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X-treme Wrestling Federation » XWF Classic! » XWF Classic RP Board
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Raziel vs. Mike Raboin
Author Message
James Raven Offline
Registered but either hasn't added self to a roster yet or doesn't RP



XWF FanBase:
Some of everyone

(cheered; very rarely plays dirty but isn't lame either; many likable qualities)


#1
08-17-2019, 10:34 PM

Raziel and Mike Raboin, please post your roleplays as replys to this thread. Everybody else, please do not comment in this thread.

RULES
1 RP Match
No Word Count Limit

RP PERIOD STARTS: August 17th, 2019 (11:59:59 PM Eastern time)
DEADLINE IS: August 31st, 2019 (11:59:59 PM Eastern time)

The People’s G.O.A.T.
120-24-3

3x Universal Champion, 3x World Champion, 9x Xtreme Champion, 1x Hart Champion, 2x Phoenix Champion, 1x Women’s Champion (lol), 1x Federweight Champion, 1x Heavymetalweight Champion, 5x Tag Team Champion
(w/ Aidan Collins, Roxy Nova, Mia Sanchez, Big Shank, Drew Archyle/Robert Main)

XWF Hall of Legends
#4 on XWFs “Top 50” List
2009 Rookie of the Year
2009 Face of the Year
2010 Heel of the Year
8x Star of the Month
2x Star of the Year (2009/‘10)
2x Feud of the Year (2010/‘11 w/ Big Shank)
2017 High Stakes Winner
Former Owner
Lots of other random shit
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Raziel Offline
Heel of Heels



XWF FanBase:
Monster Heel

(always booed; cheats; hurts people)


#2
08-31-2019, 04:32 PM

I always enjoyed the smell of gasoline. As a child, I’d insist on getting out of the car each time my father got out to fill up the tank. He thought it was cute, but it wasn’t about his little squirt wanting to spend more time with the Old Man. It was a selfish yearning to just get a whiff of America’s greatest resource. It’s funny as XX approaches, my nostrils flare and all I smell is gasoline. Say what you will, that it’s the fire burning inside of me to get back in that ring, or that I’m about to have a stroke. Everyone likes to dissect everything I say to have some hidden meaning but not this time...

I’ll tell you exactly why I smell gasoline. As I speak, I’m not sitting here cutting a promo. No, I’m over a decade in the past, staring out at a jam-packed early 2000s crowd from atop a cell, blood pouring down my face like someone popped a champagne bottle. There’s a gas can at my feet, the little that was left of it trickling down on the carnage happening below in the ring as my fellow Order mates destroyed the competition.

I’m laughing, young and invincible. I’ve been brought through hell this night, but I’m still standing, and the grotesque piece of shit wobbling at the edge of the cage before me has no idea that I just brought the flames of hell back with me. My taped up fingers find metal in the pockets of my shorts and I withdraw the lighter. The rowdy crowd goes so silent that even his lopsided eyes widen within his fleshy mask.

A flick of my thumb brings the lighter to life, and a flick of the wrist lights Trent Gein up like the Fourth of July. He flails, but does not scream. This angers me, and even though I’m fading from the loss of blood, I step back one last time that night and rocket my foot up under his flaming chin.

Lights out.

He gives me that scream as he plummets off top of the cell.

XX is supposed to be the end. One more time for us old fucks to show what we still have up our sleeves before relinquishing the ring to the new era of wrestling.

So how do you have an end, without a beginning?

I had been in XWF for a few months before this career-defining moment. My first feud with Dynamic Dynamite had led to us plummeting off a bridge in a gimmick match over the Hart Title, but this moment surpassed that.

Staring down at the crews putting out the smoldering pile of meat that had become of Trent Gein, I didn’t care if he lived or died. I only cared that he suffered. Order had been achieved, and the rest of my Brethren were achieving their moments as well around the cell. Default, Gravy, Kitten, and Cyren had taken me in and shown me my potential, and as I stood atop that cage, I brought my fingers to my face and inhaled the gasoline once more, and that was when the fire was eternal.

Raziel, the Magus of the Order, was born.

After that, I was the man to follow. To this day, if you managed to dig Cyren out of whatever gutter he is in now, he would swear that I was nothing but a knock-off version of the Sickness. But teachers never admit when their protege has surpassed them, do they?

Just look at everyone who joined the Order or the Black Order in the years the followed. As I continued on to win every championship XWF had to offer, there was rarely a time you didn’t see a group of young up and comers at my feet, mouths out like baby birds waiting for their meals to be spat down their open gullet.

FuZZ, Famine of the Vile, Sean Graves, Shane , Dynamic Dynamite...the list goes on and on. Guys who either wanted to be like me, or wanted the recognition I had for themselves. And when they stepped to me to get what they wanted, they failed.

