The Executioner's Gallows
The crowds chanted and cheered, willing spectators to this gathering, looking forward to the absolute destruction of a man and wishing for it to be either long and laborious to satisfy their bloodlust and sheer sadistic tendencies or to be fast so that it could be over with before the intended victim even knew what was happening. Nobody could quite agree how they wanted it, they just expected someone to be ended right there and then before their very eyes, treating it as if it were some sort of violent game show where the audience would cheer when the loser had their game ultimately ended.
Huge swathes of them cutting through a town square, a festival of gatherers all trying to get the best view possible lest they need to remember this moment as a historic piece of information, a sight to pass down through stories and accounts through generation after generation, allowing the story to perhaps get modified or changed outright but never forgetting one or two of the more important details. Every eye was pointed squarely at the front where a large stage had been set up, wooden and creaking slightly due to the age and the amount of use it had gained over time. Man, woman and child side by side, layer after layer of humanity from the very front of the stage all the way back past a slightly distant stone clock tower giving away that it is currently mid afternoon on a clear and sunny day, not a cloud in the sky, the perfect weather for this kind of event.
A cheer began at one side of the congregation, erupting louder as more and more people joined in the hollering until everybody was vocal, staring at what the fuss was about. And then, for those at the very far left of the wooden stage, it appeared from under a stone archway to the right. A large cart, wooden in structure with huge wheels that rolled across the stone floor to create a slight rumbling sound being led by various men in black robes, one at the front wearing bright red and looking as if he was perhaps an older gentleman by the greying hair and beard and well worn face. A stern look remained on his concrete face, unmoving, unflinching and seemingly used to this sort of procession by now, walking with dignity towards the wooden stage as the cart is pulled behind him by those robe wearing men, all with short or slightly long dark hair, clean shaven or with various styles of beard or mustache adorning their faces while the crowd boos, aiming their hatred and disgust at a person seated in the cart, a filthy grey robe with torn pieces and looking tattered covering his torso while a sack cloth covers his entire head, unable to be seen as the cart eventually comes to a halt at the side of the stage. The older looking gentleman sets about climbing a set of stairs onto that stage surface in a very regal manner, sweeping across the platform before turning around dramatically to stare at the cart. Behind him, a tall, physically strong looking man wearing black pants, his torso exposed while his head is adorned by a black mask makes his way from a second set of steps, also facing the cart.
Dignified Gentleman: Bring forth the prisoner!
With a rough shove, the man in the sack cloth head gear is ushered along the cart, taken by the forearm and dragged off the edge by one of the black robed men, the prisoner unable to see and relying upon their good nature which is severely lacking, raising a cheer from the audience when the prisoner is unable to see the edge of the cart and is dragged harshly so that he falls off the edge and crumples in a heap upon the stone ground, laughs ringing out as he quickly raises a hand to the shoulder and arm he landed on, the black robed men again harsh in their treatment of him as they yank his hand away and push him up the steps, watching as he continues to trip up them, falling several times due to his inability to see where it is he's supposed to be going. On his fourth stumble, his right arm is pulled roughly behind his back as he lies with his chest leaning against the edge of the steps, left hand joining it as rope is tied tightly around the wrists to prevent him from moving them, only giving him the opportunity to move his shoulders up and down as he struggles against the rope in the hope he could escape this confinement and use his arms and hands again.
With a hand grabbing at the section of rope between his hands, a black robed man physically lists the prisoner to his feet and drags him onto the wooden stage, shoving him hard in the back so that he falls face first again at the dignified gentleman's feet, causing a raised eyebrow and a look of disdain from this gentleman, seeing the prisoner as somehow unworthy to even be in his presence. Managing to reach his knees, the prisoner has the sack cloth snatched from his head, revealing his face to the dignified gentleman as well as the baying mob watching this spectacle, boos and insults raining down upon him. The prisoner looks around with his blue eyes, his long dark hair flowing over his shoulders getting caked in eggs as they're pelted at him from all sides by the crowd. The dignified gentleman watches this with no expression on his face nor a look of concern, instead seeming to enjoy it if only the missiles wouldn't hit his robes. Eventually he turns to the crowd, raising his hands in the air.
Dignified Gentleman: Enough!
The eggs and the insults cease almost instantaneously, all eyes upon him for what may be said next. Instead of addressing the crowd, he addresses the black robed men instead as well as the masked and imposing male behind him.
Dignified Gentleman: Get the prisoner ready, I want this over with so that I can get back to my personal affairs and away from these horrendous peasants.
