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2

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

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.

4

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>

5

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."

6

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>

7

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>

8

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>

9

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...

10

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>

11

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>

12

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>

13

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>

14

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>

15

Climax Control Archives / Clan Dalca Journals

« on: August 30, 2013, 09:39:18 PM »

 Clan Dalca Journals
Act 2; Scene 1</color>

"Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
And if I die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take."</color>

"I am wondering if you are surprised to discover that the story of Clan Dalca did not yet come to an end with the defeat of the Beast. If you are as honest as I was at the time, you would admit to feeling such. The sad truth is that after the battle in which the Fell Beast had been defeated, I had sought only to bring a further end to my story, quite literally."</color>

The one remaining carriage, the only one left following the battle that cost many a gypsy hunter's life and destroyed what there had been to make their mark on the world, drew to a slow crawl as it rounded the level dirt path that would lead the only survivors to the cabin.

If they had just gazed skyward, they might have noticed that clouds of a dreary gray blotted out much of the heavens above for as far as the naked eye might see. There indeed was a light wind, but with the endless horizon above them coated in the unmoving, dismal clouds that just an hour ago, opened up and a mist of rain cascaded down, as if the Heavens themselves wept in mourning for the pain and loss experienced.

Mother Nature herself seemed as if she were gazing down at them and in deference to the tragedy that had just taken place, she had used the skies as her personal canvas to tell them she indeed felt their pain. On one side of the sky, the waning moon was still visible but descending to begin its cycle anew. The sun, also, was beginning to rise in the east, coloring the night sky in brighter colors of pinks, oranges and lighter shades of glorious blue. It would seem somehow appropriate, that on this eve where the light defeated the dark but suffered at great cost, that for this briefest of times, there was a night within a day. A proverbial battle in the heavens where the night itself had succumbed to defeat, yet still held the rising dawn at bay.

Yes, they were in fact victorious, but there would be no celebrations to commemorate this day, nor any day hence.

Andrei sat at the helm of the carriage, using what strength he had left within his body to guide the horses who were visibly spooked by what had occurred only mere hours ago. The very horses that would have bolted in stark terror had their leather restraints between their harnesses and the thick oak trees in the forest not prevented such an act. The remaining horses walked behind the carriage, tethered to the back with the forms of wrapped bodies draped over their backs with care and respect; the bodies of the fallen Romanovs. All save for the one. The one who had sacrificed himself to save Andrei himself, and the life of an innocent child.

Andrei had a haunted look cast within his eyes as he stared straight ahead at the road, unseeing of the horses before him, unknowing and uncaring of the two at his side. His body was strong. His mind even stronger, yet he had not been properly prepared for just what exactly was to come when the Clan had showed at his door with his friend and love to discuss plans to do battle with the enemy and end its threat once and for all.

He had not been as active a hunter as was his family before him. He met with and fought against random creatures of the shadows, and thus proved himself worthy of being his parents' son. Yet the previous night's battle was fought for vengeance within his heart than for anything else. He saw not an enemy of the world's young before him when he came face to face with the legendary 'bogey man' as it came to be known. He simply saw the killer of his family; his mother and father, uncles and aunts. Each last remaining member of his Clan gone because of the violent nature of this terror inducing beast.

And now it was gone. Locked away. Sealed against the void to prevent it from ever again making contact with the world around them and thereby threatening the many generations over the course of the following centuries.

As they neared his home, he cast a sidelong glance to his right and saw the only remaining member of the Romanov witches that set out by his side to do battle with the Pale One. The very elderly matriarch who performed the final exorcism that sealed 'it' away into the void and with it, spelled Nicolai's impending doom. He hated her for that. Oh he knew that deep down, there really was no other alternative. Nicolai had risked everything to save the babe and buy them time to defeat the shadow. Had Nadya not done what was needed, then the Beast would have escaped, and Nicolai's sacrifice would have been for nothing. the entire clan's sacrifice would have been for nothing.

He could not fault her for that, try as he might. They all knew the risks that came with that night before they had even set out to do battle. Andrei carefully looked, but Nadya's eyes remained solely ahead of her and she paid him little mind. He was angry at her. Yes, he hated her right now, but he also could not imagine the sheer magnitude of pain the older woman must be going through here and now. Her face was stoic, unyielding, yet the pain was there in her eyes. The eyes were the windows to the soul, and his heart ached to realize that with the exception of this child, this baby, all this elder knew was lost to her.

Yet, she was not the only survivor. Merely her clan's only remaining adult. Andrei's eyes shifted only slightly to the old woman's lap where the babe rested, curled up in her arms with his eyes closed. The very boy child that Nicolai kept from the demon's embrace, and whom Andrei himself dove into the burning ring of Holy Fire itself to save from its clutches and prevent him from suffering the same fate as he feared Nicolai had taken unto himself.

The wagon had crept to a slow stop, and after he himself had descended to the ground before his home, he walked around and assisted Nadya to her feet below while she still held the babe tightly against her bosom. He offered to take the boy, but she resisted. He could not fault her that, as she yet had the instinct of a mother in her heart and this boy was the only family she had left. It was only natural that she would cling to him as tightly as she may.

Knowing there was a tradition of their particular clan that she wished to uphold, Andrei had Nadya carry the boy into his home where she could set him down in his own bed to sleep his fears away. While she did this, he set himself to the grim task of removing the bodies of her family from the back of the wagon and off the backs of the few remaining horses, one at a time. It was hard work. Distressing, really, but it had to be done. They deserved this honor at least.

The honor of having their bodies greet the morning sun as it rose to its peak across the horizon.

The tip of the hill beyond his home was large, and he made certain to take the time to set each still form carefully down, each one beside their own. Laid out in a single row to mark their time spent on this earth as one, and now to accompany each other in the last leg of their final journey to the Pearly Gates.

Once this was done, he slowly unwrapped their bodies from the blankets and sheets they had been secured within so they could be seen by the angels above in all of their brave glory; man and woman alike. Young and old. Andrei almost choked back a sob as he looked at the face of the boy who was so close to becoming a man, the young Pesha who was as brave as any other.

Too young a loss.

It was then that the door to his homestead opened and Nadya calmly stepped outside, carrying a bucket of steaming water in one hand and a cloth with the other. Andrei had offered to do this last remaining task for her before the night came, but she would not hear of it. These were her family members, and she would be the one to bathe their bodies in preparation for their final rites. The only one to do so.

So he waited.

Night came soon enough. Andrei spent the time while Nadya went about her task by watching the boy child, and bringing out every bit of wood he had in storage that was dry and what he did not have, he went into the woods with a heavy heart and an axe in hand and collected what was needed yet. This was yet another manner in which his heart ached for Nicolai, as this was a task he had always gladly deferred to him.

