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Messages - Brother Grimm

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1
Climax Control Archives / Old aquaintences
« on: April 21, 2017, 07:38:53 PM »
 
Romania ...
1640

The Carpathian Mountains. A familiar view on the topic of this one, a place where one might suggest his first true defeat had come to pass. Or rather, where it had originated. Five years would yet pass before the battle of Clan Dalca against the Pale One, where a special babe was used as bait to lure him in, and where the sacrifice borne of love allowed the Clan's matriarch, an elderly gypsy known as Nadya, put the final nail in the proverbial coffin and sealed Him away for the next three hundred plus years. Yet some wonder how they knew?

How did thirteen brave yet abysmally mortal Romani know what to do to cast the Boogey Man away from the mortal coil and into a prison that they should not have been capable of erecting? Simple. They had help. From whom? Oh if they only knew...

The night had fallen, and twilight was at hand. This was hundreds of years before the lights of a metropolis would drown out the stars from the eyes of those that revered them far below. During these times, at this day and age, many folk would gaze up at the stars and marvel at the heavenly wonders -- that is, of course, were they not locked behind closed doors. For with the night came the unbridled terrors within. The undead walked at night, as did many manner of creature that survived the centuries against mankind. Species that saw us as not just enemies, but also food.

One such brave soul stood at the base of the Carpathians, just outside of the village perimeters. An outsider had contacted him, and told him he was aware of the desire to hunt a certain 'creature of the night,' and he could help him. How? He did not say. But the threat had been real since the dawn of time, and his Clan was prepared to make the necessary sacrifices to end the threat for good. Nicolai of the Alexander Clan, watched and waited since dusk, and just as he was about to return to the path that would lead him home, he was startled by the voice behind him.

"I was unsure whether you would show."

Nicolai cursed and spun about, his hand reaching for his pocket that sheathed a nasty looking blade, but paused. Beneath his hood, the man was beautiful to the point of being achingly so. His golden ringlets of curls framed his face, and he wore simple clothes, much like Nicolai himself wore.

Nicolai looked him over and could not help but feel the stirrings of desire, despite the fact he would be seeing his soul mate Andrei in mere days if this panned out. He swallowed hard and bit back on his primal urges to ask, "Are you from a neighboring village?"

"No." The stranger answered. "I'm from a place much farther away."

"Then what are you...?" Nicolai started to ask but was interrupted by the stranger. "I only heard of you and your's goal, and knew I perhaps had the key to your success."

"The key ... to lock the Pale One away?"

The stranger nodded. "Indeed."

Nicolai asked in wonder, "Then why did you not come forth sooner? Lives would have been spared."

"You must understand...." The stranger started to say. "I was once a warrior, just as you are now. Though sadly those times are now long since past. Now, I do better work behind the scenes, you might say."

"Long since ... but you are so young!"

"You flatter me." The stranger smiled, the held out a scroll that looked ready to fall to pieces, ancient as it was. "Here."

"What is this?" Nicolai asked as he took the scroll into his hand with much hesitation.

The stranger answered, "As I said; a key."

"To what?"

The stranger smiled. "A cage."

Nicolai looked at the scroll, then back to the man standing before him. "I can not convince you to fight at our side?" He asked.

"Alas no." The stranger shook his head. "I have done my part. The rest now is up to you and your family."

Nicolai looked again to the scroll and felt for the first time in what seemed forever, perhaps a sense of hope. He nodded his thanks and turned away from the stranger and started to hurry back down the dark path that would lead him to his village, as well as his compatriots. Only then did the stranger shift and he smiled genuinely, but with a hint of malice.

"Now old friend ... we are even."



"And in the beginning, the Lord God said 'Let there be light!'"

A soft chuckling filled the darkness. A sucking noise, as air through teeth, was heard next and the soft sigh of contentment.

"I never do get tired of hearing that story. It's amusing at best to sit back and see the tripe that the Christian cattle believe in that little word they like to refer to as 'faith.' They believe these tales of old, told from the insane babbling of a man that climbed a mountain and returned with etchings on stone tablets. To the enlightened mind, one might be able to poke holes through every facet of these stories told in the most holy of writings. And if there is anything that I consider myself, it is enlightened. Think of it now as I did then. For hundreds of years, these tales were told by word of mouth, and we all know what the end result is of stories when told from mouth to ear by the millions. Details are embellished, and stories become legends. Why, some might even stress the point that were it not for a simple Emperor, your Christianity would not even be as prevalent as it now is."

There was just enough light for the black lips to be seen in the dim shadows. They pursed together and blew gently onto the wick of the tall, pillar candle and it smoked gently at first, and then flickered to life. A single candle flame danced at the tip, and the creeping shadows illuminated the pale face and amber colored eyes. He smiled gently, but it was not the sort of smile that would calm the average onlooker, nor would it charm any despite the general appeal of his visage. No, this was the type of smile that unnerved some and curdled the blood of many. His white fingers ran up the shaft of the candle, wax slowly ebbing down the sides and drifting across his pale flesh. His hand then stopped, just a hair's width over the flame that cast dancing shadows along the surfaces of his surroundings.

"To everything there is a beginning, to even the Judeo Lord. Granted, He is not talking and sharing his secrets as to His origins and how He came to be. Had He birth parents, much like the ancient Gods of old? Were His parents, in fact, the Ancient Ones of Old? Or were His beginnings more sinister in nature, and did He crawl as I did from out of the depths of the Primordial Darkness? This, the light, it was only the third creation to come into existence. God, Himself, was the first."

"What then, was the second? What was the most ancient of God's creations, his deepest and darkest of regrets?"

He smiled once again.

"Why, me of course. I would make mention of Death, but God did not create that troublesome entity, and neither of them are able to recall which of them is truly the older of the two any longer. But I digress. From the darkness came the light, and from the light emerged the first of the shadows. As wise as His followers like to think of Him, I would like to believe that He knew not what he was doing when I first came forth. Because if He did, if He knew then what I would be capable of where His beloved mankind was concerned, it would only serve as further notice that He was not as Wise as you might be led to believe. Fear was my motivator then, as it is now. The trick is, after so long, finding new and amusing ways to make the blood run cold through your veins. We are no longer in the times when the favorites of God dallied in Eden, taking simple pleasures in beast and mankind. When the blue skies grayed fir the first time, and that first crack of lightning danced down from the Heavens over their heads, I remember fondly the terror in the eyes of the first couple, man and woman. They had never seen its like, and suffice to say they did not like it. They attempted to hide but without success, as they knew nothing of shelter from the storm. All they could do was watch the animals they loved so, run from the heavy rains and booming thunder. The lightning seared many in the garden that first time, and God mourned their losses. As did the couple."

"Those were the days."

"Which brings us, to the present, and an old but familiar face in Nicolas Blair."

Grimm shook his head in mock disbelief and glanced upward as if in contemplative thought.

"How many names over the eons have you went by, Mister Blair? Morning Star? Satan? The Dragon? Beelzebub? So many names, so many lifetimes ago. I look back fondly on our first moments together, and often wonder if they are lost to you in this new day and age."



The favored son of the Lord stood at the gates that led into the innermost center of the Garden of Eden, and more specifically, to the Tree. Lucifer watched in a peaked sense of interest and wonder as the First Born husband and wife played with the animals that roamed the inner circle of the Garden, while the more dangerous beast roamed on the outside. Tall beasts, lizards of sorts, that towered over trees and were kept from entering the Garden only by the machinations of he himself. As the favored son of the Lord, it was his worn duty to protect God's favorites from the beasts. And the ones that could fly, were kept from entering by Lucifer's most loyal of followers. Soldiers that served under him.

They were curiosities, this Adam and this Eve. Naked and ... what was the word deep in the recesses of his mind that he wanted to use to describe these ... creatures, made in God's own image? A word that would be an abomination to the ears of his Father?

"Inferior...." The blackened lips whispered into the ear of the Morningstar.

And thus the fall had begun.



"And now we meet at this, the nation's capitol in this farce of a Memorial. Old friends, I should like to think, but a part of me wonders if you have yet to forgive me for what I had caused. A bit of play on my part. To sit back and watch what chaos could be wrought from a single, hushed word... it was exquisite. Now I can hardly deny my part in the tapestry of your fall, but a piece of me yet condemns you for being unable to make your own decision. I simply ..."

He shrugged.

"... brought your doubts to the surface where they were allowed to flourish. I spoke the word you dared not. I pointed out what you already knew, and I encouraged you somewhat to act on your own choices. A cardinal sin, for your Father. For you to have your own mind, your own decisions."

He shook his head and clucked his tongue in a 'tsk, tsk' manner, mocking his male opposition.

"When you look at things that way, you really only have yourself to blame, don't you? I mean, it wasn't as if I forced you to confront your Father and refuse to revere the mud monkeys on bended knee. I know personally I wouldn't. It's why I take such joy in reveling in their fear. Stealing their children away and drinking in their despair. And speaking of despair, you provided quite the banquet yourself when you were cast down into the fiery cauldrons of Hell. When you gazed upward and finally realized the folly of what you had done. The horror as you looked about you and watched at what your angelic brothers and sisters were turned into, while you yet remained perfect. Demonized. Their Grace twisted and mangled, and you understood in that one moment that it was all entirely your fault."

He looked away and sighed.

"Now that was a feast to be savored. Never before had I felt so satisfied. Sad, really. After so many lifetimes, to know that I had peaked far too soon with that one, simple act. One day you must tell me of the expression on your Father's face when He saw what you had done, and the moment He knew what it was that He had to do."

He again shook his head but this time chuckled brazenly.

"It must have been quite the sight! Ha ha ha! And now we find you here, in the same arena as I! Your most recent encounter before this tournament being your much hyped encounter with the one known as "Hot Stuff" Mark Ward! A loss, true, but you more than made up for it when you were paired with Jessie Salco. A match made in heaven, the two of you. Oh..."

He brought his fingers up and the tips covered his mouth as if he felt he had been caught saying something he ought not to have said.

"... you'll have to excuse me. I said 'Heaven' where you were concerned. That must bring back harsh memories. My apologies."

He smiled, showing his words were anything BUT sincere.

"So consider this then, your chance to get even. You knew it was me that planted the fear of discontent deep in your breast, and I imagine you have longed for an eternity for the chance to get even with me. Well!"

Grimm spread his arms and the red lights over the wrestling ring at the Bender Arena turned on, illuminating the six-sided ring.

"Here then lies your chance to right a wrong committed against you so long ago! Good luck Nicolas Blair. Make the most of this opportunity against me, because I know for certain that I will be doing the same. I want to see if there is any way when we meet, to match the sweet sense of fear and despair that you gifted me with so very long ago. The despair you will feel when you understand you let your partner down, and you will once again be cast into oblivion."

He smirked and tilted his head back and eyes upward.

"And you, Jessie Salco. Our first chance meeting, and you have your tag team partner to thank."

He looked back into the camera and made a pouting face.

"Aw. I will understand if you decide not to thank Nicolas. I wouldn't either if I were in your shoes. But you have little enough to fear from me, besides the obvious I mean. After all, the powers-that-be do not allow intergender violence, so my hands will not so much as touch you. But the end result of your impending loss -- that is what you have to fear. Nicolas will not prevail when inside of the ring against me. As it was before, so shall it be again. And you forget..."

Grimm extends his arm and picks up an 8x10 glossy photograph of SCW Hall of Famer Misty. He takes a gander at it with disinterested eyes, then holds it up for the camera to focus upon.

"I have a partner of my own to deal with you, and she is clearly your superior in every way. You see, Misty knows my interests still lie with her family, and so long as she keeps me occupied in this event, then my free time is not so much. So long as we win, she knows I will have little time to pay her darling son a visit amidst his protectors. Though that would be a tantalizing treat of an adventure all unto itself. Misty -- wants to win because she too holds fear deep in her heart. A fear that we will lose and thus her children once again become vulnerable to me. And a fear ... of inadequacy."

"Misty fears no longer being important. She fears people no longer looking toward her with admiration in their eyes. A fear of no longer being -- relevant. It is a sad thing, in fact, but a subtle fear that will propel her further and force her to fight even harder. Good for me..."

He shook his head and smiled.

"Not so much for you."

The lights were again expunged, and only Grimm's amber eyes were seen in the pitch.
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Climax Control Archives / Mother May I?
« on: April 07, 2017, 11:01:45 PM »
 
Where is He?

The question had remained on the tips of many a tongue, wondering where He had been ever since the entity known to the public as 'Brother Grimm' had vanished seemingly from the face of the Earth well over a year ago. His last encounter before the public eye, namely the wrestling fandom that was beholden to Sin City Wrestling, was a rare tag team encounter where He had teamed with the then-future World Heavyweight Champion, J2H, in a successful effort against two less than fortunate souls in C.J. Sharpe and Eric Steele. It was seen as an unusual circumstance at the time, as only too recently J2H had been the target of the cradle-snatching 'Boogey Man' and his cohort, the fabled 'Black Woods Witch' known as Baba Yaga.

That was, until J2H cut them a deal and saved his own soul by selling out another to Grimm, namely that of Tim Staggs, son of SCW Hall of Famer, Spike Staggs.

Their team had been victorious, and both had even ventured further on the card to the Gauntlet match where J2H had started a dynasty by becoming the longest reigning World Champion in SCW history. But once Brother Grimm had been eliminated in the gauntlet match, He had simply vanished as the early morning fog in the rising sun of the morn. Some had wondered if He had gone back to where He had come from, wherever that was. Others believed instead that He had held out in negotiations for a newer and better contract to the staff of SCW, but few believed those rumors. And the wrestling 'rags' ran by so-called armchair "experts" were strangely silent on the subject, whether by choice or coercion. Where the answer to this intriguing mystery was surprisingly simple.

Even that which dwelled within the darkness deserved a vacation every now and then.

German Valley -- Eastern West Virginia

By this late hour, the sun had already descended from the heavens, blanketing the sky with what was once clear, blue skies and no clouds, to a deepened hue of dark blue, almost black; the only illumination being that of the multitude of stars and the waxing moon that was not yet in its full phase. And while the day had been warm and clear, now the air held the usual nightly chill to it, and a single gray cloud wafted across the horizon, threateningly to eclipse the view of the stars and moon by wandering eyes below.

Only here, there was just the one. Aged beyond years and wise in mind to match. At this hour, the public was not allowed to venture so near this attraction, but she was not a member of the general public, and cared little for what mortal authorities deemed appropriate or lawful. After all, for centuries she turned children into roasts and soups and such for her dining pleasure. After so much time in doing so, it only served to prove that one tended to care little for what we as a modern society such as we would call the norm.

She approached the mesh gate that surrounded the area, the better to protect those that might wander too far in or not be aware of where exactly they were headed or the danger that lied just within. After all, what had she to fret over? Falling? The wildlife which included the heaviest population of Virginia big-eared bats in the entire world? Please! All that was less than a trifle where one such as she was concerned, whereas the general populace might have heeded the warning signs of which there were plenty. A casual flick of her finger and the gate swung open and she strode through, the last sign her rheumy eyes beheld was one that read in bold print, "Make Peace With God."

Baba Yaga openly scoffed at the very notion, wondering privately to herself if one of the park's staff had placed that there as a further precaution to the various tourists and explorers who came this way, or if someone had lost a loved one due to an accident and took the notion themselves. It mattered little. He was waiting, or to be more open, He was attempting to avoid her. It was a pointless attempt, and deep down she knew He understood this. The workings she had used to free Him from the Romani imprisonment also bound Him to her. She knew where He was at all times and she did so prefer to keep close tabs on her investments.

She passed through trees, shrubbery and bushes alike as the eyes of the world's nightlife peered through their cautionary hiding spots, for they could sense the darkness that wafted from her. Owls, foxes, coyotes and felines all avoided coming anywhere close to her, even though their curiosity was piqued by this new arrival to their wild territory. She walked until at last she came upon the opening in the ground; a large, funnel-shaped hole at the base of North Fork Mountain that descended into pitch darkness. A strong cable ran down from a winch, used by workers and spelunkers to lower themselves more than one hundred and fifty feet. Her iron gray hair blew gently in the wind, as did the dark, ankle length robes that reeked of brimstone. She held her shawl in place with one aged hand as she peered over the edge and into the vastness below. Of course, she could see nothing but she knew that He was down there, somewhere. She could practically smell him.

With a shake of her head, her indifference towards his melancholy tactics, she was suddenly standing down in the vast chamber at the very bottom of the shaft that cave experts would descend to. With a raising of her hand, the lights used by workers suddenly turned on -- and a swarm of bats blew through the caverns deep within! Bats by the hundreds darted forth, fearful from the surprise at the sudden eruption of light. And Baba Yaga simply stood there, watching the art of their aerial dance while they flew around her, never coming close to actually touching her, and right up the shaft and into the night sky above to hunt. Once the final bat vanished from sight, her eyes lowered and back to the interior of the aptly named Hellhole.

Her eyes, light gray in nature, roamed about as she looked to where she might best be headed. She knew He was further within, somewhere deep. The pit cave was perhaps the seventh deepest in the United States and more than forty miles in length throughout the multitude of tunnels. She wouldn't be surprised if a lengthy number of unfortunate souls had lost their way in the system of tunnels, never to be seen again, but she would have been surprised if whomever used the Hellhole for tourism purposes publicly acknowledged such atrocities. It was simply the human way; don't acknowledge the frightening and it would go away. Fact or fiction, it didn't matter. It simply was.

Knowing there was little reason to indulge her own innate curiosity to look about, she took that first step forward. The deepest cave in these tunnels was known as "Little Hellhole," and she also knew that this would be where He made his "nest" as it were. And further and further down she went, showing surprising stamina for a woman of her ancient years, until she finally stood in the small cave. She glanced around at her surroundings, taking note of nothing terribly interesting. They were rocks of all sizes, and fire danced on the walls in the darkness for her eyes to see. For mortals to be so easily entertained by simple rocks defied explanation to her. But it was not the rocks on the floor, nor the sharp ones that jetted both up from the ground or descended down from the roof of the pit, that interested her. Further along and against the farthest wall, the surface was smooth and unyielding. She stared at that very spot for several long moments before a voice, soft in tone but echoing in the resounding pit, spoke aloud...

"I know you're there." Grimm said from wherever He had holed Himself up in the walls of this pit. "Is there a point to this visit or am I not allowed to have a bit of time to myself?"

"Time has little meaning to one such as yourself." The Blackwoods Witch replied as she took a seat in her rocking chair that suddenly found itself in the cave. She picked up her ever-present knitting and continued to speak, "And you have had this 'time to yourself' for months now, and I have honored that. Respected it, even."

"But...?"

Baba Yaga casually went to work on her woolen project as she said, "But ... you are behaving like a petulant child."

"Is that your coy way of inviting me to dinner, madam?" Came the reply from behind the solid surface of the wall. "As the main course, I mean."

Baba Yaga scoffed back at His dry wit. If she didn't know any better, she could have sworn He had just made an attempt at a joke. She instead choice to avoid taking His bait and said, "And all just because you did not get as you wanted."

"Which was entirely your fault."

"I do not deny having a hand in what happened." She said casually as her fingers worked the knitting needles crafted from human bone. "But it was all for a good purpose."

"So you say." Came the hushed voice. "But you have yet to explain yourself."

"How could I?" She asked. "The moment the deal was struck, you stomped off like a spoiled child who did not get the Yule gift they had their heart set on..."

The wall of the cavern suddenly exploded, throwing rock and dust everywhere! Through the dust and dirt stomped the white specter known by many names over the eons, but known to her as Brother Grimm. A name she had in fact chosen for Him during the binding ritual. A bit of fun, if you would. An agitated look on what would have been a handsome face on a mortal man, Grimm stormed over across the cavern until he stood over the witch who remained unfazed by his emergence. The rocks and dust came nowhere near her.

"I grow weary of your impertinent attitude, witch!" Grimm growled. Perhaps what bothered Him most was the fact she was not afraid, not at all. "And I grow even more tired of being compared to common food!"

She, however, made Him no apologies. Her hands stopped at their knitting and her eyes cast upward to His own amber colored eyes. She spoke in a crisp, casual tone, "You know me well enough over the years that I do nothing without reason, no matter how insignificant a choice might be perceived."

"Oh I am certain that you had reasons for doing what you did." Grimm shook his head, His eyes narrowing. "But I would be damned if I were to say that I understood them."

"Pun intended?" Baba Yaga asked with the wisp of a smile on her lips.

"No." He answered. "Lucky coincidence."

"I have news." She said, casually changing the topic of conversation between them.

"News." He repeated. "And this would be the reason behind your visit to disturb my hibernation?"

"It would. I have been thinking, about your entering into this special event your old 'haunt' is hosting."

Grimm turned away from her, showing her His back and he stalked away a few paces as he said, "I still do not know how you managed to talk me into this ... spectacle."

"I didn't exactly have to twist your arm." Baba Yaga countered. "Not when you found out that young Timothy Staggs' stepmother was herself involved. A bit of play, I believe you said?"

Grimm stood rigid, and His head turned only far enough so that He could cast a glance back over His shoulder at her.

"I simply wished to get close to the mother. Misty." He said. "These 'tag team' encounters have little interest to me, pairing myself side by side with some meat sack on the mortal coil..." He sneered as he thought back. "I was barely able to tolerate being teamed with Goth, but at the very least he proved himself worthy AND interesting. He was..."

Grimm paused in thought as he sought the right words for what was going through his mind.

"...he was something more." Grimm's golden eyes then flicked towards her and he whispered, "But this? If you think my interest has anything to do with the rewards or honoring the ghosts of the past..."

Baba Yaga held up a hand and said, "Perish the thought. And at the very least, you will be more than just close to Misty."

"Of which I have you to thank."

"A trifle, nothing more." She smiled. "I know you also enjoy a bit of chaos and it amuses me to think what will become of this little pairing between yourself and the mother of your target. And should young Timothy show up to cheer his stepmother on...?"

"Nothing will come of it." Grimm turned around completely so that he might face her. "You saw to that."

"A fact that I would have expected you to appreciate." Baba Yaga stated. "You do so enjoy the art of making a deal."

"Yes, when it benefits me." He shook his head with a sardonic smile on his black lips. "This, does not."

She sniffed back a soft laugh, and picked up her knitting again to continue as she replied, "Not everything is about you, dear. But as I said, I have a bit of news. And this news does center around you."

"Then out with it." He huffed. "I would like to get back to my rest at some point."

"You've had centuries of rest in that cage I found you in." She replied. "You have plenty of time for such trivial wasting of time later. For now, your first encounter with Misty is at hand in Detroit. A first round match in this tournament I entered you in."

"And the opposition?"

"A brash young male by the name of Kris Halc." The witch answered. "And a female named Polly Playtime."

Grimm frowned. "Please be serious madam." He said. "There is no fool with such a name."

Baba Yaga said as she started to rock back and forth in her chair, the ancient wood creaking audibly with the acoustics of the cavern, "Yes because I am ever so famous throughout the tales of my sense of humor. This young woman has such a name. I imagine to lure opposition into thinking her silly and a fool but she is anything but."

"Classic bait and switch." Grimm shook his head and turned away to examine the gaping hole in the wall that had been solid only a moment ago. "And I am well aware of Halc and his past accomplishments. He held this 'Internet' championship until the man-child bested him."

Baba Yaga added, "And only recently the World Tag Team Championships with his flesh and blood. And the woman, Polly?" Grimm turned his head to listen with rapt attention as the witch fed him the information, "She surprisingly held the women's version of the Internet title for an even more surprising amount of time."

"Interesting." Grimm whispered softly as he stood straight up, his fingers wrapping themselves around a small stone with jagged edged. "They sound as if they might prove themselves an interesting challenge." he huffed in what would almost be construed as a sigh of indifference. "I suppose I should make ready and head for this ... Detroit."

"Not just yet." Her voice gave him pause and his snow-white eyebrows that almost blended in with the pale flesh of his body rose.

"Oh?" He asked. "You have something more to add."

"Just a wisp of a suggestion." She smiled. "You know I venture out of my cabin for only the rarest of circumstances. To stretch my legs and have a small rest, myself. A vacation every now and then you might say."

He growled, growing weary of this idle chatter on her behalf. How mortal men endured this ritual daily was a fascination beyond his comprehension. "Do get on with it." He growled. "Your point...?"

"My point, dear..." She continued. ".. is that I won't be making the travels with you this time around. At least, not entirely and not unless you need me." This caused a frown to crease His brow. The witch was always nearby, even if it was just a hop, skip and a jump from her Blackwoods cabin. So this declaration that she would not be near at hand.

"And might I ask what brought this decision on?" He asked.

"A bit of help." She answered. "Part of me believes that I became something of a crutch to you. Oh don't get me wrong; I'll be near at hand if you should need me, but for this little event?" She glanced up from her knitting and smiled in an almost taunting manner. "I do think what you are in need of is a bit of companionship. With a young woman."

Grimm's head tilted forward, towards her and the expression on his face was on that practically screamed that he either misheard her, or misunderstood her. "Companionship." He repeated, more a statement than a question. "You must be joking!" He started to pace back and forth as his outburst disturbed more of the life that called these caverns home and Baba Yaga glanced casually up at the small, winged bodies that escaped through the ventilation shafts.

Grimm snarled, "I have seen mortals couple since the dawn of time! It is a sickening prospect and if you think I am about to..."

"Calm yourself!" She cackled, amused terribly by His offended outburst. "I was not suggesting that of a romantic partner because I am well aware the Pale One is incapable of romance. Or love."

"Both weak traits of even weaker minds." Grimm reiterated. He then tilted his head to the side, as an animal might, as he showed his curiosity had been piqued. "What then did you have in mind?" He asked. "And with whom?"

"I was thinking..." She mused, casting an upwards glance as if playing the role of the coy, old woman. ".. an Acolyte. You need someone at your side, dear. Someone who will do as you wish without question. A person that might assist you in service or procession. A tie, if you will, between yourself and the mortal coil. And wise as I like to think myself to being, I am smart enough to know that I can not be that link between."

"Then if you will pardon the expression, whom pray tell, did you have in mind?"

Baba Yaga glanced up to him and smiled....

... Almost five hundred miles away in the city of Detroit, a tour was happening at one of the famed haunted sites that drew many of the curious and sadomasochistic toward its macabre setting; the Northville Psychiatric Hospital. The soft footfalls echoed on the floors of the abandoned  complex, the high heels of very tasteful footwear clicking loudly as she made her way down the halls, walking past countless abandoned items of years past, such as wheelchairs, nurse's logs, gowns and stuffed animals. She cared little about the trespassing law handed down by the city of Detroit to discourage the so-called "looky loos," and a law that had netted almost six hundred arrests total. Her mind did not work that way.

She simply did not care.

Belladonna Grey walked the halls of one of Detroit's most haunted places, a casual, almost bored expression, on her face. She by passed an old nurse's station, her perfectly manicured fingernails trailing the surface and leaving marks from the layers of dust alongside the surface. The presence of the departed did not even so much as phase her, as she casually picked up the clipboard with noticeable stains that seemed of rust color and glanced at it, before she simply dropped it back to where she had picked it up.

Then, curiously, a soft breeze blew its way through the hall and it caressed what little bare flesh was exposed in her business dress. Her hair was done up so her neck felt the chill, as did her hands and calves. She did not so much as shudder from an experience that others might be sent running from. Belladonna merely turned around to face the direction the breeze came from, her brown eyes roaming. Perhaps a broken window? Yes, that must be it.

Belladonna started to walk further up the hall until she came upon the open double doors that led into an examination room where the mentally sick patients of years past were examined and treated, if one were to call the actions of the doctors that. Belladonna had her doubts and scoffed audibly in the empty halls. She then stepped inside of the examination room to have a look for herself ...

... And the doors swung shut with an echoing crash in the abandoned halls....



"Would you like to play game with me, Polly Playtime? Do you even like games? Oh I know; the lure of your silly name is but a farce as you bring opponents into the heat of combat against you, only to have them realize when it is too late that your name is but a tactic. A trick to lure them into thinking you a silly girl with an even more silly name. A trick that allows the women you face to understand far too late that Playtime is for you yourself, and not for them. Unless, of course, it be at their own expense. So I should think you and I could play a little game of 'Hide and Seek.' Do you really want to show up for this event, Polly? Do you really want to find yourself teamed with someone like Kris Halc? Do you really want to suffer again, what you suffered only too recently?"

"You have been awfully quiet ever since your recent loss, haven't you? Pity. To lose a championship after so much bravery and declarations against, it must be humbling to experience. It is a shame that you and I won't be able to play a game of chance between us. At least, not until our time inside of the ring has passed with our respective partners and opponents. I have no qualms at Misty monopolizing your time while I lay Kris Halc to rest. Misty is, after all, a veteran of the ring and she will have no issues at dealing you yet another blow to your ego if it comes down to her putting an end to this farce. Your time in this tournament will be at an end before it has even begun. And afterwards...?"

"Well, afterwards when we are alone, the true 'playtime' will begin."

"Nightmares, have you started to suffer them yet, I wonder? Oh Kris Halc, I can only imagine what your mind is telling you as you like awake at night, drenched in a cold sweat, pondering the mysteries of what is to come as the time draws near. Near to the moment where you know there is no turning back. Near to where you will open that closet door, stare into the darkness within, and realize with dread that the darkness is staring right back."

"You have an impudent manner about you Kris, a fact that I have come to appreciate. But if you think that your false bravado will protect you from what is to come, sadly it will not. Many a braver and more valiant warrior than you has thought the same before venturing against me, and many have found their resting places in my dark bag of souls. And you...? You are but another in a very long list of unfortunates who have crossed my path without comprehension for what truly lied in the shadows beneath beds and within closets. You sit here in the comfort of your home, speaking your mind on social media more than caring for your own family, and for what? Everything you say and do on this ... twitter .. is relatively useless save for attempting to get under the skin of strangers or opponents. An amusing and immature tactic for one that is lost, but a tactic that you will find baseless against me."

