOU?
Don't seem that way when y'consider what your janitor in arms Charlie Nickles did and how I responded 🤣. I guess you could also bring up other instances, like immediately following Warfare and whatnot, while you sat back undoubtedly enjoyin' watchin' women henpeck me left and right. But then, you'd reveal ignorance of what I just said and the fact I went through the SAME spineless shit facin' Schism and look how THAT ended.
Knockout.
Better believe I'ma be aimin' for another one, on you.
See, I can't exactly target Boss Pryce for the part he plays in all this- considerin' he's conveniently inactive -and I already collected wins in TPW over Miller and Granger, Lux I'll get to...so all my frustration and anger over everything that's been buildin' I'll be unloadin' on you, the one member 'a The Exiles alREADY most deservin' 'a my wrath and luckily enough my opponent.
I been waitin'.
With the amount 'a damage I can inflict on a man MUCH larger than me, imagine what I'ma do to someone shorter and lighter to ENSURE I KEEP my Universal Championship. Let all I've managed to attain fall into YOUR shitstain scrubbin' hands? Dawg, I'd rather
CCP Enterprises 🤣🤣🤣
Yo, he can be as rich as he wants but he clearly can't buy MY kinda asskickery; not investin' in The Exiles nor in Peter Vaughn, the pretender. Yeah, _pretender_. I may have referred to you as a real competitor (to and in comparison to Charlie FTR)- and you are to an extent -but what makes you the biggest fraud of all...is the fact you didn't earn this shot. You were shuffled in and pushed to the "head of the line", remember? Who the FUCK didja beat on this roster to appear as a credible contender?
A Literal Gorilla. 👏👏👏 1-0
Drewski at Bad Medicine...with help from Xavier Fux. Pussy. 2-0
Mark Flynn? Nope. 2-1. Ya lost, and ya lost after ya said, "Don't disappoint me again, Mark. Don't make me lose complete faith in you," in the buildup to your match too 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 Dipshit.
Who's next?
Ah yes... Barney Green.
Y'got a win over big BG, bringin' ya to 3-1 thus far in your XWF career. However, and I mean no offense to 'im, who ain't got a win over Barney Green? Back in 2017, when Barney was better at identifying who meant 'im no harm and who sincerely supported 'im, he chose me as his then "retirement" match dream opponent and I gave it to 'im. Y'know what else I gave 'im?
The opportunity to go out on a motherfuckin' win.
I went easier on Barney Green than anyone I had before and have since. I TOLD HIM, "Barney, take me down and take the win, retire on a win bro. I know you can do it." Did he? Not exactly. I did what I could for as long as I could just short 'a the legitimacy 'a the match gettin' called into question. I was forced to finish it...but at the very least, ol' Barn' was allowed to go out lookin' like a warrior.
For all your efforts, all the smoke blowin', makin' me out to be some sorta villain these past several weeks, it's relevant shit like that right there legitimately exposin' your words as blank shots from the snipped sac of a fraud.
4 matches in, 3-1, clear-cut interference taintin' the Ws, no dues paid, no true earning 'a this match (at least Schism was more or less involved in the X-Treme Title picture), no true reason to be wagin' war on me or my APEX brothers other than the motives and machinations of smarter, more calculating puppeteers.
I truly don't care WHAT it is you intend to claim and convey, what narrative you intend to spin...Peter Vaughn, you're not what you SHOULD be to be credibly standin' across the ring from me with the XWF Universal Championship on the line. You're a fraud.
I ain't gonna underestimate what you're capable 'a doin' and what you and Page BOTH are willin' to do to steal this strap away from me...but you should know, it's hard enough to topple me as a legit threat, an established top tier talent.
Frauds?
I fuck frauds.
I fuck frauds like I fuck chicks thinkin' they're gonna rock my world; into leg trembling submission, unable to stand under their own power in a pool 'a their own fluids.
You been makin' a glorious attempt to "fake it til you make it".
I'ma go ahead and fuck it til I break it.
Something weighty hits and thumps against the shop window, startling the owner as he- muttering to himself nervously -begins heading around to retrieve the sword Jim just motioned towards, a two-hander labeled Koma á.