As if his every whim were to be commanded, the black robed men drag the prisoner to his feet by force, holding his body weight as he attempts once again to struggle free, the large masked man taking a few steps to an area of the stage as the prisoner is forced there, his eyes catching sight of wooden posts standing tall with a rope hanging down into a noose above what looks to be a trapdoor in the stage. A final struggle wields no results, the strength of the men taking him to this place too much for this bound man as he faces the inevitable and ceases his attempts to fight against his fate, his destiny in sad demise. Forced to stand atop the trapdoor, the prisoner watches the crowd, taking note of almost every face he can spot, his vision becoming slightly blurry as his eyes welled up with tears, feeling their warmth as they snaked down his cheeks, a growing fear within him that made him feel sick to his very core. His skin began to shiver and feel cold despite the hot rays of the sun that had made him warm and forgiven within its glow only moments ago. Continuing to stare ahead, he felt the noose slipped over his head, watching as, for a split second, that deadly necktie came into view, moving downwards towards his throat. The large masked man grabbed it with both hands, adjusting it so that he felt the rope come closer to his skin, almost feeling as if he were choking already. To his left, the black robed men took a few steps back as the dignified gentleman once again acknowledged the crowd.
Dignified Gentleman: This prisoner is a heathen, sent to disrupt all of our laws and way of life with his wicked and villainous ways. His body is crafted by the Devil himself!
He took this opportunity to nod at the masked man, watching as he tore off the grey robes from the prisoner's body with one swift tug, exposing his torso to the gathering as they all created the same gas of shock all at once upon the sight of his muscular physique, completed by a set of abdominals that perhaps most of the females gathered were reminded of their washboards. Cries rung out from people declaring him as either the work of the Devil or even the Devil himself for owning such a fine specimen of manhood as this chest and stomach, even the large masked man with his mouth open in shock at the sight despite his own large and slightly muscular frame. The prisoner continued to look all around him, silent as he gave a prayer deep within himself to forgive all of these people who didn't believe he was of this Earth, to forgive him for any sins he had committed and to allow him to enter the kingdom of Heaven whereupon he may -
His train of thought was cut off by first the sound of a slam and then a wooshing noise in his ears followed by a sort of slapping noise, his eyes darting all around him as the people gathered in front of him seemed to be half obscured by wood now. In fact, the stage itself was now at chest height as he stared ahead, eyes wide as his gaze dashed in all directions, looking at the dignified gentleman who just stood with a slight look of disbelief on his face, talking gently to the large masked man so that only they and this prisoner can hear.
Dignified Gentleman: He seems to be still alive, next time make sure you get the height adjusted accordingly to a person's weight so that their neck may snap instantly and this won't take as long.
The prisoner could only listen, tears welling up in his eyes again not just from fear and upset but from the restriction around his neck causing the oxygen to drain from him. His body convulsed and struggled of its own accord as he swung casually from left to right, legs feeling light and useless as he dangled there held up off the ground by only the piece of rope around his throat that was attached to the wooden beam above. That familiar voice called out again above him.
Dignified Gentleman: Behold, the foul stench of death is upon us! Let this prisoner find his soul where he belongs in the fiery pits of Hell while we look upon him and take solace in the Lord's word!
The people and even the wooden stage right in front and around him seemed to keep fading in and out, black trying to wash over his line of vision no matter where he looked. The cheers as he hung there began to get quieter, drowned out by the ever increasing loudness of a hiss in his ears, nothing but blackness as if he'd turned blind while that noise, that ever so disparaging noise that won't leave him alone with its ever increasing volume continued for what seemed like an eternity until -
******
You rise
You fall
You're down, then you rise again
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
You rise
You fall
You're down, then you rise again
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
Rise, fall, down, rise again
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
Rise, fall, down, rise again
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
Through black days
Through black nights
Through pitch black insights
Breaking your teeth on the hard life coming
(Show....your.....scars)
Cutting your feet on the hard earth running
(Show....your....scars)
Breaking your life, broken, beat and scarred
But we die hard
The dawn
The death
The fight to the final breath
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
The dawn
The death
The fight to the final breath
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
Dawn, death, fight, final breath
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
Dawn, death, fight, final breath
What don't kill ya make ya more strong
They scratch me
They scrape me
They cut and rape me
Breaking your teeth on the hard life coming
(Show....your.....scars)
Cutting your feet on the hard earth running
(Show....your....scars)
Breaking your life, broken, beat and scarred
But we die hard
Breaking your teeth on the hard life coming
(Show....your.....scars)
Cutting your feet on the hard earth running
(Show....your....scars)
Bleeding your soul in a hard luck story
(Show....your....scars)
Spilling your blood in the hot sun's glory
(Show....your....scars)
Breaking your life, broken, beat and scarred
But we die hard
We die hard
We die hard
Broken, Beat & Scarred - Metallica
******
And so we come to a quaint little restaurant on a sloped street, floor made entire of cobbles and flagstones along the sides where tables and chairs stand proud underneath cream coloured canopies slanted to keep the sun and the rain from the seating areas in front of food outlets such as this one. A cafe is just a little further along but the place seems empty, the entire street almost silent and lonely apart from the distant noises emanating from a piazza at the bottom of the slope and a slightly busy road leading along to the larger retail outlets at the top of this sloped street. Seated in a chair outside the aforementioned restaurant however is the Messiah of Metal, the legend, the sheer athleticism and charisma made flesh that is Dazz. He's sitting comfortably, resting back against the wood as he looks out upon the world as an outsider, taking things easy rather than join the rest of the populous in the busier areas.