The pyres had been built up off of the ground carefully, the wood soaked in oil and each body laid out atop their respective funeral arrangement. Andrei had suggested a change of clothes for each but Nadya resisted, wishing that each member rise to Heaven bearing the same attire they did their final battle in. So he stood back with the babe in his own strong, awkward arms as Nadya carried the torch to each pyre in turn, and lowered the dancing flames to the oil soaked wood. They then stood back as the flames grew higher and brighter, and the passing of this clan's members was made final.

They fought when they did not have to. They braved the darkest specter of fear itself to make the world a better place and to aid in his own quest for vengeance. They showed courage in their souls when this night, fear ruled their hearts.

Nicolai ...
Pesha ...
Tamas ...
Jaelle ...
Guaril ...
Mirela ...
Yoska ...
Drina ...

Only then did Nadya finally lose her composure and she wept bitter tears as the helpless Andrei could only watch and shift one arm around the old woman's shoulders to give her what little comforts he may. It was a testament to her inner pain that she accepted this. Even the babe seemed to sense her distress as his tiny fingers found themselves running through her thick, gray hair in a soothing gesture.

After many hours, the flames of the pyres finally died down and flickered out of existence. Only then did the two adults, and the single child, turn away and head back to the cabin. Despite her resistance, Andrei had insisted she remain with him, making his house her own. His gift of thanks, to give the matriarch a new family to love and cherish; a new grandson. Himself.

The rising sun would see their bodies once again, and only then could the remains be buried with due honor.

Nadya had her closure at the loss of her clan, her kin. Family and friends alike. She knew in her heart that their noble sacrifice would see them to the Gates of Saint Peter. they would be welcomed into the angelic fold with warm and open arms.

But Andrei? Not so much. He did not have the same beliefs as she, but more importantly, he did not have the same sense of closure that she did. No sense of satisfaction at the confident knowing of the fate of your loved one's soul. Andrei knew in his heart that he would spend the remainder of his existence wondering -- worrying -- for the fate of Nicolai's soul. When the Holy Fire had finally died down, the Pale One's shadow was gone, but so was Andrei.

So many times in years past when his family was yet still alive, would his mother and father draw comparisons between Andrei himself and Nicolai, with another famed pairing of brothers and warriors, lovers and dearest of friends, the Greek tragic pairing of Achilles and Patroclus.

He did not get to wash his dear friend's body. He was not allowed to set Nicolai's body before the rising of the sun in full honor so the angels and God Almighty could see him honoured above all others. All he could do, and would do, was fear and wonder. What then did Andrei have to show for all that had been stolen away yet freely given?

Andrei was seated at the table in his home's main living room where the clan's meeting had been held only two nights ago. He had been unable to sleep, plagued by nightmares where shadows crept from beneath his bed, and Nicolai's voice cried out to him in feat and pain.

Indeed, what did he have to show after this Hell on earth?

He flinched, surprised by the babe's fingers that touched his bare leg. He had not even known the child had roused himself up from the bed where Nadya held him and slept herself. The babe looked toward him with blind eyes and held out his tiny hands in an obvious desire, pleading. He worked his mouth but the only sound that came forth was a strained 'croaking' sound and the tears welled immediately up in Andrei's eyes as he reached down and picked the boy up into his arms to hold and to comfort him, or perhaps the boy was doing that for him.

What did he have? Apparently, a new family.</color>

His cold, amber gold eyes watched from the shadows of the island, unseen across the ocean's waters. There were legends of a lost track of land in the dark waters that might be seen only through a passing glance by the corner of your eye, yet if you turned to look and focused, it would no longer be there. It would be here that he would pass the time in Her company until his scheduled encounter against the ever-so-loving couple of Spike Staggs and Vixen would come to play. After that, who knew? He had come to expect the unexpected where Her power was concerned.

No, he was not on the actual location of Aruba, but somewhere else. Somewhere close enough to be able to gaze to the tropical location and witness the night life of the people along the shores as they celebrated the life they spent so freely and without a care. He had little doubt that many were the bleating lambs who called themselves fans of Sin City Wrestling, and the flock of wrestlers who they foolishly worshipped as false idols.

He toyed briefly with the fanciful thought of what those fools would do if he had arrived on that very same location and walked amongst them. The fear that would rise in their hearts. The panic that it might entail. The sheer curiosity of his presence by the few who could brave the sight and experience of his being. The idea was quickly cast aside and he set foot on the black sands of this haunted beach and he simply watched, a faux sense of annoyance on his cold facial features.

He knew She approached. Skilled and powerful though she might be, and tethered as he was, he was still a force of nature and could sense her by spirit alone. The scent of brimstone wafted through the air, the ragged cloak around her shoulders gently whipping in the warm, salty winds.

"Yes?" He asked without hesitation, knowing She wanted something. She always wanted something.

"This encounter will not be like any other you've been in." She observed. "To be paired with a male is one thing. A female, another thing entirely. It presents a unique situation when you find yourselves against the very same."

"Are you concerned for me?" The smile on his black lips could have spoiled milk, despite the charm of his pearl white teeth. "I am truly touched."

"You jest." She said calmly. "I was not referring to your opposition, but to your partner. The infidel." She turned to glance at him. "The betrayer."

"The Death Goddess is not of your concern." Grimm stated simply as he stared out into the dark nothingness. The wind whipped his waist length, white hair around and he shook his head. "She is mine. I admit I was sorely ... disappointed, in her defection to the other side. After all she and I had experienced, I had expected better of her. One way or another, she and I will have words."

"And you believe that will accomplish anything? She is quite strong willed."

"That she is." Grimm nodded. "Yet I am stronger. Never doubt that. I will bring her to her senses, whether she is open to the notion or not."

The two fell into silence as She looked out across the waters, following his own gaze toward the tropical paradise so near and yet so far away.

"Does he speak to you?" She finally asked him.

Grimm turned his head only slightly so that he could look down at Her. Most would have flinched by his haunting gaze, but not Her. This witch seemed to be unique in that regard. She returned his look with her own cool gaze from even colder gray eyes that had seen much sin, and was the source of far more.

"Does he cry out in sweet agony?" She reiterated. "The one you stole?"

"I am well aware of what you mean." Brother Grimm stated as he turned back away from her to look out over the brackish waters of the dim shore. And yes. From the moment he was taken, his soul has been mine."

Grimm smiled and looked out toward the beaches of Aruba, and if one might have sought to look, they might have seen the reflection of a screaming young man deep within his eyes.</color>

"I admit that even one such as I can enjoy a rare treat when I get to experience something unique. Something that I have never before been privileged to experience. Now you must understand that after so many eons, after being born of the Stygian shadows, there is very little that I can say that I have not experienced in one form or another. Yet this time I must admit, this upcoming encounter will be altogether new, even for one such as I."

"To be teamed with not just a female, but the very denizen of the unholy dead herself, Necra Octavian Kane. Oh my dearest Necra, how sorely disappointed I have been in you as of late. How much you disappoint those that have watched you over the years, flesh and blood and some not even of the mortal coil. God and demon, and those few that are above even that. Do not believe yourself capable of opposing me before, during or dare I infer, after we have our time. I am older than you, child -- by far. We will have words, dearest Necra, but first we have a small task before us. One in which I do not intend to fall aside against."