(the blow comes, strikes, penetrates)
![[Image: ehciNaA.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/ehciNaA.jpg)
Random members of the mob are hurling objects from behind the front line; a half empty soda cup sans lid splatters, clods of dirt and dying grass whomp into the mess leaving scabs of muddy earth sticking to the glass, a shoe..
The shop owner appears incredibly worried as Jim shells a substantial amount of cash out until the owner holds a hand up and issues change in Icelandic króna. Jim nods as he jumps in response to someone jerking the door open and hollering something threatening. Before the door closes, someone else hurls something heavy enough to scatter a display of knives. The shop owner makes a move to enter the sales floor but thinks better of it and instead starts emptying the money in the register directly into his pockets as Jim vanishes into a changing room.
More thrown objects start peppering the window as the owner pensively glances from register, window, register and window...
Moments later-
What looks to be a public use trash can hefted by a number of particularly trollish mob members smashes through the window, sending the shop owner on a beeline for the back exit leaving in his wake a virtual snowstorm of uncollected paper money he'd thrown into the air.
The door is yanked open, mob members begin piling in through vacant window pane and ingress-
-as Jim emerges from behind the changing room curtain adorned in armor and armed. He finishes securing a strap one-handed, his krókspjót spear, Böllur held in his right...and with as little hesitation as the mob's expectation, he lets it fly with all his might.
Böllur shockingly javelins into the chest of a bushy bearded, wild-eyed man, piercing his heart before the dark stain around the entrance wound on his red woolen shirt begins to spread. He falls back into a handful of mob members from the impact, dying.
All eyes and gaping maws swing from dying man to Jim-
-just in time to watch him slide his spangenhelm Sýn over and securely, snugly, onto his head. His cold blue eyes gaze without fear into the eyes of the mob as he removes his sword Koma á from it's sheath and raises it defensively(?).
Rage at seeing a member of their own fall apparently finally kicks into effect...and the mob attacks, snatching up whatever weapon they can and advancing on Jim-
He wields Koma á powerfully; removing an axe bearing arm above the elbow and sending that man stumbling away screaming while pawing at his blood spurting stump, cleaving another man with two axes nearly in half at the waist, a portion of his intestine spilling out and down like streamers onto his pants as he gasps in horror and wobbles to his knees twitching when Jim plants his foot into his chest and pulls the blade free, most definitely dragging it across his spinal cord before he crumbles.
Jim receives several stabs to the back, most glancing off his pieced armor, a few sneaking through.
With a hiss he steps forward, Point Blank headbutting a third member of the mob swing his own shortsword right between the eyes and crushing the bridge of his nose in the process, then raises and spins Koma á simultaneously, chopping violently through the backstabber's neck. His shaved head drops and cracks sickeningly onto the hard floor as a brilliant display of arterial spray ejaculates handsomely from his horrifically "death-groan" gurgling throat.
The blood showers Jim, red rivulets flowing down the front of his helmet, dripping at the eye holes, gathering in the chainmail at the bottom. He turns to the store entrances...
The remaining mob, those not ballsy enough to have entered into direct combat in the first place, stare in disbelief for mere moments before scattering at the sudden sounds of sirens in the distance. Jim steps over the bodies, crunching broken glass, and makes his exit through the vacant window frame.
JIM!!
That IS you, isn't it!? Were you involved with that riot you heathen?? This is EXACTLY what I was afraid of, Bob!
Jim swings his head to silently regard his APEX brethren as they jog up. Upon arrival however, taking in the sight of the chaos surrounding him, the death...
Jim...what the fuck have you done...
Jim remains silent, gore stuck to his sword, his empty, cold, emotionless blue eyes peering out from beneath the helmet.
Jim snaps to, the wind blowing through his hair, recalling he was about to say something or other about Iceland and Vikings to Drew and Robert both flanking him as they stare out onto the tumultuous waters of the Denmark strait.
A glint in the dying grass near him catches his eye-
-a gold ring bearing unfamiliar symbols. He snatches the piece of jewelry.
Oh SHIT! _YOINK_!
...You guys...I got the best fuckin' idea for a promotional skit...