"Your time in SCW is well known, even to me, but as successful as you have made it, it has been worthless compared to that of others that surround you. Your reign as the Internet Champion has all but been forgotten by fan and peer alike. The only memory of it is a mere scratch in the footnotes of SCW's championship history. The man-child Despayre has all but made you forgotten where your reign was known. men such as Blackhart Bruce Evans and his 'coming out.' The sadistic 'Mental Rapist.' Even the former 'Sin of Wrath' was more notable for his reign than you were your own. And it followed itself some time later when your brother and yourself walked away with the same gold that I shared with Goth; the World Tag Team titles. Bravo for that, even though your reign was outlasted by the personal drama that was showcased time and again between your brother and yourself. A modern day tale of Cain and Abel, only without the bloodshed. Well, perhaps next time."

"I look forward to our time in the ring together, Kris. I look forward to your attempts to show your partner a good time by fighting against me in an attempt at the impossible. I look forward to the realization when it strikes you, and the beads of sweat trail down your face and body when you realize everything that you seek is for naught. I look forward to the sounds of your screams and the melody of bones breaking and souls being crushed ring in my ears, a tune I have often danced to. And once you find yourself having fallen from grace, tumbling off the pedestal that you yourself have placed yourself upon, I leave you with one last question to ponder in that sad, little mind of yours..."

"How is that darling, newborn baby of yours?"

3
Supercard Archives / CJ SHARPE & ERIC STEEL v J2H & BROTHER GRIMM
« on: February 12, 2016, 08:25:51 PM »
 
(For the gauntlet)

It was a dark and stormy night...

Well, that is usually how these sort of tales begin, is it not? Well the ironic thing is that in this instance, it just so happens to be true. It was just past the midnight hour, twelve-thirteen to be exact. The 'red eye' flight was full to capacity, as most of the others seated were of the same like mind as the woman seated closer towards the back, right up against the window.

The commercial airline for United Airways soared high above the gray clouds, cruising at an altitude of thirty five thousand feet. But such height did not detract from the storm that was brewing in those dark, gray clouds. Belladonna Gray's eyes remained transfixed on those very clouds, watching the flashes of light that danced back and forth, to and fro within the billowing veils below. It actually brought this enigmatic woman a great delight to watch, imaging the flashes as battles between the forces of cherubic angels pitted against their eternal enemies from the pits of Tartarus. And it was quite obvious if that was the case that the angels were winning.

Pity.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The flight host spoke gently over the two sleeping forms beside her. "Would you care for something to drink?"

"Tea, if you have it." Belladonna answered almost absently, her eyes never leaving the focus she had found for herself. Only when the cup of hot tea was offered to her did she finally glance away, and with a charming word of "thanks" did she turn back to her macabre entertainment.

So enraptured was she by this 'light show', that the storm's winds generated a turbulence that rocked the commercial airliner, but it did nothing to disturb or distract her. Other passengers, however, gripped the arm rests of their seats with white knuckles, as others were jolted from out of their sleep. Deep in the recesses of her mind, Belladonna thought to herself;

'Why worry? What will be, will be. Besides, if worse comes to worse,' he will save me.'

Some passengers on the flight, however, remained asleep, so deep was their weariness that even this stiff tumult could not wake them from their pleasant dreams. One such passenger was one of the two others seated in Belladonna's particular row, a young mother who was seated on the outside seat. Her daughter, a young girl of perhaps six years, rolled her head and slowly woke up, her head having been resting not on the arm of her mother, but of Belladonna, who took no offense or annoyance at the child using her arm as a means to rest her tiny head.

Still, that did not stop the child from blinking up at Belladonna who finally peeled her eyes from the glass to glance down at the little girl, and the woman gifted her with a smile.

"I'm sorry." The child practically squeaked, and she turned her head to find her mother at her other side.

"Oh that's alright." Belladonna smiled down at her, tapping the girl's shoulder with the tip of her perfectly manicured fingernail. "I don't mind at all. You go right back to sleep." She patted her arm, silently inviting the child to resume her sleeping position. "I don't mind at all."

"Thank you." The little girl mumbled sleepily and she accepted Belladonna's offer, despite the constant reminders from her family that one should never speak to strangers. The little girl snuggled her head against her arm and Belladonna smiled with much sincerity.

She said, "You're very welcome. You know, I used to have a little girl just like you."

"Where is she?" The child mumbled, slowly drowsing off into slumber land.

Belladonna's face became a blank slate, and her eyes haunted. She turned her head to look back out at the storm as she replied, "The boogey man took her."



"You are of course joking." Brother Grimm said as he walked side by side with the witch Baba Yaga in the dark recesses of the forest where her fabled hut had survived for centuries without disturbance. She had stated she felt like a nice walk in the fresh air, to enjoy the scenery of her homeland, and it would not hurt to have a handsome gentleman at her side.

Of course, Grimm was anything but gentle, and he was by no means what one would think of when envisioning a man, handsome or no. And if you looked deep enough past the scars and the haunting appearance, he could be considered somewhat attractive.

"Absolutely." The witch said, her head almost covered completely by the hood of her cloak that she had pulled up to stave off the night winds that howled through the trees. Dead limbs bent low over their heads as if they were the long, gnarled fingers of something otherworldly reaching to snatch them from their path and steal them into the night. Glowing eyes of the nocturnal watched from the shadows, from low in dead bushes and from high above in those very limbs. Some of natural origin, some of which were not.

Deep here in this forest, much of the things that go bump in the night found itself a home, some more dangerous than the others, but none more so than the two walking under the waxing moon. As such, they went on unmolested by those watching. Only one such foolish entity did attempt to due as its nature intended, a small dwarfish 'male' referred to the world over as a 'red cap'. It was this creature's very namesake that Grimm casually carried in his right hand, the remnant of it's ear still dangling from the blood soaked garment. An obvious testament as to the result of the imp's impetuous nature.

"I am, after all, so well known through fact and myth for my sense of humor." Baba Yaga added dryly.

"Yes, well..." Grimm mused, casually picking at the ear on the hat and gave it a flick out into the shadows that threatened to engulf the surrounding trees. A heavy rustling of the bushes ensued, testifying that something eagerly made for the offered 'treat'. "That would explain your home having those ridiculous chicken legs."

He turned to her with a quizzical frown, and said, "Explain that to me."

"Your witty attempt to change the subject not withstanding," Baba Yaga replied. "I still believe it would be within your best interests to enter this, what did they call it again?"

"Gauntlet." Brother Grimm answered.

"Yes, gauntlet."

Grimm smiled, and something in the night cried out. A flickering light, a will-o-wisp, flickered out and fell to the forest floor. "And why," he mused. "Would this match interest me? Let alone the prize?"

Baba Yaga frowned, "Since when have you ever not been interested in chaos? You would wreak havoc in entire villages, just to amuse yourself."

Brother Grimm shrugged, "Yes, well... when you're as old as I am, you look for inventive ways to amuse yourself."

"The Pompeii tragedy was an interesting touch." Baba Yaga smiled.

Brother Grimm sighed, "That was child's play, all things considered. What you are suggesting..."

She interrupted, "Would allow you the opportunity to devastate multiple lives all in one fell swoop."

"And should young Timothy choose to enter?" Brother Grimm mused.

"Consider that possibility, the proverbial icing on the cake."

Grimm sighed and shook his head in mock dismay. "You and your sweets cliches." He watched as a frightened 'brownie' skittered across their path and vanished into the darkness. Under most circumstances, he would have ended it before it got past either of them, but this night he felt almost ... generous. He turned back to the witch and asked, "Would this latest of ideas not take away from the plans for my little endeavor with J2H against those two fools?"

Baba Yaga scoffed, "Please! Do you honestly see either of those plebeians as anything even remotely close to a challenge?"

"True." They moved further down the path, slowly becoming enveloped by the shadows. "I'll think about it."

4
Supercard Archives / CJ SHARPE & ERIC STEEL v J2H & BROTHER GRIMM
« on: February 06, 2016, 07:51:42 PM »
 
The flames in the cottage's hearth danced high, basking the homestead in a flickering illumination that danced along the walls. There was a distinct scent that basked the walls, or scents, as it were. The heat from the flames warmed the home in this these cold months of the year, but it also acted to strengthen the scents of the many candies that this home seemed to be fashioned out of; a blend of peppermint and cinnamon, and gingerbread. But those combined, although strong, were no match for the smell that was rising from the flames, as a small black cauldron was set within the confines of the brick inlet. The lid rattled, showing that an evening meal was in the midst of preparation, something cooking within the cast iron.

Above the flames, from within the home, the ancient witch, Baba Yaga, slowly approached the flames. Only her face was seen over the dancing fire, as she reached in, careful not to allow her cloak to get too close to the fire, and she lifted the lid of the cauldron, bare handed. One might suspect the lid to be too hot to touch, and if You tried, You might risk searing your flesh. Yet Baba Yaga did not so much as flinch from the heat of the iron, and she tossed a handful of herbs into the contents. She then stirred the 'stew' with a ladle crafted of hemlock, and lifted just a sample out and sipped at it gingerly. Her eyes closed in a satisfied contentment, savoring both the flavor as well as aroma.

"Cooking again, madam?" The voice came from the shadows behind her, but she did not react in startlement as most others might have. Perhaps she was waiting for this arrival, perhaps she knew he was there without his knowledge. Either way, she replaced the lid on the cooking pot and turned around to face the very entity that she had this 'working relationship' of sorts with.

Grimm almost 'melted' from the shadows, as he was wont to do, and walked across the floor, hands clasped behind his back as though he were having a pleasant, evening stroll. He arrived at the fireplace and leaned in toward the flame, inhaling deeply and his eyes closed as he sighed.

Grimm said, "I can understand why You never 'go out' to eat when You can whip up such delicacies in your own home."

"It's nothing." The witch smiled. "But a lady does like to see her cooking appreciated." She waved the ladle towards the cauldron and inquired, "Would You care for some?"

"Not right now, no." Grimm turned his back to the flames and walked away, his amber eyes roaming the interior. "Perhaps later." He added, mollifying her. He risked inhaling through his nose, he almost recoiled at what else he could smell. "Really madam."

He turned back to look at her and waved a hand towards the gingerbread walls embedded with hard candies of multiple colors, the cakes and pastries all along the tables and every surface therein, and the support beams of the homestead, made of what looked to be red and white peppermint sticks.

Grimm said, "While your cooking is without peer, I am certain, can You do nothing about the rest of ... this?"

Baba Yaga chuckled, placing the ladle down on the surface of her table, then looked around. "Oh I don't know. The colors are pleasing to the eyes, I believe." She mused, then shrugged. "Though they have done what they were intended to I suppose." Indicating just what exactly was cooking in the pot. Grimm looked back up, and nodded with satisfaction that the home was again without the sweet decor, and back to the more 'pleasant' and 'homey' feel of old walls her ancient cottage was renowned for.

"Happy?" She asked, her tone quite sarcastic.

"Not truthfully, but I am getting there." Grimm walked along the floor board, several spots creaking beneath his bare feet and his finger tips gliding along the splintered surface, though he was at no risk at finding a shard embedded in his own flesh, if flesh is what he had.

"You should be." Baba Yaga huffed, walking back over to the rocking chair that remained in its usual spot, right beside the fireplace, and she took a seat. "Not that the sweets are in any danger of going bad, it is still a chore to decorate every now and then."

"And here I thought that was what the female of the species enjoyed doing so." Grimm leaned back on her table, old Baba Yaga human standards but still under no risk at the rotted wood giving way beneath his own weight. "Decorating just for the same of change."

Baba Yaga scoffed as she picked up the knitting on the stool on her right, and her fingers once again began to weave the bone crafted knitting needles while she idly asked, "So what is it that has You in such a snit, hm? Feed on a bad elf for breakfast?"

Her words were light hearted, but the mocking taunt was evident enough for the 'specter' that watched her hands as she weaved something he was not in on, not that he particularly cared. Still...

Baba Yaga smiled, the light in her gray eyes dancing with amusement as she asked, "Have another run in with that little protector in Las Vegas? The one that bested You before?"

Grimm's eyes rose to meet her's, and she could see the anger and the annoyance deep within them.

"You did, didn't You?" She asked, and he turned his head away rather than answer.

She suddenly started to chuckle beneath her breath, her eyes closed in dark merriment at his expense, when suddenly the wind inside of the cottage whipped hard as he was suddenly in front of her, his face a breath away fro0m her own!

"You dare mock me?" He growled. "You!?"

"Oh, every now and then." Baba Yaga smiled, the fact she was unafraid of him perhaps angered him the most. She did not jump or flinch, nor did she back up against her rocking chair. All she did -- was continue knitting while she talked, "But today I'll refrain. You've had a hard night, and I can't help but think that your little run in with that little warrior isn't all that's on your mind."

And just like that, Grimm was back across the cottage, drawing aside the ragged curtain to look out the tinted window into the night that surrounded this dismal and dead forest on a perpetual time frame. He watched for some time, his eyes following an owl that swooped down to catch a rodent, and followed as it vanished into the trees. He smiled, unable but to appreciate the act of the hunt in all its forms.

"Why have You not yet dealt with the witches?" Grimm asked.

"I beg your pardon?" Baba Yaga looked up from her knitting, her hands paused in their task.

"You heard me." Grimm dropped the curtains and turned around to her. "The two witchlings who are protecting Timothy Staggs." His eyebrows, as pale as his flesh, rose as he inquired, "Why have You not yet 'dealt' with them?"

"I wasn't aware I was on any time frame." She set the knitting needles aside and rested her hands on the garment that she was weaving. "What's your hurry?"

He answered, "It has been awhile, madam. I last paid our dear Timothy a visit on the Yule holiday. I do so miss him."

"And yet You failed to tell me about those two witches until only recently." She picked the knitting back up and went back to work. "I'll see to it that their protections will be removed if I have to tear them down myself. Do You doubt me?"

"Under most circumstances, I would say never."

"But..." She glanced up while she continued her knitting.

He drew in a breath, and gave her a look that spoke volumes while he said, "I can not help but wonder if your little black heart is still in this."

That particular statement stopped her, and she looked up, her facial expression icy at best. She narrowed her eyes and said, "Careful with those accusations, Pale One. I was not the one who made that deal with young James in favor of another. I am also not the one who had Timothy at your tender mercies, only to release him afterwards."

"The initial 'catch' was ... anticlimactic." Grimm frowned as he started to pace. "It was a bit of play, that's all."

"Some play." Baba Yaga smiled. "The child is practically catatonic."

"I know." Grimm showed his own whites. "That is only going to make what's to come all the more satisfying once those protecting him are out of my way."

"Was that a hint?" Baba Yaga asked.

Grimm tilted his head to the side, "If it was, I fear it perhaps has fallen on deaf ears. You're not going soft on me, are You dear lady?"

Her fingers stopped the knitting, and her eyes, cold as death, looked up past the gray hair that had fallen over her shoulders. "And You base that accusation on...?"

He smiled while shrugging, "It wouldn't be the first time You helped one I had my heart on... if I had a heart."



The years since this time had long since past, but the memories of the lineage never forgotten. The patriarch of this newly formed Romani clan, the Clan Dalca, went Baba Yaga the name of Andrei, stood before the as of yet unlit bonfire, his misty eyes staring straight ahead. The years had passed since they had first met, and he knew that the inevitable would happen eventually, but despite that knowledge, it did nothing to make the process any easier.

She had been old, even when they first met, but her age took nothing away from her wisdom nor her bravery. She alone was left aside from himself to face down and defeat the Pale One all those years ago, and a handful of times since then, she had joined him in combat against the forces of darkness when help was needed to protect the young one. Family had meant everything to her, and after he had recovered from the losses of his own, this new found family meant the very same to him. That is what made this all the more painful.

She had braved threats and dangers that most mortal kin would have believed fancies of the mind, and it was a simple fever that took her life. A fever caused Baba Yaga the caring of her own. A painful fact that might never be remedied.

Andrei stood with the utmost respect as he faced the pile of logs and dead tree limbs, as the matriarch of Clan Dalca laid upon it in her best garments of black silk, and a simple shawl that the young one had purchased with the few coins he had made on his own, selling cheese made from the milk of his own goat. A veil was draped lovingly over her elderly face and he closed his eyes as the torch was tossed onto the oil soaked wood pile, and it was ignited.

The young man, in his late teens, stepped back and into the comfort of his 'father's' arms. A young man with blind eyes, and neither the ability to speak nor hear.



"You are never going to get over that, are You?" Baba Yaga asked.

"And I should... why?" Grimm asked of himself, arms held out. "After all, it was that pathetic family that was solely responsible for my imprisonment! Yet You chose to assist the patriarch of that family is saving the life of the one that I had so set my sights upon!"

"You were no longer in the picture." Baba Yaga reasoned with a sigh, knowing this was not a topic he would ever truly be able to let go of. She added, "At least not at the time. And the young man did actually brave the elements to find me."

"He was not looking for You." Grimm sneered. "He was looking for help. Any help!"

"If he were not meant to find me, he would not have arrived on my door step." She answered back crisply. "You know very well how these things work."

"I do." His gaze darkened. "And even after You sent the mortal off with your ... help, You still left your comforts to assist the babe directly."

Baba Yaga slowly stood up, setting her knitting into the seat of the rocking chair.

Baba Yaga said, "We have a working relationship, You and I, but make no mistake; I am not your consort. I do not answer to You. I do not have to explain myself to you."

Grimm took several steps forward until he towered over her, mere inches apart.

"And the fact that the babe became the scourge of our kind?"

Baba Yaga smiled, "Coincidence."

Grimm and she watched each others' eyes for several long, tense moments, until a dark smile spread on his even darker lips. He shook his head and turned away, "I swear, if this is what drives mortal men insane, the attempt to unravel the thoughts of their women, then I am undone Baba Yaga trying to understand your own."

"We are winsome little creatures, aren't we?" Baba Yaga smiled, turning away from him and walking back to the cauldron in the flames. "I assume you are about to leave on one of your little tangents. take your anger out on some poor soul, or creature, as it were."

"You had something else in mind?" Grimm asked, almost to the door of the hut.

"Just a favor." She answered and Grimm watched with interest as she took a wooden bowl and proceeded to dish out a portion of the ghastly 'stew' she had been cooking into it. She then set the lid back on and walked over to Grimm, holding it out to him.

"Deliver this to young James, if you would." She said as the bowl was passed into Grimm's hands. She winked, "He does look like he is in need of a good meal."

"You're sick, madam." Grimm chuckled. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

Grimm then turned away from her and walked not out the door, but past the shadows that engulfed it.



"Well now, if this isn't a delicious treat."

"It has been quite awhile since I last was paired with another individual in such a setting as a tag team match. Not since my time at the side of Goth, a man whom I once held at least some semblance of respect for, but sadly has now fallen from grace, passed Baba Yaga the darkness and into the light."

"Instead, I am now at the side of one whom has held my interests lo these many long months, young James, or as he prefers to be called, J2H. How young James has grown since our first time together, and I can't help but feel disillusioned at that. I had such high hopes for him once, but now... I do so again. For you see, J2H has always had something akin to darkness deep inside of him, just waiting to be coaxed out at the right time? And now, in order to save his own skin, that time has indeed come to fruition. To save your own mortal soul at the expense of another's? It is the supreme example of the heart growing dark. To sit back and watch as the torture and torments that had been planned for you, are bestowed upon another. I often wonder how J2H feels when he watches what has been done to young Timothy Staggs, and the aftermath. Does he smile? Does he laugh? One day I must sit with him and ask."

"But business before pleasure. A pact had been made some weeks ago, one of which I will see through to the end. A pact that two little insects sought to bring an abrupt end to Baba Yaga simply attacking the one I hold in bondage. J2H defeated CJ Sharpe, but was unable to deal with the fact he had lost, so he and his little friend, Eric Steel, chose to assault him. Beat him. Break him. True I do so enjoy watching the misery of mortal upon mortal inflictions, but this instance was unique. I had to step in and intervene. And Eric and CJ made the most grievous of errors."

"They tried to fight back."

"That easy to do battle with me you think, gentlemen? It could be simpler to do away with you individually, one Baba Yaga one, but this answer is more fitting, I must agree. To stand side Baba Yaga side with the one you trust most, and fail? Oh the bitter after taste of your defeat will be so satisfying, especially when it happens at the hands of the one you thought to bring down Baba Yaga your own hands."

"You think of yourself as gods? Well, step inside of the ring against me, my friends. For I am far beyond gods as they are beyond you."

5
Climax Control Archives / One more dance
« on: January 29, 2016, 07:16:54 PM »
 Previously...

West Stockbridge, Massachusetts. When last we were here, we saw but a small glimpse into the life of a woman who has been gathering attention of the wrong sort on social media, by the name of Belladonna Grey. She had been sentenced to the Austen Riggs Center, one of the top mental health care facilities in the country, for as-of-yet, undisclosed reasons. Something to do with the mysterious disappearance of her baby girl and the legal aftermath. Perhaps one day more will be discovered to tell This tale.

Yet for now we find ourselves in a rural setting in the village of West Stockton, on a lonely road surrounded by trees bare in This, the dead of winter. The lifeless branches that dangle overhead, seemingly threatening to draw down and snatch some poor, unlucky soul from the earth and draw them screaming into a world of mist and shadow. The sky is overcast in the deepening hours of dusk, gray clouds and the threat of wind and ice chilled rain nagging the minds of those that live in This quaint town. This small, country road seemed to stretch on, and perhaps would have were it not for the two story house, seemingly abandoned, here on the side of the road. Lights were off, the grass all but dead and the landscaping in dire need of repair.

A deep red Honda C-RV pull up to the side of the road, just off the wooden fence and gate that led to the dirt path, crusted with weeds and debris, that led to the house. The engine shut off, and the driver, Doctor Maureen Rosen, turned and looked to the woman in the passenger seat who stared out the window and at the house with forlorn eyes.

"Belladonna," The doctor said. "Are you certain that you don't need me to...?"

But her concern was all but waved off as her patient's head turned to her and she was gifted with a sincere smile.

"I'm sure." Belladonna Grey said. "This isn't the first time that you've brought me here Doctor Rosen."

"Those were brief visits." Doctor Rosen pointed out. "You've been released. This time is for good."

"I know." Belladonna turned back to look out at the house. "But I have to do This myself. It's as you said: This time is for good, and I can't fall back and cry for help every time things might look difficult."

Belladonna then reached for the door handle and opened the passenger's door and was about to step out, when her arm was grasped by the doctor who had been so kind to her these past several months.

Doctor Rosen said, "If you need anything..."

"I have your card." Belladonna smiled back at her. "But hopefully I won't have to use it."

And that being said, she climbed the rest of the way out of the SUV and shut the door behind her, the only belongings she had were the clothes on her back and what fit in the bag in her hands. Doctor Rosen watched her carefully as Belladonna slowly opened the gate in the fence and made her way towards the house, the one that at one point she, a husband, and a newborn daughter, had called their own. Only when the house's front door shut closed behind her patient was Doctor Rosen satisfied. She turned the engine back on, and slowly pulled away.

The moment Belladonna set foot inside of the house she had shared at one point with her deceased husband, she stood frozen. Her eyes transfixed on the interior. It all looked the same as she had remembered. She stood in a small foyer with the hooks for jackets just to the right, and a few steps further and she would be standing in the kitchen she had once lovingly prepared meals for Michael. Her hands gripping the lone bag in her hands, she finally forced her way further into her home.

She slowly walked through the kitchen, transfixed as if she were a zombie, and turned the corner and found herself in the living room. Everywhere her eyes roamed, she found memories assaulting her relentlessly. It all looked the same, save for the additions of layers of dust along the counters, tables and furniture, and the cobwebs in the out of reach corners of the home. The dining room was next. The burned out nubs of long dormant candles in the tarnished brass holders in the center of the table. It was at this very room, over a savory pot roast dinner where she had informed her husband that she was expecting their first child together. Such joy turned to tragedy only months later when Michael was the victim of a fatal drunken driving accident.

As she moved through this room, just wanting to familiarize herself again with the surroundings, her fingers glided over the sofa's soft,  velvet-like cushions, stirring up the dust and caking her fingers with it. She then arrived in the darkened hall interior where her fingers subconsciously ran up along the wall, and against the light switch where the overhead candelabra Michael had installed just for her, was struck with illumination. Evidence that the doctor had indeed ensured the home remained prepared for her imminent return.

She stood there, stoically, for several long moments. She knew where she was, and she knew what she needed to do, to see. Her eyes turned to the stair case that led to the house's second floor and she glanced 'up'.

"Tell me about these ... witches."

Her questioning tone was unsurprising. There were indeed very few 'true' witches remain in the world these days. Most had been killed off over three hundred years ago in the European witch hunts where bodies of the men and women who practiced the craft were beheaded, salted and burned. The Salem Witch Trials? Please. That was but fabrication told for the amusement of otherwise repressed teenage Puritan girls. No woman or man that died in Salem could ever be considered a true practitioner, save for the slave known as Tituba.

"I'm afraid you have me at a bit of a disadvantage madam." Brother Grimm said as he contemplated the situation he found himself in. "I have had few dealings with witches even before my imprisonment. They served me little interest. And now...?" He motioned toward her with his hand. "Now there is only you. But these two...?"

He started to pace the length of the floor of her cabin, one hand holding a sharp dagger with the point digging into the forefinger of his opposing hand. He said, "If I had to guess, I would think they something akin the hedge witches."

"Hedge witches that had skill enough to banish you?" Baba Yaga said in a statement, not a question. "That is an unusual estimation, if I'm honest. Most hedge witches are capable of little more than brewing salves and potions with little power to call their own." She set her knitting down into her lap, then clasped her hands over her legs and leaned in, staring at him. "And you're certain that they were there to protect your prey?"

"I would say that was indeed the case." Brother Grimm snarled, despite his best efforts to remain calm. He turned around to face her and said, "Just as I was playing with him, they show up out of the blue for the sole purpose to banish me from his home. I think it's safe to assume they were there to protect him."

"Or to oppose you." Baba Yaga said as she leaned back into her rocking chair. "Perhaps it would be best for now if you were to forget Timothy Staggs, and focus for now on this match you have set. Ben Jordan again, is it not?"

Brother Grimm only nodded silently in the affirmative.

"It is." He confirmed. "I believe he took offense to his loss to me a few weeks ago, and again at what I did to his precious new friend, Simon Jones, after I bested him as well."

"Well, it's his own funeral." Baba Yaga stated clearly as she again picked up her knitting. "It's not often that a poor fool wishes to dance with the devil once, let alone twice in one lifetime."

Brother Grimm only smiled coldly and said, "So long as the fool saves the last dance for me. It has always been my fondest pleasure to corrupt these paragons of virtue. This one will be no difference." Then the smile all but vanished and his eyes grew cold. "But forget young Timothy? What of his protectors?"

Baba Yaga glanced up at him from her knitting and said simply, "Leave them to me."

The door to the upstairs room opened with a subtle creaking, the aged wood and hinges coming into conflict. Before she could be settled, this was the one room that Belladonna had to see. The one memory she had to force herself to confront.

Her eyes remained closed as she drew in breath after breath as she set foot into the unchanged room of her daughter's nursery, her hands gliding along the walls to steady herself. Finally, taking one last, deep breath, she opened her eyes -- and gasped.

That figure cloaked in shadow stood over the crib as her ears heard the cries of her baby girl, not even a full year old. She stood, paralyzed, as the figure reached into the crib and picked the crying baby up and turned around, and she found herself staring into those cold, amber eyes brimming with evil...

She shook her head, then opened her eyes again and found the nursery abandoned. Dark and as with the rest of the house, neglected these long months being away. She wiped the tear from her eye as she stepped further into the room, the lights untouched, and looked around; to the mobile that hung over the crib, to the pastel colored wallpaper Michael had hung himself. Her eyes then fell to the floor of the crib, and blinked as she watched the small droplets of blood drip from where her daughter slept, to the hard wood below it.

She looked back up and ... smiled.

6
Climax Control Archives / Complications
« on: January 08, 2016, 07:11:43 PM »
 
"You know, sometimes I truly despise witches."

Brother Grimm spoke in a harsh tone that gave lie to his otherwise calm demeanor. What had happened to him at the hands of the mother and daughter North, only brought back memories that left a foul after taste to his mouth as well as memory.

Seated upon a rickety old chair, as ancient as the cabin around it and the entirety of the furnishings within, his amber eyes seemed unfocused, almost vacant, as he sat at the table, his fingertips idly drumming the worn surface. He almost wouldn't have noticed her attention now on him, having heard his words and temporarily setting aside her knitting. He cast a sidelong glance towards the witch of many (infamous) fables and tales and he smirked at the expectancy in her facial features.

He spoke, "Present company, excluded of course."

"Hm." She picked the knitting needles, crafted ages ago by her own hands from the forearm bones of an old enemy, she resumed her project, speaking idly, "Rather a pointed observation, given your history. Though I should think it was a witch who released you from the void, you should have a somewhat higher opinion on those that perform the craft."

"It was also a coven of witches that sealed me away."

"Gypsies, not witches." She contradicted. "Albeit ones with a grasp of talent for whit magic, but still." She shook her head. "A world of difference between a Romani practitioner and a true witch of natural ability. Not on who relies on gems and trinkets..."

"Or bargains with the unseemly?" Grimm turned his head and rested his chin on the back of his smooth fingertips while he addressed her.

"Bargaining your soul or favors for power that isn't even to be called your own is a fool's bargain." Baba Yaga spat. "Pretenders like that are worse than those silly fools who dance naked in the moonlight and worship trees."

"Really?" Grimm found himself asking in a bemused manner. "You believe them to be worse?"

She paused from her knitting only long enough to reach for the chipped cup and saucer on the stool by her rocking chair. The steaming tea smelled strongly of spice and a touch of brimstone, but she sipped at it gently for a moment before setting it aside and once again, resuming her hobby.