"Now while you oppose this Vixen, I have other matters to attend to; namely the former king of the proverbial mountain himself in Spike Staggs. Oh how glorious a career you have had over the years. How bitter sweet your very existence has been here within our own SCW. Your Heavyweight Championship reign in our own territory, and those two World heavyweight reigns you had elsewhere. It speaks much of you, Spike. It speaks that you are a fierce fighter. You brave the opposition and give it your all to walk away with mind and body intact and victory in your heart."

"What all of that means is that it makes me want to simply break you even more. To snap your fighting spirit like the most fragile of twigs off of a dead tree. to see that brave light that was kindled for so long in your heart flicker away and die, and watch in delight as you writhe in the sweetest agony of fear and despair."

"Your body will be ruined, as your spirit will be left to dust, to be simply blown away in the harsh winds. Your loved one, your partner, will have nothing left. And your children? Well, perhaps it is time you told them the truth. That the monster in their closets is not a figment of their youthful imaginations."</color></size>

16

Climax Control Archives / Games

« on: August 02, 2013, 09:18:58 PM »

 <img align=left src= "http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v428/CMFrank04/Grimmavi_zps706bddc2.jpg">"Kain."

"A strong name. Powerful, yet simple. Meant, I am sure, to instill a lingering sense of fear and respect. Foreboding. I can respect that in a sense. Of course, it does not hold the same essence of my own, but then what name would?"

"What is my true name? You will forgive me if I choose not indulge you in that one secret I prefer kept well hidden. You see, names are indeed far more powerful things than any might give credit toward. If you know the name, the true name, of any one thing, then you would have a powerful influence over that one thing. In my entire existence, only two have ever learned of my name. One was an enemy of years past. The other was something of an ally that only too recently liberated me from a centuries long banishment."

"What?" You didn't truly think my name was Brother Grimm, did you?"</color>

It is amazing how when people think of the setting of this ages old tale, they picture a forest or some lush setting, when the truth was in fact the complete opposite.

The wind blew over the harsh desert land, sending the billions upon billions of sand grains scattering across the horizon, forming fresh new dunes as far as the eye could see. This land was not land at all, but a harsh desert with an even harsher lesson in life. A lesson thrust upon the two brothers for the sins committed by their own father and mother. Children, punished in a sense, by the acts of those that gave them life.

And yet they were to be honored above all others.

The older of the two brothers leaned back against a small rock and sought solace while the fire burned away the chills of the night. Greenery was few and far between in this ocean of heat and sand. Yet his younger brother walked the hard miles each day to the lone set of oasis to care for his flock and return with water for he and their parents.

It troubled him to see the praise heaped upon his younger brother when he should be honored over him by right of birth. It was not as if he too did not work to give back to the Lord as well as his father and mother. There was one other oasis, not far from where they rested now after a long day's tiring work. There he cultivated and grew food from the land and provided it to help keep them all well fed.

Yet still, despite his hardest efforts, his efforts were glossed over in favor of that of his younger sibling's. It was if his parents believed Abel worked harder than he, simply because he also cared for the animals provided them by their Lord Jehovah.

It angered him, and that anger slowly grew into a festering wound.</color>

"You see, I remember so many years ago, eons really, when I knew another mortal by the same name yet spelled differently. He was amongst the first of what would soon become many. The first that I enjoyed observing through the shadows before I developed the fondness for playing with the fates of children, driving them to the brink of madness through their own fears. Or simply taking them from their beds into the twilight. Some of a more kindred nature have asked me every so often what becomes of those that I take. Of course, I never do tell. Part of the mystique of the night is the nature of it's very mystery."

"It makes me look forward to this match all the more, you see. For such a simple thing as a given name can trigger powerful memories of times thought lost so very long ago. It is an unfortunate circumstance when you are dealing with a thing such as myself who has been alive for as long as I have."

"Well, perhaps 'alive' is not quite the word that I should be using when I am addressing myself. It implies a thing of mortality when I am more so a living embodiment of the most primal of sensations. But I digress..."

"Of course, I never truly forget. I remember everything. Sometimes I simply ... misplace, something from so long ago and I get nostalgic for those more magical of moments. You see Kain, I so look forward to dealing with you in the most exquisite ways imaginable. And the best part is that neither of us will be aware of what circumstances our encounter is to be under."

"I do so enjoy the sweet mysteries of the unknown, don't you? We could be doing battle in a ring where the ropes were replaced by razor sharp barbed wire. We could be in the center of an inferno where oil soaked rags are on the ropes and lit afire, ready and waiting for the searing pain of the fire meeting our flesh. It's all determined in a simple game of chance, and I have to admit that I have always had a fondness for games. I played them to entice those I wished to lure to my embrace. I have also used them to torture and to torment. Just for fun."</color>

The older brother watched as his younger brother waked up to the dais in the clearing of sand and stone. It was a custom for them and their parents to visit this strange yet revered location on the seventh day of the week when they did nothing else but rest. It was simply their way.

He had himself already given his gift to the Lord, a bounty of the finest fruits and plants he cultivated from his spot of land. he was pleased with what he could bring, but he did not feel as if their Creator was anything even remotely as well enthused towards the gift. No, that praise and thanks was again reserved for his younger sibling, and for what?

An animal; a small fawn, and of all things, the fat from the meat they ate only just last evening! An animal that would not even be old enough to kill for food or clothes, and fat! And his Lord loved it! He heaped praise upon Abel as did their father and mother! And he watched his younger brother's face and a burning heat had started to chip away inside of his heart, and it's focal point was that face. The face of his brother who appeared humble and misplaced with this praise, but Cain knew otherwise. He could just imagine the gloating within Abel's heart and soul, rubbing it forever and again.

"I understand." I can remember whispering in his ear as he slept beneath the stars. "To have felt the love of your parents and Lord for those sweet years before the birth of your brother, only to watch it slowly bleed away."

Times were indeed tougher back then, even for one such as the Dweller of Shadow. There were only a meager handful of mortals to play with, and that damned Higher Power kept a far closer watch on them than He has deigned to do in the last millennium or so. Perhaps he had grown bored with the lack of evolution. Who knows? Yet even such a power did not, or could not, bring a halt to nature's course -- and this was within fear's nature. To grip at the most primal fear one holds in the heart and soul and nurture it until it consumes the target.

"A pity then that times could not be such as they once had been." He said with soft, soothing tones, running his pale, chalk white fingers along the deep toned flesh of Cain without disturbing his sleep. "Times before he had been borne into this world. I am certain that you recall that time, and what it had been like for your beloved mother."

He leaned ever so closer and whispered in the man's ear, his black lips nearly brushing against his skin as he did so.

"The pain he caused your mother. The tears she wept. The blood she suffered in loss. And all because of him. And yet he is the one you fear most at losing their love to."

