"A Brotherhood Built on Denial" (GNW #1)
Nov 4, 2021 13:29:47 GMT -5
BRAVE1, SWAT eFed, and 3 more like this
Post by Jesse Jamester on Nov 4, 2021 13:29:47 GMT -5
A close up view of the NPW gold plated North American Double Crown championship shining brightly appears before us. As the shot zooms out, we see the newly crowned owner standing behind it. Placing his hand on the top edge, his fingers slowly feel the carefully crafted design of the Northern Pro Wrestling legacy that he now had the honor of carrying.
“Oxford… Osland…”
Lifting the belt up off the table it resides on, Jesse casually wears it over his shoulder.
“That’s right, I know who you are… I knew who you were before I signed the dotted line here. I know you think of yourself as something of a trailblazer here in Canada, long before the arenas were full and the ReVenants were ever a thing. In only a short few years, Oxford has created a name for himself. Winning the Anzac Cup this year and now the SWAT tag straps with Keith. Your reputation precedes you.”
A slow clap follows, yet it is brief as Jesse’s eyes look dead in the camera as he stops.
“That was then, THIS is now.”
Stepping back, Jesse rounds the table and walks past the camera. Transitioning to another camera, we see the Canadian Nightmare walking towards us. All six foot six inches of the seasoned veteran walked right over the camera, again disappearing.
“Righteousness has never been a path I walked.”
A clanging of a metal material echoes in the moderately lit Halifax warehouse. NPW’s storage for their show setups resting against the walls and on scaffolding racks all around. In the center, the Great War Games double cage and double ring setup was slowly panned over. Entering the steps, a camera gets zoomed in through a precut camera slot in the cage. Stepping to the center of the first ring, Jesse Jamester looks around, admiring the Great War Games architectural structure.
“Like many before have, and others to come will -- you all assume you have me figured out.”
Another camera appears walking into the cage, seeing the shaking head of JJ as it gets a better view of the menacing structure. JJ turns his attention to the camera with the piercing stare of a thousand knives.
“You know nothing of who you face.”
Cracking his neck as he rolled it side to side. The veins in his arms flex with such visibility, that comic illustrators could have a field day, as the Nightmare brings a hand up to his chest.
“Oxford forgets maybe, or out of spite he chooses to ignore -- it was Eric Dane that took his Canadian Commonwealth championship and sent him down the road years ago. Yeah, I told you Oxxie, I know you better than you wish I did. Ah -- that name, yeah, the Only Star, and he sure thought he was didn’t he? (Pauses) See, it was Dane who sought the Nightmare, not the other way around. Malicious and calculating, cold and cunning, the way I deal with people is due to the lack of trust I have for every last person on this planet.”
Putting his hand down, the trademark scaly black mask was no longer marked with the white forehead text. There was no X to mark the spot, nor a message to send. He was the target, the X was the Championship, and it was a roster of talent that he would have to look over his shoulder for from now on.
“Oxford, I didn’t choose to be anything for Gus Arnold. I am who I am, and because of that, I am found to be a leader. It’s a quality you either have, or you don’t. There’s no quit in leaders, there’s no second guessing in that ring. When I get in this cage and see you across from me, there will be no ‘wrestling’ that will save you. It will be the annihilation of the Anzac Cup winners, the first genocide of Canada’s cancerous ReVenants. Because quitting isn’t in my vocabulary! You thought it was huh? Guess again, because I never have, and I never will. It’ll be over my dead carcass before I let the ReVenants run this place!”
As he spoke, the Canadian Nightmare walked up to the mesh fence wall before him and gripped the cage as he pulled himself right up into the camera’s lens. The black scales of his mask rub on the metal as his right eye flicks from it to the viewer watching through the lens.
“I made my bones in this business in deathmatches. Training in Japan so I could be a master of this art. There was no sensei, no tutor, I didn’t have a man to guide me to my style of wrestling, I made it through years of travel and taking my lessons on the chin, out there in front of them - the fans. I crafted my legacy though when I found my home in the states at Lights Out Wrestling It’s not a surprise to any one who’s followed me that Northern Pro has only seen a sliver of the scale that my arsenal has in it, and that’s by design. You never reveal your hand Ox, that’s rule numbero uno -- I thought Parker would have taught you that. Hell, even Keith knows that.”
Stepping back from the cage, Jesse Jamester lays out the North American Double Crown Championship in the ring, like a line drawn in the sand before him. The palms of his hand reaches out to the camera as the other hand points to the prestigious title belt before his feet.