She answered, "At least the naturalists draw from the earth what they use, so their magic is their own -- weak as it may be. Everything the bargaining ones use for their own benefit is the power and strength of whatever they struck the bargains with. None of it is to be called their own."

Grimm slowly stood up, asking her, "Have a run in or two with those sorts have you?"

"Druids. Naturalists. The truly gifted." She answered with a nod. "I've had my encounters over the years with each." She paused and looked up at him with a curios eye. "Why? What's brought this sudden animosity back after all this time?"

Brother Grimm walked up to the hut's oven, the bricks that lined it discolored from years of flame and soot. He leaned down at the waist to stare into the flames, one hand resting against the mantle. He extended his free hand into the searing interior and his fingertips played along with the dancing flames.

She asked, "Shouldn't you be more focused on this encounter you have scheduled?"

"The encounter will be but a trifle, and nothing more." Brother Grimm answered. "Connor Murphy is just another layer of protection to peel away until we get to the prize. A pawn if you will in a game with far, far larger stakes at hand."

"You had the prize, as I recall." Baba Yaga pointed out. "You let him go for some forsaken reason."

"All respect due witch..." Grimm let that word hang loose on his tongue so she would recognize the cool animosity behind it. "... skilled and as strong as you are, you can not hope to decipher my mind. For now, let's just go with the assumption that I enjoy a hunt and young Tim was caught too easily. So, I threw him back."

"And gave others the chance to gather around him to ward him from yourself." She spoke. "Friends such as this Connor Murphy. The surrounding of his family and homestead..."

"Witches." Grimm added casually.

The word hung in the air, cutting a path of silence in its wake. Baba Yaga slowly looked up and said, "Pardon?"

Brother Grimm stood upright and slowly turned his back to the fire and rested back along the mantle. He said, "It would appear ... that young Timothy Staggs is now under the protection of witches."

"Indeed." She again set her knitting down and clasped her ancient hands together on her waist. "Tell me more."



In weeks past...

To one passing by on the walk or street, the Austen Riggs Center of Stockbridge, Massachusetts resembled an elaborate mansion that belonged in an old feature film on the silver screen ala "Gone With the Wind," but in reality it was one of the top ten psychiatric care facilities here in the Continental United States. A non-profit facility that cared for many cases of varied degrees of difficulty. From raging psychosis to basic neurotics, the Center and the men and women who worked it as doctors and care specialists strived to provide the safest manner of treatments possible for those housed within the secure walls, whether they come voluntarily, by their family's directions, or forced to by order of the court.

"Are you certain this is a wise decision, Maureen?"

"Trust me, Tom. I didn't come by this decision lightly. I've been treating her ever since she was assigned to us last year and you've seen the video files and her charts. Ms. Grey has made remarkable strides towards recovery."

"That I understand. She's changed tenfold since she came under your care. She was practically a catatonic mess when the courts placed her with us. Rarely spoke, and quite frankly, she gave some of the orderlies the creeps with the way she'd..."

"The way she'd act?"

"No, the way she wouldn't act. The way she'd lay on her bed, just staring off into nothing. Or how she'd sit on that chair in front of her open closet door, like she was expecting something to come out of it."

"Well, you know as well as I do why she was sent here. *sighs* I can't fathom what the loss of a baby, anyone's baby, can do to someone's mind. Mother or father, strong or..."

"Weak?"

"Getting to know her over these past nine months, I'd dare say she had a stronger mind than the court gave her credit for."

"She told the courts that the 'boogey man' stole her baby."

"I never denied her story, Tom, but it's my belief that when her child was taken, she was simply unable to handle it and that tall tale was her way  of coping with the loss of her newborn. Her husband had left her. The little girl was all she had left. Once that was gone..."

"And you're certain that the time is right to place her back into the world?"

"Tom, Ms. Grey was not placed into prison for a reason. The baby was never found and there was an extensive search made by the public and police. Nothing was ever found. Through the eyes of the law, Belladonna Grey is an innocent. I believe that it is quite safe for her to step back into the world once again and face what may come..."

In the office of Doctor Maureen Rosen, the doctor herself sat across from a woman just past her early years and settling into her later; late thirties, perhaps early forties. One could tell by her bone structure she had been a true beauty at some point in her life, but the haunted look in the recesses of her eyes was what made that distinction something of the past.

Doctor Rosen spoke, "Belladonna..."

"Please, doctor." The patient smiled in a disarming calm and a charming smile. "You've been treating me for almost a year since my break down. You've seen me at my worst so calling me Belle would be a gift, if you would?"

"Fine, Belle." Doctor Rosen obliged. "I just wanted to let you know that tomorrow morning will be the day that we've been preparing for all these months. You and I have discussed this possibility the past two weeks, and well..." She held her hands out invitingly, and the patient smiled with hope, perhaps for the first time in what seemed to be ages.

She swallowed hard and her eyes misted over, "Really? I really get to go home?"

"You do." Doctor Rosen nodded in the affirmative. "You've worked hard and improved so much. You've truly earned this and I am so proud of you."

"Oh Doctor..." The patient stood up and the Doctor gathered her into her own arms for a warm embrace.

"Now," Doctor Rosen said as she released her and held her out, "Why don't you go get packed for an early beginning to a whole new life tomorrow morning?"

The patient smiled and choked back a sob of delighted disbelief, wiping at her eyes....

In the facility's room 2C, Belladonna Grey stood before the double door closet and grasped the handles. She slid the closet doors open and cast her eyes into the shadows inside. She looked into the interior with a stoic indifference, until slowly a smile crossed her lips, revealing whitened teeth.

She chuckled softly and whispered, "I know you're in there...."
</color>

7
Supercard Archives / Simon Jones Vs Brother Grimm
« on: December 11, 2015, 06:14:36 PM »
 
The cold, wintry wind blew over the darkening Ottawa horizon, causing what snow that had befallen the Canadian landscape to drift and become more than what it was. It cast the Ottawa National Forest in a blanket of holiday cheer for those passing or walking through the trees, along the paths, simply to enjoy the feel of the Christmas season and what warmth it brought to the human soul. Of course, that was assuming that all who walked through these trees was actually -- human. Despite the feel-good sensations a time of year like this would gift the heart and mind, something in the air cast a chill that was not caused by the cold weather. It was almost -- unnatural.

One young man and woman walked along a path, his arm draped protectively around her shoulder to stave off the chill and shield her from whatever was causing this dreaded sensation to chill their blood. It was as if they felt they were being watched from afar. That something had intruded on the solitude of this peaceful serenity.

Something indeed was watching them from afar, from across the frozen lake that separated this part of the forest from the other side and an even larger field of tree, devoid of life. The ragged breath caused thee cold air to mist before it, as it's eyes watched the happy couple through the dead branches of the overhanging tree limbs...

"Are you okay?" The young man asked his young female companion, and she nodded, although she huddled her arms tightly around her upper body while he held her in assurance.

"Don't worry." He smiled, despite his own subconscious discomfort. "The car's just at the end of this path. Soon as we get there, we'll go home."

She smiled in gratitude, snuggling back up against him when something aught her attention from the side of her vision. She frowned and turned her head and gasped. The young man paused, noting her reaction, and turned his had and frowned at what he was seeing...

It had almost made a move to part the dead branches and pounce, when it too spotted thee pale, white figure walking across the frozen lake. The ice was not near frozen enough to support the weight of a fully grown man, but here he was, walking safely along the surface as if it were solid and his own weight was a trifle. More disturbing than this was that the figure's body was not clothed by a stitch, and he was seemingly not bothered one iota from the cold.

"Mark?" The young woman whispered as they remained fixated on this scene, watching as the pale figure walked along the ice, away from them and toward the other side.

Brother Grimm walked across the ice, his amber colored eyes looking out into the wild surroundings. He slowly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath through his nose, inhaling a scent on the wind. A chilling smile crept across what would have been a handsome face if it were not otherworldly in its malevolence.

"Ahhh..." He sighed in soft contentment in the hunt. "I can smell you."



"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas
Ev'rywhere you go,
Take a look in the five-and-ten, it's glistening once again
With candy canes and silver lanes that glow."


Indeed it is that special time of the year, where each and every man, woman and child feels the special glow in their heart as that special Christmas morning slowly approaches. Slowly being the operative word, as the younger you are, the longer it seems to take to get here so that you might enjoy tearing open the colorful wrapping to shreds and revel in the bounty that was left for you at the base of the fir tree in your home. For those in their wee years, it is a most magical time as it meant that while you were in your bed, sound asleep with sweet, sugary dreams dancing in your deep, subtle thoughts, a magical fat man was paying you a visit and leaving gifts galore that your heart had been set upon, and all in exchange for his own gifts of milk and sugary cookies. As you got older, you came to understand the 'not-so-subtle secret about that jolly old elf, but the magic never truly died in your heart. Nor the greed as the spirit of giving was lost on you in fashion of the desire of getting.

And as you get older, the magic of the season slowly ebbs from one of wonder to one of family. It is the one time where you are free to indulge without guilt or consequence in food and drink, and revel with the company of loved ones. Still, the greed of gifting never truly does leave us, now does it? In the back of your head, you yet wonder what gifts will be yours to claim come Christmas morning. What will your family have bought you, and what presents did you treat yourself to this time?

Warmth and cheer was added to this home in particular as it was the first Christmas to be celebrated not as husband and wife, but as father and mother. Indeed, a newborn had blessed this young couple. Extra care and time was taken to make this small and humble threshold as in tune with the season of the holiday as was possible. Everywhere you looked, you saw decorations, despite the simple fact that the holiday was still two weeks away. It never hurt to get an early start -- in most cases. in others, it acted as a beacon, as did their special blessing.

Christmas lights were strewn about the windows, surrounding the frame so that those outside could gaze within and be comforted. A banister that led upstairs to the home's bedrooms and the new born's nursery had green garland with red berries twisted about the banister itself, as well as the railings. False candle lights were spaced about along tables and on dishes against the wall, casting a flickering illumination throughout. The fireplace itself was perhaps the most humble and inviting of settings, with the traditional stockings hanging over it, pinned in place with glitter and sequins used to stitch the names of each recipient of Santa's 'goodies'; Cynthia, Derek ... and Trevor. Lined along the edge of the brick mantle was more garland decorated with more holly berries. And above the fireplace, pinned against the wall, a soft, green wreath dusted with false snow.

Most prominent of all was the Christmas tree set back in the corner of the sitting room, well away from the fireplace as it was indeed a real tree, not one of those fake, plastic ones. The husband and wife even went so far as to decorate it old world style with the simple trimmings of candy cans and popcorn, along with the modern garland and bulbs of varied colors in gold, blue, red and silver, and bright, white lights to illuminate said tree alongside their white walls in a dazzling kaleidoscope of color. Hung on several branches were ornaments crafted of a rare herb, and along the walls and front door were wreaths fashioned from meadowsweet. A herb that was pleasing to the senses but had one slight drawback; it attracted the attention of unwanted 'guests'.

As the music on the Christmas CD switched over from the classic "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas" to another...

"Said the night wind to the little lamb,
do you see what I see
Way up in the sky, little lamb,
do you see what I see"


The scene pulled slowly across the spacious living room, and found the residents of this lovely home, tightly bound with rotted, old rope and withered vines, but unable to move due to their unusual bindings, nor make a sound because of a dark, brown substance glued over their mouths. Their eyes were wide as they remained fastened along their own couch, flop sweat beading their brows as their eyes remained off-scene, watching and the only clue being a piercing creaking...

"A bit overdone."

The ancient voice said and the scene pulled further along to find the figure of Baba Yaga seated on her rocking chair in front of the fire place, enjoying the warmth on her old bones, while her hands worked the knitting needles fashioned from the bones of children, working on whatever project she had been focused on for untold ages. She then turned her head to briefly look at the imprisoned couple and she smiled, despite herself.

"But it's nice. Very festive."

She went back to her knitting, her eyes intent on their focus of her project while she continued to speak.

"It's just a shame that people these days aren't even fully aware of what it is that they're celebrating. Oh maybe they are somewhat. Perhaps they've heard a nugget of information, but the reality? The birth of Jesus Christ?"

She chuckled beneath her breath.

"You Christians burned my kind alive for their religion and way of life, and yet you choose to worship a carpenter that lived over two thousand years ago." She clucked her tongue and shook her head. "And that is all he truly was. A carpenter. Son of God?"

She scoffed.

"He was just a man with a delusional sense of self importance. Nothing more."

She looked up and over to the couple and smiled.

"Does that offend you?" She went back to her knitting. "The truth usually does."



The young couple from before, the aforementioned Mark and his girlfriend, Alicia, are nearing the end of the public path that they were on in the Ottawa National Forest. The drive where cars were parked could be seen by the light of the overhead streetlight, now that dusk had fallen to completion and the stars could be seen overhead through the branches of the leafless trees that towered over the pair like so many lost giants of old.

"There, see?" Mark said just low enough that only Alicia would hear, not that anyone else was around to eavesdrop. "We're almost there."

"Thank God." Alicia breathed in relief when a snap was hard from within the trees to their left, prompting she and her boyfriend to stop and look around in the direction from which the noise had originated.

Okay, so perhaps they were not as alone as previously thought.

"What was that?" She whispered hoarsely, the aura of fear permeating into near something alive in itself. And although he did not answer her querie, Mark could not deny feeling the dread well up as an icy knot in the center of his back. It was all that he could do to keep his arm from trembling and alert Alicia to his own deep rooted fear. The pair glanced around briefly when they stopped short.

A pair of glowing eyes was staring coldly at them from within the order of the trees. They heard whatever it was breathing deeply and take a single step closer -- toward them.

"Run!" He commanded, but it took his hand on her back and a shove forward to propel Alicia to do as instructed. The moment their bodies turned and feet started to run, the mysterious figure in the trees burst forward, scattering dead branches from the brush and animals and birds scattered in its wake!

Alicia risked a glance over her shoulder as she ran (why do women in such tales always do that?) and she shrieked at the sight of what she saw, even though all she got was a glimpse before Mark hurried her along! They could hear the racing sound of pursuit on their heels as they tore along the path, towards what was thought to be the safety of their vehicle!

It could have happened as they hoped were it not for the burrow in the ground, hidden from sight by fallen dirt and snow. Mark's foot caught and it tripped him up and he went hard to the floor of the path, and as Alicia was holding his hand, she was taken down along with him! They rolled to their backs by instinct and recoiled at the sight of their pursuer!

It could easily have been described as a dog, or more likely, an extremely large wolf -- one that, once stopped, rose from its animalistic crouch and stood on hind legs! It stepped out from behind the bushes and Alicia whimpered as it drew nearer. What the two lovebirds had the most unfortunate luck in crossing paths with was a fabled Loup Garou -- but a fable no more! The werewolf-like beast of Canadian lore stalked them like prey, because to its hungry, animal senses, that was exactly what it saw them as. Mark started to stand up, grasping at Alicia's wrist to pull her up along with him, but the beast's roar of anger and hunger pangs caused him to spin back around and collapse to his backside, but with enough presence of mind to shield his woman using only his body.

He felt Alicia grasp his hand once again, thinking perhaps this was their final moment together. The beast crouched once again, ready to pounce -- when another form blew out of the trees and caught it in mid pounce! The action crashed along the path and brought up dirt and snow, and Alicia and Mark's eyes were wide with shock and horror as the figure they had spotted walking across the frozen lake was now kneeling before them, its head down and fist buried deep in the now-dead loup garou's sternum.

Slowly, Brother Grimm brought his head up and his eyes met that of the couples' and he said, "I have what I came for. Now why don't you count yourself lucky and run along unmolested?" His black lips curved into a sardonic smile. "While I'm still feeling all Christmas-y?"

The pair need not be asked twice as Mark all but dragged Alicia to her feet and they ran for the parking area and their waiting car, while Grimm watched his nails elongate into sharpened claws and he went about proceeding to skinning the werewolf creature...



Baba Yaga had paused in her knitting long enough to drape it over the arm of her old rocking chair and pick up the delicate porcelain cup filled with hot cocoa as she gently rocked back and forth, chatting with the entrapped and silent husband and wife as if she were invited company.

"I suppose it's through no fault of your own when your ilk run around in ignorance. The Church long ago decided what was best for you to know and to not. Mortal men are like that by nature, but when they have the power of the Church behind them?" Baba Yaga shook her head. "It only adds to their arrogance. People belief too often that December 25 is the birth date of Jesus Christ, but simple logic, if you capable of using such a thing, would tell you just why that was impossible. The simplest proof of all was thee fact that shepherds did not stand in the field in December. It was too cold and would have dealt them their deaths with exposure."

She scoffed, and shook her head. "And the trek to Bethlehem could not have ben accomplished in such a short time, even for three so-called Wise Men."

She set the cup with just a trace of cocoa left in it on the coffee table before her and resumed her rocking, but not her knitting.

"The only reason you celebrate that date now the way you do..." She waved a gnarled hand around to display their lavishly decorated home. "... is because the Church co-opted the Pagan holiday Saturnalia, and the day that marked the end of the Winter Solstice. It was the grandest celebration by those such as myself, so the Church leaders believed if they were going to drag us away from our beliefs whether we wished it or no, they would meld in a holiday or two from our own to make the transition easier."

She glanced at the couple briefly and thee anger behind her cold eyes made the married couple shudder.

"It was insulting, is what it was. They thought we were not wise enough to know the action for what it was; an attempted end to our way of life. And for a time, it was just that!" She spat. "But our ways survived, even if the reasoning behind them are all but forgotten!"

Baba Yaga pointed to the frame of their front door where there was hung a sprig of mistletoe. She said, "That plant is a powerful one to those like myself. People used to do more than kiss beneath it while they worshipped the god Saturn, but not so much these days." She smiled in amusement, knowing well enough that some mortals might just do a tad (much) more than simply kiss.

"The presents you give each other? It was a woman I knew by the name of La Befana, a witch, that started that tripe. She would freely give gifts to well behaved children during the Winter Solstice, and there you are." She motioned towards many colorfully wrapped packages beneath the tree. She looked around her, to all the decor in sight, and sighed.

"I do so miss the old ways, but this time of year I think is good for me." She picked up hr knitting and soon resumed her project. "So many of these modern traditions are not so modern, and it helps me to reflect. Hanging holly... the yule log..." There was a crackle from the fireplace where three of those very logs burned and leaving off a pleasing aroma in the fire's wake.

She continued, "Your delightful, if somewhat overdone tree there originated thousands of years before Christianity was ever even a thought." She smiled. "Even that jolly old elf, Santa Clause, was pagan in origin before he became what he is now."

She looked up from her knitting, and shook her head at the couple. "Why people like you think it such a good idea to tell tales to your young ones, allowing them to think you permit a strange man in red to enter your home without interference is beyond me. I should think it would undermine their sense of security should they..."

"Tell me, dear woman, are you planning to kill these two fools by your history lesson?" The voice spoke from the shadows nearby, as they seemingly elongated across the living room floor. "Because if that is the case, perhaps they should be put out of their misery."

Baba Yaga sighed as Brother Grimm rose from a crouch behind the sofa, startling the couple. Were their mouths not covered, they would have cried out in alarm at what had now entered their home.

"I was merely telling them a bit of fact." Baba Yaga said as she resumed her knitting. "I had to pass the time a bit while waiting for you." She glanced up at him, her gray eyes meeting his own ruthless, amber colored ones. "Where were you anyway?"

Brother Grimm replied, "Getting you a present." He reached into the large canvas bag that was his own and removed a still bleeding pelt of thee loup garou and tossed it over toward the witch, it landing with a sickening wet sound at her feet.

She looked it over appreciatively for a moment and then back up to him. "A Yule present? From you?"

"You wanted something to decorate the floor of your ... 'charming' ... cabin." He shrugged his shoulders and motioned to the skinned beast. "I felt the desire to hunt. Two birds... on stone."

"Such a charmer." Baba Yaga chuckled as she went back to her knitting, if only for a moment. She then brought her head up and smiled. "I thought you were up to some pleasant surprise, so I have one for you. I prepared you a little dinner. A bit of home cooking."

Brother Grimm frowned at her words, until he turned his had and saw just what was roasting in the open flame of the house's fireplace. The married couple, their faces wet with tears, muffled their agonized cries and moans. Grimm turned from the 'meal' and looked to them.

"Oh not to worry." He smiled. "You can always have another."



"Dear Santa..."

The old fashioned feather quill pen dipped into the ink bottle and it started to scrawl on thee unrolled piece of parchment.

"I have not been a very good boy this year. I believe that a sense of honesty might buy me some leniency so allow me to tell you what it is that I want, and if you know what is good for you, you will deliver. Your stronghold in the North Pole is not so difficult to get to, and its defensive measures not so hard to overcome. Trust me. I know. I have taken the liberty of proving you with a bit of proof as to my intentions."

The free hand picked up a candy cane from where it had ben set aside and it was slipped between a pair of black lips. There was the obvious sound of a sucking noise, while the figure took a great sense of pleasure in this holiday's traditional candy of choice before the hand set the treat side, picked up the quill, and then resumed its writing.

"I believe the most important thing I ask for is the fear that is so rightfully my own. It exemplifies who I am, what I am, and yet still the fools I surround myself with day in and day out, continue to see me as something of a monster out of legend. Granted, I am just that, but they continue to believe what I am is just that, a legend. So as I pen this letter to you in the hope you will be as wise as they hint you are, and gift me with the soul of a certain man I am expected to meet in open combat in a matter of days."

"Simon Jones."

"A man that originated himself in SCW history by coming from literally out of nowhere and grasping the biggest prize of them all, the World Heavyweight Championship. A feat he managed to repeat on at least one occasion. And although I will be the first to voice my belief that such gawdy trinkets are folly, a senseless way to indulge in your own massive ego, I must acknowledge the fact that these emblems bring evidence to the fighting spirit of the individual that holds it. I should know. I held a belt very much like it not so long ago. Would I like to hold another? 'Like' is such a strong word, and not one I would actually use in a case like this. But I get ahead of myself. This letter is about my wish to claim what is rightfully mine: the soul of Simon Jones."

The pale, white hand sets aside the quill pen and encircles the handle of the mug, filled to the brim with what appeared to be hot cocoa with little miniature marshmallows floating in it. It rose and one might hear the sound of sipping before it was set back down. The pale hand then picked up a sugar cookie sprinkled with red and green sugar crystals, from a plate of many, and you heard the soft taking of a bite before it was set back with the others and the writing went on as before.

"Yes, I am all too aware that Simon Jones is not a child, nor one that I would usually collect, but this time it is special. This encounter -- special. We move toward the day that is celebrated the world over for a figure steeped in as much mythology as myself, and I felt what better way to instill fear and poison this date in memory than to have a victim such as this one will become. Simon Jones will step inside of the ring with me, his face putting on a brave front, but I will feel the fear radiating off of him, even if he would not be aware. I will watch as his eyes twitch and limbs tremble as realization dawns upon him that I am no ordinary opposition, and he himself is no threat in opposing me."

"Beaten, battered, an bloody he will become, and I want to drink of it to the dreaded horror of one and all watching, whether they be there in live attendance, or watching from the comfort and 'safety' of their own homes. I want them to see that if Simon Jones, of all people they look up to and worship, is not safe from me, then no one is."

"His blood will be my Christmas wine, and his fighting spirit if a gift to be savored and not stashed away beneath some ridiculous tree. The pain he will feel, the fear he will have thrust upon his form, is all I wish and desire. Deliver this to me, old man."

The hand scribbled the last remaining portion of the note...

"You know who this is from. Message delivered."

With that, the seated figure rose and walked off of the scene. It slowly drew back to find the setting of a toy factory, one unlike any seen by mortal eyes. One with the soft crystals of ice and snow laid against the windows. A factor laid waste with the bodies of small elves strewn about...

8
Climax Control Archives / The battle of good and evil
« on: November 13, 2015, 08:14:49 PM »
 
Nature has no principles. She makes no distinction between good and evil.
~ Anatole France


"I remember the First Battle well."

It was not thunder that shook the Heavens so many thousands of years ago, but a clash of angelic powers. The battle cries were terrible to experience, but music to the ears of the One that served as the source of this war; the instigator, if you will.

Angels by the thousands filled the sky, above the earth, above even the stars. Far beyond the eyes of mortal man or any alien entity that scoured the galaxies. Their calls to arms on opposing sides as they flew through the light of Heaven and met in open combat, the steel of their blades and spears clashing together...

The sparks from blades crafted of Heaven's 'black smiths' created brilliant flashes of light, eclipsed only by the light of the warrior's themselves, light that burned so bright that it would burn the eyes from the sockets of any who would look upon them. Below on earth, the eyes of animals and the first family looked 'up' to the skies where their lost paradise had once been, and witnessed only the miracle that mortals now refer to as Aurora Borealis. It these times when this miracle was witnessed, it was in fact simply a sad reminder of what once was and would never be again.

The light cut a path across the sky as far as Adam, Eve, and their children could see, giving one an idea just how colossal of a battle raged on so far above, and with the violence being shed between brother and sister, those that supported the One God, and those that believed in the truth of the Morningstar. Each side had a general, and both fought with equal determination to come out the victor.

Michael, the chief amongst the Archangels, called aloud to those at his side and charged forward, some in flight with wings that spanned the stars, and others meeting their enemies on foot! Opposite Michael was of course the youngest of the Archangels, and the most beautiful, Lucifer. And he was no less in number of supporters who rallied to his cause. If he were, perhaps then he would not dared risk the wrath of God by threatening to overtake Heaven and sit upon his Father's throne. Yet he did, and so he would.

"Your fates rest in the outcome of what is happening at this very moment." I can recall whispering into the minds of the first man and woman. "You may not understand what is happening, but it is truly a marvel."

"At least it was from where I was standing. I could feel the same curiosity radiating off of them now that caused their expulsion from Eden's walls. Little known fact: The Garden of Eden was never actually on Earth. It was more somewhere between this piss ant of a plant and Paradise itself. No mortal coil could have contained such a place as what He designed for his new pets. Yet still here the Father and Mother and Cain and Abel watched, with the same craving for knowledge of what was coming as they felt the moment their lips tasted the fruit."

"Just between us, I always believed that Lucifer deserved something of a fruit basket for his particular role in that. He was made for deception in his own way."

"Oh those poor, foolish animals that the Judeo God had chosen to reign supreme over the earth. What they must have thought when they struggled to lift their knuckles from dragging in the dirt, much like the simple mud monkeys that they are, to stand upright and cast their dumbed down eyes to the skies above. To their simple minds, I was sure then that they were learning to appreciate what they saw as their first sunrise, when it was something oh so very much more."

"They watched and saw the colors igniting the Heavens, and felt the warm, red rain as it fell from the sky, not once realizing the miracles unfolding above them; the miracles of the Angelic Host reducing their brethren's numbers in the War of Fire and Blood. The very first battle in what was to be known as Good and Evil from that point on. And with as much modesty as I am capable of, I would like to think I played my role well."

One angel after another fell from where they flew in the stars as their wings were hacked from their bodies, crippling their enemies so that they might never again know the thrill of sailing through Heaven to do the One God's work.

One angel fell to the white marble-like tile of Paradise and was impaled by Lucifer's intricately carved spear. Her blood pooled from the wound and ran to the surface of their battle ground, and from there fell to earth in gentle cascades of crimson tainted rain. A miracle some fools thought, others believed it to be an ominous sign or omen. And this angel was not the first to fall in this battle, nor was she to be the last. Such a war fought would not end in hours or even days, but it lasted for a time unrecorded.

Lucifer pulled the spear free, ready to continue when he heard the cry that sent chills down his spine. The cry of an angry older brother as Michael came at him with his fabled sword and wings emblazoned with righteous fury...

"I don't mind admitting that even I paused and took a step back at the sound of Michael's scream. It was not one of fear or even anger. But the pain of betrayal from a brother whom he had loved. If I am to be honest, I would not have traded places with Lucifer at that moment for anything in existence."

The clash of angelic steel was terrible to behold, but much like mortals with gruesome roadside accidents, I could not look away. These were not the sweet, cherubic angels with harps and draped in simple cloth that artists have made light of for centuries. No, these were one and all, hardened warriors of the highest order, and Lucifer had made the critical error of angering the greatest of them all.

As Lucifer swung his spear in a horizontal arched swing at Michael's midsection, his older brother and former general leapt aside with a great gust of his golden wings and brought his own sword down hard against the spear's edge, pinning it to the ground. Then with a sweep of his foot, he took Lucifer's own legs out from under him and the Morningstar found the blade at the tip of his throat...

Lucifer's eyes filled with tears, perhaps realizing too late what he had done or had allowed himself to be influenced into doing....

"Do not do this Brother... please!" Lucifer pleaded for his life, for when angels perished, they had no afterlife.

"You betrayed our Father!" Michael raged, his own hot tears pouring from his eyes and to the cleft of his magnificent chin. "And for what!? Self glory! Your own pride! He loved you best of all! He gave you everything!"

"Please..." Lucifer continued to beg. "A second chance? Father would give me a second chance!"

The pity that swelled in Michael's heart would only harden his resolve to do what his Father bid. "Lucifer, my dearest brother." Michael started to say... "This was your second chance!"

Seeing there was to be no reprieve, Lucifer's eyes cast themselves in dark shadow and from that moment on, mere wisps of time before he was cast out to the pits of Hell, was he to become the being known as the Adversary.

"If I am to be perfectly honest, I felt a trifle insulted when I had learned the nickname gifted to the Morningstar. I liked it, personally, and would have had it for my own. After all, I felt if anyone deserved to be known as the Adversary, it would have been me."

"Look at them." I whispered into the ear of Lucifer as he stood stoically at his post, at the frame of the most magnificent flowers and plants that rose into an arch, forming the very gates that led into Eden. As God's favorite amongst the angels, it would fall to Lucifer to protect the most magnificent of his Father's creations, the man and woman who walked the Garden in all it's splendor.

I continued with my thoughts, which he had never truly understood were the source for his own. I was not corporeal, not was I in possession of the form I had now. There were simply no vessels worth taking then, and angels were foul to me to even attempt. Then, I was simply a force of nature.

