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Post by Pizza Ant on Nov 22, 2017 19:13:32 GMT
We’re baaaaack!
[meta] I’d like to note that this format change is simply to freshen things up for me and to make it easier to continue to produce shows. I hope you’re not too angry about everything. Also the episode 5 promo card is considered non-canon now.
FPW Zero Year
12/2/17
Odeum Expo Center
Chicago, IL
CARD SUBJECT TO CHANGE:
“The Smartest Man in Pro Wrestling” Marcus Allen Jones vs “King” Clutch McCloud! These two both lost their matches at Enter Sandman and now they’re looking to bounce back at the return show!
The Friendmigos (Jerry “The Jester” Bishop, Matt ”Messiah” Dwyer, & Davey Jones) vs The Hardcases (Mark Anderson & Paul Meyers) & Sabre in a hard hitting Enter Sandman rematch!
Sound & Fury vs Azazel in a 2 on 1 handicap match! Will Azazel continue his undefeated streak or will he fall to the odds?
“The Ice Queen” Freja & Erick Skaar vs “The Goddess” Athena Dai & Zeke in a match that has “payback” written all over it!
Edward Dessius[1] vs Justice Legal[0] in a tables match to continue their best of 5 series to determine the first FPW Hardcore Champion!
Anarchy (Kassius Boone & Davis Reynolds) vs The Sons of Cerberus (Hannibal & Cannibal) w/ Lecter Manson in a tornado tag match to crown our very first FPW Tag Team Champions!
And in the MAIN EVENT...
Adam Thompson has his first defense of the FPW World Championship against former MMA competitor Jeremiah Johnson!
As always, if you’d like to write a match, let me know!
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Post by Deleted on Nov 23, 2017 10:16:53 GMT
We fade into a small venue at a show for hardcore wrestling promotion BGCW (Battleground Championship Wrestling). There are maybe 70 people in the room, all their attention on the blood-stained ring mat as they wait patiently for the next match. Ring Announcer: Ladies and Gentlemen, it is time for our next match! Entering first, The Destroyer, The God Among Men, and YOUR BGCW CHAMPION!!! DRAVEN HALL!!!A complete fucking mountain of a man enters to thunderous cheers as management blows half its budget on one entrance, fireworks, smoke, a live band and a small military detachment to escort the champion down to the ring. Draven Hall climbs into the ring, literally roars, and awaits his opponent. RA: And his opponent, coming in from Brooklyn, New York... The ring announcer pauses and squints, reading the smudged writing on his sweaty palm. RA: Dauis Reynols? How the fuck is that pronounced? Beartooths "I Have a Problem" briefly plays before skipping and stopping, as Davis Reynolds himself steps out from gorilla to thunderous indifference from the crowd, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a steel chain in the other. He takes a swig. DR: Lets get this shit over with. 40 MINUTES LATER, BACKSTAGE
Davis Reynolds is sat alone in a room backstage. He's taped up all over, has numerous staples in him (both from the match and from the medics) and is clearly in quite a lot of pain. As Davis drinks, the door suddenly opens, revealing a large man carrying a bag. Kassius Boone: So what the hell is a world class athlete the likes of you doing, wrestling in a run down place like this for $30 a week? DR: Well, I was gonna ask where the fuck your dumb ass has been for the past 2 fucking weeks Kassius! Kassius pulls up a chair and sits down. He takes Davis' bottle and drinks. KB: Well ever since all the Freedom Pro Wrestling stuff fell through you've been pretty fucking down. I just figured I'd find something to cheer you up. He opens his bag and pulls out a large folder marked SOC RESEARCH - TAKE AND DIE. He sets it down on a table and opens it up, passing Davis some secretly taken photos of Lecter Manson's day to day activities. KB: I figured that if I worked out where the hell the Sons of Cerberus kept their hideout than you and I could just hop on over there, break all their shit, maybe set a couple fires. Cheer you up. A smile creeps across Davis' face. He looks up at Kassius, hopefully. DR: You found the bastards? KB: No Davis, I found something even fucking better. Kassius rather carelessly pulls everything out of the folder until he finds what he was looking for the whole time. Another photo. Lecter Manson, flanked by the Sons of Cerberus, is talking to another man, none other than FPW founder and owner, "The Don" Jim Houston. He hands it to Davis, who looks at it for a few seconds and immediately jumps to exactly the wrong conclusion. DR: I fucking knew it! That bastard Jim Houston was behind the Sons of Cerberus the entire fucking time! KB: What? No you dumbass! He's reaching out out to all the guys! The SoC, Azazel, Bishop! He's pulling FPW back together! DR: It's a fucking cover man, I'm telling you! KB: Bitch, I've already signed a fucking contract! He said you haven't been answering his god damn calls! Davis looks over at his phone, the display lit up with a small bit of text on the screen. "You have 1378 new messages" DR: I've been busy dude... KB: With what, getting your ass handed to you in front of crowds who don't know who you fucking are? DR: I dunno man, I kinda like all the deathmatches I'm doing. KB: We get a match with the SoC for shiny new tag belts. DR: Let me get my fucking bags. |