The specter slipped away, with one final word...

"Pity."</color>

"What is it that you fear Kain? And do please not answer with the usual reply of 'nothing' that your fellow man dallies with. For one, it is such a dull answer to such an honest question. And two, you do not appear to be the type prone to telling such blatant fabrications."

"Yes, you know the truth, don't you? You know that there is not a mortal that walks amongst us that has not even the smallest seed of fear in the pit of his heart. It's simply the nature of the beast to be wary of what walks the night. To be on guard and jump at that one noise, perhaps the snapping of a twig on a nature walk or the sound of footsteps behind you as you walk a city street, all alone and late at night."

"Perhaps you fear what all mortals in this game of competitive wrestling fears; to be forgotten. You think with one more loss, the faith of those whose eyes are upon you will be diminished, and they will begin to lose their care. You believe a taint on your record from one such as myself will spell impending doom for your glory as a champion, and will herald your own downfall. The fear that once what you have is no longer your own to claim, you will be pushed aside. Lost. Forgotten."

"Or perhaps, in your case, it could be that lovely bride of yours? The fear of losing her by chance or fate? The fear that something even so simple as a car ride across town could spell her end. Perhaps you fear that one day, perhaps sooner than you know, you will find she is expecting ... and then you remember me."

"You remember that I am there, watching and waiting. You fear that I take such delight in such circumstances and you wonder, perhaps late at night when you hear that child crying ... could it be...?"</color>

"Why do we need to go here, brother?" The younger sibling asked in confusion as the older of the two led him by the arm into the heart of the oasis the younger tended his flock within. "It is almost eve and Mother and father will be expecting us for the evening prayers."

"I have something I wish to show you. To share." The older brother turned and smiled at his brother, and for some unexplained reason, that smile sent a chill down the spine of the younger of the pair. Cain stated, "A surprise."

Abel could not explain it, as the emotion was something so alien to him. A sense of ... warning, that seemed to emanate from inside his very being. A foreboding sense that made him want to run, but this was his own brother. If he was not safe with his own flesh and blood, where else could he be? Perhaps if he had paid close enough attention, and simply turned his head to notice the amber eyes watching from the night's deepest shadows, he would have listened to what his soul was screaming in warning, and fled.

Such was not the tale of history. Such was not the story of Cain and Abel.</color>

"Am I my brother's keeper?"

"Ah, I still find the most poisonous amusement at that line. Perhaps one of my favorite ever uttered by a mortal, and to the face of one Almighty! Such impertinence! And all in the name of a game played ever so long ago. A game that ended with such consequences for more than merely humanity. Blood was spilled for the very first time, and it was not even I who suffered the blame."

"The Devil made me do it?"

"Please. Whom do you think instilled the fear into the hart of that one lone angel that he was losing his Father's love to a fresh batch of mud monkeys?"

"So then tell me; Do you like games, Kain? It has been awhile since I've visited a young one in order to play, so I hope you will indulge me. I tend to favor them myself ... and I feel like playing."</color></size>

17

Climax Control Archives / Children's tales

« on: June 07, 2013, 04:07:22 PM »

 "This tale of woe and darkness true,
Is one to serve as a warning to you.
To beware the shadows and what lies within,
Prepared or not, allow us to begin."

"In times of darkness when the plague had spread,
The streets were littered with the bodies of dead
Yet plague and pain were the least things to fear,
They knew in their hearts that death was near"

"The twilight had arisen, the winds grew strong,
Those in the village knew that something was wrong.
The doors were locked with the utmost of care,
They knew in their hearts that they had best beware."

"The heavens above danced with lightning and thunder,
Filling the hearts with an ominous wonder.
For the hearts and the minds knew these were the nights,
When the warnings pf children were not just mere frights."

"Down the path our feet will now tread,
And with each new step a feeling of dread,
Would corrode the soul and harden the heart,
And hasten the desire to thus depart."

"Death and decay has corrupted this place,
And those alive and healthy were but a mere trace.
They avoided their kin and hid behind walls,
Ignoring the pleading and begging and calls."

"'Throw out your dead!' The officials would cry.
And move to the next where the dead would there lie.
Yet one home remained untouched by Black Death,
And whom could still draw a live breath."

"A home that was warm and further from the rest,
Where the family protected each to their utmost best.
They swore that soon they would leave this foul place,
By morning their existence would show no true trace."

"For they made a deal with a soul that was most dark,
And now they reneged and a new home they would embark.
For they knew not what deed they had pledged,
To remain untouched the councils had alleged."

"`Twas not natural!' The town leaders would cry.
That these good people alone would not suffer nor die.
For why should they alone be free of this curse?
To lie there in torment to decay or far worse."

"A pact had been made, but with whom they would not say.
The priests begged them to repent and give unto the Lord pray.
For now the shadows roamed everywhere they could see,
And the elders knew that if they could, they must flee."

"For the tithe must be collected, when a pact had been made.
And to betray the Pale One, you had best be afraid.
For fear was the key he held over in sway,
It was true in the beginning and thus to this day."

"They watched through closed shutters, as his visage passed their street,
His amber gaze turned toward them yet known could they meet.
They warned their young if they were wrong he would arise,
And now that he had, they could not believe their eyes."

"For in shadows he lurked, in closets he came,
The sense of his being one that they could not name.
For their legends were old and their tales debased.
A sad but true fact that their faith was misplaced."

"For no god would protect this family from he,
To back out or escape there was no chance to be set free.
A deal had been struck and payment was now due.
There was no escape, this family they now knew."

"For he usually crept in shadow and secrets from eyes,
But now out in the open he walked with head high.
He watched the lights flicker, he knew they would hide.
And that sinister smile parted his black lips wide."

"His feet splashed puddles caked with mud and sick gore,
And further he walked until he approached their front door.
Knock he did not, for him there was no need,
For smart as they were, their own precautions they did not heed."

"He could be kept out, oh yes there were ways,
But those secrets seemed lost in this age and these days.
He looked at the windows where he saw the fire's glow,
And savored this moment, enjoying the macabre show."

"They knew he was there, and yet they continued to pray,
Thinking the cost could somehow be delayed.
The family cat sensed him, it's fur bristled and it hissed,
His presence not one that could be easily missed."

"When he wanted to be seen, there was no mistake,
That his very aura would make you tremble and shake.
They lowered the lights as if that would give them a chance,
Yet it excited him more and he made to advance."

"Across the wooden porch their home he would breach,
His nails against the window, an ear splitting screech.
He heard their shrill cries, it was music to his ears,
To feed on their panic, the hopelessness, their fears."

"A pity the payment was too young to conceive,
That their time on this earth would soon end on this eve.
He reached into his shadows and out from the dark black,
He withdrew what they feared, the ominous burlap sack."

"Around to the back did intrude this dark scourge,
And from the shadows of a nursery did the dark one emerge.
His flesh as pale of the moon's soft light,
The only luminescence in this most ominous night."