On his feet are a pair of black boots, perhaps because he's comfortable wearing them, perhaps for style, perhaps even to protect his feet from the otherwise harsh feel upon his soles that the street could create otherwise. No matter, they're covered by a pair of white pants draping over the tops of his boots and coming to an end just above his ankles, a pair of Armani slacks that are a bright colour to help reflect the heat of the sun shining down upon this area and because dammit, he wants to look good in them. They're offset by a black sleeveless shirt, open all the way to show off a little of his pectoral region and his perfectly crafted abdominals where he'd otherwise go topless to show off his finely formed figure but chose to respect other people by saving that for times when it's called for, such as using a shower or swimming pool or even competing inside a wrestling ring. Again the shirt is Armani, as are the dark sunglasses adorning his face, covering his blue eyes and creating a visible line between his luscious long locks and his carefully trimmed sideburns with the arms of such expensive sunglasses. Some cynical people may think he's wearing an all Armani ensemble because he's currently in Milan, Italy but they would be fools because this is a guy who - thanks to a previous girlfriend named Karla Kotero who loved fashion as much as she loved partying - likes to look his absolute best. And why wouldn't he?
Watching the world go by seemed to be a past time for him of late, enjoying the peace, solitude and serenity this brings, especially after over a decade of professional wrestling and slightly longer as the guitarist and vocalist of two heavy metal bands. Havok Rising had long gone but Skeksis had risen up form the ashes, giving Dazz a reason to enjoying playing music as well as writing, recording and performing to fans all over the world. In fact he'd discovered this very restaurant on this very street when he traveled to Italy for a major show with his band and liked the fact that not only was the food exquisite and the coffee the very best he'd tasted but also that barely anybody came this way unless deciding to take the shortcut towards the busy areas of Milan or stalk down the sloping road to get to the piazza with its many and busier food establishments.
Nursing a cup of coffee, he sat watching the world go by, thinking of his career thus far, where he'd came from to get to this very moment and where he could go next. Maybe he could spend the rest of 2009 competing and then give it up for good, maybe take his career and push forwards to try to capture some MCW gold. He definitely wanted to have somewhat of a rematch with Rayne Young before either of them retired, enjoying the bout they had last time in honour of Whitecloud over a year ago. Hell he always spoke with Priest about their many battles over the years and said that if Jacob Laymon ever decided to put them in a one off contest here, it'd be the 4th company they'd have gone one on one with each other, putting their friendship aside for the sake of competition and friendly encounters. There were a lot of others on the roster he'd seen in action but never competed against, the likes of Lilith Evans and Dante, Jay Williams and Kirsta Lewis, "The Iceman" Eric Sailes whose father Whitecloud he'd worked alongside and Michael Wallace, whose father he'd worked for when CWF contracts were brought to MCW upon its formation and Dazz worked as Mayhem General Manager under the ownership of Anthony Wallace.
Even better, there was Angelica Jones, a woman he'd defeated at least once, maybe twice before she went on to win various MCW championships and get inducted into the company's Hall of Fame. To beat her once again and hold yet another World Heavyweight championship.....he'd actually lost count of the number of World titles or Undisputed titles or other such major belts within companies he'd carried as champion. Not to mention all the other championships spread across other divisions ranging from lower card to midcard, tag team etc. Come to think of it, while he'd felt burned out and his desire and motivation to compete had been sapped elsewhere, after a hiatus and a conversation wth both Priest and Jacob Laymon, he'd decided to give it another go, try his luck as an athlete rather than a staff member in a promotion that seemed - and certainly was once you'd spent time with the roster and easy going management - a lot of fun to be around. Perhaps this could be his chance to rejuvenate his career once again, be seen as the same kind of athletic, risk taking guy he once was in the early years of his career rather than the washed up, ignored and mistreated veteran he was seen as and treated as by fans, wrestlers and management in other companies.