"Not a care have they. They walk unclothed and unashamed, having neither served their Lord and your Father, nor done anything to earn their place within His favor."

"Why does He love them so?" Lucifer asked of himself, his beautiful blue eyes darkening to a storm cloud gray.

"From that moment, I knew that I had him. I had found my way into his heart and could toy with him as I pleased. So please don't judge Satan too harshly. He knew not what he did."

"But please do not misunderstand me. Evil was nothing knew then. The very force of evil has existed since the time God Himself had stepped out of the primordial void. There was simply a name for it at that point on. Fear was the key, and where fear grows, the hearts of man and angel would darken. Why then did I do as I did at the gates of the Garden and instigate the fall of man and angel alike? It amused me. I did just as I was created to do; spread chaos and fear. I've been doing it for eons."

The godling with the visage of the hawk, Horus, son of Osiris, flew into a rage at the arrival of his uncle, the deity worshipped by the ancient Egyptians as the god of evil and death, Set himself.

"Gods.... please! They perhaps were above the station of mortal but the Egyptian 'gods' like the Greeks, Norse, and other Houses of Worship, were as far from mortal as angels, the One God (and myself) were beyond them. Though I must admit that I did like Set's sense of style. With the head of a serpent, he certainly did fit the bill of a visage of evil."

This battle of good versus evil was orchestrated by the wife of the fallen god, Isis, who sought to avenge her brother and husband, Osiris. Set had destroyed him out of jealousy, just as ages past, the Pale One had orchestrated the first murder between Cain and Abel. Jealousy was a force of nature all unto its own, one that could darken the brightest of souls and cause the most innocent of men to shed the blood of another.

Temples fell with the fierce battle that raged across the desert sands. The lives of many innocents were snuffed by both 'gods' as they only had eyes for the blood of the other, and not to the mortals of whom they had once claimed to be the protectors of. Earthquakes brought down mountains just as Horus threw Set from their heaven and to the sands of Egypt. Sand storms blew across their own nation from the violent clash of arms and swift movements of the gods' representative of all that was good, and the one who was both uncle as well as enemy.

Set had torn the body of Osiris into thirteen pieces, and only after his death did he father a son with Isis, one that would spell out the vengeance only the family of the fallen could know. And when it looked as if Horus were to do just that, and destroy his father's killer, his own uncle, the nature of the good Isis stayed her son's hand and spared Set.

"Yes, she spared him. The bride of the dead god spared her husband's killer. Proving again that this ongoing clash between the two greatest forces was only predestined to continue on throughout time and beyond."

"Even imprisoned as I was, my influence could be felt the world over. It was just my physical manifestation that could not walk the earth. Whether it was Adolf Hitler who suffered delusions of grandeur or that fool Saddam Hussein who believed, like Hitler, he could reign supreme as a god on earth, they all felt the fear I fed them towards their own insecurities, and it simply made them what they became."

"It has always amazed me what fear can do to the weak minded as opposed to the strong. The men who believed themselves strong, reduced to committing atrocities and becoming infamous in history for their crimes against nature, whereas the weak would rise to fight as no man might, believing they themselves have no further place to go and are backed into a proverbial corner, if you will."

"Why is it then, Ben Jordan, that I do what I do? The answer is simple; when one gains in age, they take steps in which to better amuse themselves. They do what it is in their nature to do. I admit it is one reason why I am intrigued by this match between us. Under most circumstances, I find these physical encounters something of a bore, a mere distraction of a means to an end that you would be unable to comprehend. Yet this one? My match against you? Oh it has been so rare that such an encounter with a mortal man has taken my interests so."

"You are what many see as the epitome of good in this world we surround ourselves with. Sin City Wrestling, and never before has there been a man that has captured the hearts and minds of the plebeians who watch the physical violence with such brash eagerness, such as you do. You are indeed popular, and the mortal coil looks to you with adoration. I've watched as they flocked to you both here and during your time past in ACW where you reigned as a god amongst men. They clung to you as if their very salvation and physical pleasures were tied to being so near you. You posed for photographs with them, and signed your name on meaningless scraps of paper for them to worship as if a false god. You have their devotion, and they you. That is fine for them, but not so much for you. It has made me taken notice, and stirred my hunger."

"You are popular, strong in heart and brave, pleasing to the eye of the mortal woman -- and woman if I am to understand these times correctly. You remind me of a man I knew so very long ago. A few hundred years hence to be precise. One of whom I would hold accountable for a long and cold imprisonment."

The cottage seen time and again in old Romania was seen in later years. It had changed some in simple decor, but was still the home of what was to be known in the circle of the Hunter as Clan Dalca. A youth sat at the table, his blind eyes seeing nothing but his heart shone on his face as the old woman sat a steaming bowl of stew before him and she guided his fingers to the wooden spoon so that he might eat. How far he had come since he was but a babe born thrice afflicted; deaf, mute and blind. He had grown strong, and despite the hardships bestowed upon him, he had started to grow in strength of body and mind. And she, Nadya, had shown her wisdom by devising the system of touches and such in order to communicate with the fifteen year old. He learned, and he could "speak" with her as well as the man that was now in the role of patriarch and father to him and was understood.

Had the youth named Nicolai II,  a choice, he would have followed the same path as his father and hunted, but Andrei and Nadya would not hear of such a thing and allow their loved one to place himself directly in the path of harm's way.

The lone door of the cottage opened and a brisk, autumn air blew into the cottage as an older and wiser Andrei set foot inside and his face lit up at the family he had grown to love as his own, both son and grandmother. He crossed the threshold and Nicolai II immediately knew he was there and rose to the embrace of hiss father, who also greeted the elder matriarch with his lips to her scalp in a tender kiss...

"No, Ben Jordan. It was not the older Andrei Dalca that you remind me of, nor the miserable witch gypsy behind my imprisonment. But the thrice cursed mortal who was, in truth, the source of my downfall. Because had I not sought to claim the then babe for my own, I never would have fallen. Still, that in itself is not why you bring up such memories. It is the surface of your soul, the bravery that wars inside of your very being."

"You see, despite their wishes and how much they protected him, Nicolai II did in fact follow in his father's footsteps, and it was the handicaps he suffered from that were the sources of his strength. He rose to infamy in my circle, and became perhaps the greatest hunter of the time. Quite the feat for one who could not see, nor speak or hear. Much like yourself I would dare to suggest. His heart and mind was what propelled him into battle when it was needed, and that is what I reflect upon when I think of you."

"You keep your eyes open, but you can't see the danger that stands before you. Your ears listen, but with a mind that is closed so you don't understand the warning signals of the threat of the shadows you set foot inside. And like all men, you talk much but say so very little. Which leads me to wonder where is it that you stand, Ben Jordan? Do you know and understand what you have been condemned to the moment you signed your name to the contract to meet me inside of the ring? The pain that I can and will inflict will be the pain of untold ages to come of past and present. It is a war that has been waged since the dawn of time, and now you are simply the next step in the evolution of the battle between good and evil.

Brother Grimm stood over the desk where the contract to meet Ben Jordan at Climax Control in Havana, Cuba rested. His amber eyes fell upon the signature of his opponent, and below that, the space for his own name which yet remained unsigned. He extended an arm and touched the tip of a forefinger to the blank space and the charred imprint of his fingertip was all that remained smoldering in that very spot...

"Despite what the One God would have you believe, it has existed far longer than you can imagine, and contrary to what His followers would want you to think, it will continue to exist long after the very tars have winked out of existence. It is a simple fact of nature, logic if you will: For without evil, there can be no such thing as good."

"Don't let the fairy tales of old fool you into thinking that this story between us will have a happy ending, Ben. It will have an ending, certainly, but this is one time I can and will prove that good does not always triumph in the face of evil."

9
Supercard Archives / J2H vs BROTHER GRIMM
« on: October 15, 2015, 03:09:08 PM »
 The Ritz-Carlton of San Juan, Puerto Rico was an elegant establishment, one of the few luxury five star hotels within the city limits. The very lobby itself seemed to be something out of a royal palace, as it opened up to a beautiful night-time view of the beach front, and within it was elaborately decorated to better please the eyes and senses. Just inside the doors was the lobby lounge where the guests could socialize at their leisure, a drink in their hands, at one of the many quaint tables, crafted of cherry wood and a vase with fresh cut flowers. The chairs that surrounded each table by a number of three, were cushioned with deep orange, and the one sofa, just big enough for three, was in a cream color with orange and green pillows and a oval glass table set before it.

While the employees of the lounge walked about, ensuring that each guest was well cared for and their wishes and needs fulfilled, one could not help but notice the slight bemusement hidden within the depths of their eyes. For as carefully crafted of an establishment this was to be catered to an "upper echelon" of guests, the men, women and children around them acted less than that, and dressed not like what one might expect in such a fine setting. Rather than fine clothes for an evening out, they wore simple t shirts, jeans and yes, even bathing suits, the remnants of spending their days basking in the radiant sun. Which is why their heads were turned so obviously when the double doors that led to the outside blew open, seemingly of their open accord, and in walked a woman of older years that seemed better suited to their tastes.

Indeed she was old, far older than their mere eyes would be ale to perceive, but for all they knew, her age merely meant one thing: money. Her choice of attire certainly deemed it so. Her normally frayed gray hair was done up, smooth and silky, tied back into a tight bun and hidden beneath a black satin wide brim hat with accordion pleating, and topped off with a pleated flower, also black in color. Her matching garments were no less impressive, as she wore an A-line black buttoned vintage dress, with her trademark shawl draped around and over her shoulders while on her feet she wore high heel buckled boots. The shawl itself seemed the only piece out of place, as it was clearly old and some might even suggest in smelled of brimstone.

Although she drew curios glances from some and expressions of envy by others, she paid them no mind as their attention mattered to her even less than their lives. She walked straight through the lounge and the check in desk, and straight toward the main hall, with just as subtle decor of plants and carved pillars. She was out of place, certainly, but only in lifestyle. She had come for him. She knew he was here, somewhere, and she was curios as to what had drawn him to such a place after his ghastly invitation.

From inside of her cottage, before the fire that roasted her meal in the hearth, she unfolded the slip of parchment in one aged hand, and caught the severed finger in the cup of her other hand. The tip had been removed, and the crimson that at one point flowed freely was used to write the words "Join me for a meal. You'll know where to find me."

Indeed she did, as she had zeroed in on his location the moment she set foot outside of the cottage that had served as her home for untold years. The binding between them allowed them to always be in touch with one another, to know where the other was at all times. Not that he would have had any trouble in any other way: she rarely left that cottage, so this invite was a treat of sorts. Something to lure her from the familiar and to take painstaking lengths to blend in with those she felt beneath her.

"Excuse me, madam?" The hotel manager moved to intervene. Other party members of their guests were always to register at the front desk, so perhaps she was not aware or did not think to ask. She was not staying with them, that much he knew. So protocol though was to be followed at all times. He moved to cut her off from the elevator and tried to gain her attention, "I'm the manager of the hotel. Is there something that I can...?"

But his words were silenced by a simple look from her cold, gray eyes. His expression became a blank stare as he simply turned away from her and went back the way he came, uttering not another word. She herself did not half a step as she stepped up to the open elevator and without touching a single button, waited as the doors slid shut...

... And opened upon the top floor where the honeymoon suite was to be found. She could feel the cold, fearsome presence that screamed of him, just behind the single door she now found herself in front of. Sliding her forefinger along the key card lock, the light turned green and she twisted the door handle and set foot inside.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had accepted my invitation." Brother Grimm stated amicably from the luxurious bed where he sat back against the head board, between the bodies of what were the happily married couple. Even more curious, his amber like gaze fell from her and back to the HD television fastened against the wall where an episode of the hit series "Supernatural" was playing.

Her own eyes carried over the room and its contents; the fine furniture, and on the table a chilled bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice, and a silver platter of strawberries. She shook her head and muttered, "Please tell me that that is not the meal of which you invited me for."

"Of course not." Grimm chuckled, motioning with a free hand towards the bodies of the bride and groom. "I thought perhaps we might dine in."

She looked at the nude bodies covered in the sheets and almost hissed in disdain. "You must be joking." She said, her tone gravelly in its intensity. "What in Hell would make you think I would foul my palate with such a...?"

"They were -- are, virgins." Grimm interrupted. "I know you prefer a younger dish, more tender, but this was such a rare delicacy as I thought you would come to appreciate."

"I'll pass." She frowned. "Did you think I went to all this trouble to simply sit in such accommodations and dine on second-rate food?"

For the first time, perhaps since she set foot inside of the suite, Grimm glanced up at her and took in what she was wearing. A sardonic smile crossed his black lips and a hint of teeth showed, a smile that was ghastly enough to spoil milk. Really, madam?" He was bemused. "For me? I'm flattered."

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and sneered, "Don't be. A lady enjoys nice things and I am, after all, a lady."

Brother Grimm simply stared at her eyes after such a statement and he fell back against the headboard, laughing maniacally. She frowned at his amusement at her own expense and the wall-mounted lamps above his head exploded, sending sparks of electricity everywhere and rained glass down against him and the bodies at his side. He jumped to his feet, knocking the presumed groom to the floor and stared hard at her.

"Was that absolutely necessary?"

"No, but it was fun." She smiled. She then turned her head and nodded towards the television, "Have you found nothing better to do with your time?"

"It was on." He reasoned. "And it did so make me think of you."

To that, she raised her eyebrows and questioned. "Oh? How so?"

Brother Grimm responded, "An amusing show about our kind, and this one? This one they told a story based upon your own charming self. of your past."

Brother Grimm was, of course, referring to a season ten episode of the series in which Sam and Dean Winchester came across Hansel of folktale fame, and a witch naked Katja, based on the very same story he was always rubbing in her face. Upon realizing this, and hearing the "fate" of the witch antagonist, she sneered in distaste.

"Will you ever stop making light of a single defeat in my past?" She asked with acid in her voice.

"I doubt it." He replied with a sickening smile, his own voice filled with a disarming charm to it. Much like if honey were warmed and allowed to run down over a razor blade. "It amuses me to do so. To remind you that you are, after all, only human."

At such an insult, she drew her chin up and simply watched him. He was trying his best to antagonize her, using that one story people simply would not forget, to get under her skin. It was, she suspected, his way of paying her back for the time she had aided the very same enemies that had banished him those centuries ago.

Still, she would not take his bait and give him what he desired: anger. She instead smiled and said, "As amusing as your own defeat just the other evening?"

Grimm's smile faltered and his eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're speaking of."

"Oh please!" She chuckled. "Did you seriously believe I was unaware of that ridiculous farce?"

Las Vegas, Nevada...

A home with a newborn child. A baby boy, fresh from the womb. It was a natural draw to him. Like a shining beacon to his senses. Of course he would sense it. Smell it. Desire it. As the parents slept in the very next room, the baby stirred in its bassinet, its sleepy eyes drifting back to its own dreamland, while unbeknownst to him, the shadows stirred. The figure set foot out of those very shadows and started to approach the sleepy child when another form rose from in front of the crib in a protective stance.

He frowned at the audacity and took a single step forward when the 'protectors' arm swung, throwing what appeared to be a chopstick through the air, impaling him in the hand with such ferocity it slammed his palm back and embedded in the wall of the nursery! He stared in open surprise as the kimono clad form whipped out another 'chopstick' from its hair and sent it sailing, stabbing him in the other hand!

The blow knocked him back a step, closer to the closet from which he had emerged. The diminutive form then grabbed two 'samurai' swords from its robe and started swinging them in the air and leapt towards him like a whirlwind....

Grimm sneered. Of course she would have known -- and made light of. It made his blood boil to think she thought he had been defeated by a mere... a mere...

He drew a breath and reasoned, "I prefer to think of it as a strategic retreat."

"Hunh!" She chuckled. "Call it whatever you wish. Just remember that little taste of humiliation next time before you think to remind me of my own."

He gritted his teeth, more angered by the fact his own rage phased her not in the least. Instead, she asked, "So, are you ready to escort me for an evening out?"

"I'm not really dressed for it." He growled.

She pursed her lips and glanced down at him, then nodded. "True." He felt a funny tingle along his body when she added, "And now you are."

<img align=left src= "http://images2.fanpop.com/image/polls/509000/509203_1281032298965_full.jpg" height=199 width=150> Frowning, he looked down at himself and started. He spun around to stare at his visage in the mirror against the dresser on the far wall. he then turned to glare at her and even not one of her power could shield the burning within his eyes.

"You must be joking!" He raged.

"Oh do not act like a child." She chided him, taking him by the arm and escorting him toward the door to thee suite. "It is, after all, only for the one night." And as they stepped out into the hall, the doors slammed shut behind them, leaving the two honeymooners in the confines of an ancient cottage made of sweets...

"It is only one evening, isn't it J2H?"

"Oh my fine, young morsel, how long I have waited for this one, single moment. The moment in time where I would have you all to myself. All alone where you have no place to run, and no place to hide. Where not another living soul, or anyone else for that matter, would bother coming to your rescue. The detriment you must pay, I imagine, for such a glaring level of unpopularity."

"Did you think yourself safe from myself and the Lady, having that giant at your side? A pretty poor choice for a protector if you ask me. Even the stoutest of guard dogs can be reigned in with a simple leash, but the so-called 'Freight Train of Pain" did not accomplish what I am certain you so dearly desired. Neither would that Simpson bodyguard. I am still here, young James, and I as of yet have a desire to take you into my Sack of souls and collect you for my own."

"Your soul is all I desire, as you must know. Everything else you have left after? Well, to that I will bestow upon Her. She has a taste for such things, literally, and I have come to enjoy playing the role of provider. Yet me? I would like to think of my tastes as a touch more refined. The fear you gift me with is but a mere appetizer to the main course you will provide me with in mere days to come."

"If broken bones are an end result, I will use the shards to pick my teeth. If blood is to be spilled, so be it. I will drink it to quench my thirst. I have been in many a battle over the curse of an eternity, the scope of which you can not even begin to comprehend in your mind. Only this? This won't be a battle.Nor could it be called a simple fight.  To call it such would be like a newborn babe fighting against a hurricane. It's inconceivable to think one such as you could hope to stand against something like myself. You grasp at the very words those around you speak to comfort yourself, but its in vain."

"Do whatever it takes to 'prepare' yourself J2H. It'll just make my meal all the more savory to enjoy."</color>

10
Climax Control Archives / Where have I been?
« on: September 25, 2015, 09:45:30 PM »
 The night was still, warm and quiet, here in Asunción. At this time of year, the precipitation was at its highest peak, with the rain falling heavily down from the sky so high above. Few stars could be seen, as the gray clouds with an ominous tinge to them, slowly sifted across the sky, blotting out those twinkling heavenly bodies on which mortals would make a wish. And the moon? The clouds tried as they might, but the Man in the Moon saw through the gray and purple overcast above to look down at what walked below.

And the Man in the Moon did not like it.

The trees of this forest stretched high, almost shielding the wild life of the land from the cascading drops, and the branches yet teeming with green life, allowed but a glimpse of the heavens above.
The forest itself seemed like a place lost in time. A prehistoric jungle to the imagination, one of the few remaining places in this would that has yet to suffer the taint of man. So few of those places existed in this day and age; Shangri-La being perhaps the last remaining remnant of what came before mankind. One day He wished that he might see it, the pale One, yet one such as He was unable to walk those paths, despite his power. So, he walked here.

And the Man in the Moon did not like it.

What's that you say? The Man in the Moon is but a myth? A whimsical fancy of a tale or a mere toy with words for the children of yesteryear to tell tales of and wonder about? Untrue. You have but to gaze up at that bright, white orb and wonder at the shimmering light that surrounds it at night and realize and understand -- there is life there. Ancient life. Powerful life. And He did not like that the spirit of fear again walked the face of the earth. More so, he did not like that He was unable to intervene.

This time.

The pale feet, as white as ivory colored chalk, walked across the floor of the forest, a stark contrast in color between white flesh and the green of life that surrounded him. Life that did not ensure when it came into contact with one so foul, as the green fauna set foot upon slowly withered away and turned brown with decay. It was another reason he so enjoyed taking these late night walks without a mortal around to entertain him or sustain his hunger. The tease He Who Soared Above. To toy with one who had power above all, but yet remained powerless to intervene where the shadows crept across the face of the earth. And where shadows crept, so did he reside.

"Why do you insist on playing these silly games?"

Of course she was here with him. She was always with him, ever since she freed him from the oblivion that those cursed Romanovs cast him in centuries before. When she did so, it forced a link between the two, one which allowed her to remain in the comforts of her humble abode, deep in a hidden woods, while he ventured out into the world to amuse himself. Oh she would join him every now and then, but she preferred the comforts of what, in his opinion, was a ridiculous hovel of a home.

Many 'dark ones' sought to free him over the years, but only she had the power to do so. He despised being in the dept of 'meat', no matter how lofty and powerful that particular piece of meat just so happened to be. He owed her much, but the discovery of the role she played in aiding the very ones who banished him left a sour distaste in his mouth where she was concerned.

"Did you not hear me?"

Her tone was a hint more icy than was her first question, and it irked him to have one such as she speak to him in such a manner. He was far more used to being spoken to with respect, and fear. Lovely, delicious fear.

"I heard you, witch." Grimm said as he stopped amidst a small opening in the forest, a circle center surrounded by towering trees and lush plants and bushes. He went on, "I was simply ignoring you. And if you wish to make childish accusations of game play..." He paused, brushing aside a hanging branch to look out toward a flowing stream that ran through the dense forest. "Well, I have two words for you my Lady: gingerbread house'."

"You simply refuse to forget that one silly story, don't you?"

Grimm smiled, a smile that would be charming were it not also the type that could send milk curdling, a cold chill racing down the spine of one who might have been unfortunate enough to see it. The witch was powerful, and a force ff nature -- quite literally. But it was times such as these he did draw pleasure out of reminding her of her own past follies.

Grimm said, "I just remind you I am not one to be judged."

"Hunting then, I take it?"

"A moment my Lady..." He whispered and started to move through the brush...

The beast had its back turned, too content in its evening meal to take note that it was no longer the hunter. It had become the hunted. Quite the sight it was, its likes unseen by any for an age, yet its tale known to adult and child alike in this part of the world. from behind, it resembled a sheep, albeit one with long, sharp talons, but to look more closely you would find a wolf-like muzzle buried in the carcass of a traveler who made a most unfortunate choice for a late night poaching session, and instead came upon the legendary Ao Ao.

A twig snapped from within the general vicinity of its hunt, and it lifted its head and inhaled. It could smell nothing, but senses cultivated over the course of many lifetimes warned it that danger was present. Clumsy danger, allowing itself to be heard while it stalked a beast as fearsome as it. It lifted its head to turn and look out into the night, but saw nothing. No hint of another predator seeking to claim its kill for its own. It sniffed again, but sensed nothing, and now, no movement.

Satisfied, it turned to resume its meal when the white hand emerged from the shadows so quickly it had almost remained unseen, and now it hefted the beast off of its haunches and dangled it into the air. It scratched and clawed, but the grip was secure. Grimm inspected the struggling body of the beast and smiled.

He spoke aloud, knowing she could hear him, "Hunting? No. I'm playing."



"Where have you been?"

"It is a question that I have seen in the eyes of the unwashed masses of mortality when I chose this point in time to return to my hobby of torments, mental as well as physical. Nobody has approached me to ask outright, but the  thoughts are there. Unspoken. I know. I've heard them."

"Still, there is little harm in having a curios nature. It is simply the way of those that walk the face of the earth to want to know -- more. However, what would show the weakness of mind is when one acts upon those curiosities, and finds themselves delving into dangers they do not understand for the sole purpose of satisfying what they feel as human they have the right to know. And it was that egotistical belief that led the saying of the cat and curiosity."

"I will, however, indulge you with an answer: I simply grew bored with this small piece of the mortal coil and moved on. There is always more to keep one such as I entertained. I simply bided my time away from this den of supremacy, watched, and waited. Patience comes naturally to one such as I, and I have to admit, I was both rewarded, as well as surprised. And it takes a lot to surprise me."

"I saw a child become a man. A child I had desired for my collection, yet lost track of amidst the entanglements I had found myself distracted with. One whom the Lady and I saw as a fitting morsel for her table, and yet when I found him again, he had grown. And I did not care for that at al. Oh how I hate a hunt to go unfinished, and so here I am, and here you are, Casey Gray, the unbelieving protector of the very target I have my sights set upon."

"I do so enjoy it when men such as you look at what is right in front of them in common disbelief. The human mind was always weak at best. They could find themselves facing the horrors of the night, or riding a unicorn, and remain in ignorant bliss, finding any excuse to reason away what they are experiencing. Well, there will be no reasoning for you, Casey. Your size means little save that you are strong, but we faced each other in the past, and your strength was of little use against one such as I. While your strength is your size, your weakness is your mind. You overextend yourself in thinking I am not as your friend fears. He is right, as are the children of the world around you. Has your child ever cried out about the shadows creeping in its room? The monster under the bed? That would be me, Casey Williams. That would be me visiting your flesh and blood. Fight me if you must, but you would not be the first 'giant' I have done battle with in my time. I have fought many giants, and I am the very reason for their extermination from the face of the earth. Is that indeed a fate you wish to follow?"

"And you, Travis Nathaniel Andrews. Cocky. Self assured like any mortal, but vastly overrated like all men. You think to step into the path of a predator and his prey? It is the third man, the giant, that wishes to keep me from my prize, and now you seek to prevent my removing him from the equation, and why? To prove yourself? To boast of your self worth to your peers? To mankind? Well allow me to remind you of just how worthless the human race is, Travis Nathaniel Andrews..."

"It is mankind that poisons its own planet in the name of fuel. It is mankind that uses disease against his own, all in the name of war. It is mankind that strives toward knowledge and discovery, only to end his quests in bloodshed and ruin. It is mankind that discovered mankind and enslaved him. It is mankind that murders in cold blood for riches and prestige. It is mankind that drops bombs that destroys millions. It is mankind that invented those very bombs, just to see if it could be done. It is mankind that is slowly, surely, wiping itself into oblivion, and will have only himself to blame."

"And it is mankind, Travis Nathaniel Andrews, that you face that which walks the shadows, to prove yourself to. idiot. I have faced many a hunter in every age of this earth, and each battle has ended in thee same way. The hunter, became the hunted. The ego of man led to its own downfall. So it was before with they who came before you, and so shall be the same fate that awaits you."
</color>

11
Climax Control Archives / The Witch and the Warrior Part III
« on: April 25, 2014, 05:31:11 PM »
 "Who are you?"

The question hung in the air as Nadya stood, frozen in fright and shock at the sudden appearance of the older woman that stood at the bedside of the tiny one, Nicolai II. The child seemed to 'sense', if that was the proper word, that someone unfamiliar was near and he blindly reached up, searching in his weakened state.

Baba Yaga deigned to turn her head and look down at the sickly babe without a touch of emotion on her ancient facial features. Her gray eyes just watched as the child searched the only way he was capable of, being both blind as well as mute. Though the witch of fables and lore appeared without interest, she still shifted her stance enough to bring her withered hand closer to where Nicolai II could drift his own tiny fingertip against her old skin.

"Do not touch him!" Nadya hissed. "I know who you are!"

"Do you?" Baba Yaga answered back with barely a hint of interest, the question merely rhetorical. She watched as the small hand receded back to the child's side and pulled itself deep under the blankets, a chill having sent a shiver through the babe and he sought the warmth and comfort. Only then did she turn and look at Nadya and she casually shrugged her shoulders. "Why do you not tell me who I am, then? Hm? Amuse me."

Nadya swallowed. A brave woman, was she, but she did indeed know who this was who just by-passed every charm and security measure she personally installed in this homestead for precautions. It would take a witch of immeasurable power, and the only one in this old world country would have to be...

"Baba Yaga." Nadya whispered coarsely, swallowing to relieve the dry feeling her throat now experienced. Only when the name was given voice, did Nadya begin to find herself and calm down in the face of this most dangerous of witches. All through the world has her family did battle against the shadows of legend for centuries, yet here stood one of the darkest known. In her homestead, and over her grandchild.

Nadya stood firm and took a step forward, "I know what children are to you. You will not have this one!"

Baba Yaga just stared at this mortal woman. All too easily could she simply sever the lifeline of this elderly woman who seemed to dare oppose her. It would but a word to her for the insolence displayed, but it was not why she was here. Baba Yaga turned her head just slightly to again look at the child, then smiled. It was a cold smile, one without warmth or humor. She huffed through her nose and gazed at Nadya and shook her head.

"If I came for this little one, I would already have him in my possession. And you? You would be unable to stop me, I am certain." Baba Yaga stated matter-of-factly. "I think you know me well enough to understand that for the truth."

"Then..." Nadya whispered and shook her head, not able to grasp what was behind this unsettling experience. "Then why are you here?"

Baba Yaga set foot forward until she stood a mere foot away from Nadya and she answered, "Because the young one who visited me is on his way home, but will not arrive in time in this storm. Now. Do you wish my help or not?" She raised her brow questioningly.

"Andrei?" Nadya shook her head. "Andrei asked you for help?"

"No." The witch answered. "He did not need to. Yet I gave it anyway. Now am I to do as I promised, or do I take my leave and let the babe die from sickness? It is really of little consequence either way."

Nadya's rheumy eyes looked away from the witch's own steel gray gaze and to the small form in the bed. It stirred and make a gurgling noise as it tried to draw in a breath, and the child's only reward was a painful, almost silent cough. It tore away at Nadya's defenses, and she closed her eyes. A lone year slid down her wrinkled cheek as she found her voice, "God help me."

She opened her eyes and nodded, giving the witch her leave. She could only pray she did not just make a mistake that the precious one would live to regret.

Baba Yaga nodded, then said simply, "Get me hot water, and lots of it." And she turned back toward the babe's bed.</color>

"Such a tale of endearing sentiment." Brother Grimm huffed. "I believe I am going to gag."

