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X-treme Wrestling Federation »  RP Archive » Archives » "Bad Medicine" RP Board (May 23, 2015)
Chasing Ghosts - Part III: RP 3
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Sebastian Duke Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP


XWF FanBase:
Very random
(heel alignment but liked by many; has earned respect despite breaking the rules often)
 (Where is my roster page?)
Joined: Tue Jan 01 2013
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#1
05-18-2015, 07:23 PM

Saturday, May 16, 2015 | 12:09 AM Local Time | Entrance to the Catacombs | Paris, France

The night patrolman and the King of the Illuminatus have reached an impasse. The patrolman is just performing his job and stopping a potential burglar or vandal from entering a closed premises. The King on the other hand, is just doing the one thing he knows how to do better than any other, and that's get his answers.

He is a man of vast resources. He is a man with connections in every part of the world that can get him in and out of places he should never be at a moments notice. The one place he has very few connections is France. While killing the patrol officer did indeed cross his mind, the King figures having at least one ally in an otherwise belligerent nation- what with them working together with the Church to hide whatever it is that they're hiding- may be the best choice. When confronted with two options, so few in this line of work, the King will always try to take the higher road. He'll try and give the benefit of the doubt whenever he can. If it doesn't work out, the death of the man, or any other man for that matter, standing in front of him forever remains an option.

”I'm sorry sir,” says the night patrolman. ”But the catacombs are closed. You'll have to come back in the daylight.”

”Come sit with me. Let's talk,” says the King of Darkness, motioning toward a curbside bench just a few feet away.

”Sir, I must continue on my patrol. If you do not leave the area at once, I will be forced to arrest you,” the Frenchman insists.

”Please. It'll only take a few minutes,” replies the King.

The patrolman glances at his watch, not really checking the time, but trying to fill the void left behind as he deliberates in his own mind how to respond. He finally relents and joins the towering Illuminatus King on the nearby bench.

”What do you make per year? Forty? Fifty thousand, U.S.?” he inquires of the younger looking officer.

”I wish, sir,” the man answers, indicating that he makes far less than this giant mans estimations.

”I'm prepared to deposit to you, in a Swiss bank of course, the sum of a half million dollars,” he states, pausing for affect and gauging the young mans reaction to the number. ”All you have to do is unlock the gate and allow me entrance.”

The young man stares at the concrete sidewalk below him, mulling over whether or not to take this odd strangers bribe. ”What will you do?” asks the young man of his strange companion. ”I must insist that you not harm anything. Do not deface anything or anyone.”

Ah, yes. The King remembers that what lies within the catacombs is a lot of old bones. In ancient times, the dead of Paris met their final resting place within the passages below. ”I can assure you, Officer,” the King begins. ”I have no desire to harm or disrupt anything. See, it's just that I'm a bit of a recluse and I'm not exactly fond of having a lot of people around. That's why I try to secure tours away from the public eye.”

”Might I go with you?” asks the intrigued young officer of the law. ”You are quite a convincing man. It would be a delightful experience to escort you through the maze of tunnels.”

”Who am I to refuse? You may guide me if you like.”

”Shall we?”

The King waves his hand, gesturing for the French officer to lead him in. The two stand up and the officer leads him toward the gate. The patrolman fumbles with the keys, accidentally dropping them to the ground on one occasion before finally opening the lock and the gate. The two enter the Catacombs.

The enthusiastic young officer leads the King of Darkness through a maze of passages while the King himself follows along on a map uploaded to his phone. It is not until they enter the passage adjacent to the La Seine River. It's on a small island within that river that holds the Notre Dame Cathedral.

The tour winds through the passage with the King coming to a dead stop as he stares at his phone. The indicator, displaying his current position, is directly across the river from the cathedral. Next to the King, in the exact direction of the cathedral, is a large iron door.

Noticing that his guest has stopped, the patrolman ventures back toward him some. ”What is it, sir?”

”This door,” the King offers. ”Do you have a key to it?”

”No sir,” the officer answers quickly. ”To the best of my knowledge, that door has not been opened in more than four hundred years. Even if I had a key to it, I'd venture to guess that the lock would be rusted solid by now.”

”Where does it lead?” he inquires, already thinking he knows precisely where it leads.

”No one knows for certain. It's not on any of the tourist maps. I'm willing to bet you that it's not on your phone map either.”

The King stares but doesn't reply.

”Some think it leads over to the cathedral, but that's an old wives tale. Again, no one really knows. And if they do know, they aren't really saying,” he concludes, then turns around, motioning for his dark, intimidating guest to follow him.

It is at this moment where the King decides his impromptu tour guide is no longer necessary...


***CRUNCH!***


The King quickly grabs the young man by the side of his head and thrusts it into the stone walls of the passage. He collapses in a heap immediately. With blood trickling from his ear, the man lies unconscious, face up toward the ceiling. Sebastian Duke extends his sleeved dagger blade and stands over his unfortunate companion, and drives the blade into his throat.

A necessary evil, in his mind.

”Who needs allies?” he thinks aloud. ”Especially the French,” he concludes his thought. The King then retrieves the policeman's keys and drags the body to another location and promptly hides it behind and underneath other bones and rubble.

”Onward and upward,” he says aloud. ”Tomorrow, I investigate the Cathedral.”


To Be Continued...




It's another day and another dollar for your King of Darkness here in the Xtreme Wrestling Federation. Another dollar, but only if your paychecks actually get sent out, which is yet another bitch I have with today's management. Perhaps the XWF should find whatever rock Paul Heyman or Ozymandias are hiding under and ask, maybe even beg them, to become the accountants. Whether or not the checks bounce is suspect, but at least the checks would be sent out.

It's something today's XWF General Managers obviously can't handle. That, among other things.

Like title challengers.

Pest and Eli James? Check.

LH Harrison? Check.

Mastermind and Corvus? Check.

Hysteria? Check.

Cain? Check.

Peter Gilmour? Check.

They're so hard up to find anyone that would pose a legitimate threat to me that they're quite literally grasping at straws. I've dispatched each and every name on that ever-growing list with relative ease. So who do they find to take the place of the suddenly missing Austin Fernando? You know, the man I was supposed to face at Bad Medicine. A competitor known as Game Girl.

Yes, that's right. Some chick from a video game or wishing she was in a video game, or something like that. Honestly I don't know what she is because quite honestly, I just don't give a damn. Why? Why Duke? Why do you not give a damn anymore?

Simple answer.

The talent in the XWF, from top to bottom, is absolute dog shit. Not including the champions, of course. Face it ladies and gentlemen. The XWF has gone from the penthouse to the outhouse in terms of roster talent and it doesn't surprise me in the least that management can't find a legitimate contender or threat to any title. The more I think about it, maybe management is forced to grasp straws when coming up with these so-called contenders because the talent pool is just that shallow.

To you under performing ass hats, step up your game. One by god damn one each and every one of you are being swallowed whole by those of us that hold championship gold. Its at the point now that I regret sending Defiance running for the hills. Gator. Fernando. Sane. Corvus. Each of them are gone. They've split and gone on top greener pastures. As much as I hated each of them, they were at least capable competitors. They would at least pose a serious and sizable threat to my Intercontinental championship reign. Those I've already beaten? Obviously they weren't up to the challenge.

Speaking of challenges, allow me to make one of my own right here and now. This goes to each and every member of the roster. From Madness to Warfare. From part-timers to bad asses. From the rookies to the most seasoned of all veterans: Fucking fight me.

Someone.

Anyone.

I challenge you, to challenge me.

I've been back for almost four months and it hasn't happened yet.

Game Girl?

Seriously?

For fucks sake.


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