Raising the coffee cup to his lips and taking a slow gentle sip to try and savour the taste, he sighed and replaced the container, his hand rested against the side ready in case he wanted to take delight in the flavours bursting onto his tongue from this outstanding beverage. A slight breeze began to pick up, causing his long dark hair to gently wave about his shoulders.
Dazz: Look at this. Tranquility. You know you're a top star in this business when you can enjoy something like this instead of rushing from one interview to the next. That's all I ever did, in my professional life, in my private life away from the glitz and glamour. To sit and watch things go a little slower, speed reduced until everything's almost at a standstill, crawling at a snail's pace......that's pure bliss.
I can imagine things will get a little more hectic though after tonight. You see, while I have my band on hiatus with the option to go back and write more songs with them or rehearse or play the occasional gig depending on my wrestling schedule - trust me, I'm glad I have such understanding band mates to be able to do this - I signed a contract to work for Motor City Wrestling again, not as a General Manager but as part of the talent roster. That means trips to the gym to spend as much time as possible honing and refining my already impressive physique to avoid becoming lazy and losing my God given looks. It means appearances to promote the company wherever we go or wherever we may be going in future. It means interviews for websites, magazines, radio stations and tv to talk about ourselves and what MCW is up to lately. More importantly, it means traveling to beautiful places like this to compete in the ring and give the paying fans something to remember for the rest of their lives with the very best in competition and I believe that right here in MCW is the best gathering of in ring ability in several years.
It doesn't matter whether you're the Motor City champion or the World Heavyweight champion or anywhere in between, getting to be a part of this traveling circus that is professional wrestling is one of the biggest highs you could ever experience and my love for this industry is well known already, just wait until tonight when I set foot in the ring in the middle of San Siro in front of thousands of screaming fans. Sure it may be a dark match so only those lucky enough to be in the building at the time will get to witness it unless it's somehow thrown as a bonus extra on the dvd but dark match or main event, it doesn't matter to me. All that matters is that I get to do what I love so much and make history for the MCW fans when they see the beginning of what will hopefully be a very long, illustrious and storied career right here in MCW.
And that's where my opponent comes in. You see, The Executioner may be known for his sheer size and power, he might be known as a scary first glimpse into this company for a lot of wrestlers, veteran or rookie, who get themselves booked into their first match in this place but to me, he's just another guy. I've beaten and been beaten by people his size before and that's why I have no fear against this man, fear and nerves are just one part of his arsenal and if I overcome that before the bell has even rung then that's part of the battle won for me. He may wear a mask to hide his face from the fans in case they mob him for defeating some of their favourite or most promising athletes in the past but to me, The Executioner needs that mask for two completely different reasons. First, he'll need it to hide the bruising to his face because despite the size difference between us, I still know ways of taking down a much taller and more physically imposing opponent. He'll also need that mask to be able to hide in shame once he becomes the first in a long line of people who will fall to the Messiah of Metal in MCW but Executioner, please don't feel too bad about that. You certainly won't be the first and won't be the last either to feel that inner turmoil, that utter sadness that comes from losing to me. In fact, you should think of it as an honour to have me notched on your list of losses.
Hey, it won't even be a win for me either, you can say you've experienced a part of the Stylez Dynasty, a long line of wrestlers that have dominated aspects of this business, from my father to my half brothers and my cousins and myself of course. Some say a loss to a member of the Stylez Dynasty is like a rat, you're never more than 3 feet away from one. Whether that means a rat like those disease carrying rodents or the women who throw themselves at pro wrestlers.......actually, I can never tell which are the disease carrying......anyway, bring an axe, bring some rope and don't be shy, give me everything you have because if you don't, you're gonna be looking up at the lights after a quick 3 minute beatdown wondering just what the hell hit you. Just long enough to allow my coffee to cool so I can have a hot, refreshing drink before I shower and settle down to watch the rest of Deliverence in peace. Which is kinda ironic cause I'll be delivering a first class beating to you. no stamp required. Unless you want me to break your face and make your mask even more ill fitting than it already is. Until later though, ciao.
Turning his head to his left, Dazz samples the view of the piazza and the very bottom of this street, raising his coffee to his lips and taking a soothing, warm drink without breaking his focus.
The End
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