The witch chuckled as she remained in her rocking chair, her hands working on the knitting in her lap. She glanced up and said amicably, "You did ask me to tell you of the experience. If you did not wish to know, then perhaps next time you will refrain from something as mundane as curiosity."

"Perhaps next time I'll simply skip the pleasantries altogether." Grimm sneered as he pushed himself up from the old wooden chair he had taken for a seat and he walked around the hearth until he stood at the mantle of the fireplace, and he looked at the dancing flames. "And the male managed to return?"

"Oh yes." Baba Yaga stated. "He returned to find the babe already beginning the first stages of recovery. Of course, I was long gone by then, back to where I sit now. I admit surprise, myself, that he managed in such a storm. The child's welfare obviously drove him further, and he used my knitting for its intended purpose. Hm! The mortal heart can push them beyond their known limits in times so dire."

Brother Grimm made a disgusted noise and turned away from the fireplace and instead made for the door latched shut.

"Going somewhere?" The witch asked as he grasped the handle and pulled the door to the hut open with a hard flourish.

Grimm cast a look back over his shoulder and his amber eyes flashed with malevolence. "Anywhere is better than here at the moment. You've done a great many things, but aiding those that banished me, even in such a trifle manner?" He shook his head in disgust and slammed the door behind him.

He left Baba Yaga still in her rocking chair, and she simply chuckled and resumed her knitting.</color>

"I have to admit that being eternal can become something of a tedious bore. The secret to enduring the never ending years is to find something that amuses you and exploit it for everything that it's worth, for as long as possible. This little jaunt in the mortal coil, competing as one and the same as they, was what I thought would be such a solution. After all, the ancient Romans took such pleasures in watching their gladiators do bloody combat, and the followers of that deceitful fool thrown to hungry felines all in the name of an entertaining evening of fun, mirth, and death for all to see. So why not believe that this time would be any different, as mortals did modern and legal combat against each other with the only glory being meaningless green money and trinkets worn around the waist. One such trinket, currently in my own possession."

"Has this been such a time? Worthy of my efforts and entertaining? Well, it would be if the efforts that I have put in were against men, and I use the term with all biting sarcasm, were somewhat of equal standing. I have held this title since the beginning of the new year, and to date, have faced few and far between men who could offer me a legitimate challenge. The very Romanov who banished me seemingly ages ago gave me a far better fight, and then, like now, I am yet here, ever lasting, ever stronger."

"Michael Hardy. Kain. Every single challenge that those in power have placed before me have fallen by the side, for me to advance further with only more souls to collect and satiate my vulgar appetites. And now, perhaps the feeblest of all the challenges, Andrew Garcia, has seen fit to step before me and offer his own soul against my prize. I can not help but wonder what it is about this emblem upon a leather belt that makes these fools wish to risk their afterlife with loved ones in paradise itself, against me and my bag of torments. Why do you wish to risk everything to attempt to depose me, Andrew Garcia, when none other has been able? What makes you believe that you are the Chosen One?"

"*chuckles*"

"I mean, after all, were you not just defeated last week? Were you not forced to yield your strength as well as your pride when you submitted to another? How does such a tainted loss, such an embarrassment, qualify you for a title opportunity the very week after? Hm? Perhaps you gave someone higher up than yourself some comely favors? Perhaps your lips planted against the boss's backside was sufficient enough to hand you your fate on a golden platter? Do you truly believe that you will repay such a 'kindness' by bringing gold back to this new stable you have become such a vital part of? Hm. Then perhaps it would do you well to come to the realization that to 'Hot Stuff International', you are but a pawn. Easily sacrificed, and quite worthless. A king always allows a pawn to go first, to weed out the undesirables. And you, my fated opposition, have just been sacrificed by the king."</color>

12
Climax Control Archives / Full Circle
« on: April 11, 2014, 11:11:01 PM »
 "Have you ever notice how there are no modern fables? No fanciful tales told around campfires or at bedside with the wee youngsters tucked in all safe and warm beneath their blankets, with their protective and beloved parents standing over them, weaving a tale from times that you or your recent ancestors lived in? There are little stories whispered from lips to ear at slumber parties and shared around the warm, crackling glow of a campfire to elicit the tingling chill of fear up the spine, but each of those tales originated from one far older, told far long ago in times long past and forgotten."

"Oh I do not mean those ridiculous stories crafted by the unimaginative, of psychotic escapees with a hook for a hand scratching at a car door, or the telephone call coming from upstairs. I mean true fables. true tales with a supernatural quality that bring myth and magic back into the lives of the wretched and give them hope against the darkness that watches from near and far."

"The first such tale that I can recall was the story of Pandora, and her jar of evils that got released into the world due to mere mortal curiosity. The latest were some of those told by the brothers of whom I took as a namesake. I think my favorite had to have been one where not a single mortal man nor woman appeared, but those of the animal kingdom took center stage. It is a story with a rather whimsical title named 'The Death Of the Little Hen'." Not familiar with it, you say? Well then, sit back and listen closely Kain, because one day you might wish to tell this tale to your own child as they lay in bed at night."</color>

"In times past, there was a cock, no, not the running joke of the male member, but a rooster. A rooster and his bride, a small hen. One bright day on an outing, the two decided go up to eat at the "nut-hill," a place the animals enjoyed amidst many a specie. However the happy times wished for were not meant to be, and fate, as in its infinite wisdom, would strike when least suspected. For you see, the hen, the rooster's loving little bride, choked to death on her meal, and perished on this small jaunt."

"So the rooster, stricken by grief over the sudden death of his true mate, piled her diminutive body onto a cart and a bunch of animals climbed up onto the back, as was the custom of the enchanted forest. And on they went to attend the services of the hen, and see her off into the afterlife. They went along the small dirt path until they came to a creek that ran with swift water and was a small distance across. Deciding then that the creek had to be forded, they asked for the help of the land, and the land answered. A rock rolled itself into the water as a footbridge. However, the cart was too heavy and it tipped over, sending all of the small, woodland animals into the river, where they gurgled out their last desperate breaths before succumbing to the hideous pain of drowning. Alone, the rooster buried the hen and then he too lay down upon her grave until he died as well."

"The End. That's the whole story. The last line is literally, '...and then everyone was dead.'</color>

"Such a whimsical tale, is it not? A story that begins with such hope, and ends as life itself ends. With death and despair. Now I understand that those that walk this earth do so with a mortal heart, yet they tend to believe themselves gods. They believe that nothing can bring them harm, and yet act so surprised when they are stricken down and forced to endure their own mortality."

"It's a role that you yourself will find yourself in, Kain. Life and death. Chicken and the egg. It all comes full circle, and such is the story that centers around you and I."

"This is why you watch but see none of what you imagine you are used to from me. You see no scary tales of the monster arriving at a slumber party or one whom stalks the traveler in the dense woodland realm. You see no retrospect of those vagabond Romanis who are yet an aching thorn in my side from the day they entrapped me, to this moment. My patron herself is not here with me."

"No. This time it is just me and my own. My words of which will ring true to your ears as I speak volumes on what was once, and what will be undone over the course of time."</color>

Suddenly, the lights go black in the venue and the fans groan in agony. The lights stay out for about ten seconds as wrestling is heard with one of the announcers headsets. Shortly after that, the lights come back on, and Grimm is nowhere to be seen. Kain is still hunched down on his knees as if he were still pinning Grimm, seeming surprised that he is no longer there. However, he doesn’t notice right away that Max is up from the announcers table with his arm around Ariel’s throat from behind. She struggles to break free as Max shouts out “HEY KAIN!” Kain looks over and sees this and all bets are off. He darts outside of the ring quicker than lightening, but Max holds Ariel between them, pointing to the Roulette title belt that is now around her waist. He then points to his face as if to say it is coming home with him. Kain darts at them, but Max laxes a bit as he pushes Ariel right into him but then he retracts her back into the light choke hold.

Simone: This is just… sickening. I can’t think of another way to describe this. I know Max wants to play mind games with Kain, but this is a whole new low.

Adams: I have to agree with you here. Using a man’s wife against him over a piece of leather and gold is just… despicable in my opinion.

Jasmine has initiated a count, but the drama on the outside drowns it out. 4! 5! 6! Max slides Ariel into the ring, quickly following her as Kain grips onto Max’s ankle! He tries to yank, but Max holds onto Ariel tightly as he fights to pull Kain into the ring apron hard. Jasmine shouts at him to get out of the ring, but he simply follows Ariel, bringing her up as Kain quickly gets inside. Max methodically moves around the ring, feeling his steps as he goes. Finally, he takes a good four steps back against the ropes as Kain steps around, getting his hands ready as Max tightens the choke a bit. Kain moves in quickly, grabbing onto Max’s head, ready to swing at him when Grimm rises up from the canvas out of nowhere! He stalks Kain from behind as he tries to set him up perfectly. Grimm finally rolls over his shoulders with a Sunset Flip pin attempt, but Kain keeps it rolling over, hooking onto Grimm’s legs tightly.

1!

2!

3!

Justin Decent: Your winner via pinfall… KAAAAAAAAIN!!!</color>

"There! That moment right there is where you fate became as on with my own, Kain. I will admit I had nothing to do with the actions of Max Burke, but I had no qualms what so ever at using them to my advantage. The thing is, it did not quite work out as I had intended, and you became one of the very few who had ever put my shoulders down for the fateful count of three."

"That was then the moment that I knew that we ourselves would come full circle, and we would meet once again. Your victory at Blaze of Glory III in the Battle Royal clinched the fact, and here we are! Are you nervous about making the vain attempt to defeat me for the second time? I would think you should be, considering that this time, there is more than just mere pride on the line. There is power! There is prestige! And it all comes in the form of a silly golden trinket on a scrap of black leather. Such a trifle thing to wage war over and risk the foundations of your soul, one might think, and yet here we are. Ready to do battle for the second time, and this time I hope that there will be no excuses. No distractions, and nothing to get between us, save for the fountain of crimson that flows in your veins, and will erupt like the most dazzling of purebred society fountains for my own personal amusement."

"I must admit that for such a hyped tour, this has been somewhat dismal, even by my own standards. This continent, for all of its rumored tales and social misunderstandings, the peoples here are surprisingly acute when it comes to dealing with forces of nature such as myself. And yet, for all their wisdom, there are relatively few tales in this nation of Morocco to call their own. Legend abound from near and far, but few have ever originated here. It is a wonder, is it not, because this continent itself is massive and filled with tales of horror and woe from the shadows deep, but this little scrap of land? Virtually nothing."

"I say virtually, because there is something: a little something, that caught my ear in an age ago, long before my own capture and imprisonment. It was in that time so very long ago, in Morocco, that there lived a young African girl by the name of Beijeita. Her mother, Cressidina, lay on her bed coughing and wheezing, an illness having taken hold of her body and it slowly wilted her insides and did away with her will to live through pain and suffering when there was not a cure to be had. Knowing that she was going to die, Cressidina gave Beijeita a locket. The only treasure she possessed that she saw fit and need to pass on into the ownership of her descendants."

"A few days later after her mother had drifted away into the sky to live a new life as a god as was their belief, Beijeita put on her locket and went for a walk. She did this to clear her mind of grief and be one with nature. She happened upon a path that slunk down into shadows, and never before had she been willing to go down in the past. Something in that darkness frightened her, and a part of her knew that fear gave her just cause to be safe. Still, her will had grown strong since her mother's death, and she wished to prove herself brave like her mother before her. Down the path she went, yet unbeknownst to her, the locket started to grow heavy with each foot fall on the beaten path she took. Why? What Beijeita and Cressidina didn't know was that the locket was full of dark souls and spirits."

"As Beijeita walked down the bumpy road, she stumbled and fell onto her knees. The locket went flying, until it came down onto the rocky road and the clasp broke and the golden locket flew open. The spirits flew out of the locket and soared into the sky. Beijeita didn't notice that her locket had gone and smashed, but she thought that falling was a bad sign from her mother, a warning against the shadows if you will, so she headed back to the hut that she lived in and remained there."

"The now freed spirits flew around Morocco for many days until one of their so-called gods Rattele found a black lantern. The lantern was black with patterns and etchings of magical protection, and it had red and green lights that made it shine to give a traveler aid at night. The godling Rattele knew that this would be safe, and he told the other spirits to fly into the lantern and that they would live there for all eternity. But what the spirits didn't know is that the mystic lantern was owned my a mystic Moroccan Genie

The genie was forced to sell the lantern to an antiques shop to get money for clothes and food. That lantern was his most prized possession and he wasn't happy with selling up but some choices you don't want to make but you have to do the right thing."</color>

"You might not think this story means anything or pertains to you, but your feeble mind needs to but expand and think outside the proverbial box to get the true meaning behind the fanciful words. It is a lesson to be well learned. There is a darkness waiting for you and those you love, and you believe it your given right to confront the shadows themselves to benefit you and your own. You think by besting me, and taking the lure of gold and prestige, that your own legend will ascend with the rewards of riches and notoriety. And yet, in making the attempt, you know nothing of what threats are within your grasp that you just might unleash on those nearest and dearest to you."

"You are a father, after all, are you not? Did you use to take on that paternal role at your children's bedtime, reading to them from those colorful pages, the raped stories of princesses being carried away by the handsome prince to live happily ever after? Is that the sort of lies that became the foundation of your fatherhood, and the image that the children that you sired formed of their beloved 'hero', the man that they would look up to and seek protection from until the day that final bit of dirt would be tossed onto your grave?"

"I feel for you, and I feel for them, because such stories are but preludes to times of joy that soon darken into misery and despair. The tales weaved on the big screen and in those very same books, are those weakened by writer and businessman for marketability, because they know, they all know, that if the truth of those very same tales were to be heard by a children's ear, then they would be no more."

"A man by the name of Disney raped and butchered many a dark story so that it might be more inclined toward a child's fancy. Why else do you think I took on this very name that I have? So that I might educate, and let the world be aware that the one that they live in is not filled with 'happy ever afters' and not every princess gets her handsome prince. Life, if you sad little eels wish to call it that, is filled with death and despair; with fear and loathing."

"It is a world that I wish to remind them of, and return to its darker glory. To a time when the sad mud monkeys that God crafted in his own image would shake and tremble around the circle of fire, fearing to so much as glance over their shoulders into thee darkness beyond that threatened to engulf them and swallow them whole."

"I miss those times so. The return to what once was, begins with you Kain. It begins when you seek to bask in the fervor of the past and do again what you once managed. It begins when you look across the ring from me and see that I am anything but a mere opponent for you to toy with. Hunters the world over have sought out to deal the death blow to the Bogey Man, and thus far none have succeeded. I am beyond their meager tricks and accomplishments. I am beyond their hunts and feeble traps. Only one had ever managed to accomplish something against me, and oh it cost them so very much."

"The question is, to defeat me, are you willing to risk as much as those in the past? Are you prepared to tell your little ones that the monster in the closet is real? Are you willing to admit to that lovely wife of yours that there is something lurking in the shadows beneath her bed? I long to pay them each a visit over the course of time, and savor every tender moment of fear they gift me with when they come to understand that their mighty father and husband is not the protector they thought he once was. That last, slow and lingering moment of terror, when they find themselves alone."

"You, Kain, are my Happily Ever After -- and I am your Grimm reality."</color>

13
Supercard Archives / Brother Grimm Vs Michael Hardy
« on: March 22, 2014, 08:32:57 PM »
 Reflections

http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.ph...wtopic=6179&hl=

http://www.scwrestling.net/boards/index.ph...wtopic=6411&hl=

The Witch and the Warrior Part II

The wind howled outside of the cabin that resided up in the forested hills of the Carpathian Mountains. A heavy wind that bent the branches of the trees that seemed almost to creep ever closer toward the humble abode of the mere three, the last of this Clan Dalca lineage at this point in time. One branch bent near enough that its tip scratched down along the glass of the frost encrusted glass, causing an ominous screeching noise and making the elderly woman within jump with a slight start and turn warily toward the door.

None was there, and none appeared to be coming any time soon.

Nadya, the matriarch of the Clan she once presided over, stood up from the chair at the small bedside, grasping the cane that was set back against the moderate brick chimney. Carved by hand as a gift from her 'adopted' grandson, the master of the homestead, Andrei, it served her well since she came to accept the fact her years were indeed advancing. Taking the end carved to the form of a falcon's head, Nadya cautiously approached the window, her eyes glued to the frame, watching and attempting to prepare herself for what could come.

Some might think the old woman to be paranoid, but unlike those with closed minds, Nadya knew what lie within the shadows that crept out on nights such as this. She who had come from a long line of Romani Hunters, men and women who did battle against dark forces such as wendigos, witches and the undead. It was one such battle, only months ago, and against the most dangerous of all that dwelled within the recesses of the shadows where she had lost all of her blood family, all save for one.

And now it appeared if that one would be taken from her by means that could not be confronted nor controlled.

She finally reached the window and cast a cautious glance out, and for what she could see, there was nothing there save for wind, sleet and the snow that appeared to be piling up higher by the moment. This wet and cold weather had been dragging on for weeks, a testament to the endless winter months. She knew that it was this very weather that was to blame for the babe in Andrei and her own care taking ill. Andrei had taken the little one outside for a bit of play, to let him experience the illustrious sensation of the snow's tingle on his soft skin. Their clothes had grown wet, but the fun was to be had, and neither she nor Andrei suspected anything bad would come from such a loving and shared experience.

But how wrong they were.

It had started off as a runny nose and a slight cold, but before they could treat it with any form of finality, the sickness in Nicolai II's lungs had taken hold and grown. Thee two adults worked hard to keep the babe rested and his fever from soaring, but it was growing harder each passing day to prevent the lung sickness from taking over completely. The threat was nigh real, and it was the sole reason why Andrei had decided to risk the venture to the village at the foot of the Mountains in search of aid.

Now left to her own counsel, Nadya started to wonder if Andrei had made an error in judgment at leaving in such dreadful weather. The cold was dipping even lower in temperature, only warded off from making their homestead colder by the roaring fire she kept tended in the hearth. She pondered this, true, but she knew herself that were she capable, she would have made the very same risk. It was worth it if it somehow resulted in the assistance they needed now so desperately.

The small croaking noise alerted her and she turned from the window to see the small form covered in the heavy blankets beginning to stir. The babe grew weaker. She could feel it. His mute nature prevented him from alerting her to his discomfort but she felt the noise his small body struggled to craft was a testament to a coughing fit, as his body attempted to expel to sickness that hardened in his lungs. Unsuccessfully one might add. He could cough all night and day, but the phlegm in his lungs was near solid and could not drain. The fever spiked every so often and threatened to not subside, despite her attempts to stave it off.

"There, there Nicolai." Nadya whispered as she took up her cane again in hand and with a soft rap of it on the wood, approached where Andrei had stationed the homemade bed near the fire to keep him both warm and attempt to sweat the sickness from his body.

The babe, restless, attempted to move the heavy woolen blankets off of his body for his own comfort, but Nadya stopped him. She set the cane aside and tucked the blankets back over him and he squirmed, and Bless his heart, he would have cried out against her doing so if he were only able. His blind eyes glanced up toward her and they seemed glassier than normal. His skin had that feverish, unhealthy glow, causing her new fret that even were he to grow well again, that the fever would cause him further damage in mind or body.

She reached into a small ceramic pot filled with water and withdrew a course cloth from the cool water inside. She wrung it out and proceeded to dab at his milky flesh, and found his tiny hand reaching toward her. It was then that there came thee heavy knock at the door.

Fright and concern immediately stirred within her breast as she stood upright immediately, staring at the door.

"Andrei?" She called but no answer came to her. Only another heavy knock. Had it been Andrei, he would not have needed to knock before entering. The ward she had placed over their home would have seen to that. He could have easily walked in, and if his arms were laden with necessities, he would surely have answered.

Which told her that whomever was at the door was not her adopted son.

"Who's there?" She called out as she grasped the cane and started warily toward the door of the cabin. Still, there came to her no answer. This time, not even a third knock. She glanced back over her shoulder and Nicolai II seemed to be watching in the direction of the door through his blind eyes, almost as if he could sense that something was amiss.

A stranger could be out lost in these woods, as Andrei might very well be in another distant part of the Mountains. It could be an innocent villager, or it could very well be a thief or worse. The darkness that her family did battle against for centuries could not enter by force, but a mortal intruder was another matter.

She leaned closer toward the window and past the crystallized ice she spotted what appeared to be a hunched figure on the doorstep, standing within the downpour of snow and ice, seemingly unbothered. It was not Andrei, that much was for certain. The form was too slight, and knowing the young man as she had come to, she knew easily he would not simply stand there. He would have continued to pound until she allowed him entry. The great winds of the winter blew the cloak this visitor was wearing asunder, casting revelation that the figure was roughly her own size.

A female? Out in weather such as this?

One more glance toward Nicolai II in his bed, again resting against his own will beneath the warm covers of his bed, and she turned toward the door. Was this a risk she dared make, not knowing who this figure was? Something nagged deep within her that if she did not open the door, it would be a decision she would come to regret for the babe's sake in one manner or another. She had learned through years of trial and error to trust her honed instincts, and it was only because of that, she finally reached to grasp the lock on the door.

She slid the bolt aside and then grabbed the handle of thee door, while she gripped her cane and wielded it like one might wield a weapon such as a sword. Taking a deep breath and praying that she was making the correct decision, she pulled the door open -- and found nobody there on the front step of stone before their door. This brought a frown to her face as her eyes darted from left to right, but saw none there.

A chill ran immediately down her spine and she quickly shut the door and reinserted the bolt back into the lock. She turned around and fell back in startled fright. At the sight of the cloaked figure hovering over Nicolai II's bedside, peering down at him.

Finding her voice after what seemed like an eternity, Nadya lifted her cane and started toward the figure and cried, "Leave him be!"

"Do not be ridiculous."

The small form was heard to say as they stood upright and turned toward her. Withered hands reached up to grasp the hood of the cloak and pulled it down to reveal her identity.

"I came to understand the child is in need of my aid."

TBC...</color>

"Indulge me."

Brother Grimm said as he stood at the mantle of the hut's fireplace, his pale fingers gripping the wood that was visually aged but still appeared timeless in its own way. His amber gaze stared straight into the flames that flickered in the brick and mortar fireplace that was caked with smoke and grime. The flames danced, and their light drifted onto his pale white flesh, crafting a most ominous and ethereal glow to his skin. His eyes, however, his eyes almost seemed to absorb the reflected light.

He turned around to where only one arm then rested on the edge of the mantel, careful so as not to disturb the row of candles and jars filled with only the gods knew what.

"Tell me again how it was that you had come to assist them." Grimm spoke in calm words, but it was within that calm that belied the savage calm of a storm that was set to be unleashed on the world before it. "The very same insects that I hold accountable for my imprisonment."

"That is a conundrum, isn't it?" Baba Yaga stated simply as she rocked in her chair, her aged fingers working swiftly, wrapping a colorful ball of twine around itself too form a ball unto itself. "You call them insects and yet it was you who ended up on the short end of the stick in that little skirmish you had with them."

She glanced up as he seemed frozen in place, his amber eyes glaring directly into her own.

She mused, "I dare wonder if they are insects and defeated one such as yourself, then what does that make you?"

Nothing more need be said. Grimm was almost upon her when a ripple in the very air spread across his path, blocking him from getting any closer. He slid his hands up the unseen barrier and pressed his body against it until his palms rested outward across it. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, a smile that spoke ill grew on his ebony lips.

"Powerful though you are mistress, it would be of little effort to get past this and reach you."

"Hm! Perhaps." She smiled and resumed her work. "And perhaps you would do well to remember that I am no common witch. I undid what an entire family line did to imprison you. You need me now in this age as much as I need you."

Grimm scoffed beneath his break, clearly skeptical. He shook his head slowly, clearly disagreeing, but then glanced from the corner of his eye at the shimmering form of 'energy' around his wrists, the tell-tale sign of the spell that bound him to the fabled Black Woods Witch.

"That little claim of yours is as fragile as the belief that this..." Grimm held up his wrists to display the 'binding'. "... is an eternal solution. You can not keep me bound forever my dear witch." He leaned in and smiled a toothy grin. "Not even you are that powerful."

"Oh I never believed I was." She smiled as she looked back up to him. "Just powerful enough."

"Then do so entertain me." Grimm said as he reached blindly behind him and grasped a wooden chair and pulled it around to have a seat directly across from Baba Yaga. "Tell me a story. Tell me why you helped that tender little morsel." He leaned forward, his twinkling eyes intent with interest. "I do so enjoy a good story."

TBC...</color>

"Now, this is an interesting turn of events. I have to admit Michael Hardy, that I am unsure at this point whether you deserve congratulations or consoling."

"One might easily congratulate you for coming so far. For your ability to run the proverbial gauntlet in order to earn this very opportunity at the championship title I have in my possession. Your peers might offer their words of wisdom and support for your ability to move past such obstacles to earn a match against one such as myself at this extravaganza in Long Beach. They whisper sweetened words laced with honey in your ears, pumping up your ego with false hopes so that you might walk into our match, whatever it may be, believing that you actually have a hope in dethroning me of the SCW Roulette Championship."

"Cute."

"Anyone that has paid close enough attention would know that I am not one to be afflicted with gold fever. The symbolism of the championship belt is lost to one that has walked the face of the Earth since life first emerged from the primordial ooze. Tell me truly, Hardy, if you think that you truly have a chance against the very beast that laid fear into the heart of God's most loved, thus inciting a war in the heavens themselves? Better than you have tried to best me over the ages, and they are no more to the annals of time and history than rotted corpses and bleached bones turned to dust."

"Therein lies where the consoling might be a touch more appropriate for a man in your condition. For you see, what is to come can be blamed for no other than yourself. It was you who made the decision to arrive at ringside those few weeks ago and interfere in an event that had nothing to do with you. It was you, Michael Hardy, who cost Goth and myself a match by keeping me down for the fateful count of three. Think yourself clever, do you? You believe such a moment in time would allow for you a better chance at gaining a chance against a champion? How truly sad that you have to resort to such tactics and trickery to get a potential chance at the brass ring, rather than earn it entirely on your own merit."

"Much like the actions of the Fallen before the dawn of time, your actions will have repercussions laid solely upon your own shoulders. The fall off that stage and through the table was but a mere taste of the delicacies I savor on the silver platter you have already served yourself up on my dinner table. I rarely feel such things about a maggot, but you've proven yourself to be most ... annoying. Like an insect buzzing about your head, waiting to be swatted. Only I won't b swatting you. That would be too easy. I want you to remember this coming encounter with myself until the day you draw your final breath. I want you to let that child of your's weep over your broken and battered body. I want you to then understand that 'daddy' won't be around to protect his dear little one from the monster under the bed."

*chuckles*

"Your flesh will be my main course, Michael Hardy. Your blood will be the wine I wash it down with. You've managed to anger the Bogey Man, you sad, ad little man, and that is a sin that can simply not be undone."</color></size>

14
Climax Control Archives / The Witch and the Warrior Part I
« on: February 28, 2014, 07:57:41 PM »
 
"The Witch and the Warrior"

"When last we left of a tale of old,
Of a father adopted and heart so bold.
Of a child who was ill and soon to expire,
A situation most critical and to any parent, so dire."

"The snow fell hard and the wind did howl,
To hinder his steps Nature seemed foul.
With intent to delay and cause one harm,
The father fought on, his heart with alarm."

"To seek a cure or treat the sick,
But the child was dying and with need he be quick.
Through trees and mountain slope he did move,
A heart that again loved and now he had to prove."

"Danger he faced for time and again,
Threats and fell demons that were made in sin.
Like those that came before him, he sought to the hunt,
Witches and spirits, he was unafraid to confront."

"But this time was different, this time he was in need.
To take flight of foot and make the utmost of speed.
For the babe that he now saw as his own,
Was weakening of lung sickness and dying in his home."

"So onward he went through both sleet, wind and snow,
Desperate to reach the village that lay down in the valley below.
But fate then did step in, as underfoot and unseen,
Laid a stone that would move and cause the unforeseen."

"For destiny can be tricky and cruel maid at hand,
That shaped the souls and scoured this pitiful land.
"Yet this would be beneficial if he be strong of heart,
Yet only if through fear he could set himself apart."

"For he lay at the base of thee Black Woods of legend,
And it was in that moment alone his bravery went unquestioned.
For he saw the light and knew one was there,
And he set one foot forward, refusing to despair."

"He knew not of whom that he would soon be a guest,
A name whispered in legend who gave trial to the bold.
Faint of heart and weakness she abhorred,
And no begging or pleading would her help then implore."

"But if brave of heart and strength of mind were virtues of the soul,
Then indeed would the guest in need's soul and strength be extolled.
She would judge and deem the worth of the desire asked,
And perhaps if lucky then would the seeker be given task."

"But no, this father who found himself unaware,
Knew who stood before him and only then did he beware.
For if judged unworthy and weak and virtue be for naught,
Then would she not help but you find yourself in her pot."

"She would feed on your flesh and muscle and sinew,
In her favorite meal of mortal man stew.
She would suck out the marrow and pick her teeth clean,
And for dessert on a platter for last was your spleen."

"Yet not this time, for despite this man's fear,
The witch saw through his soul and knew his path clear.
She saw why he came and knew of his virtue,
And to risk his own life for a child proved his soul true."

"So her aid she did give and sent him away,
For another time would come where with her meal she could play.
She watched as he went and knew in her dark soul,
There was much more too this man than a fatherly role."

"He played a large part in the grand scheme of things,
In the defeat of the darkness and the result that it brings.
Oh yes he was brave and a deep loving man,
The patriarch of the fabled Romani Dalca Clan."



"Oh I must remind myself to send the powers-that-be within the hierarchy of Sin City Wrestling a fruit basket with my thanks."

"I knew it had been some time since I dined on such innocence, but to lead two such fine meals to my doorstep, their fate served to me on a golden platter, oh I must repeatedly ask myself: What did I do to deserve such a treat?"