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Post by Deleted on Nov 23, 2017 22:59:35 GMT
We're in Plymouth, Devon. It's 6 in the morning in a rather nice bedroom, as the alarm goes off. The rooms sole occupant lazily reaches an am out and tries to turn off the alarm, only to knock his phone off the bedside table instead. Forcing himself out from under his sheets so he can get his phone and stop that stupid fucking alarm, Adam Thompson half wakes up. A montage plays. He gets breakfast, showers and dresses. Finally, he goes to his display cabinet. Sitting front and centre is a belt. The Freedom Pro Wrestling Championship. Adam unlocks the cabinet and carefully removes the championship belt, setting it down on a nearby table, with everything he considers necessary for proper care of a trophy like this. Though redundant, polishing the belt daily has become something of a habit of Adam Thompson. It calms his nerves, and has more than a few good memories to go along with it. Suddenly, his phone rings. He picks it up to answer. CC: Hey, Adam, just wanted to check up on you. The voice of Charlie Chase. Adam's former teacher and tag partner, the man who taught his protégé everything he needed to know to excel in the wrestling business. From the day they met to the day a tag championship match went wrong, Charlie suffered the worst concussion he'd ever had, and had to retire. AT: I'm fine Charlie. I was fine yesterday, I'll be fine tomorrow. I've been fine ever since I got back, but that hasn't stopped you calling. CC: Someone's gotta take care of you kid, you've never been too good at doing it yourself. You know, don't feel obligated to stay. The academy can do just fine, even without the all powerful, all mighty Pendragon. AT: What are you on about smartass? CC: I know you better than your own mother does. You wanna go out and tour. Wrestle. It's killing you that you aren't. AT: I'm fine, I've got the show tonight. CC: Wrestling in a bingo hall with the rookies you've trained is not your ceiling Thompson. You think about it, I'll see you soon.
THAT NIGHT Adam Thompson looks out from gorilla. For a small show put on by a wrestling academy, tonights card drew pretty damn well. The hall running at near max capacity and his opponent, Markus Brewer, getting a lot of hate from the crowd just from his entrance. His music shuts off and Charlie Chase, in the flesh with a mic in his hand, announces his entrance. CC: And next, a local superstar and FREEDOM PRO WRESTLING CHAMPION, The Pendragon, ADAM THOMPSON!!! The Feast and the Famine by The Foo Fighters comes on through the speakers, as some parts of the crowd, familiar with Thompson's work, cheer. He bursts out from gorilla, the Freedom Pro Wrestling Championship belt around his waist and makes his way to the ring, high fiving kids in the audience as he goes. He rolls under the bottom rope, takes off the FPW Championship Belt and raises to high in the air for the crowd to see! He soaks in the cheers when suddenly he feels a hard impact, a hard forearm to the back from Markus! And another and another, sending Adam to the mat! So it's gonna be that kind of night.15 MINS LATER Adam is bloodied, sat back in the corner with Markus lying down on the mat. Kicked out of Excalibur at 2, this far in? One hell of a blow to the confidence. Adam forces himself to his feet and stumbles over to his opponent. Still has one trick up his sleeve, one that's never failed him before... Adam grabs Markus by the head and pull him to his feet. The Pendragon underhooks his opponent's arms and musters all of his strength to start swinging him around! Once, twice! Adam stumbles! He can tell Markus' feet hit something, but not what. BLOODY FUCKING MURDER!!! COVER!!! ... ... ... Adam releases the cover and practically leaps on the downed referee, shaking him back to consciousness before pushing up to his feet! Looking out to the crowd, all the cheers and jeers fall out of Adam's perception as his eyes fall on one man in the crowd. A man in a suit. What the hell is he doing here? WHAM!Markus to the back of the head with the FPW belt! He throws the belt away as Adam barely catches himself on his feet! RUNNING KNEE STRIKE!!! Markus covers and the referee drops to the mat! 1!