Famine of the Vile couldn’t get the job done when a I set my eyes on completing my grand slam by capturing the Universal Title.

FuzZ couldn’t get past me in our match to enter the Hall of Legends.

Dynamic Dynamite pretty much did nothing besides ride my coat tails to the Hart Title and Tag Championships. His World Title reigns were a flicker.

But there is one protege of mine that got the better of me. It may not show in the record books, but it’s something that has picked at the back of my brain like a prisoner chiseling out of its cell and when James Raven approached me about XX, it found its opportunity to burst through the wall and gain its freedom.

That date was May 5th, 2005.

That night, I “defeated” Mike Raboin for the World Title...and I haven’t been able to forgive myself ever since.

———————————————-

“I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m okay with you getting back in the ring, Justin.”

My forehead instantly pressed against the wooden surface of the crib I had spent the last four hours slaving over and I let a long sigh escape my lungs.

“I thought we had settled this,” I groaned, grabbing the hand towel hanging from the gate of the crib as I turned towards her.

Even seven months pregnant, my wife looked magnificent. Even as she gave took a break from another stroking of the paint brush and wrested her hands on her hips to give me an admonishing glare, Raven was a perfect ten.

“And we will keep going over it until you realize how crazy you are being,” she replied, blowing a strand of her blonde hair out of her face.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead before tossing the towel over my shoulder, I couldn’t help but grin as I approached her.

“Neither of us have the right to call anyone else CRAZY, Rae,” I mused, reaching out to rest both of my open palms on her swollen belly.

My child responded to my touch, giving a kick so tiny I could barely feel it through my flannel shirt Hex had stolen long ago and never returned. Part of me still had no idea what I was thinking, bringing another version of me into the world. Ten years ago, Hex and I should have been locked in a white cell, never to interact with anyone but mental health experts for the rest of our lives. On our own, as individuals, we were vile human beings, but when we had reconnected five years ago, something in our relationship had shifted. The toxicity mellowed enough that we actually felt love for the first time either of us could recall.

And now this...

I blinked out of my thoughts just in time to see the brush in her hand, dripping with pink paint, push out and connect with my forehead before she slid it all the way down the center of my face.

“What...” I breathed, caught by surprise.

“I told you if you ever called me crazy again, I’d paint your face red!” She giggled as I blinked away the paint. “Pink will have to do!”

“You little minx!” I exclaimed, trying to wipe the paint away with the towel but only smearing it across my face even further. “You are lucky you have our little girl inside you!”

“Yeah?” She chortled. “What would big bad Raziel do if I wasn’t prego?”

“I’d...” I paused, thinking about it. “I’d challenge you to a match!”

She laughed heartily, wincing and holding her lower back with her free hand because of the strain of it. “We both know you’d lose. You aren’t the spry chicken you used to be, lover. And don’t forget, I’m younger and just better at wrestling than you.”

“Oh, is that right!?” I grinned, reaching out and sliding my hand around the back of her neck and resting my forehead against hers, her hands pressing against my chest even with the brush in her one hand. “My portion of the trophy room is a lot larger than yours.”

She breathed me in as I did the same to her, playing with her hair and raising it to my nose.

“You has a lot more time to do it, Old man,” she whispered before kissing me softly on the lips.

I kissed her back, trying not to press too hard against the baby as my hands found the her face. Pulling back, I waited for her eyes to flutter back open before smiling softly.

“This is the last time, I promise. You don’t have to worry about me. I might come back a little bruised and hell, maybe I’ll break something, but I won’t risk anything major for a one off. I need to win, you know that, and I think that’s why you are so worried. You remember the lengths I will go to to get what I want...”

I paused as she bit her lip, her emerald green eyes still showing uncertainty as she looked down. I shook my head and lifted her gaze back up with my finger beneath her chin.

“But as much as I want to win this last match,” I put my left hand on her belly once more. “I want THIS more. That alone should make you feel confident that as much as I’d do anything to win, I won’t go as far as to jeopardize coming back to my girls.”

She gave a half smile, eye watering as she shook off tears. She shook her head, hating how emotional the pregnancy was making her and reached up, wrapping her arms around my neck as she rested her head on my shoulder.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to win an argument when you talk like that,” she said, biting down on my exposed shoulder before sliding her hands down my back and squeezing my glutes.

“And it’s been awhile since I’ve been able to see you in those tight spandex,” she laughed, pulling back and winking at me before putting the brush down and walking out of the nursery.

I watched her walk away, my grin slowly fading as her last statement hit me.

I forgot about the spandex....

——————————————————-


05.05.05

The show, on paper, is one of my crowning achievements. I secured the XWF World Title in record time. I celebrated then, but as time went on, all I felt was anger.