"Perhaps it is a hidden reward for winning the second most prestigious championship within thee ranks of the males of Sin City Wrestling. Perhaps it could the dominance that I have displayed since I first arrived upon their doorstep. Oh certainly I have dropped a match here or there, but in the end, the championship role call matters most as it signifies superiority over the mortal masses that swarm after the meaningless trinkets that go along with it. Whether it be on my own as the Roulette Champion, or my destined reemergence as a tag team champion with Goth at my side, I have accomplished more than so many that have targeted myself for utter extinction."

"Perhaps that is why I have been fed such tender morsels as Despayre and his newest tag team partner, Big B. Whatever. The reasons are not important. The end result, however, is. I have heard much of this young child within a man's body from Goth. I understand the two have had their past history with one another, and it all centers around the Abomination that Despayre carries alongside him. An entity that has plagued the shadows since light first cast them upon the earth. A protector. That is fine. I have faced worse in the eons since I first emerged from the primordial ooze that forced life to walk upon the earth. The One that the man-child carries with him for protection will serve as anything but, for I face not the protector, but the protected. I face a boy that has already admitted to being one with fear of the dark. Had he the bravery that has opposed me over the course of many a century, he would have no need for protection, now would he? Well! That protection will not be there for you where we will meet in battle, will it my boy? Your friend who has fought against many of my ilk and emerged victorious will not be within the confines of the ring to defend you when you need it most. Such is the fate for any who dare think to depose me from my throne."

"And you, the latest in a seemingly endless line of partners that Despayre has found at his side. Big B I believe you call yourself. The name I admit is most befitting in nature to your sheer size, but how do you feel once you find yourself against the face of Fear itself? Hm? Will your lack of wits that we have all been privy to cause you to forge ahead and attempt to do the impossible? Or will common sense show itself for the first time in your life and you do what every other partner of Despayre's has done, and abandon the little freak to his untimely fate? I would hazard to guess you would not be so bold, nor so wise. If you were, you would realize your position is one that is cursed. Gabriel. Rage. They both teamed with the man-child, and both have fallen to the whims of chance."

"Big B -- you're next."



She stood at the window of the hut, the one crafted of a clear sugar and used to alert the sweetened senses of the young to her stew pot. She watched in a silent contemplation as the storm grew heavier and the winds blew hard against the man that had just left. It was already late of hour, and his strength was ebbing despite his valiant pace.

He would not arrive in time. She knew it the moment he asked of her aid to save the life of a child. She had almost laughed at his daring request, for she had little use for the young save for the flavor of their tender flesh in her stew. Yet his soul burned bright, and it gave her pause before she thought to dismiss him. He was brave. Not just because he dared risk the path of the Black Woods to seek her out. But because it was not that long ago that he played a key role in the banishment of a great evil.

Curious, but still, it was no reason for her to involve herself with a mortal's destiny any further than she had already by mere chance. Of course, that seemed to be the extent of any reason why one would come to her threshold. Chance. Some might even call it fate. And not always the kind of fate spoken of in the fairytales with happy endings, but sometimes the darker versions whispered around campfires in settings such as Eastern Europe. Many times, the weak of mind and heart would find their way to her door, and never leave again should they be allowed entry.

Others, like the young Romani who had just left, would inspire within her the desire to assist them in little ways. The 'healing' she had bestowed on the garment for the child was a trifle thing, but it would be for naught. The weather worsened outside and there was no way he would make it back to his homestead before the child took its last breath.

It was not her problem.

Baba Yaga strode across her hut and around the table that was littered with herbs and poppets, the makings of her Craft. She took a seat in her rocking chair, one she had in her possession for untold years, and sought solace with her own council. She glanced toward the fireplace and immediately it sprung to life, giving warmth to her aged bones. She clasped her hands in her lap, absently reaching for the knitting that she was wont to do to spend her idle time, of which she had much.

Only she found that the knitting was gone and she then remembered how she had passed it along to the young Romani to aid the babe. Her gaze then went to the door of her homestead, and then again to the window where she had just stood. the panes of the window rattled under the wind, and snow started to pile up in the corners where she could see.

No, the Romani male would not make it back to his home in time to save the babe from the lung sickness that afflicted it.

"Damn it..." The witch cursed beneath her breath and she stood.

TBC...

15
Supercard Archives / BROTHER GRIMM vs GOTH vs STEVE RAMONE
« on: January 25, 2014, 05:02:49 PM »
 Have you ever noticed how such dark settings as the one you are about to see, tend to draw to it the same atmosphere? It seems almost a given that when in the presence of darkness incarnate, the foreboding evil that creeps up the spine with a loathsome and chilled sensation of dread, lures to it such qualities as a moth to the flame.

The only thing one sees before the mind's eye is the tell-tale sign of soil, freshly tilled. Dirt dug up and then replaced in a heaping mound with a height of at least seven to eight inches above the flat ground surrounding it.

This in itself would not give pause for concern, save for the visual evidence surrounding the second sight. What grass that can be seen around the borders of this earth is lacking of any evidence of a healthy green. No, instead the color has turned an unhealthy shade of brown, as if all the life had been drained out of it and the surrounding multitude of blades. If that was not enough, life itself was seemingly making an escape from the dirt, as earth worms and insects were crawling from the soil with what speed these simple life forms could muster. One would almost think that they were actually running from their homes -- or whatever was currently inhabiting it.

A soft rain started to fall from the heavens above, gracefully at first but soon what had begun as a light drizzle escalated after several long minutes into a heavier downpour. The clouds above could barely be seen in the night sky, but what the eye could detect were of a dark gray, as if the atmosphere so high above was feeling the effects of the fear and anger inhabiting this land and was venting against it on the world so far below. Perhaps it was making a feeble attempt to save and protect the dying life that was the fauna surrounding this dirt that, under the rain, was quickly pooling into a mound of mud. The filthy water ran off in a multitude of miniature rivers, carrying with it specimens of bug and filth, while the mud plastered down against itself.</color>

"Have you ever taken pause to contemplate whether or not you can taste things such as sensations? I can. Fear is perhaps my favorite. I find it invigorating, much like mortals might say about one of their caffeinated drinks such as coffee or Red Bull, I believe they call it. Fear is nourishing, with just a hint of a bitter sweetness. A slight tangy pleasantry on the tip of the tongue."

"However, darkness ... oh the exquisite taste of the darkness is one I believe I could almost feel surpassing fear as the most pleasurable. You find yourself surrounded by it with no light to illuminate your surrounding. The pressure of it closing in against you might even heighten the fear factor, if you are capable of experiencing such a base emotion. Sadly, I am not."

"Instead I lay here, simply trying to experience the pleasure of the dark confinement. I had a most disappointing experience this past week..."</color>



Brother Grimm is refusing to submit, his free hand waving around trying to keep awake, Brody locks in the move tighter and tighter, Grimm’s legs begin to buckle as his free arm slowly goes limp. Jasmine asks Brother Grimm if he submits but Grimm shakes his head. Brody isn’t letting go of the hold and Brother Grimm’s eyes roll into the back of his head leaving Jasmine no alternative but to call for the bell. Ethan lets go of the move with Brother Grimm falling limp onto the canvas as ‘The End’ beginning to play over the cheering crowd.</color>



"Not one of the moments I would be proud of in the relative eons I have spent walking this wasteland known as the mortal coil. One I would rather prefer to eject from the recesses of an everlasting memory and simply forget, but unfortunately, even I tend to be forced to play at the whims of those three hags known as the Fates."</color>

"And just how long do you intend to play at these fancy whims of yours?"</color>

"Speaking of hags..."</color>

The voice of the witch, Baba Yaga, was heard in the head of the entity, stirring it from it's self induced slumber.

"Am I to be allowed no rest from you?" Brother Grimm said with a peaceful calm, aloud for only himself to hear, but he was aware that the witch could sense his words as if she was there, right beside him. It was this very calm that would otherwise be a warning signal, as bright and obvious as a neon sign, of his anger and annoyance at being disturbed.

He continued, "All I wished for was a little time to myself. I have not been in the best of moods."

"Hunh!" The witch mused. "Ironic. Is that not the very basis of your nature?"

"That is beside the point." Grimm growled through clenched teeth.

Up above the ground, just a mere yard or so, give or take a few inches, from the wet mound, now rested a rocking chair where the ancient witch sat, gently rocking back and forth as her gnarled fingers weave the knitting needles and wool into a craft of some form. The rain continues to pelt down on everything below the clouds, but as the witch's hair and clothes grow soaked from the cold moisture, she seemed bothered not in the slightest. As a matter of fact, she seemed almost to be enjoying it.

Yet even she knew well enough not to get so close to the pile of dirt so as to expose herself to whatever darkness was seeping up through the cracks of the earth. Baba Yaga did not survive these long years by being a fool.

Still, she had her curiosity, and the simple pleasure of asking questions for the sake of knowledge. She looked down at the knitting in her hands, and while she continued her restful 'hobby', she asked in a whisper, but one heard by that which she addressed.

"I admit to being curious." Stated she. "I would think you would have had enough of confinement after so many centuries locked away. Why do so to yourself this time?"

"You mean besides to get away from inquisitive witches?"

"Yes." The corner of her lips twitched. "Besides that. I should think you would be doing something to celebrate your recent victory."

Grimm replied from deep below, "That was weeks ago."

"And yet the memory lingers on." Baba Yaga stated. "Time passes but history does not change. It was a victory never the less. For meaningless gold representing something akin to prestige."

"I am well aware of the status symbol I have achieved." Grimm stated with barely muted sarcasm. "Thank you."

Baba Yaga chuckled, "Think nothing of it. Though I should think one such as yourself would be above dwelling in the past over something so tedious as a single loss. It is not as though you actually gave in to the fool and submitted."

"I would have sooner died." Grimm's voice stated within the recesses of her mind. "If I were [I[capable[/I] of dying, that is."

"I was going to say." Baba Yaga smiled as her eyes rose from her knitting to the tilled earth, if only for a brief moment as she continued to rock away in her chair, each movement soothing her aged soul. If she had a soul, but who was to know? or tell.

She went on, "So kindly finish this brooding period you have going and focus instead on the fact the prestige you so recently earned will be luring fresh, new souls to your shadows. Do you not already have one such encounter to prepare for?"

"Indeed." Came the voice to her mind. "Two candidates, yet only the one seems to even deserve the opportunity."

"Ahh." Baba Yaga agreed with a delighted sigh of content. "Yes, our dear Goth. I wonder what was behind the thought of placing him in this contest against you? Two of such similar nature opposing for a single goal."

Grimm answered her, "Perhaps Steve Ramone did something to offend one of the higher powers in SCW."

"That does make sense." Baba Yaga agreed.

"It is the only thing that makes sense out of this whole situation." Grimm said with quiet menace. "But still, it does give me a sense of calm to know I will soon be testing myself against not an inferior, but as near an equal as I am capable of having."

"And the other one?"

"An insignificant worm is what I can best say to describe him. Imagine! Going into an event of such magnitude as we have and he practically glosses over the fact that I am the champion to be dethroned in favor of fawning over Goth. If he is so enthused about combating Goth, then perhaps I will simply stand back and watch the show. Enjoy myself while Goth dismembers the fool and leaves him for dead. It should be a simple enough task for my partner."

"To hear Steve Ramone put it," Baba Yaga stated. "...Goth is your former partner."

"An amusing oversight on his part, but an oversight that can easily be corrected. Whether I stand back and watch the carnage, or join Goth in taking Steve Ramone's fragile body apart piece by piece, in the end it will be the same. Goth and myself left alone to test the other to our fullest capabilities. Survival of the fittest."

"You have survived since the dawn of time." The witch pointed out.

"A fact my good 'friend' Goth would do well to remember."

"So," The witch stated, glancing up as a light flashed across her gray eyes. "Are you finished with your brooding now?"

"Why does this concern you?" Grimm asked.

She answered with a smile, "Because I believe the opportunity for you to have some amusement is fast approaching."

And just like that, as quick as the wind, Baba Yaga was gone, along with her rocking chair and knitting. All evidence of her being there swiftly removed as a sleek, blue car pulled up just behind the row of trees lined against the gate that led deeper into the old cemetery.

"I swear to God." Then young teenage girl mumbled. "I must be insane to have let you pick the place!"

"Hey,  you said you wanted to try some place freaky!" Her boyfriend laughed. "You can't get much more freaky than this!"

"Yeah but a cemetery!?" The girl said in disbelief, although it did not stop her from going along with it. "That's not freaky. It's just plain sick!"

"Relax." Her date assured her. "We won't even get wet. Well, I won't at least."

"Charming."

"See?" he pointed ahead through the bare trees. "There's an old mausoleum. We can have some fun in there and nobody will know."

"Except the dead people." The girl joked. "We are disrespecting them, after all."

"What are they going to do?" The boy joked. "Climb out of their graves and stop our fun?"

It was the last thing heard when they crossed over the mound of soaked earth, and a pale hand erupted forth and grabbed the teenage boy by the ankle...</size>

16
Climax Control Archives / Unusual surroundings
« on: January 17, 2014, 08:28:19 PM »
 The Foundation Room
The Strip - Las Vegas, Nevada

What? Not the exact location that you were perhaps expecting? Completely understandable. To date, one has expected a certain 'mood setting' when it came to the appearances of the 'Bogey Man' of Sin City Wrestling; the specter known as Brother Grimm. Still, a being such as he would take a bit of delight in changing perception ... expectations. What better way to instill fear in those that disbelieve than by changing the storyline ... and providing you with something unexpected, from one where anything could come to be.

Of course, that is assuming that Grimm was even behind this change in setting, and he was indeed, not.

"This has to be perhaps the most ridiculous thing that you have ever asked of me." Brother Grimm seethed through clenched teeth.

He stood alongside the woman whom he has often referred to as his 'benefactress', the old world witch known as Baba Yaga. A sight indeed were these two, as Grimm was clad in his usual black attire, but changed to a slim degree to fit in more so with his more 'mortal' surroundings. A long sleeve, black dress shirt with matching tie, slacks ... the only thing he refused to change were the boots he wore on his feet. The elderly and some say, ancient, witch at his side wore something just as simple, if not still more tasteful; a black blouse and matching dress with hints of violet blended in, and a dark, almost blood-red shawl draped over her shoulders. Her long, gray hair was even pulled back and up in an elegant bun.

"You say 'asked' as if I had given you much of a choice." Baba Yaga mused with a soft smile that did nothing to betray the darkness in her heart. "So do stop complaining and try to simply enjoy yourself."

His eyes hidden behind dark shades at the witch's request, so as not to cause any intimidation from the amber stare of this 'grim' entity, Brother Grimm stopped their trek through the lobby of this establishment and turned his head to simply stare at her.

"I will take that suggestion as the ludicrous notion that I am certain that it was intended." He sneered before a slight tug on his arm directed him further along.

A velvet rope aided in their direction as they approached a podium where a man of moderate years in age stood in a uniform befitting the Foundation Room. The appearance of these two rather unique looking individuals gave him a slight start, but his training quickly took over and he regained his composure.

"Might I help you ... sir?" The host of the Foundation Room inquired.

"I sincerely doubt it." Grimm said simply and the ice in his words gave the man all the reason he needed to shiver uncontrollably.

Baba Yaga nudged Grimm in the arm with the back of her hand and stepped forward and spoke kindly to the host, "A reservation, under the name of Mister Goss." She tilted her head toward the pale male beside her, indicating the name to be his. As the host looked at the book of reservations, Grimm turned to her and silently mouthed, "What?" but he received no answer.

"Ah yes." The host said pleasantly. "Right here, and I do believe you have the patio."

"Excellent." Baba Yaga said and she took Grimm's reluctant arm and held tight as he attempted to pull it away, and they followed the host as he escorted them to the small, private elevator that would lead them upstairs.</color>



"Ah. I had wondered how those in power would allow me to celebrate the victory I so recently enjoyed over Jeremiah Hardin, the former Roulette Champion if Sin City Wrestling, and if you would pardon the pun, my payers seem to have been answered."

"Goth. Oh it has been quite awhile since last we met. Perhaps the one person in this whole, sad little world of whom I see as being as close to an equal as is possible. You, Goth, are not the same as all the others. You are not weak. You do not care what others think of you, and you act accordingly. An admirable quality to have in this day and age, and one so rare for the mortal coil when it is honestly held."

"The reign you and I shared as the Tag Team Champions is one that I still look back on, and believe it should not have ended as it did. Yet Fate plays cruel tricks, and in the end, I would dare say things worked out for the best, wouldn't you? After all, not one but two reigns as the SCW Heavyweight Champion that followed our joined reign? Impressive, to say the least. Very few amongst your peers can lay claim to such an accomplishment. And the fact that you bested that 'flash in the pan' Kevin carter for one of those very reigns? Oh that had to have made the satisfaction oh so much sweeter."

"And yet now, here you are, once again at my side to form perhaps the darkest combination in professional wrestling history. This time it is I who hold a championship around my waist, but I have all the confidence in the world that the Heavyweight title will be yours yet again. And now Goth, whom do we face on the date of our reunion? Why, two men who hold the very titles that were taken away from us."

"I would deem this to be something of a sense of poetic justice, wouldn't you?"</color>



The soft chime of the elevator signaled its arrival and as the doors slid open, Brother Grimm and Baba Yaga stepped out onto the carpeted floor where they were greeted by another host, a direct one of the restaurant itself. This man said nothing, having been alerted that there would be a fresh, new arrival at their establishment and to where they were to be seated.

The older man held a hand out to invite them to follow him, and indeed they did. Grimm cast a sidelong look toward the left of the foyer and saw what appeared to be a bar and lounge for the comforts of the clientele and so they might enjoy a drink before their reservations were made ready.

"Is it a fact that they provide private dining rooms to patrons?" Baba Yaga asked, inciting Grimm's curiosity.

"Indeed madam." The host answered as they entered the main dining hall of the Foundation Room.

<img src=http://images.anidori.com/xx/2081_8158.jpg>


The tables were filled with clientele who seemed to simply fit in with their surroundings, clad in fine clothes of suits and evening dresses. The sounds of idle chatter could be heard if one were to listen, and the soft 'clinking' of utensils against plates and glassware seemed like a gentle lull between words of conversation.

Despite their manner of 'normalcy' in their own clothes, Baba Yaga and Grimm seemed to draw curious stares from those seated at the tables as they passed en route to their own seating. Baba Yaga could have easily been mistaken for a kindly matron, or someone's grandmother, but the albino-pale form of Grimm was what seemed to draw the stares and wonderment of the men and women, young and old alike. As Grimm passed each table, those seated there felt an involuntary twitch of a chill racing up their spine, and an immediate pang of unexplainable fear. This only seemed to cause the talk of the new arrivals to grow in fervor, if not volume so as to betray their gossiping nature.

Not that it mattered as every word fell to the uncanny ears of not only Grimm, but Baba Yaga as well. One young woman who dined with an older gentleman and wore the refinement of a 'gold digger' with much enthusiasm, sneered as the pair passed and she whispered something derogatory in her cupped hand to her dining companion. Baba Yaga calmly cleared her throat and immediately afterward, the young woman had started to choke on her meal, prompting much concern from the staff and her companion.

"And yet you ask me to behave?" Grimm asked bemusedly as the host arrived at a double glass door with elegant wood paneling and framed with long, teal, tapered, heavy velvet curtains.

"Jocelyn will see to your comforts." The host spoke to them as a young woman in the same 'tuxedo' style uniform smiled, despite the immediate discomfort she felt swelling deep within her.

"Will she indeed?" Grimm mused and he received yet another nudge from the witch.

"Please." The timid Jocelyn stated. "Follow me." She proceeded to open the door to the patio and held it as she stood back, allowing Grimm and Baba Yaga to set foot out into the cool evening air of Las Vegas. Jocelyn continued, "It is admittedly difficult to get seating on the patio."

"Oh I have my ways. Baba Yaga stated simply and something about her smile made the young hostess twitch involuntarily before she escorted them over toward a lone table in the far corner, away from the others.

After taking their seats, Jocelyn excused herself and hurried away, as a waiter, a young man in perhaps his mid to ,late twenties, arrived at their table.

"Hello. My name is Noah." He stated. "May I start your evening off with something to drink?"

Grimm just stared vat the man, making him feel most uncomfortable, and allowed the witch to take the lead.

"I would prefer a nice red wine." Baba Yaga stated easily. "Dry."

"We have several types of dry wine, madam." Noah said. "Would you care to see a list?"

"Not necessary." She answered with a faint wave of her hand, dismissing his suggestion. "I place myself in your capable hands."

"Yes, madam." He said as he cleared his throat. Only then did he force himself to turn and address this frightening man who did not seem to want to take his eyes off of him. "A-and you sir?"

Grimm said nothing. He just watched the waiter until Baba Yaga broke the tension and the discomfort of the young waiter, despite enjoying it herself immensely.

"He'll have the same." Was all she said.

Noah thanked them both and turned to hurry away, leaving the tandem on their own.

Grimm, having finally had enough of the witch's games, turned to look at her over the single lit candle in the center of the table and he spoke, "So. Indulge me. What in the name of all creation put this into your head?"

"This ... what?" Baba Yaga asked innocently.

"Do not play me for a fool, witch." Grimm answered. "I am bound to you for your own reasons, but I am still as far beyond you as you are beyond them." He waved a hand idly, indicating all those around them. "First you had me take that ridiculous trek to gaze at Yule lights..."

"Christmas lights." She corrected.

"And I could care less." Grimm stated matter-of-factly. "I simply want to know why. Why you seem to enjoy pulling me out here into this ... environment, around the bacteria that calls itself mankind."

"Why, I would think you would be used to it by now." Baba Yaga smiled. "I mean, after all, you do find yourself surrounded by them whenever you are scheduled to compete."

"Yes, and I find that quite enough." Grimm answered. "So again, why here? Why now?"

All manner of frivolity faded from the witch's face as her eyes hardened. She turned her head to look out on the vast Vegas Strip that sprawled out over the horizon in the night air, the lights from every hotel, casino and beyond bringing this city to life even at such a late hour.

She turned back to him and said, "If you had any idea how many decades, no, how many centuries, I spent in my cottage, simply waiting, then the answer would be quite clear. And after that encounter with those two urchins... the one you simply refuse to drop the subject of..."

Grimm could not help but smirk in self satisfaction at the tale told long ago of two children and the witch in the candy fashioned cottage. A tale thought to be a simple nursery rhyme but in truth was far more than any realized.

Baba Yaga continued, "I waited even longer after that, simply recovering. And then, along came such an opportunity as to release the fabled Bogey Man from a prison crafted so expertly. It took me quite a lot of time and effort to undo what those Roma witches accomplished -- but I did!"

"And I salute you, your efforts." Grimm nodded his head to her.

Baba Yaga continued, "And only recently have I regrouped from that strain." Her voice swiftly took a cold, venomous tone too it. "So you will pardon me for wishing to get out in the world every now and then, now that I can!"

"Fine." Grimm stated simply. "You have made your point abundantly clear, madam."

"Then do please quite your childish griping." Baba Yaga said, picking up the menu in front of her. "And choose something you might enjoy dining upon. There should be something that wets your unique appetite."

Grimm exhaled harshly through his nose and turned his head to look out over the gathered throng of diners and staff. He raised his eyebrow and smiled.

"I do believe you are right."</color>



"Guns For Hire."

"I have heard much of these two men, and thus far, they have indeed lived up to the media hype offered them. Alone, both men have accomplished much, but together? Ethan Brody and Landon Axel collectively seem to have grasped the attention of those around them. Those higher ups and with influence who believe the world is theirs in the SCW Tag Team division."

"Sounds familiar, does it not? I can recall months ago when several in the know had stated the very same thing about Goth and myself. Both of us had reputations that preceded us in the individual ranks, and once we found ourselves paired together? Oh it was simply a matter of time before we had claimed the tag team gold for ourselves. Gold that you two now wear."

"Is it a portent, a sign of things to come? I have never given much weight to the notion of fate or destiny, but signs are indeed there that shall tell us of things to come. Warnings I prefer to call them."

"Heed those words of caution, Guns For Hire. Close that closet door. Check under your beds at night. And above all else... never, ever delve too deeply into the shadows."</color>



"So," Baba Yaga stated amicably, her gray eyes drifting upward from the empty plate before Grimm and to the 'man' himself. "Enjoy your meal, did you?"

Inside of the state of the art kitchen of the Foundation Room, a waitress stepped through the swinging door and immediately frowns.

"Noah?" She called out, but received no answer in return. "Noah. The boss is looking for you."

She walked around the shelves filled with fresh ingredients air wrapped tightly and on easy display, within reach of the head chefs that prepared the delicacies for the guests. She came up upon where the wall ovens were set up within the metallic wall units and sniffed.

Something did not smell right. As a matter of fact, it smelled quite foul. A sickenly sweet but pungent odor. It was then that she glanced up and spotted the thin waft of smoke emanating from one of the large ovens.

"Oh Christ..." She muttered, and grabbed one of the oven mitts. If the chef burned something, the boss would have his head. She grabbed the handle to the oven door and pulled it open ...

And immediately screamed at the sight of the charred mass embedded deep inside.

Grimm turned back from the sound to smile at Baba Yaga and he raised his glass of wine to her.

"I did indeed."</color></size>

17
Climax Control Archives / Like a tiger to the slaughter
« on: January 03, 2014, 07:23:43 PM »
 Fear;  noun
: an unpleasant emotion caused by being aware of danger : a feeling of being afraid
: a feeling of respect and wonder for something very powerful

"It is the strange fate of man, that even in the greatest of evils the fear of the worst continues to haunt him."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe


"Tales heard through the children's ears,
Are meant to ease the unenviable fears.
Of the world around where shadows creep,
And the terrors that stalk the mind so deep."

"The heart shall believe that all will be well,
That light shall defeat the demons that fell.
For the truth is not what one wants to know,
And why the facts are hidden so far down below."

"Beneath the flowery lies of the tales now told,
Lies the truth of the origins of horrors most old."</color>



"And that was the tale of the Tiger and the Fox."

Nadya whispered softly to the thrice cursed babe, christened as Nicolai II. As the child was blind, deaf and mute, the matriarch of the Clan Dalca knew well that the child could not hear nor appreciate the tale told to him as he lay ill in bed. Though less than two years of age, the babe was yet well enough aware that she was near. Say what one might, but being so 'cursed' by life did not hinder such a young one's mind.

She watched the babe carefully, as his chest slowly rose and fell, then rose again with much effort. Her eyes glazed over with tears fought hard against. All of her best efforts had been for naught once the lung sickness had developed inside of him. What had caused his thrice-affliction, had also weakened his immune system. Perhaps for life. All she knew was that all the teas, remedies and potions that she and her people had known of over so many generations had done nothing to ease the sickness. A fever rose within him ever since Andrei had left to seek help, but that was before the winter storm had set in, and now Nadya herself wondered if he would make it back in time -- if at all.



Where in the name that is holy did this storm come from?

That was the very thought constantly running through Andrei's subconscious as he forced his way through the snow that was already ankle-deep and growing. It might not seem that bad at first thought, but the ice and wet snow that fell from the heavens was coating the hard ground beneath his feet, making his jaunt precarious at best, and potentially crippling at worst.

So bad was the road growing that Andrei had been forced to leave his horse behind, deep within the safe and warm confines of a cave outcropping down the slope of the mountainside his family had called ho,e for generations. He would come back for him when he returned, and could only pray that the animal had enough sense to understand it was safest at this point where it was. Had he taken the horse this far to ride, he would have risked a permanent and disabling injury to the animal should it slip and fall. Which Andrei himself had already done a minimum of three times. He would have turned around to return the horse to the homestead and then continued on, but he simply could not risk wasting such time. Not when the baby was growing weaker by the moment.

He wasn't even certain he would b able to find the help needed. The winds grew even worse, and the flurry from the gods above grew to such an extent that he was finding great difficulty at even seeing, let alone walking in this. Nadya often spoke of the burning fires of Hell on the seventh day, but for Andrei, Hell seemed to be more burning from the freezing temperatures than fire literal.

Times went past over the course of his trek down the slope of the mountain that perhaps he should turn back, but it was a thought that passed rather quickly once he envisioned the sick babe in his mind's eye. For all of Nadya's skill and power in her mystic arts, she was unable to pull the sickness from the child's lungs. She could but ease his illness to even the barest of degrees, but when the fever took hold, there was little choice but to find assistance in the village below the mountainside. Perhaps a skilled healer might know of something that Nadya did not. All he knew was that he had to press on, and so he would do even if the cold would overtake him in doing so.

After all that life had thrown at Nicolai II, Andrei would not give the Fates the satisfaction of his life being yet something else the babe would be forced to yield. Not if he had anything to ay about it.

And unfortunately, it seemed the Fates were again playing at their games, when under the descending cover of darkness, Andrei's foot stepped on a smooth stone buried in the snow, and it slipped from beneath his weight. This caused the young Rom to tumble down into the snow, and unable to stop his fall, he fell over the side of the mountain.

Here, the Fates decreed a modem of sympathy, as it was not a straight drop, but a slant down into a more dense grove of the forest's snow laden trees. It seemed to take forever for Andrei to end his unwanted descent, until he came down against a lone tree that stretched so high that it's very top seemed to end in the bleakness of the darkening skies above. With a grunt of pain, the air was blown from Andrei's lungs at the impact against the trunk, and slowly he rose, grimacing in pain. He dusted the snow from his heavy clothes that staved off some of the weather's chill, and despite the setback, he could not help but envision the lost Nicolai laughing merrily at the same time helping him rise to his feet.

Andrei then cursed as he looked up and saw how far he would have to hike to get back onto the train in the hills above. He took that important first step when a scent caught his attention, and he turned his head out of idle curiosity. Smoke? Yes, indeed. He smelled smoke, and now that he looked toward the forest, he saw a thin trail of smoke rising from deep within the maze of trees.

Perhaps he was nearer to the village than he realized? No. He had fallen a ways down the side of the mountain but not quite that far. It was too small a trail of smoke for an actual forest fire, and he doubted one would even be able to begin in weather this cold and wet. That left only one other viable explanation: a home, and a fire rising from the normal confines of a chimney.