"For all their forebodings, the parents ignored doom,
For their youngest, a babe, was asleep in the room.
The scent on young flesh was intoxicating and he leered.
Yet what he did to these bodies was unknown but yet feared."

"Only too late did the parents know the plight,
And the sounds of their screams could be heard through the night.
For soon they rushed in, ignored their cries for aid.
Their babe, their youngest -- gone -- payment had been made."

"And now in this age, at this unfortunate hour,
This Pale One again has been summoned by power.
To do battle with a victim, one that he stalks,
A man in a boy's body, James Huntington-Hawkes."

"A sacrifice to She who set free from a void,
An innocent life he would soon see destroyed.
For a taste of this flesh was a desire she craved,
And a soul for eternity that would soon be enslaved."

"Think not against he you will be able to defend,
Your attempts at salvation have met a dead end.
Pleas of mercy, they are foreign to him,
Beware 'Brat prince' for the One known as Grimm."</color></size>

18

Climax Control Archives / Clan Dalca Journals

« on: May 24, 2013, 07:17:15 PM »

 Clan Dalca Journals
Act 1; Scene 3

*************************

"For as long as the human race has been plagued by Those That Dwell Within the Darkness, there have been the Hunters that have been the main enemy of the scourge against those ignorant of what lies within the shadows."

"What is a Hunter, one might ask. For as long as mankind has been haunted by the shadows and that which dwells within, there have been Hunters. Hunters are almost always male, but I must admit to surprise when I have discovered one to be female. I will not insult the so-called 'softer' gender by stating they should not be out where it is most dangerous, hunting all manner of demons and beasts that would feast on their bodies as well as their souls. I have come to understand that the female of the species is by far more deadly than the male, and the few women I have come to know as Hunters have been among the most effective against the Night."

"While men have long been the muscle of the Darkness's antagonists, it was by no means an indication that women did not do their part. No. Women have since the very beginning been the ones that collected the most vital bits of knowledge to use against our vast number of enemies. Find for me the most valued collective works that a Hunter uses, grimoires and the like, and I can almost assure you that it was put to pen by a woman's hands. It was simply the way of things, although on rare occasion, a woman would take to the field when need be in order to lend assistance to bring down an intended target."

"I came to understand that in many cases, women who actively served against the Shadows were often by far the more ruthless enemies of whom threatened mankind."</color>

**********************

"Y-you can't be serious."

Andrei choked on the words as the plan of the Romanis seated around the table had been made clear to him. He had known that whatever the strategy was that these thirteen men and women -- gypsies, witches, -- would have for their enemy, it would be unpleasant. He had known that in order to defeat the beast, they would have to think like a beast. Perhaps, even act like one. Yet to know now what their intent was in order to spring their trap made the blood within his young body run ice cold through his veins.

He glanced to his immediate right, at his 'brother at arms' and secretly, his admitted lover.

"Nicolai." Andrei hissed. "They are not serious. Please tell me that they do not intend to sacrifice a-a child!"

Of course, before Nicolai could deign to answer Andrei's querie, the diminutive form seated across from him answered with a hot tone to her voice, one that almost seemed to match the withered appearance of her aged facial features.

"Of course we will not be sacrificing a child!" Nadya, the matriarch of this coven stated with a hot, almost acidic tone. "And for you to even insinuate such a thing insults...

"Madam Nadya, please." Nicolai held up his hand to forestall any further disturbance into this night. "I am certain that Andrei here had merely meant to say..."

"Andrei said what he had meant to say." The aforementioned host stated, looking away from Nicolai to stare down the elder. Admittedly, it was not such an easy thing to accomplish. The woman's icy gaze was quite unnerving.

Nicolai sighed and reached up to rub at his left temple with his hand while the rest of the matron's clan sat around the hut, either unable or unwilling to intervene in this small dispute. They laid great support to the beliefs of what was proper for a table guest to do and not do with their host involved, and perhaps to their beliefs, a heated debate with said host was seen as something akin to an insult; to their own honor as well as that of the one who gave hem shelter and fed them.

Andrei continued to withstand the matriarch's withering glare and he threw down the gauntlet, "You actually intend to use a child as bait for that abomination! To lure it in so that you may attempt to dispose of it!"

"Not attempt." Pesha, a young Romany male that was smaller in stature than the other members of his family. His height did not detract from his level of confidence as he stated with certainty, "We will succeed. We will trap 'El care umblă umbre' and it will haunt our children no more."

"A task I would think you would appreciate." Nadya added, her bitterness at the perceived insult not forgotten. "I have heard tales of your own personal losses at it's hands. You were powerless, alone. Yet in numbers, empowered, we will rise above the night and bring light to the memories of those lost."

Andrei stared hard at her. Strong as his will was, he had little alternative but to admit (to himself), that this old woman had him most unnerved. Still, this was his home, and he would not be seen as weak before these gypsy 'witches' behind walls that were his home.

"Still..." He said. "A child..."

"It is the only way." Nicolai said in a hushed whisper, resting a hand on his friend's forearm. "You know as we all do, that the creature comes after only the young."

"And the innocent." Another female gypsy said.

"It will come for the child." Nadya said determinedly, and shook her head. "But it will not get near him."

"How do you know?" Andrei asked acidly.

"Because..." Pesha answered. "We know how to entrap a shadow."</color>

---

"I understand that congratulations are in order."

Her voice was strong and gave the entity known as Brother Grimm to pause from his curious seeking in her little hut and turn around to gaze upon her as she rocked back and forth in her ancient rocking chair, tucked away in the shadows. The only thing of substance that the shadows did not hide from view was the knitting in her lap that she was currently indulging in.

"You 'understand'?" Grimm repeated in soft but respectful tones. It was almost uncanny how a being such as he that was powerful and oh so feared throughout the ages, could have a voice so eloquent and almost -- charming. He continued, "I do so enjoy your play on words. It is almost as if you would have me believe that you haven't been watching my every move ... out there."

"Perhaps." She chuckled, a sonority that seemed a raspy noise to the ears. She paused in her knitting and raised one of her knitting needles and directed it's point towards the hearth of her hut and the soot stained logs buried in the furnace sprung to life. The contents within the kettle that hung over the flames started to boil almost immediately.

She then resumed her knitting and continued speaking to Brother Grimm and she asked, "Will you stay for supper or do you plan to go out hunting again?"

Grimm turned around toward the furnace and leaned over slightly at the waist, his hands still clasped behind his back, and he gave it a light whiff. He stood upright, his eyes remained on the 'stew' but his words were directed toward her,

"Young ... tender..." He turned around and smirked. "You found yourself a wayward urchin?"

"It is disturbing just how easily their mothers and fathers lose track of them in this day and age." She said. "There was a time when the parents would take strong precautions with their young. Now it would seem they simply look the other way so long as they are not inconvenienced."

"All the better to fill your stew pot." Grimm smiled genuinely.