“Oxford, you chose the wrong horse to back. Great Northern War, you’ll step in that ring and see first hand what I am all about. I promise you, you’ll leave a part of yourself out there come November 9th, because I’m taking it from you! To the victor goes the spoils… if any one of the ReVenants can make me submit… they’ll get a shot at this Let's see how strong that brotherhood stands up now.”
The camera looks down and sees the North American Double Crown shine bright as Jesse Jamester bows his head.
“Oxford… Osland…”
Lifting the belt up off the table it resides on, Jesse casually wears it over his shoulder.
“That’s right, I know who you are… I knew who you were before I signed the dotted line here. I know you think of yourself as something of a trailblazer here in Canada, long before the arenas were full and the ReVenants were ever a thing. In only a short few years, Oxford has created a name for himself. Winning the Anzac Cup this year and now the SWAT tag straps with Keith. Your reputation precedes you.”
A slow clap follows, yet it is brief as Jesse’s eyes look dead in the camera as he stops.
“That was then, THIS is now.”
Stepping back, Jesse rounds the table and walks past the camera. Transitioning to another camera, we see the Canadian Nightmare walking towards us. All six foot six inches of the seasoned veteran walked right over the camera, again disappearing.
“Righteousness has never been a path I walked.”
A clanging of a metal material echoes in the moderately lit Halifax warehouse. NPW’s storage for their show setups resting against the walls and on scaffolding racks all around. In the center, the Great War Games double cage and double ring setup was slowly panned over. Entering the steps, a camera gets zoomed in through a precut camera slot in the cage. Stepping to the center of the first ring, Jesse Jamester looks around, admiring the Great War Games architectural structure.
“Like many before have, and others to come will -- you all assume you have me figured out.”
Another camera appears walking into the cage, seeing the shaking head of JJ as it gets a better view of the menacing structure. JJ turns his attention to the camera with the piercing stare of a thousand knives.
“You know nothing of who you face.”
Cracking his neck as he rolled it side to side. The veins in his arms flex with such visibility, that comic illustrators could have a field day, as the Nightmare brings a hand up to his chest.
“Oxford forgets maybe, or out of spite he chooses to ignore -- it was Eric Dane that took his Canadian Commonwealth championship and sent him down the road years ago. Yeah, I told you Oxxie, I know you better than you wish I did. Ah -- that name, yeah, the Only Star, and he sure thought he was didn’t he? (Pauses) See, it was Dane who sought the Nightmare, not the other way around. Malicious and calculating, cold and cunning, the way I deal with people is due to the lack of trust I have for every last person on this planet.”
Putting his hand down, the trademark scaly black mask was no longer marked with the white forehead text. There was no X to mark the spot, nor a message to send. He was the target, the X was the Championship, and it was a roster of talent that he would have to look over his shoulder for from now on.
“Oxford, I didn’t choose to be anything for Gus Arnold. I am who I am, and because of that, I am found to be a leader. It’s a quality you either have, or you don’t. There’s no quit in leaders, there’s no second guessing in that ring. When I get in this cage and see you across from me, there will be no ‘wrestling’ that will save you. It will be the annihilation of the Anzac Cup winners, the first genocide of Canada’s cancerous ReVenants. Because quitting isn’t in my vocabulary! You thought it was huh? Guess again, because I never have, and I never will. It’ll be over my dead carcass before I let the ReVenants run this place!”
As he spoke, the Canadian Nightmare walked up to the mesh fence wall before him and gripped the cage as he pulled himself right up into the camera’s lens. The black scales of his mask rub on the metal as his right eye flicks from it to the viewer watching through the lens.
“I made my bones in this business in deathmatches. Training in Japan so I could be a master of this art. There was no sensei, no tutor, I didn’t have a man to guide me to my style of wrestling, I made it through years of travel and taking my lessons on the chin, out there in front of them - the fans. I crafted my legacy though when I found my home in the states at Lights Out Wrestling It’s not a surprise to any one who’s followed me that Northern Pro has only seen a sliver of the scale that my arsenal has in it, and that’s by design. You never reveal your hand Ox, that’s rule numbero uno -- I thought Parker would have taught you that. Hell, even Keith knows that.”
Stepping back from the cage, Jesse Jamester lays out the North American Double Crown Championship in the ring, like a line drawn in the sand before him. The palms of his hand reaches out to the camera as the other hand points to the prestigious title belt before his feet.
“Oxford, you chose the wrong horse to back. Great Northern War, you’ll step in that ring and see first hand what I am all about. I promise you, you’ll leave a part of yourself out there come November 9th, because I’m taking it from you! To the victor goes the spoils… if any one of the ReVenants can make me submit… they’ll get a shot at this Let's see how strong that brotherhood stands up now.”
The camera looks down and sees the North American Double Crown shine bright as Jesse Jamester bows his head.