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Post by veggieleezy on Nov 28, 2017 4:58:59 GMT
*The camera comes up on Jerry Bishop sleeping soundly in a large, comfortable bed, with black and purple silk sheets. He's wearing his mask (for some reason) and a jester-styled nightcap. His alarm goes off playing the Entry of the Gladiators.*
*With his eyes still closed, Jerry slowly reaches towards the clock while waving his arm, almost as if he's conducting the music before shutting off the alarm. However, his arm is covered in a bright pink liquid, dripping from his purple and black harlequin-patterned silk pajamas. Bishop opens his eyes after turning off the alarm to see the substance and regards it in shock. He pulls back the covers over himself to see the liquid all over his pajamas and the sheets around him, noticing it pools largely to a space on the other side of himself. Cautiously, Bishop reaches for the covers on the other side of the bed before taking a cautious gulp and yanking back the covers.**Bishop lets out a scream of horror when he sees that in the bed next to him is a ruined strawberry milkshake, poured and melted all over. He continues to scream for a time until Matt Dwyer and Azrael rush into the room to check on him.*
MD: Dude, what's wrong? Are you okay? AZ: Indeed, my friend, have you been injured? What is the cause of this disruption and fear I sense in you? *Bishop points wordlessly at the milkshake on the bed, trembling in fear, before finding his words.*JB: Wh- who cou- could've d- done s-su-such a t-te-t-terrible thing?! And why?! WHY?! WHY, MATT, WHY?! TELL ME, AZRAEL, GIVE ME YOUR HOLY GUIDANCE, WHY?!?!?!MD: Uh, Jer, buddy, take a deep breath for me, okay? *Jerry does so* Jerry, how many times have we told you not to bring milkshakes with you to bed? You know that you move around when you sleep, you're gonna knock them over. JB: *slowly gaining his breath* Oh, whoooo, that's all it was, huh... Geez, thanks, guys. AZ: And now I shall have to perform the laundering duties once again. Not that I am averse to such a task, but I would hope that this sort of behavior does not become habitual, Bishop. *Azrael starts to strip the bed, unintentionally flinging Jerry off and onto the floor.*MD: Maybe we should give him a minute, Angel Man. AZ: I will have you know that I am more angel than man at this point, but your assessment is not false. *Dwyer and Azrael start to leave. Bishop slowly reaches towards the remains of the milkshake to try and salvage it.*MD: *leaning back into the room* NOPE! *Bishop puts his hand down dejectedly and starts to towel himself off.*MD: Oh, and you might want to move your bed out of Houston's office. *Camera pulls out fully to reveal Bishop has somehow fit a queen size bed into Jim Houston's office. Bishop nods and starts to clean up*
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Post by Deleted on Nov 28, 2017 17:14:02 GMT
Black. Not matte black. It's a living, breathing, organic black. Imagine Dragons' "Warriors" plays over the black. The camera pulls back to reveal Jeremiah Johnson running.
Cut to Jeremiah Johnson. No sunsets. Just green fields, sun, and sweat. Johnson, shirtless, sweating more than he's ever sweat before, does dips on the outside dip bars in Embarcadero Park, San Diego. Cut to Johnson running along the Great Lake shoreline near Linkin Park, Chicago. Back to San Diego, Johnson holds himself up by his arms and does extended leg raises. Back to Chicago, Johnson has a small gathering of joggers behind him. A child, old enough to run, looks at Johnson running. The child gets up and joins him and the other joggers. Cut to a hotel room, Johnson has a pen and paper, he watches Thompson on the television and takes notes.
When the chorus hits, "Here We Are, Don't Turn Away Now. We are the Warriors who built this town," Cut to Johnson running in San Diego with two gallon jugs of water. Cut to Johnson and company running through Linkin Park Zoo, he's now wearing a shirt that says Eat Right. Train Hard. Meditate. in white letters on a black background.
The chorus stops. Jeremiah Johnson punches the air with the gallon water jugs, the light shines into the jug, revealing that it's not water, but something a bit more dense. Cut to the kid from earlier, and more kids, plus all the adults, running past The Bean; Johnson leads them all in a shirt that reads "Johnson For Champ."
The Chorus hits again. Johnson hits himself in the abs with the gallon water jugs, he yells in slow motion. Johnson runs past Daddy's Hot Dog's in Hillcrest. The Man Who Fought a Bear runs past the old Hot Doug's location, where a life size cardboard cutout of Adam Thompson holding the beautiful FPW Championship. Johnson picks up the cutout and tears it, then tosses it to the kids jogging with him; they tear it apart with sadistic glee. When the lyrics "...from dust," are said, Johnson hits his abs again with the water jugs, this time they break open, sand and chunks of concrete come pouring out.
The final intstrumental plays. Jeremiah Jonson runs up the stairs of the San Diego Convention Center, Cut to Johnson and crew running up the stairs of the Field Museum, all in slow motion. He reaches the top of the convention center steps, the top of the Field Museum steps. Johnson throws his arms in the air in celebration at the top of the convention center; the other runners join him in celebration at the Field Museum. The last instrumental hosts flashing images of Johnson's wins in FPW as well as his knockouts in the octagon. The last image is Jeremiah Johnson in a hard spotlight, dressed in his ring gear, staring at the camera through hidden eyes.