"Indeed." She agreed. "Plus I had hoped that you would return soon so we might discuss how things are progressing 'out there'. I do so enjoy keeping an eye on my... investment."

At this choice of word, Grimm stopped and almost froze at being regarded as an 'investment' by any mortal, no matter what their intentions or level of true power. His arms uncrossed from over his chest and he extended his hands behind his back where his fingers interlocked together and he simply waited.

The 'woman in shadow' then started to rock again and her voice was filled with amusement as she said, "Calm yourself, now. No ill meaning was intended."

"Then what was, pray tell?" Grimm asked.

"I just so happened to invest much in assisting you to gain your freedom." She replied. "Much time and even more power. It's that reason alone I have yet to be able to venture out again. I've had to rest, and recover."

"Ohhh..." Grimm shook his head and gave a most forlorn expression on his pale face, clucking his tongue. "And all for my benefit. To what do I owe such attention?"

For a moment, the aged hands knitting this most unique of garments came to a halt. The rocking chair stopped all movement and the two simply stared into one another's eyes. Neither would yield to the other until she resumed her idle actions and went on with her reasoning.

"Exactly as you have been." She said. "Your successes have been payment enough. Personally, I would have preferred you succeed strictly on your own, but this pairing you've discovered yourself in has been most beneficial."

Brother Grimm shrugged his shoulder indifferently and said, "Goth is unlike the others. He is different ... unique."

"Not altogether a bad thing when one is discussing mortality."

"True." Grimm acknowledged. "Yet I doubt there is such a thing residing inside that soul of his. If he indeed has one, it is darkened ... tainted. He is stronger of mind than so many that I have watched over time."

"And the two of you are paired together again?" She asked.

"Mm." Grimm murmured. "Yes. He and I were set to defend these worthless belts last week but those in power opted to delay the proceedings and reschedule a fresh encounter for this coming week."

"Worthless? Those that have held them before and seek to take them from your grasp would not accuse them of being such a trite."

Grimm scoffed, casting a look aside before he responded, "Those that would have so little to call their own they would actually need something as minuscule as a decorated piece of leather to vault their prestige in the eyes of others. If that is their heart's desire, then let them come. It's all a game to me."

"You do so love your games." She mused with a whimsical melody to her voice.

---

"I always have enjoyed my games, yes. When one has been around for as long as I have, you seek new ways to amuse yourself and to pass the time. Over the course of centuries, tedious boredom does become something of a bother to even one such as me, but you learn to adapt or else you would fall prey to those that sought to undo all that you are."

"I made that one little slip so very long ago where I became imprisoned. It gave me time to think, and to decide. It made me determined that such an atrocity would not happen to me, ever again. And most assuredly not when Goth and I set foot inside of the ring to do battle with those that seek to relieve us of our possessions."

"Casey Williams, he who would fancy himself something of a giant."

**chuckles**

"Casey, I have known many a giant since the dawn of time, and if you are to be known as one, then you would be considered something of a runt. While your stature is grander than most that walk this earth, you are by far not the threat that you think yourself as. Walk the darkest of paths, Casey. Take a stroll during the Summer Solstice under the Hunter's Moon, and you will know a threat. Extend your hand toward a Black Dog as it walks about the graveyards, and you will know a threat. Disregard the words of a witch during the midnight hour, and you will know a threat. Yet all would pale in comparison to danger when you think yourself capable of standing against the Shadows to take that which is mine! Casey Williams. A giant among men, but against the origin of fear itself, you are little more than a babe. The very kind I would take from their cradles in the thrall of the night, place in my sack and, well, I won't go any further. What is life, after all, without a taste of the sweet mysteries that can only be discovered when you walk the path of the Hallowed Eve? You might be great in size for a mortal, Casey, but you are an insect when opposing the Bogey Man himself."

"Oh and as for that man that would stand at your side? I believe he gives himself the vaulted nickname of Primetime. Matthew Kennedy, you put on a dignified air of bravery when you speak of your intention of regaining the glory that once was yours, but things will not be as you so desire. No mortal is without fear. They might fool themselves into believing they conquered whatever once made them awake with cold chills and the soiling of their undergarments, but at most all they have managed to do is bury those fears. Not so hard a task to unearth what one has buried in their souls. To discover what reduces a grown man into the quivering mess that you will soon become. Primetime Matthew Kennedy, there are very real reasons why mankind has grown to fear the dark around them, and you find yourself soon against the very origin of those fears."</color></size>

19

Supercard Archives / Clan Dalca Journals

« on: April 26, 2013, 05:15:13 PM »

 <img src=http://i187.photobucket.com/albums/x239/GambitPride/BlankScroll.gif>

*translated from German**

1645 - Cologne, Germany...

"No more arguing." The young mother, Claramond, reprimanded her child. "You go straight to sleep or else the bogey man will sneak in and snatch you up from whence you stand."

The young girl perhaps would have taken her mother far more seriously had she not been able to recognize the twinkle of amusement in her mam's eyes and the twitch at the corner of her full, lush lips, betraying her own amusement at the fanciful, colorful tales used to scare children into behaving. Her own mother had used these very same tactics against her when she was but a little lamb herself. The key difference was, she believed her mother then, and nothing bad had ever happened to her. So how could she take the threats of the bogey man seriously when used against her own child?

Her daughter, Amalie, simply nodded, playing the role of the dutiful child and once satisfied, her mother gave her a loving kiss atop her scalp and stood up. The young matriarch tucked her child snugly under her blankets and leaned over to blow the candle out with a soft breath. The room was immediately enveloped in darkness and she walked across the room to where her husband waited.

"She sleeps?" Jürgen asked of his wife, and she answered with a prim nod.

"She will." Claramond answered. "Though for how long is but a guess. I suspect she will be up the moment I shut this door."

Jürgen could only shake his head as the door closed gently behind them and the parents headed off further into their home to finish their nightly duties before they too could call an end to this day and rest as well.

Claramond's 'prediction' indeed came true as the very moment the door closed, her daughter peaked above the wool blanket she wore over her body to stave off the night's chill and watched carefully for any signs that her parents were waiting just outside. Parental trickery, perhaps.

Once satisfied that her parents would not be returning any time soon, Amalie decided that she could risk just a little more play before she 'really' went to bed as her mother wished. It was all fun and games in the end, and children even in such an age were apt to a bit of mischief. What harm could it really bring? She sat up, pushing her blanket off of her upper body and paused, allowing her eyes to grow a bit more used to the darkness so where the purity of the night grew a bit more accustomed to her vision and grays took over where blacks once were.

She glanced over to where her dolls were on her wooden chair. The very same dolls that her beloved father carved for her and her mother worked long to fashion beautiful garments for them to wear. Amalie decided her own 'babies' should be put to bed as well -- her bed, as a matter of fact, and she used her small legs to scoot the blanket the rest of the way off and she slid quietly to the side of the bed. She tried to use her toes to feel for her slippers but was unable to locate them. Frowning, she leaned a little over to look down at the hard floor but did not see them.