For those who don’t remember. We had pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. The match was billed to be a heated battle between Mike Raboin and the evil leader of the Order, Raziel. But when the bell rang and we got face to face, it took one fake punch and three seconds later, I was champion. The only sweat I broke was on my nuts from my walk down to the ring.

And just like that, good ole Mike had joined the cause. At the time, I was so into my own ego that I didn’t even stop to think about the plan. Not only did this spit in the face of the company, it spit in the face of my legacy. I was young and naive and even though I knew I’d be immortal in this business, I didn’t think of how everyone would look back at that day and put an asterisk next to my World Title reign.

Raziel held the World Title! Yeahhhh....BUT!

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about me having to prove to myself that I could have beaten him in a fair, non pre-decided match. I have no doubt in my mind if Mike wasn’t trying to claw his way into my good graces that I wouldn’t have walked out of that show with the title over my shoulder anyway. It was a forgone conclusion in my eyes.

But it’s about YOU.

The fans. I never cared for anything but your hate, which I wear as a badge loud and proud to this very day. But the one thing I cannot stand is your doubt. You may have booed me and told me I was terrible for the awful things I did to the beloved “good” guys on your t shirts, signs, and other memorabilia. You may have hated every time I came out and ran my mouth about how great I was. But you never DOUBTED me. But now, I hear it everywhere I go in my retirement.

Raziel was a great...BUT...he isn’t really an XWF Grand Slam Champion, right?

It’s about YOU.

My coworkers throughout the years and different companies. If I hated the fans, I hated you even more. Even if you were a tag team champion with me, I didn’t really like you. I could only mildly put up with RJ Palmer because he was the only guy as selfish about his own career goals as myself. But the whispers and snickers behind my back started even before I walked away from the ring. Raziel “hate” parades. “Fuck, Raz” becoming a backstage euphemism as a response to practically EVERYTHING. It was like no matter how many times I nearly murdered one of your pals, you still doubted my abilities and my standing in our profession.

Raziel parlayed his XWF Grand Slam into a WGWF Grand Slam! Yeah...BUT...he really wasn’t a XWF Grand Slam Champion and we all know it. Every time it’s brought up we can act like it never happened, because FUCK RAZ!

But most of all, this is about YOU.

Mike Raboin.

My former brother. The one who was willing to lay down on his back and LET me win the World Title instead of stepping up and making me earn it.

Remember that little feeling I said I had picking at the back of my skull? When James Raven reached out and told me that you were one of the people with the balls to request me as their opponent at XX, that prisoner blew out of my skull like a fucking xenomorph.

This is it. How fitting that my last venture into that ring will be to wipe out the ONLY mistake I ever made not only in XWF, but my entire career. When you offered to lay down for my on 555, I should have punched your teeth in right there. I should have dragged you out to that ring by your fucking nostrils and beaten you bloody, pinned you, and THEN let you ask me for another in your bid to join me and my legion.

But I didn’t. And that one decision has followed me one way or another throughout my entire career. And now here you are, asking for this.

You actually ASKED for this. I haven’t seen you in god knows how long, but I used to at least respect you for having a brain in that thick skull of yours. Now, I think you are on a suicide mission yourself. I think that that day haunts you as much as it haunts me. I think you want this match for the same reasons, but the only difference is, this scenario only ended one way.

My way.

I may be weathered, but I’ve wrestled in the last few years. When’s the last time you hit a gym? Even if you were at your prime, you have no chance against me.

I mean, c’mon, Mikey! This is a FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE match! It’s as if you pissed off Raven or something because he dropped you right into a match that suits all of my talents and absolutely none of yours. I made a career out of the gimmick matches. Cages, ladders, barbed wire ropes, hell, I got my throat slit in a TAIPAI DEATH MATCH and STILL left with a victory and my WGWF Title.

You have no fucking chance, man. I’d tell you your best bet would be to not show up at all, but I can’t have that now can I? Even if you try to hide in the back, I’ll come back, and I’ll find you. What I did to Trent Gein all though years ago when I was bright eyed and bushy tailed will PALE in comparison to what I do to you.

If you doubt any of what I’m saying, ask yourself this, what in God’s false name do I have to fucking lose!? This is it for me. This is the end. No come back tours. No more reunion shows.

This is do, or die.

Most people never get a chance to make up for their greatest mistake. In a sick way, I actually SHOULD be thanking you for allowing me this opportunity...

But when that bell rings, if you actually can hear it still, it’ll be you thanking ME for not killing you in (or outside of) that arena.

And then you...ALL OF YOU...

Can “fuck, Raz” yourselves. For I will be completely redeemed.

Lights...fucking...OUT!

[Image: razboardssig.jpg]

XWF Grand Slam Champion
(2003 - 2011)
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