Cut to the Navy Pier. It's packed, but not as packed as it could be. Dasha Banks has a microphone in hand. People pass by in the background as Dasha interviews people huddled around a roped off area. She finds her first interviewee. He walks on screen, wearing an old Johnson, king of the cage shirt; the man looks a little like Donald Glover.
Dasha holds the mic to her mouth, "Who do you think will win between Adam Thomspson and Jeremiah Johnson?"
The Guy Who Looks Like Donald Glover holds his index fingers to his shirt, "Johnson has it! He's the best in the octagon! He's the best in FPW! He's the best period!" Dasha moves the mic as the guy screams, "Johnson! Wooo!"
Dasha finds a guy dressed in his Navy Uniform. "Who do you think will win the big fight between Jeremiah Johnson and Adam Thompson?"
The Navy Guy leans in to the mic, "Johnson all the way! He's beat McCloud, He's beat Marcus, it's just a matter of time before Johnson is the FPW Champion!" The Navy Guy screams prompting a cheer from the crowd.
Dasha finds a woman in the audience; she has sandy blonde hair and almost looks like Danielle Fishell. "Who are you hoping wins the big match?"
Danielle Fishell's non-twin smiles, "I like them both, but Thomspon went through a lot! Plus he's got that British King thing going for him. He can put his sword in my stone any day!" The crowd around her boos a bit, other join in because they heard someone booing.
Dasha addresses the camera, "The people have spoken. Jeremiah Johnson is on the tips of everyone's tounges, it's--"
2Pac Final Round plays over shitty boombox speakers. The camera jostles through the crowd to find the source; it finally settles on a part of the crowd seperating. Jeremiah Johnson walks through the crowd, holding a boombox; he's dressed in slacks and a tank top, gold wristwatch for the accent. Johnson riles up the crowd by shaking his head to the beat, standing in front of people and touching their hands. One man faints, kids start crying...and somewhere a baby is made.
Johnson approaches Dasha. He puts the boombox on the ground. Dasha plays with her hair, "Jeremiah Johnson. The Man with the Mgnificent Mind. The Brawler. Are you prepared for your match agaisnt Adam Thompson?"
Johnson looks back at the crowd, he turns around and talks into the mic Dasha is holding, "Prepared? Dasha? Can you truly be prepared for something you've never done? Oh yes, I've won championships. I have more title belts than Thomspon has brain cells. But he has the most coveted Championship in FPW. And if you think for one second that I'm going to stop Eating right. That I'll stop Training Hard. Or that I'll stop Meditating; then you're wrong, Dasha, you're beautiful, but you're wrong! For a championship match you have to pile on the carbs for training, then cut them right before the match; it takes precise timing and know how. I do it before every championshp match I have. You have to amp up the training, not to a Spinal Tap 11, but to a Tenacious D Devil Defeating Best Song! You have to get to Bhudda levels of enlightenment! Then it all stops, it all stops because you obsess. You obsess over your opponent, meditating and taking notes on all the footage you can find. Lucky for me, Thomspson loves wrestling. He loves it so much he gets beat up outside of FPW. He's losing blood, Dasha, and that can't be good for his championship reign. He's getting beat up more than he has to, Dasha, and that can't be good for his championship pride. If there's one thing everyone knows, it's that there's not a matter of IF you lose a championship, it's a matter of WHEN! And with everything that Thompson is doing, he's shortening his time with my belt. He's losing precious blood and brain cells, and making it easier for me to come in with my abs made of stone, and my hands, Dasha do you know what I call my hands?"
"What do you call them?" Dasha looks at The Brawler's hands.
"I call them Mordred and Carnwen! This one," Johnson holds up his left hand, "Is Carnwen, the dagger of shadows, it's quick, it's unseen and it can cut a man in half. This one," Johnson holds up his right hand, "Is called Mordred, the man who took out Arthur Pennedragon! And these are what are going to take out Adam Thomspon! Try to pull out Excalibure all you want, Thompson! I'll make you beg for the Holy Grail! There's a reason the EAS and DD214 are feared in the FPW! I'm the hard reality, I'm the cold facts, I am war! And you, Thomspon...you're a fairy tale. You want to prove that you have what it takes to go? You want to prove you're royalty? Adam Thomspon...Come Get Me."
Johnson turns bends down and turns on the boombox again. The crowd goes crazy. Johnson puts down the boombox to go sign outstretched pieces of hope in the form of paper and pens. Dasha Addresses the camera, "There you have it. The Brawler Jeremiah Johnson has said what he thinks of his upcoming match against Adam Thompson."
Channel Change. "Daaaaad! That's TOO MUCH PLAID!"
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