Upon realization, this brought about a morbid curiosity to his mindset. He had lived in these mountains since birth, and never before had he known a home to be anywhere inside this wooded area. It was a risk, but he had to see and to find out. Perhaps, just perhaps, whoever was there might be able to assist...</color>

"That man is prudent who neither hopes nor fears anything from the uncertain events of the future."
Anatole France
</color>

"I'd like to tell you a story."

"Ironic, is it not? That one such as I would like to tell a tale to those such as yourselves. A being that has been around since the first shadows were cast across the Heavenly Gardens, instilling fear in the heart of the First Coupling. The entity that sewered the scorn in the hearts of the Fallen, instigating wars in both the heavens as well as the land you now walk. So many tales told that bear my name, and yet, so very few hold an ounce of truth to the original tales."

"I do this for a reason. So that perhaps just one of you might grow to become competent enough to understand."

"It is a tale that perhaps you have heard a time or two. It's ludicrous message has even met my own ears. A tale that I hope the current SCW Roulette Champion takes heed in listening to, as it befits his own namesake."

"A lamb, a frail, innocent animal in the scope of all of Creation, lived in a vast forest amidst all of the animals of the One God's fantastical creations. Was this a time in Eden under the Rule of the First? Perhaps. The Garden was one of glory, and the beauty was euphoric to this tiny little animal of snow white fleece and heart warming innocence. She could not help but bask in the sun that shone overhead and dance and play in the vast pastures that spread out around her and all of the other animals."

"Until the fated day when a tiger, the first of its kind, found the woods and wished to make for itself a new home. The tiger met with the other animals and told them that he would like to live alongside of them, and they happily agreed. All except for that one little lamb, who was not at all assured of the tiger or his openness. He was large and quite ferocious in appearance, with his sharp teeth and sharp claws. And the little lamb did not care for how the tiger watched her. Not at all."

"So the little lamb expressed her concerns to all of her woodland friends and they assured her that all would be well. They even offered to speak to the tiger and tell him that the one condition on his living in the forest is that he must also allow all the other animals to live in the forest as well. The lamb, although not comforted, accepted their plea. The animals did speak to the tiger, and he happily agreed."

"So the lamb made the attempt to continue life in the forest as she always had, but then the day came when she happened upon the tiger, and he was anything but comforting toward her. She felt far for how he stared at her and the growls that escaped from his throat. So much so that she left the area and went back to her friends, and told them of her frightening experience. Their answer to her was that these actions were simply in a tiger's nature and how one was expected to behave."

"Heeding this reasoning, the lamb went back to the forest and played and sang, enjoying herself as she saw fit, but always in the back of her mind was the sight of the tiger and its fearsome growling at her. The truth was that the tiger did not, in fact, stalk the small lamb. It went about its own life, much as she did her own. Yet when the lamb did happen upon the fearsome animal, fear struck at her heart. Even if the tiger was asleep or walking in the opposite direction, the lamb still felt as if the tiger's presence was somehow intrusive upon her own. In time, the lamb was actually looking for the tiger, despite herself."

"Her worries continued, and her friends within the animal kingdom even started to wonder what the lamb was doing to antagonize the tiger so. After all, the tiger was causing none of them any undo harm or stress, so why would he be targeting this one animal out of the many?"

"Of course, this they never said to the lamb, but the day came when she finally had enough. The fear and stress were growing too formidable for her to overcome and she told the animals that she was going to leave the forest and find a new home. The animals quickly objected to this decision, lamenting how much they would miss her presence. They continued to explain to her that the tiger's rather brusque nature was simply that; his nature. But still, they offered to go talk to him. They believed that they could speak to him on her behalf about not acting so when she was around. And off they went."

"After they had gone to do this one thing for her, the lamb could not help but wonder: if his actions were[.I], in fact, in the nature of the beast, then how could they expect to get the tiger to change his own nature?"

"The animals ventured to the part of the forest where the tiger called home, and called out to him so that they could talk. However, the tiger did not answer. They called again, many times in fact, but the tiger was not answering their summons. Concerned, the animals separated into groups and looked for the newest member of the forest community, until they found him. Or rather, his remains."

"Shredded tufts of fur were hanging from the thorny brambles of the territory claimed, and a trail of crimson soaked dirt led to the forest's winding stream where lay the carcass of the tiger, his ribs exposed and eyes open wide with the terror of his final moments."

The fear coursed through their tender hearts at the horror that hey were looking at! What could have done such a monstrous thing to such a mighty beast, and more importantly, would it end there? Was this mysterious predator still in their community, lurking from somewhere deep within? They all gathered together, close knit in safety and made their way back to the forest glen."

"And there they found the lamb, no longer looking the part of the innocent. The gleam in her eyes as she watched them warily approach. They thought long about the ramifications. They believed it was not possible, but all evidence pointed to the contrary."

"No. This is not, in fact, the more popular rendition of the tale of the Lamb and the Tiger. In fact, this was not the actual ending at all. For you see, the tiger did indeed bring the first sense of dread into the forest, and it awakened something dark and foreboding within its boundaries."

"Gleam from the words what you will. A lesson, perhaps? The tiger, although of a fierce nature and presence about his surroundings, is not without his weakness. Nor is he immune from the raw sensation of fear, a trait that strikes at the very heart and soul of a person. The fear he must have felt when one he thought unworthy, one that he deemed to overlook as insignificant against his reputation, would have been delicious to experience."

"It's a sensation that the 'Big Tiger' of Sin City Wrestling will come to appreciate. Since he had scored that important victory in November of last year against one, Max Burke, his reign of dominance over the Roulette division has made him grow rather confident in his own abilities. It has made him believe that his championship reign would be one everlasting. Unyielding in the face of danger and adversity."

"And yet, that was all before fear itself rose to the challenge, and the confidence once welled so deeply inside the champion's breast, started to run dry. The 'Big Tiger' grew to understand that perhaps this time, the risks to his reign were not minimal. There is a tired old cliche' of the hunter becoming the hunted when the chips are down, but the words could not be any less true in this particular case."

"No. For you see, Jeremiah Hardin, the Bogey Man has risen from the shadows, prepared to be that very next challenge to your livelihood. I have watched from the corners of the earth while you grew complacent with the ease of your lackluster challenges, and I bring to you the opportunity to realize and understand your limits. I give you the chance so few mortals ever get to experience; to see the end come, right before the light within diminishes to an unseasonable end."

"It is a new year in the mortal coil, and for you Jeremiah Hardin, 2014 will not begin pleasantly. For you, the end has only just begun."</color>

"To him who is in fear everything rustles."
Sophocles
</color>

What had Andrei ventured into?

He stood at the small clearing where the trees should have stood in the woodland of the mountains, but instead found a simple cabin in anything but simple surroundings. While there were no trees immediately around the cabin, there was a gruesome display of a fence built around the clearing, crafted of what had to be human bones. And atop of every fifth bone 'post' was a human skull, with fires built within casting an ominous glow from inside the sockets. A chill that had absolutely nothing to do with the weather raced down his spine, settling into a ball of ice at the base of his spine.

Andrei was by no means a coward, but few in the race of mortal men would be able to gaze upon such a sight and not feel the humbling sensations of fear grow within their bellies.

And the fact that someone was actually inside of this hut, told him that there was a dark presence that he had not felt since the night he stood in that grove and watched the Pale One in the flesh.

The stories were known, of her and what she was capable of. How could it be that Andrei started a journey to the village to find medicines for Nicolai II, and yet now stood at the very threshold of the one known as the Blackwoods Witch?

He should turn around and beat a hasty retreat. Get as far away from this house as he could, as fast as he might. He should, yet he did not. Nadya was a skillful witch of gypsy origin, but this was something, or someone else rather, of an altogether different nature. Where one arcane skill failed, another might succeed?

Cringing involuntarily, Andrei grasped the gate made of multiple human rib cages, he pushed the 'gate' open and stepped onto the smooth stones that led to... only then did Andrei realize that the house was actually turned away from him. This was too unreal, he believed silently. He took another step, intending to walk off the given path to search around the homestead for the front door, when a loud creaking of wood and stone gave him pause. He glanced around him, ever alert for dangers of both the natural as well as supernatural worlds around him. Yet the sound did not come from the forest that seemed to now be everywhere.

It was coming from the hut itself.

Once he looked back to the hut, he froze on sight, eyes wide with shock at what he found himself witnessing. The hut rising, not on its own but what appeared to be two chicken legs and it slowly started to rotate. Oh how badly he wanted to turn and run right then and there, as this had him believing himself mad! He watched in silent awe as the hut did a complete turn around to where the door now faced him, and it slowly settled back down upon the ground, the 'legs' all but vanishing from sight. Then, the hut's door creaked open only so slightly as if acting as an invitation.

Andrei closed his eyes and swallowed hard, fighting back the overwhelming sensation of fear. Not since the Banishing had he felt such terror in his heart, but for the sake of a child, both then and now, he forged ahead. Andrei walked that stone path to the front of the hut, each step heavier than the last, until he found himself standing at the door.

"Well? Are you planning to come in, or not?"

The voice from inside startled him, but it spoke with enough authority that he immediately set foot inside, greeted by the warmth of a blazing hearth.

"Shut the door." The voice commanded. "Sheltered as we are, it is still quite cold outside."

Andrei jumped and quickly did as instructed. Only just before the door closed did he finally realize what was happening outside: he could still see the snow falling in the trees outside, but not within the space where this hut resided.

With the door shut behind him, only then did Andrei turn around and take in his surroundings. The inside of the hut seemed quite a bit larger than what the outside appearance would indicate. A lot larger, if truth be told. There was only a modest amount of furnishings. A few tables scattered about, a pantry for provisions, and the fireplace where Andrei wanted so badly to approach and stave off the bite of the cold that had numbed his fingers -- as well as the rest of his body.

"Warm yourself." The voice spoke, as if reading his thoughts. "The fire is quite inviting."

Andrei looked around, but saw nothing to indicate where the source of the voice originated from. Yet he knew better than to tempt fate, and he did as instructed and slowly approached the fire. As he reached the hearth of the slow blaze, he suddenly remembered the tales and took a hasty step back, prompting a low chuckle.

"Young man, you are safe enough for the moment." The voice said. "You are simply not suited to my taste. Now, if you would... warm yourself."

Andrei swallowed and felt the beads of sweat break out against his forehead. It was true that the tales said this witch had a preference for the taste of the tender flesh of infants, not adults. But who knew where truth could be separated from fiction? Still, he knew it was best not to antagonize such as she, and he took that step forward again and held his hands out toward the flickering embers of the burning fire. He could not help but appreciate the feeling being returned to his body when he noticed from the corner of his eye the rocking chair, and the shape seated on it.

"Good Christ!" Andrei yelped and almost fell back into a table covered with an allotment of small clay jars and glass vials filled with -- he did not want to know what.

He would have sworn that corner had been empty only seconds ago! Now he watched with fearful eyes as the old woman sat in the rocking chair, swaying it back and forth; in the shadows one moment, and out of them the next. Her eyes were cast downward toward her lap, where a craft of wool was being knitted by aged hands into something else.

The silence was stifling. Andrei swallowed heavily and found his voice.

"I'm..." he started to say, but the Blackwoods Witch interrupted him.

"I know who you are, child." She whispered in a coarse voice, endless in age. She then glanced up and met his eye. "And why you are here."

"I-I..." Andrei stammered despite himself. "I did not intend to find myself at your door."

"And yet had you not meant to be here, you never would have found my home to begin with." She resumed her knitting, and her rocking.

"I simply slipped up on the mountain and fell." Andrei reasoned. "Quite by accident."

"Indeed." She said simply. "Yet here you are, within my home, seeking help."

Andrei tried to find his voice, but this time words failed him. He held a hand out to plead his case, but found nothing he could say would suffice.

"How long has the child been ill?"

Her querie stunned him, and his head rocked back as though he had been slapped. He felt the part of the lingering fool, standing here, powerless before one such as she. He had faced down and helped to defeat the Pale One, because the unknown gave him the incentive to fight on, yet this threat he knew. He knew the tales told for generations about this woman who sat so idly before him, knitting and seemingly without a care in the world.

For perhaps she had none, because what could possibly bring a threat to one such as she?

Finally, he cleared his throat and answered her, "Two weeks, if you please. We had hoped the illness would go away by itself, but it's only gotten worse. He runs a fever and..."

She again interrupted and said, "And you would brave such weather, not to mention, my home, for this little one?"

Andrei glanced aside for but a fraction of a moment before he again looked her full on and nodded. "I would." He said. "He is my own."

"Your son?"

"Yes."

"Yet not of your blood." She stated matter-of-factly.

"No." Andrei answered truthfully. "But he need not be my blood to be mine."

She again looked up, and halted her craft. The rocking of her chair also stopped as her cool, gray eyes bore into Andrei's own as if searching. probing for whatever that might serve as a catalyst to a witch's whims. Andrei felt himself unable to look away. Only after what seemed an eternity did she finally speak.

"Well said." Were her words, and Andrei suddenly found her standing at his side, and pressing something soft and warm in his hands.

"Take this, and do be quick about it." She said. Andrei looked down at his hands and found he was holding hat appeared to be a warm sweater, knitted with careful skill and a fair amount of care. It was, in fact, the very thing she had been knitting while she sat in the rocking chair.

He held the child-size shirt woolen shirt in his hands and asked almost pleadingly, "This ... this wiill...?"

"Only if you stop wasting time." She answered crossly. "I do not offer such assistance idly. No go."

He needed no further insistence. With the witch's garment clasped tightly in his grip, Andrei hurriedly left the hut of the Blackwoods Witch, and returned to the winter storm en route to home, and the sick child that waited.</color>

Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; adversity not without many comforts and hopes.
Francis Bacon
</color>

"The clock ticks, Jeremiah. Time is a fleeting thing, and to this you will come to understand all too well when your reign ends in fire and blood."

"You can act as brave as you prefer, but in the end, it is but an act. For no man can say he is without fear and be naught but a liar. You will come to fear me as no other before you. Your very livelihood is mine to crush within my grasp, and crush it I will. It has been too long since I've tasted the sweet tang of the human soul instilled with trembling uncertainty on what is to come, and what will soon be. Your fear, Jeremiah Hardin, will be but the appetizer. Your championship reign, the main course."

"And your life? Oh I have always believed in a savory dessert to every meal."</color>

18
Climax Control Archives / Seasons Bleedings
« on: December 20, 2013, 08:23:56 PM »
 "Is it not entertaining to hear the cries of the Christians who claim this season to be all about their fallen Christ, their beliefs and no others? Any other religion, any other proclamation of holiday greeting, and they cry blasphemy against the chosen and profess the so-called truths of the season and the birth of their Savior."

"Yet what these feeble minded simpletons fail to remind themselves of are many facts of history that contradict everything they hold fast to. Perhaps they are ignorant of these bits of information, or perhaps they know of them yet choose to ignore for the sake of their own beliefs. Who knows?"

"Hm? Ahhh. Perhaps you yourself are some of those 'believers', these men of whom I will be opposing soon in honor of the season. Well then, far be it for me to leave you allowing in your own self guided delusions of what is, and what has been."

"Christ was not born on December 25, even though this day is referred to as his birthday. No. That work of fiction known as the Bible never once mentions a specific date for the birth of Christ. And those morbid little traditions such as Santa Clause and Christmas trees? Oh for the woefully ignorant to face the fact that each of these 'Christian' traditions is Pagan in origin."

"The nativity scene, showcasing the birth of Jesus and his so-called 'virgin' mother, Mary, lies in the wake of the remembered mother-goddess and the birth of her child."

"Evergreen trees, because of their ability to remain green throughout the year, spring, summer, autumn and winter, have symbolized immortality, fertility, sexual potency, and reproduction, and were brought into homes and set up as idols."

"Ironically, mistletoe represented the false messiah. It was a sacred plant that slayed the beloved god Baldur. Ah I recall when that happened. Such expressions of remorse on the Norse when the one they loved fell dead at their feet.

"Santa Clause. Wreaths. Yule Logs. Even the simple candles lit. They each and all have their origins in Pagan worship, drafted by those in power in the Christian hierarchy to better subdue the blasphemers into the faith of the One God with ease but without giving up their own traditions."

"I do wonder how many of you ilk would continue to celebrate such a time if the truth were well known."</color>

Budapest in the year 1148

It was a misguided belief that the night of Halloween, or Samhain, was the only true night when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead were at a weak point. Oh no. There was also the time of the Winter Solstice in many tales and beliefs, but in the days of old it was known simply as Koročun or Kračun.

What a far cry this day was compared to this time of year in which we know of now. Where now it is about gifts and candy and bright lights with the birth of the Christ Child remembered fondly by those of the Church. Yet back then, there was a darker, far more sinister time that instilled fear in those that believed.  

And they believed for a reason.</color>

The woman traipsed hazardly through the snow, protected as best she could be the hard elements that rose around her. Warm in the furs wrapped around her body and yet still she shivered as she made for her home.</color>

The snow was everywhere in these parts. The thoughts of 'global warming' were not to be thought of for hundreds of years, perhaps thousands. Nature was often a cruel mistress for mankind, with biting winds that burned cold to the skin and heavy drifts of snow that fell from the gray heavens above, burying one in the home for untold of days until escape was possible or rescue, perhaps.

It was a time when preservation was planned beforehand, when food was cultivated by hand and nature and saved for when it would be needed most. There was no season of good will toward man in these times, at this time of year.

There was fear in the heart for those that walked this cold land.</color>

She should never had ventured so far away from the homestead, so late in the day. Especially in such harsh weather as their region of the hills was experiencing. This winter season was harder than most previous years. She simply should have planned better.

The light of the sun was growing fainter by each passing moment while she hurried as quickly as she possibly could in snow that reached well above her knees. She never would have risked leaving at all, had her precious Rosalie not taken ill, and the village's wise woman always had the cure for any ailment. The fever was mild but she would take no risk it worsening, not even when faced with risking the wrath of the cold night and what lurked within it.

Anja knew that the moon was up there, hidden somewhere behind the clouds, and the first of what would be countless stars twinkled high above while purples and grays replaced the days bright blues and yellows.

The shuffling of snow was heard somewhere behind her. A snap of a random twig underfoot. Perhaps not as far as she believed as the woods were all around her. It was enough to give her pause to stop and look around with eyes wide in fearful apprehension.

Her cheeks and nose were chilled a deep pink from the cold air and her breath was a mere fog as she drew in sharp breaths and exhaled them just as quickly. She glanced around but saw nothing to indicate an animal -- or worse. Not until her eyes cast over a small mound of stones that rose above the fallen snow. Stones that laid in a ring of trees that stretched so high that their dead branches seemed fingers that tickled the stars that came out. And a shadow that should not have been there.

No, more than a shadow. A wrongness. One of darkness that no light cast in its wake.

This made Anja draw in a sharp breath of fear and she turned and ran.</color>

This time of year, this one day in particular, was the one the people believed that the Black God walked the earth again and brought along with him death and decay. It was this very dark deity that they believed to be responsible for the untimely demise of the god of the sun, and why winter was a season most foul.

Silly superstition, that. Yet the legends of what walked amongst them this day were no less potent. Or true.</color>

She stole only quick glances over her shoulder as she ran, and this caused her to become careless. The new shadow, or darkness, seemed to be 'following' her if you could say that with credibility. In this fear she happened to misstep and her foot caught a root hidden in the snow and she fell over, half burying herself in the drifting white snow.

Crying in fear, the tears freezing upon her cheeks and stinging all the more, she rose up and knew immediately her ankle had been injured by the fall. But more importantly, the poultice she had carried in her dress pockets, the one that carried the relief for her sick child, had fallen out.

Frantically she dropped down to her knees and scavenged through the drifts of snow with her bare fingers, her fear of the shadows and night all but forgotten when faced with the far more pressing fear of losing the one thing that could make her child well. Her hand just happened to close on the clay vile when she thought she heard it again.

There! The sound of a brush covered in snow being forcibly moved. The sound of snow hitting the ground as a result. Yet it was what she did not hear that frightened her the most. She knew that there was something out there in the dark, yet no foot falls betrayed it. And the fact that nature itself halted the musical notes of its own existence was by far the worse.

Home was near,and the safety of the locked door and protective wards of mistletoe and lilac. She grasped the potion tightly in her hand that felt frozen by the snow that slowly melted from her warm grip and she ran as best she could on the tender foot beneath her weight. Fear was indeed a powerful motivator. Perhaps not for herself, but for the young that waited at the homestead and depended on the mother to watch over, care and protect.

The small shack was ahead, one that her dear husband was working to expand upon during the warmer periods of the year. The smoke rose from the chimney, and she knew that it meant her husband was home at the hearth, watching over their daughter.

"Nyissa ki az ajtót!" ("Open the door!") Anja cried out into the night, hoping, praying above all else that her husband would hear her over the shrill sound of the night wind.

Indeed he had, as just as she crossed the final stretch of their land, the door opened and his concerned face appeared with the dancing light of the hearth fire behind him, shimmered off of his dark toned flesh.

"Anja?" He called out as she pushed past him and almost fell to the wooden floor in a heap. "Mi történt?" ("What has happened?")

He helped her right herself and looked her in the eyes, his own concern reflected in her eyes.

"Történt-e valami?" ("Did something happen?") He asked but she did not answer him. Not at first and not as he expected.

Anja hurried past him and quickly dropped the board across the back of the door, sealing it shut against the night. She glanced quickly above the door to find the bouquet of lavender in place, and the protective sigils undisturbed. Only then did she sigh with relief and the tears of fear escape her.

Vladimiir took his wife in his strong arms, offering her comfort and reassurance. He asked no questions, knowing full well what fears might lie in the heart of anyone out on this night. After what seemed like minutes on end, Anja sniffled and drew back from the comfort offered her.

Her eyes fell to the far window and the pale face that gazed inside. The yellow eyes and black lips parted in a smile that sickened.

And she screamed.</color>



Clan Dalca

He had heard the tale many times, Andrei had, of the time his great grandmother many times over had witnessed the face of pure evil on this very day. He would often think and believe that it was her experience that very night so many hundreds of years ago, that ignited within his family the desire to hunt and exterminate what lie within the shadows.

He wished Nadya had paid heed to his caution and remained in the relative safety of he homestead, but she insisted on honoring her deceased this night as he did himself. They were her flesh and blood that the Pale One had slaughtered to bloody ribbons, and as she became his new family, they also became his own as well.

It was why he could not deny her company, and that of the babe, Nicolai II, as they left early in the day, just after the rising of the sun, to commence what need be done. The quicker they could honor their fallen, the sooner they might return to the warmth of their home and the safety that the walls provided.

There were no less than four crossroads that led from the forest area that their home was located, and led to more populated areas of the mountains and a handful of small villages. At each of these crossroads, Andrei laid wooden logs soaked in scented oils and lit them, leaving them to light the way for the dead that yet would walk the night.

The final task was to pay a visit to the area of Andrei's ancestral land where the bodied of Nadya's kin lay buried. At the 'foot' of each marked grave, Andrei laid another wooden log and then he took Nicolai II into his arms while Nadya herself set them alight to keep her family warm on this coldest of days.

Only then did the 'baptized' Clan Dalca return home to the feast that Nadya had spent the week in preparing, so that they could honor their passing family on both sides.

As Nadya served, the deaf and mute babe say happily in Andrei's lap as the man snuck sweets into the tiny fingers and mouth, much to the matriarch's disapproval -- and amusement.



"I have been told at length of what this time of year has become, and I find it rather difficult to prevent a smile from escaping me. I can recall when mankind first set foot upon this earth, and how much vast potential The One Above believed them to have above all others, even His Chosen at the time. And yet, to see them having fallen so hard, so fast, it would warm my heart -- if I were to have a heart."

"The darkness that hides within so many souls of the mortal coil for so much of the year, and yet it is this particular time of the seasons where they attempt to shield their hateful inhibitions in order to be more believable in professing towards others their own weaknesses. They lie and cheat, but sweep those fallen times under the proverbial rug, swept away like time itself, so that they can render their opinions against the lives and habits of others and make it so they can hold their heads up high while doing so."

"The children of these times are vile and cruel, bless them, and yet they hide their cruelties against each other with the misguided beliefs that some enchanted being from the frozen wastelands of the North will pay them visits and reward their 'good behavior' with toys and treats? Yet the very parents who misguide these urchins into behaving with such lies, reprimand those very same children whenever they themselves should tell a fabrication of the truth. Adults who once had it ever so rough in life and yet once they managed to crawl out from the bottom of the hole, look down at others who are now where they once were."

"How ... enchanting, to find such deceit and hypocrisy, in the souls of those He believed to be above all others. Angels fell from grace eons ago for their arrogance, and yet human kind just keeps chugging along without a care in the world. They hear that all the terrible things that happen in the world, yet believe that it can not happen to them. They believe that it can only happen to others."

"They forget that to everyone, someone else is that 'other'."</color>



Winterhaven

Winterhaven is a popular attraction in the metro area of Las Vegas, Nevada. It is what some might refer to as a higher class neighborhood that draws both tourists as well as the citizens of Las Vegas itself to see the artistic designs of the holiday displays. It was something that many waited on, a pleasant diversion or night out, to walk through this small neighborhood and enjoy the decorative displays of lights and displays set up in so many of the yards throughout. Some drove through with their families in their cars. Others paid the extra to make the most of the cool night air and they bought tickets for the hay rides provided by the neighborhood association. Others, however, opted to walk as it afforded them the leisure of their own pace and to linger at their favorites for however long thy should so choose.

It was two sets of feet that walked this street, void of all traffic, along with the many other spectators and holiday enthusiasts. Yet apart from them, as these two passed unseen by the eyes of those around them.

"Perhaps one day you would deign to explain exactly why you decided to drag me along on this insipid little jaunt of yours to look at baubles and false lights." The specter known in this existence as Brother Grimm, complained in a hushed growl as he walked side by side with the gray haired Baba Yaga, the ancient witch of mythological origins, and to whom he would refer to as his 'benefactress'.

Grimm wore his usual attire of black strapped leather, and the witch wore her usual gray dress and cloak around her shoulders. Their hair and clothes moved in the gentle winds, but neither seemed bothered by the cold air that had all others huddled together in their jackets for warmth and comfort. In truth, neither Grimm nor Yaga seemed to even feel it.

Baba Yaga answered, "A simple diversion. Old though I am, I am still a woman and enjoy the simple sights of the colorful lights." She paused and watched as a small group of young children ran past them and she said, "Although it would be preferable without the urchins."

Grimm leaned in over the back of her shoulder with a fiendish smile and whispered in her ear, "I thought you enjoyed children."

He stood upright again, his height towering over her own diminutive stature. her eyes followed him as he stepped past her and she answered simply, "Flame broiled, perhaps. But this? They are a bothersome breed."

"Then why?" Grimm stopped and turned to look her face on. "Why could we not have waited? Why did we come at all?"

Baba exhaled and shook her head. She answered, "You needed the distraction. You've been away for a long time and if I am not mistaken, this would be your first Yule since you're imprisonment all those years ago."

"I hope this is not about those feeble Saviors again." Grimm scoffed and shook his head with a feint display of disbelief. "I was beginning to wonder if the fools would ever bother to show their faces. Imagine my surprise when they grew a set and revealed themselves. believing themselves to be somebody."

Baba Yaga smirked and chuckled with a throaty effort. "I admit a touch of glee when they did. I knew from the start they were nothing. Druids indeed. The poor fools have no idea the trouble that they've instigated. Declaring a war on the entirety of that promotion you're in was foolhardy at best. Make names for themselves quickly they might, but they have clearly not contemplated the repercussions."

"You almost sound sorry for them."

"Hardly." The witch said. "They're unworthy of my concerns. Their own words betray their ignorance and weak wills. They lost any regard from me when they accosted Goth and lied against my words. I simply wish to see the fools burn."

"Then I trust this is not about my next match." Grimm stated. "I've been in many other encounters with better opposition. This will be a mere formality to further my standing in this mortal coil you take such an interest in."

Baba Yaga chuckled. "Of that I have no doubt. You've bested Casey Williams already. For all the bravado he declares, he's done relatively little to warrant it. A title here, a victory there, to be sure. Yet he's blinded by his own delusions of grandeur."

"Ohh." Grimm almost coos. "Does then the name Eric Steel fill you with false worry for my well being?"

"Who?" Baba Yaga asked.

"Yes." Grimm nodded. "I have the self same reaction when I hear of him. He's billed as a threat but he instills all the apprehension in his opposition as a puppy wrapped in a pretty bow on this holiday morning for a child to find."

Baba Yaga waved her hands idly as she spoke, "Then perhaps the masked one. I believe the name Frost is apt, given the season. I've watched this one in times past. He is a threat to those around him."

"To Casey and Steel, perhaps." Grimm shook his head. "Not to me. He is a skilled acrobat when he has the opportunity to present itself, but I have no intention of allowing that. I want to plant him in the ground. Break him in body and spirit, and then remove the mask."

"Remove the mask?" Baba Yaga repeated. "Why?"

Grimm paused to look at her. "I do so love the answer to a riddle. And what better modern riddle for me than why a man of such recognition, would not want to be recognized and hide his identity."

They continue to move on and Grimm goes on. "The tag team titles are gone. Goth and I could get them back at any point, but he is busy himself going after that heavyweight title. Win this and I target the second most prestigious champion in Sin City Wrestling."

"And succeed when the time comes."

Grimm nodded in agreement. "That I will. And again the gold will act as a beacon for the souls I crave. It has been awhile since I've feasted, after all."

Baba Yaga said, "Then perhaps it was a good thing for us to venture out this eve."

"I did not need to be up close to a dinner platter to be distracted from the fools around me." Grimm stated, and at her arched brow, he chuckled. "Present company excluded, of course."