How very odd, she thought privately to herself. That was where she remembered taking them off -- or did she? She shook her head. She must be getting forgetful in her tender old age of eight. She then slid from her bed and she made a face of discomfort as her bare feet met the cold boards of her meager homestead.

I believe we are all familiar with that very uncomfortable feeling of our own bare feet greeting a cold floor first thing in the morning, yes?

Amalie shuffled her feet across the boards and around the corner of her bed to where her dolls were laying carefully in place against the back of her rocking chair. She approached them and shook her tiny finger in their direction.

"You heard mama."She whispered with utmost care in the hopes her mam and papa would not overhear. "It is bed time. That means you as well."

The scooped the three dolls into her arms and turned around toward the bed to place them on the down pillows that she would rest her own head onto. Fixing them just so, she drew her blanket up a little higher and covered her dolls so they too would be warm. Satisfied and smiling as only a child might, she turned to walk around the bed (so as not to disturb her dolls' sleep!), she saw something from the corner of her eye.

Her favorite slippers were over across her room, at the door of her small closet. Now how in the world did they get there? Perhaps her mother placed them there when she was struggling to get her to bed? Yes. That must be it. Amalie tip toed across the floor to her closet and leaned against the frame of the door to slip her toes into the slippers when the burlap sack was thrown over her body, enveloping her.

From within the small house, the child's cry was too easily heard. Sharp, fast -- and then it was over. Her mother dropped the ladle from the pot of soup she had been warming up for her husband's dinner. Claramond's eyes grew wide at the sound and she dashed from the kitchen and into the hall where she almost ran into her husband!

"Amalie?" Jürgen questioned and her mother shook her head.

"She's out of bed again." Claramond spoke with a hint of anger in her voice."She fell most likely in the dark!"

The two young parents hurried across the hall to the closed door that was only one of four rooms in the small home. They opened the door and Jürgen stepped inside first, holding the candle aloft so that they might see.

But there was nothing. Their daughter was simply ... gone.

"Amalie!"

<img src=http://i187.photobucket.com/albums/x239/GambitPride/BlankScroll02.gif>

Andrei cast his eyes outward and was met with the collective stares of no less than thirteen men and women, each with the matching attire of their own clan. He did not known the name, and they had not offered it to him, nor to Nicolai, his brother in arms if not blood. Nicolai also stood at the forefront of the hut's entrance and he squinted beneath the hat he wore on his head.

"Will you allow us in?" Nicolai asked, attempting to shield himself further from the rain that fell from the heavens above. "Or would you prefer to watch us drown outside?"

"Spoiled for choices." Andrei said in a coarse whisper and he stepped back to allow the door's entrance for each of the 'guests'. "Come in and be welcome."

"My thanks." Nicolai said in kind, but each of the thirteen men and women who followed him inside said nothing.

They could all but feel the mistrust from the young Romani, even toward those of his own kind. Gypsies, yes, but these thirteen were something more. Something that in many parts of the world, cast them in shadow and doubt, and in some cases, might see them burned alive by the masses of the God Jehova.

Once inside, Andrei closed the door behind them and locked it, a simple precaution of habit, if nothing else.

"Forgive me." He said as he started to collect the wet coats and shawls from each of the visitors. "I admit you have caught me unaware. Nicolai failed to inform me that there would be so many."

"I spoke of a special coven, Andrei." Nicolai smiled at the young man he had known since childhood, and the one his own parents had helped to raise into manhood once his family had been ... taken. "That would speak of numbers to you, surely."

Andrei sighed and turned to the gathered number of men and women and looked them over. They were cold, that much was obvious. Their bodies shivered from the rain and chilled air no matter their attempts to hide it from him.

"I was just sitting down to a meal." He offered as was tradition.  "I have not enough seats but as luck would have it, I am certain I have plenty for all to eat. Will you join me?"

Their stares as a group were unnerving, but Nicolai swore by their character and that should be good enough for him. Their eyes shifted ever so slightly toward one another until the one  whom stood in front, an aged matriarch of a woman with her iron gray hair tied back in a long braid, took the initiative.

"We accept your hospitality, Andrei of the Clan Dalca." The elder of the coven spoke. "May we feast this night as friends for it may very well be our last."

---

Brazil - 2013

The time was drawing near where the task was to occur. The meeting of six men -- three teams -- over a common goal; the Sin City Wrestling Tag Team Championship. Only five of the men saw this task as one of glory. Another saw it as something else entirely. Something akin to a piece of cheese for in which to lay the trap.

Night had already fallen across the city of Brasilia and the hour grew later to where the people had all but disappeared into their homes and hotels. Cars were few but still seen passing down the city streets, leaving shadows in their wakes in the alleys between buildings.

It was in one of those very alleys that a pale figure stood nestled in the comforts of the shadows around him, no fear at all in his heart for the dangers of being out so late. Rather, he himself permeated the sensations of terror from his very aura so potently that just drawing near this alley would be enough to make the average citizen or tourist wish to turn around and head in the opposite direction without truly knowing or understanding why.

"I admit a hint of surprise." Brother Grimm stated as he stared into the goblet filled with the thick, crimson fluid. "You said you would not be attending this little get together in Brazil. Why the change of heart? Did you not trust me enough to gather your little gift on my own?"

He smiled at the contents of the goblet as the fluid seemed to ripple.

"Ridiculous. Have I disappointed you yet with my gifts? I do go to great lengths to see you satisfied."

The ripples stopped and a bubble rose to the thick surface of the liquid and popped, sending soft droplets of the life fluid against the rim.

"Of course. It is, after all, only right for all you have done for me."

The liquid started to churn slightly and Grimm leaned back against the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse he stood against.

"I have not had much time for my own spoils. I have kept myself quite busy, watching the others. Goth is as you said; an intriguing individual. I look forward to seeing just how well we might work together for a common goal. He seems somehow, different, than the average mortal. Perhaps one day you would be so good as to explain to me ... why him?"

Brother Grimm tilted his head to the side and made an expression of sarcastic goading.

"Oh, how unkind of me. To use the term 'good' in anything to do with you."

The frothing turned almost to a boiling point and Grimm rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"It makes little difference to me of the others. They are but mere insects in the path of a storm. The champions have already made themselves look like insipid fools with their immature banter and name calling. Their own false claims betray the fact they know nothing of what to expect from Goth and myself."

He looked up away from the chalice's contents and smiled in a way that would spoil fresh milk.

"Indeed. One-half of these 'champions' has already proven himself to be quite insane with his ramblings. Kevin Carter, I believe is his name proper. To hear him talk, one would think he had Goth and myself confused with this little vendetta between Goth and Kain."

Grimm shook his head.