They started their trek again and he continued on, "This fickle holiday, celebrating the birth of that zealot." He shook his head in disgust and sneered, "Son of God..."

He turned and spat, and a young woman flinched, clearly having felt it. She glanced around, her boyfriend at her side, but saw nothing.

Grimm went on, "That charlatan was as mortal as any of these around us. He was simply a wondrous liar with the added advantage of being surrounded by fools with delusions as grand as his own." Grimm nodded. "I knew the man. He was no Savior."

Baba Yaga paused briefly to stare at him and she observed, "There are times when I truly forget just how ancient a spirit you truly are."

Grimm scoffed and they fell into the familiar rhythm, walking past several people gazing in delight at the colorful displays of lights and such. One such yard had a full Santa display with reindeer and sleigh, each crafted of hollow plastic and lit from within.

"And to put such faith in an outlandish character such as this ... elf." Grimm seemed absolutely agitated at the prospect. A brief silence followed when that chilling smile crossed his face. "Although, the prospect does invite certain ideas I've never contemplated before."

"Oh yes?" Baba Yaga stated. "Such as?"

Grimm stopped and placed his snow-white hand on the witch's shoulder and he chuckled. "You have your secrets. I think I'll keep this one to myself this time."

And with that, Grimm simply walked away, leaving Baba Yaga watching as he simply faded into the masses.



Christmas Eve

Young Gregory Manson was laying in his bed, restless beneath the Spongebob Squarepants comforters, as he tried in vain to go to sleep, but it was a hopeless cause indeed. What child could manage to do so with any form of success on this night of nights, when at any point now, Santa Clause himself would be descending his family's chimney to delivery the presents he had written to the North Pole for? The bad thing was, of course, that if he didn't go to sleep, then his house would be passed over. Because everybody knew that Santa only came if you were asleep.

So he pulled the covers over his head and buried his head in the soft pillows once again in another effort to seek the comforts of sleep. And it was then that he heard the 'thump' on the roof above his head. Gregory gasped and bolted in an upright seated position, his eyes locked on the roof above his head where he clearly heard footsteps. He quickly threw the covers off and hurried for his door. After all, how many children would be able to claim to having truly laid eyes on the jolly old elf himself?

Downstairs, Gregory arrived at the bottom of the stairs and ran around the corner of the foyer and into the living room where the grand fir tree stood tall and bright, a beacon for Santa from within. His eyes fell to the coffee table where the plate of frosted sugar cookies and glass of milk sat, ready and waiting for a snack and 'thank you' for Santa.

He then heard a rustling noise and turned to see the black soot drifting down from the inside of the chimney, much like a soft, black snow. Eager to be the first to see the man himself, Gregory hurried over and peered up into the dark recesses of the chimney.

He never saw the burlap sack descend with such speed to entrap him.

Brother Grimm lifted the ancient sack of his, the struggling form kicking from inside and the soft sound of a child crying. He turned and extended his pale hands to take one of the cookies and proceeded to munch on it as he headed back toward the chimney, carrying the moving bag slung over his shoulder.

"Merry Christmas to me, indeed."</color>

19
Climax Control Archives / Clan Dalca Journals
« on: November 01, 2013, 09:23:28 PM »
 
Clan Dalca Journals
Act Two; Scene Two

October 31st

"My line has not yet died out.

It was a far cry from where they would meet under most circumstances. 'Her' meager hut, fashioned at this particular time of the year, out of gingerbread and hard candy, was being prepared for Her annual festivities on this, the witch's holy day of Samhain. So many children would flock amongst the ghouls and spirits that walked freely this eve, none the wiser, begging for treats and playing mischievous pranks on adults and each other. A few, two -- perhaps even three, would find the hut crafted of tasty treats and be invited inside. They always did. And yet none would ever be seen again.

The news sources of the mortal realms never did tell the entire truth, even if there were knowledge behind it. Far more disappearances and vanishings happened on this, the 31t of October, than any other particular day of the year. It could never be explained, although the close minded would blame kidnappers and pedophiles, watching closely for the lone straggler of a child wandering off on his or her own, begging at that one particular lonely home at the end of the street for just one last goody. Only a handful of people, mostly in their middle years, knew the truth; that mortals were not behind these random disappearances. The source behind such dealings was by far more sinister in nature.

They knew that on this eve, the legends that stated the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead were at their weakest on this night were not mere legends. The dead did indeed walk the earth on this night, and sometimes they would drag the hapless victim back down into their graves with them for their own Samhain feasting. Hellmouths would be pierced by the denizens of the Underworld and creatures that would chill the blood and instill fear among the living would roam the night, hunting for their annual repast. They would gorge themselves on whatever manner of living being they might find, be it human or otherwise. The feline was the only animal traditionally safe from consumption, as they too ruled this night.

The only thing these specters and demonic entities had cause to fear was one brand of mortal: the Hunter."</color>


The matriarch of the newly formed Romanov clan, Clan Dalca, stood in wait with the voiceless child in her arms as she waited. It was the end of more than just October, but the close of the summer's end and soon, the autumn celebrations would begin anew in the familiar yearly cycle. It meant the end of the year was that much closer, but there was yet much to be done this evening. Much to be brought closure to and also to bring honor upon.

It was the first Samhain rituals she would be a part of ever since the banishing of the Pale One, and the loss of the majority of her former clan and family. Loved ones lost in the fight against the forces of darkness, but a new arrival into the folds of her warmth and loving arms. A young man, brave and loving. A new son. And the child held in her arms, a child afflicted but one loved no less for being so as her own.

She was by some regards, elderly, as she stood here in her sixty fourth year in this good world, but she was no less brave nor eager to do her part in the war against evil than those a mere third her age. It was her own strength and the spells she had learned, passed from parent to child over the course of many a lifetime, that marked the final nail in the proverbial coffin for the pale one, the 'Bogey man' that had been bound to the Void mere months ago.

Now the sun was beginning to set in the sky, and the time drew near to honor and remember those who passed, not only in her family and loved ones, but that of Andrei as well.

The young man set foot out of the home that was once shared between himself and his friend and love, Nicolai. In his hand was an unlit torch, the end wrapped in kerosene soaked rags. He walked over toward the clearing in which they stood before a large pile of logs, each piled on end against the other. In the center of the 'pyramid' was a vertical pole, and tied to it, a scarecrow fashioned in pure white. An effigy of the one whom their loved ones fell in battle to.

A lit candle rested on a stone and Andrei held the torch over it and immediately the rags on the end lit. He then looked to Nadya who nodded to him without saying a word. Andrei looked to the boy child, whom together they agreed on the name of Nicolai the Second, in honor of his love and a warrior lost, yet remembered. Until then, the babe had been unnamed, as it was believed by his clan as well as Nadya's, that naming a child during times of war could only spell disaster for the young one. The child appeared to know that eyes were now upon him and he looked around with blind eyes until they seemed to fall upon Andrei himself. A small hand reached out toward him and Andrei could not help but smile sadly.

Never before did he consider the possibility that he would ever be a father, and yet here the evidence was that anything would truly be possible, given the correct circumstances.

A single tear slid down Andrei's face before he collected himself. He turned and tossed the torch into the wood pile and it immediately caught alight, the wood soaked in oils and kerosene and soon dancing with a billowing flame that stretched up toward the sky.

Andrei then reached toward his waist and slid a dagger from it's pouch at his belt. He approached a table erected at the clearing's edge, an altar fashioned by Nadya's hands. Strewn atop it were herbs and offerings, and a small chalice that had been in her family for generations on end. Inside of it was a small pool of crimson, offered from her own hand earlier in the day, before she again took charge of the care of Nicolai II. Nicolai then held his open palm over the chalice and with a deft flick of his wrist, slid the blade's edge over the rough skin and split it open just enough for a slim but steady stream of his own life force to drip down into the offering, blending his with the elderly Nadya's, making theirs one, and uniting their families in an official manner.

Nadya watched as Andrei gritted his teeth, but bore the pain of the self inflicted knife wound like a man would, and should. He then whipped a long strip of cloth from his belt and bound the wound. Slowly, Andrei turned around as Nadya walked across the clearing, joining him with the babe in her arms. Silently, Andrei marveled that at her age, she never seemed to tire of holding the babe in her arms. Perhaps she was stronger willed than he ever realized, or perhaps that was the personal strength of any woman who knew the love of being a mother. It was a mystery to him that would perhaps never be solved.

This was something he was loathe to do, but it was necessary as Nicolai II was of their clan too, a child of the couple of the deceased Guaril and his bride that had fallen at childbirth. An offering was to be made by each that yet lived, but both Nadya and Andrei knew it did not have to be blood. Neither wished to cut the child and give him any due harm in any fashion. Deep within their hearts, he was to be protected at any and all costs. Yet even this, what they would allow the child to give, gave them pause so as not to alarm him.

As Nadya held the boy, Andrei took a lock of his hair and before the child could react, Andrei cut it from his head, leaving the child none the wiser. Or so they thought, as the boy reached blindly toward the spot they had taken the small clump of hair from. This, too, Andrei dropped into the chalice before scooping it up into his hand by the long stem. Together with Nadya and Nicolai II, Andrei walked over to the now roaring bonfire with the 'sacrifice' in his two hands. This was the moment where they appeased their God, and remembered their loved ones.

The sun dipped even lower against the sky, blanketing it in colorful hues of oranges, purples, pinks and yellows. The moon could be seen rising to grace the night with its presence, and one by one, the stars twinkled in the ever darkening twilight that was rising steadily. Only then did they bring their heads up from their joined prayers of remembrance, and Andrei poured the offering into the flames of the bonfire. Sparks rose and the small wonders of light drifted high up into the sky, burning themselves out against the cool winds.

"Do they look down on us and think in loving memory?" Andrei asked in a coarse whisper.

Nadya looked over to the man that was growing to be not a grandson, but a true son of her heart in her own mind. Carefully cradling Nicolai II with one arm against her bosom, she reached over and ran her hand gently down Andrei's arm and replied in a soothing manner she had long thought forgotten.

"They do." She said. "They were graced with entrance through the gates of Saint Peter, and those who went before them gather in Heaven to watch over us."

She leaned in and gripped his arm tightly with a strength he knew not that she wielded, and she emphasized, "All of them."

He knew to whom she spoke of. He knew her words were meant to comfort, but deep down they rang hollow as neither of them knew of Nicolai's true fate, as he had vanished the same as the Pale One. yet, the thought was there as was the comfort her words offered. For that, he truly appreciated her as a matriarch and a mother figure.

He did not care that tears now flowed freely down his face. He was proud to mourn with love, and he smiled as he looked to her and he asked Nadya, "Did you give them their offerings?" He was referring to the special offerings, left for this night on the graves of their loved ones who just too recently fell in life.

"Offerings of milk and honey." She nodded. "And sweet biscuits." She brought her eyes off of Nicolai II and a twinkle in her eyes danced for Andrei as she added, "When I could get them from this one's hands."

Andrei could not help but bark in laughter. He shook his head and found himself admitting aloud, "He truly is named after the right one then, in that regard."

More moments passed and the bonfire slowly started to die down and as twilight reared its head, Andrei turned to Nadya and said, "I'll leave the final offering. Take him inside."

"I can..." She started to say but this time she saw not a son nor a grandson, but a man looking at her with solid eyes that showed strength.

"Take him inside." He said with finality, and she nodded in acceptance.

Andrei watched her walk back toward the home and close the door behind herself and the child. Only then did he follow along the same path, until he came to the edge of the home he had shared with his own family throughout the years. From the back of his wagon, he withdrew a flask of ale, and a basket of fruit. Both of these he set on the door step of the abode, and then he retreated and returned this time with a plate of oat cookies and a jar of fresh milk. These two he set on the front step. The fact was each of these treats was something that Nicolai had adored, and this was a night he would share them with whomever, or whatever, came through this way with pangs of hunger.

He looked around the clearing, and for many minutes more, he inspected the wards that Nadya had carved into wood and stone around their home for protection against the spirits and demons that would roam the world this night. Apples with laurel leaves set in their hearts were placed at five points around the clearing, the better to ward against evil and block its path.

Only when he had been satisfied, did Andrei finally walk to the porch of the homestead and open the door. he carefully stepped around the offerings and set foot inside.

With one final look into the night, he shut the door behind him, the whisper of a name on his lips, and the image of a loving memory firmly in his memories.</color>

"Would you please stop that pacing and sit yourself down?"

The witch goaded him as Brother Grimm paced the stone floor of this new, fresh setting that she had crafted for her own amusement. Her hut was in preparations for the holiday known as Halloween, and so this she thought would be amusing for herself, and yes, for him as well.

The stone fortifications of the ancient cathedral were falling apart at random intervals, exposing the infrastructure of the interior that glowed with an ethereal red light, almost light the glowing beat of a demon's heart -- if demon's had such things to begin with.

Her ever present rocking chair was by the fire lit in the hearth of the church, held together by will and magic. her features hidden as always in shade and shadow, while she watched Grimm walk around the structure, his hands clasped lightly behind his back as he contemplated many a thing.

He cast a sidelong glance at her and huffed, "Forgive me, but you have given me a great deal to think about over this coming evening."

"Oh please." She clucked her tongue as she picked up the knitting from the small table at the right of her chair. picking the knitting needles up with her weathered hands, she started to follow up on the project that seemed to go on without end. "Are you certain its this mortal holiday that has you so enraptured? perhaps it's the arrival of the Druids in your territory."

Grimm just paused to give her a withering glance and he scoffed without a verbal reply.

"True." She acknowledged. "Druids are not what they once were. Not that they ever were truly much, mind you. Yet to have them show on your doorstep forebodes something in the future works."

Grimm stopped his wandering and raised his knuckles to his black lips and shook his head. He said, "It would be their swan song if they thought themselves foolish enough to confront me in this day and age."

"I'm glad to hear you say that." She chuckled deeply in her breast. "Then perhaps you can look past such insects toward the one you have already scheduled to do combat with. This..."

"Jon Dough." Grimm finished for her. He shook his head in disgust and turned away from her and walked over toward one of the many crumbling openings of this ancient church of the Christian God and looked out into the night. He said, "Ridiculous. Ho a mortal man can forget who he is but hope to face me in open combat... it staggers the mind. Then again, this is the proper time of the year for human sacrifice."

He turned his back to the night and looked at her with a frown, "It is, is it not?"

"That has not been the case for an eon, my dear reaper." She answered. "Though since when have you ever paid heed to the changing of the times?"

To this statement he could but smile, and he nodded. "True." He said. "From what I gather, he sees himself as something of a trained warrior. I look forward to seeing what he might be capable of."

"Hmph." She shook her head. "The woman that stands at his side is the one to be concerned with. She, not he, is the true warrior of that clan. She is dangerous, mark my word."

"Pity it is then," He started to say with a tilt of the head and a knowing smile. "That I do not have you at my side to protect me."

"I am always at your side." she answered plainly. "Whether they be aware or not, I am always watching." Then her hands paused in her knitting and she said, "Perhaps then it is time that I venture out and join you on a little excursion."

"You?" Grimm's eyebrows rose and he laughed. "You wish to join me on a nightly haunt this Hallow's eve? Aw."

In an instant, his pale form was standing behind her rocking chair, having emerged from the shadows. He leaned in closely and whispered in her ear.

"I admit, I'm touched."</color>

"Jon Dough, a name that is as meaningless as the man behind it. I admit there are times where I am, as they say, lost in time given my recent imprisonment, but even I am aware that the name is linked to the names of the unknown or unwanted who have left the mortal coil."

"To that, I fear, you will find the name you have been coined with deftly appropriate. On the coming eve when you and I meet inside of the ring before the many, the eyes of your mortal brethren will watch you fall, and only at your bleakest will you find yourself realizing what it was that you have done, and what you attempted to do."

"You thought yourself capable of standing against the one that haunts the shadows in the closets of your children. You believed you could defeat the monster that lies in wait beneath the beds of the young, eager to grasp their feet as they set foot on the floor and drag them away to a fate that remains unknown to your kind."

"Only fool stand against me and believe they can emerge victorious in the long run. I was defeated once by warriors mightier than you by far, and even then all they could do was imprison me. They were Hunters. Even I must admit they were far above the mortal coil that you yourself languish in. You are not fit to wipe the refuse of animals from the soles of their feet. You are a man, and you are mortal, and like all who have attempted before you, you will fall to the will of the shadows of the night."

"You will fall to the Bogey Man."</color>
</size>

20
Climax Control Archives / Trick or Treat
« on: October 25, 2013, 10:52:42 PM »
 Las Vegas, Nevada - The Excalibur

Sometimes one can just tell the type of person someone is, simply by the way they carry themselves. It is especially true when you work with the public, and in such places of employment as the luxurious hotels along the famous Strip in Las Vegas, Nevada. Places like the Excalibur, one of the Strip's most renowned luxury hotels where most of the clientele are the rich and famous. Or at the very least, the reasonably well off.

Viktor Hemsworth, a top neuro surgeon, along with his family, his 'trophy wife', Amelia, and their two teenage daughters, Jennifer and Alicia, entered the lobby of the Excalibur with no less than four stewards pulling the family's luggage behind them. Just watching these people, one could tell that they lived comfortably with the surgeon's income, and they considered themselves relatively high above most others.

"Yes sir!" The female desk clerk greeted the family with the token perkiness that was to be expected.

"We have a reservation." The doctor stated simply, without so much as a greeting to acknowledge the woman standing behind the counter was anything more than human. "It's under the name Hemsworth."

The clerk started to type at her computer keyboard as the two teenagers grumbled, glancing around the lobby with indifference.

"This is so lame." Fourteen year old Alicia whined. "When you said we were going on vacation, I thought you meant we'd be going somewhere fun. Or at least remotely interesting!"

"You don't think Las Vegas can be interesting?" Their mother asked casually, slinging her Gucci purse over her shoulder and opened the compact she took from the inside of it to glance at her reflection for what had to be the fifth time since they had stepped out of their car in the valet parking area just outside.

"Psh!" Fifteen year old Jessica hissed. "Last year daddy took us to the Cayman Islands! Why couldn't we go there!?" She added with a piercing whine.

"Because for once I thought it'd be nice if we came somewhere your mother and I wanted to go." The doctor answered. "Instead of constantly going where you girls want to."

"So not fair!" Jessica pouted, folding her arms over her chest in a classic pout.

"Besides," Amelia stated, holding up a pamphlet. "There's plenty that you girls can do. You were complaining about not being able to dress up for Halloween and have some fun? Well tonight there's a costume contest and Trick or Treating in North Las Vegas."

"Well that's something I guess." Alicia shrugged her shoulders.

"Okay, Doctor Hemsworth." The clerk said, passing the keys to their hotel rooms over to his waiting hand. "Your rooms are on the tenth floor. Jarrold will show you to your rooms."

A young porter stepped up and after the doctor passed him the room keys, he personally escorted them across the lobby and toward the elevators...



"Really, madam."

Brother Grimm stated with a soft exhaling through his black lips as he stood up against the wooden mantle of the old-world fireplace in the ancient home of his 'benefactress'. He shook his head as he took a glance around and frowned in wonder at how the usual decor had changed from the motif of old wood that seemed at the ready to rot away any moment, and the stones covered in moss and decay.

It had been replaced by a means unknown to even him with one of a more 'mouth watering' nature, at least to the mortal palette. Walls fashioned with sweet cookie and hard candies, windows made not of glass but clear candy sugar, and all held together with not mortar or the like, but with the like of icings used on cakes and treats.

His top lip curled in a sneer of distaste at her new choice in holiday decor and he continued with his feedback on the more modern 'tale' told to him by the old woman for this time of year. He pulled his curious stare from the colorful candies embedded in the walls and back to the figure in the rocking chair, hidden in shadow.

He stated, "I admit that you have told me a great number of fanciful tales to explain the world during my time spent in that Void, but this?"

He smiled brightly, his dark lips pulled back to reveal perfectly white teeth, but a smile that could curdle milk despite its otherworldly beauty.

"Even this I find difficulty in believing." He said.

"I can't imagine why." She said from where she sat on a rocking chair, hidden in the shadows. The chair slowly creaked back and forth, as her aged hands worked the knitting needles, crafting her little project on her lap as the spool of yarn slowly grew smaller. "These people have always held some form of fascination with the macabre. They celebrate it, despite the fact that they hold such fear in their weak hearts. This has held true since before you were ever imprisoned."

"Tch." Grimm shook his head. "It has held true for as long back as I can remember, which given my age is a very long time indeed."

"Then why, might I ask, do you find this particular bit of fancy so difficult to comprehend?"

Grimm pushed himself up off of the mantle and stepped forward, stopping against the edge of the witch's table which was covered in cakes and pies and various other forms of sweet treats.

He said, "It's one thing to hold an interest in the shadows, perhaps even gain some form of thrill by attempting to brave what might lie within it, but children... walking the streets and begging strangers for sweets?"

He shook his head and cast his cold, amber eyes toward her and shook his head in faux disbelief. "Really."

"Yes, really." She answered back calmly enough as her knitting continued. "You know as well as I that all these little traditions the flock partakes in, held some tie to ages past. Carving their little pumpkins with frightening faces to guide the spirits of the dead. Wearing masks to hide from demons and ghosts. Lighting bonfires. All to make merry on their Halloween, or as we know it, Samhain."

"Samhain." Grimm smirked as he picked up a candied apple from the table. "I knew that one. The most over rated demon since Lucifer." He gave the candied apple a light whiff and scrunched up his face at what he considered a foul odor and quickly set it back down to its rightful place.

He continued, "If these sheep knew what truly lurked in their world on this night, they'd never leave their homes."

"They used to." She acknowledged begrudgingly. "Even we must admit that ages ago, mortals were wiser to the darkness around them. Now where they once cowered in fear, they stride in ignorance. They did more than believe ages ago. They knew, and that, perhaps, was their only true strength. Now?"

She paused long enough to glance toward the fireplace and almost immediately the logs inside of it sparked to life and a warm, dancing flame soon was sparking shadows along the wall. Only then did the rocking of her chair continue, and she did as well herself.

She said, "Now where they once had some spark of knowledge, they wallow in ignorance. When they once feared going out past dusk because they knew what lied in wait, they dare waltz down darkened alleys with the belief a stranger with a gun might be the only threat against them."

Grimm chuckled through pursed lips and walked along the side of the table, and he said, "I miss the old days. They provided us with more of a challenge. I almost regret the line of Hunters has almost died out."

"Almost." She said. "Yet not quite. There are yet a few mortals with a bit of knowledge who remain."

"Not enough for my tastes." Grimm said as he passed a candelabra and glided his finger tips along the dancing flames of the lit wicks. "If these people actually do send their children out in garish costumes to beg for sweets, then their ignorance has fallen to an even deeper level. Still..."

He then stood upright and with a smile, turned toward the door.

"And where might you be going?" She asked, pausing in both rocking and knitting.

"Out." Grimm answered simply. "If these fools have forgotten the old ways, then I will simply have to find my own ways to amuse myself." He stooped at the now open door and turned back with an inviting smile. "Care to join me?"

"Amusing as your talents are against them, I'll pass." She answered. "I have my own ways I enjoy celebrating."

"Suit yourself." Grimm said with a nod and he shut the door behind himself.



"Where are you two going dressed like that!?" Viktor asked, staring hard at his two daughters.

Alicia was dressed in a sexy demon's outfit, complete with bustier, mini skirt and net hose. Her sister, Jessica, was not that much better off as she was clad in an Elvira costume knock off. They looked at each others' outfit, confused, then looked at their father and shrugged.

"What?" Jessica stated. "I think we look great!"

Viktor turned to his wife and pointed at the girls. "And you have no problem with this?"

"Obviously!" Alicia snorted. "Considering mom bought us the outfits."

"Would you relax?" Amelia scolded her husband. "They'll be fine! The driver is taking them to North Vegas for the Trick or Treating and right back here." The mother looked at the two teenagers over the rim of her fashionable shades an raised her eyebrow. "Right?"

"Sure. Sure." Jessica waved her mother's concern off. "That won't exactly be the night we hoped for, but at least we'll get some candy out of it."

"Then we can come back here for the party in the lobby!" Alicia elbowed her sister gently in the arm and the two girls giggled and high-fived one another.

Their father just exhaled sharply and shook his head, saying, "Why do I even bother?"

"I don't know." Alicia said. "You should know by now we usually get out way."

"You girls head for the lobby so your father and I can see you off." Amelia stated. "I just need to change purses."

"Again!?" Viktor moaned but it did him little to no good as his wife disappeared out into the hall to head for the room she shared with her husband.

Amelia shut the door behind her and proceeded to open the dresser up and she stared at the two other top fashionable handbags that she had brought and with a brief pause, she selected the beaded one. Picking it up, she turned around and brought it and her full purse to the bedside and set them both down.

So focused was she on this task that she did not notice the shadowy figure behind the silken curtains over the window.

She emptied the contents of her Gucci purse onto the bed and then she proceeded to switch them over to her beaded purse, being extra careful not to forget anything such as her Diore perfumes or her makeup. She thought she had placed a silk handkerchief inside as well but it was not there. The amber eyes in the shadows watched her with amusement as she glanced around the room and discovered the aforementioned handkerchief all the way across the room, crumpled on the oak table by the window.

With a frown, and a muttered blame toward her daughters under her breath, Amelia walked over to the window and picked the accessory up and smoothed it out against her breasts. The light curtains fluttered up in the evening's breeze, and it glided against her arms, causing Amelia to start.

She turned around quickly and shook her head.

The window was closed tightly.

"Those girls have got me imagining things." She thought quietly to herself as she walked back to the bed and she folded the handkerchief and leaned over to place it in the handbag when she felt the warm sensation of someone's lips pressed close to her ear, but just enough to where they weren't touching. A breath was exhaled into her ear and what should have been a warm breath, was instead chilly.

She jumped up and turned around, but there was nobody there. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a shadow move across the mirror. She turned to look, and again, there was nothing.

She swallowed hard and slowly baked her way toward the door. It was all her imagination, wasn't it? She then looked toward the bed where the purses were, and she gasped as the outline of a body started to take form beneath the covers of the bed. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened and closed, while she blindly started to reach for the knob of the hotel room door. She finally took hold of it in her hands and she started to tug and to pull but it was sealed tight!

"Help!" She started to scream and she pounded on the door. "Let me out!"

She then pulled again but this time her hand slipped off of the knob and she stared at it in horror, as her hand was slicked with crimson! She started to shake and took a step back, almost tripping as she looked at the door which was leaking blood!

"HELP!"

Outside in the hallway, Jessica and Alicia met their father and he seemed annoyed.

"You girls seen your mother?" He asked.

"Uh, no?" Alicia said with the haughty attitude teenagers were prone to.

"Yeah, duh!" Jessica said. "She went to your guy's room for her purse, remember?"

"Apparently she didn't." Viktor said, jetting  thumb back towards his room door. "I was just in there and she's not there."

"So maybe she went down to the lobby." Alicia offered, though her tone of voice stated she either didn't believe it, or just didn't care. "Look, can we go?"

With a huff, Viktor led his two daughters towards the elevator...

Grimm leaned in close to the woman who was paralyzed with fear. He ran his fingers down against her cheek and whispered, "Trick or Treat."



In downtown Las Vegas, far away from the bright lights and casinos, there were normal neighborhoods with normal homes and families. Children of all ages were out and about this night, dressed in a wide array of colorful costumes, in everything from ghosts and pirates, to witches and elves. The time honored tradition of Trick or Treating was always a huge success in full neighborhoods such as these, and this night was no different.

A small group of children, ages ranging from six to twelve, friends and family in a huddle, gathered together at the end of the walk and looked into their bags.

"This was great!"

"Hey! I got a giant Snickers!"

"I got Pop Rocks! Cool!"

"Are we done? We can't be!"

"Yeah, it's still early!"

"Yeah but mom said we had to get you guys home by eight."

There was a collective gathering of moans and groans from the youngest in the group. Nobody ever wanted Trick or Treat to end until their bags were absolutely threatening to burst! And theirs were getting there!

"Come on! Just one more house?"

"Pleeease?"

The oldest, a brother perhaps, sighed. try as he might as an older sibling, he couldn't resist when his younger siblings ganged up on him like this.

"Fine!" He said. "But just one more house and then we go home."

"We can go to that one there."

The child pointed towards the modern home, two stories, at the end of the road. It looked quite pleasant with it's colorful Halloween decorations on the porch, walls and the lawn. The brother blinked. truth be told, he hadn't even noticed the house before, but it was as good as any for one final round of Trick or Treat.

So with a wave forward, the brother hurried after the gaggle of children as they rushed toward the house. they bounded up the walk, and onto the porch where one tiny fist knocked.

"Trick or Treat!"

The door opened and with a soft invitation from the grandmother type inside, the children entered to receive their treats.

And the door closed, revealing it to be a house crafted of candy and gingerbread ... in a foggy woodland setting.



"I am not one to waste time with words. I never have been. You should know me by now, to be the one that prefers to lurk in the dark and watch from the shadows while the people that I must cross paths with inside of the ring, waste time with words to their heart's content."

"This time is truly no different, but I thought I would take this moment to invite the soul who opposes me, Shane Spencer, to a very special celebration. A time of the year where the veil between worlds is at its thinnest, and spirits, demons, and everything in between, is free to roam this world without a care. Where the things that lurk in the closets of your children and what lies under the stairs, waiting for you to descend, have no defenses against."

"A time where I am at my strongest, and where victory is all but assured."

"This is my time, Shane Spencer. This is the time where the Darkness reigns supreme. The time where all fears of the soul are magnified and the creatures of the night are free to feast on bone and blood. How, poetic, is it not, that we draw so close to the holiday of All Hallow's Eve, and here you are, Shane, facing the Bogey Man Himself. Fighting the one being in existence that can not be fought. Fear is the one emotion that can not be conquered. No matter how mighty and valiant mortal man claims to be, the seed of fear will always have taken root deep within the darkest recesses of their souls."

"So shall it be with you, Shane. I commend the valor you boast, false as it is.</size>

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