"No, I think that only proves that he does not take our team very seriously, or at least, he does not take 'me' seriously. He is more like his partner than he might care to admit, at least in that regard. Carter has seen Goth more often than he has me. He is obviously one of those that believes that the tales of the 'boogey man' are just that; fanciful tales. Perhaps I will make use of his own words, and what he accused Goth and myself of being. Physical transgressions never were of much use, but it could easily be a way to let him know I am anything but a myth."

Grimm frowned and looked into the goblet again. A sneer crossed his lips.

"I would have thought when one reaches your age, maturity was a given. Then again, nobody can blame you. Powerful though you may be, you are yet mortal."

Almost as immediately as the words left his mouth, Grimm started to cough violently and he lurched over at the waist and spit out something bloody into the palm of his hand. He held it up under the dim lights of the alley and saw it to be a razor blade.<./I>

"I stand corrected." He grimaced, wiping his bloodied mouth on his sleeve. "You do seem to have something of a keen sense of humor at that. Perhaps you can make use of it when I bring you that gift I spoke of. The soul of the hidden one. Lucian Frost? Once I dispatch him of his partner, he should be a relatively simple one to collect upon."

Brother  Grimm looked up as he heard the soft approach of footsteps at the mouth of the alley. Two shadowed figures stood there momentarily before they turned around and scurried off. Pedestrians who thought they might brave the very warnings their bodies screamed toward them. It did not last. It never did.

Grimm glanced back down and shook his head.

"No, it was nothing." He stated. "I am certain. The hunters never arrived in Brazil. I swear, they have gotten lazy during the time of my imprisonment. I can recall times when they were a reason to make even one such as myself give cause for concern. I had hoped these physical endeavors would bring to mind the thrills of the hunts of the past. So far I have been vastly disappointed. Goth would be a challenge indeed for me to overcome, but he is to stand by my side so that is not to be. Kain and Baldwin are the only two who I believe it wise to keep a close watch on. Inside of the ring, at least."

He brought the cup above his lips and savored the bitter, copper aroma of what was inside. His eyes were closed for but a few moments before they opened once again and his calmness seemed to be the most dangerous aspect of his nature on this night.

"Everything will go according to plan. You will get what you wish. Just make certain you are able to return the favor. You know what I want."

That being said, Grimm extended his arm out and turned the cup over, spilling the contents from it to the ground below. He gave it a hard shake, then tucked it snugly into the folds of his attire and pushed himself off of the wall he rested against. He glanced around the alley, then turned and walked off toward the shadows, stepping over the body of the homeless man that stared with open eyes -- and an open throat.</size></color>

20

Supercard Archives / Clan Dalca Journals

« on: April 20, 2013, 09:46:15 PM »

 

The specter known as Brother Grimm spat on the floor as he threw the journal to the dirt floor of the old hut and started to pace.

"Insane ramblings from a desecrated mortal who placed himself on a pedestal he and his family all fell from." He growled. "Nothing more."

"You think?" She said from the shadows. As was her preferred custom, she sat in her favored rocking chair and knitted while this dark being spoke in front of her. "It was that very family line that was on this pedestal that placed you in that void. A place with no doors or windows. You did not think so little of it at the time."

Grimm turned to face her and cracked his neck before he smiled.

"Even the tiniest of insects can become an annoyance." he said with a dark satisfaction. "I believe two children taught you that lesson when you wound up burned to ashes in your own oven."

The rocking of the chair ceased immediately and Grimm came to a stoic position, not moving. He simply watched Her as She watched him until the rocking commenced once again, as did Her knitting.

"You forget yourself." She whispered with a dangerous, acidic tone in her voice. "But I suppose it can't be helped. You are what you are, after all. Darkness is heart and soul... and apparently mouth."

"I do try." Grimm said with smug satisfaction. He then tilted his head forward in acknowledgment of Her power and added, "But you will forgive me, I trust."

"Perhaps." She mused as she continued with her hobby. "But only if you bring me something special back from your journey to Brazil. I understand they have more orphans there than they know what to do with."

"Well then I will bring you a specially selected one." Grimm bowed his head again. "With my gratitude."</color>

---

"It had been so many ages since I had discovered such kindred spirits in this day and age. First it was the goddess known as Necra, and now I find myself at the side of a soul as bleak and void as any I have ever been gifted enough to bear witness to in Goth. I find it a wonder, looking at this darkness that inhabits such a soul and wonder what drives him forward to such depths that he targets on such a personal level. His hatred for the one that has plagued him, despite they have something akin to an alliance in war. Intriguing. But such queries will come to light at another time. For now I have but one purpose, and one only; pairing with this entity for the single purpose to feed off the despair of the fur other souls in this encounter and walk away as one."

"The championships of this profession mean little, if truth be told. The gold is perhaps the most worthless of metals, despite the shine it casts and the manner in which it attracts. For all its worth, it has so very little practical use so the desire for it is relatively lost to me. Mortals are like magpies where shiny objects are concerned. They see it. It sparkles, and they desire to claim it for their own. Simple minds, simple pleasures."

"Perhaps this could be the reason best explained for why She asked this of me, to team with another despite my very nature, to attempt to become a champion and own this gold for my own. Taking what belongs to another is second nature. I've done it with families and children over the course of eons. Yet this goal of a championship belt to have and to hold would serve as a beacon for other souls to come to me. Other souls that would wish to take it from my own grasp."

"Bait."

"Never before has a trap been so delicately set and mesmerizing to the eye. The champions, two young souls in Ace Baldwin and Kevin Carter. Brave young men, the likes of which I have seen and done battle with over a lifetime multiplied many times over. They see themselves as brave and immune to what I gift the heart and soul with, but as I have stated time and again; these are merely empty words."

"A man that claims to know no fear is but a liar to others and a deceiver toward himself."

"Fear is what makes life worth living for such pathetic creatures such as yourselves. Fear is what makes you understand just what a threat you are truly facing when you face me inside of that ring, ready to lay your lives down for the sake of pride. Fear is what will make you soil yourselves when you look me in the eyes and it dawns on you the true nature of what you face when you face me."

"Kain, who claims himself a god of mortal man, intrigues me as most of his ilk do not. While his partner shields himself behind a mask, and our opposing team are but boys in a world of men, this Kain reminds me of the hunters long since past. Men who braved the darkness and fought, true with courage, but foolishness in the beliefs that they might prevail."

"It is with great disgust that I admit these things to you Kain; that my beliefs that such mortal men were no longer a part of this world. And yet, there you stand, prepared to go to war as they once did against me in times of old. Oh how long has it been since I have feasted on the type of mortal that you yourself are! How long has it been since I have stared into the eyes of a man who stood brave against adversity and believed, truly believed, that he would prevail against the bleakest whims of fate?"

"It is just a shame that you have found yourself saddled with such a comrade as you have, in a man that hides behind crimson lace so none might know of his identity should he fall, and he will fall. I believe I myself might find yet another gift for She who asked for something special from this encounter. A mask represents so much more than fear. It could represent the nature of the soul itself."

"A championship beacon is all well and good, but I have never stolen a soul before."</color>

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