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| "Resurrectio Romana!"; The rise of the Roman. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 23 2010, 09:25 PM (217 Views) | |
| HistoryHITM | Dec 23 2010, 09:25 PM Post #1 |
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Curtain Jerker
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December 23, 2010 Pre-Snowbrawl 10:29 PM EST It was a day left until Snowbrawl. There was a bit of a streak going on, victory followed victory. Success was coming simply, even naturally. His former rival, Victor Creed, was easily defeated. The gods were giving him a symbol. A divine symbol of how far they wish to raise him. How they wanted to raise him? To the greatest heights of them all. To bring him as the one to top all. But first, there were a few requirements that needed to be followed. In fact, there were a few requirements that he had found himself. Such as, all the blasphemers in the RCWF of the holy Roman gods. In Demolition alone, there were individuals preaching their gospel. A man who called himself a saint. Another who believed he was god-like. All disgusting lies from disgusting mortals. It was vile and sickening. There was nothing that Ryan would like more than to go after every single one of them and appease the gods. Their demands ring in his ears to crucify them. But their needs were to be put aside for now. His entire life work was put out to please the gods, to thank Jupiter for his blessings. In this part of his life, he would need to work for himself and for himself only. It was his first pay-per-view match. Each empire started with a glorious victory. Eminence radiating off of every pore. Mike Metal's sacrifice was needed. His soul to cleanse, his fate left to Pluto. And although this victory would be for him, Ryan needed divine guidance. Every man was blind by some fault. They needed a hand to lead them on the path to glory. Thus, Ryan Abendroth traveled a far distance. By plane, by car, by any modes of transportation, he made his way to Greece. Travelling all the way to the slopes of Mount Parnassus. But all the luxuries of modern time could not lead him to the Temple of Apollo. To find it, one must had to go through intense, physical exertion. In the dead of night, through rain that poured with the wrath of Neptune, Ryan climbed the mountain-side. All this, to visit the Oracle of Delphi. ![]() Slips and slides all the way. The pain of climbing grew intense, his muscles grew weak. Multiple times, Ryan thought of letting go and falling to his death. He would have failed if Jupiter had not smiled upon him. The ultimate god attempted to calm his water-born brother, and helped Ryan along the way, rejuvenating the life in his body. It took what seemed like years to reach the slope, but he arrived. Climbing the final ledge, he stood victorious. Yet, it was not over. The meeting with the oracle had yet to come. He was met by the priests of Apollo, robed to cover their disfigurements. "Welcome Abendroth, we have been expecting you." Torch in hand, they motioned to the stairways to the temple. Once inside, they settled him in an area where four priests surrounded him. Warily, but confident, Abendroth took a seat in the center. The priests did not take suit. They asked for why he was there. The answer was given. His question specifically? They did not ask. What they did ask? "What do you have to offer?" With a sneer, Abendroth took off the bag that he shouldered the way up the mountain. He tossed it at their feet, inside were hundreds and hundreds of gold pieces. The priest smiled, or at least, smiled as much as his face would. With that, Abendroth continued. "Mike Metal is a dangerous opponent, but I figure that I have the advantage over him. He has defeated many before I, but I hold the streak that he does not. He has yet to battle another since the coming of the draft. I will over-power him with my superior strength, and my distinct moves wi-" One priest cut him off. "The full moon approaches, Abendroth." "The ancient and sacred festival. You will not face Metal in this match!" This fully enraged Abendroth. "I HAVE SPENT MY LIFE SERVING THE GODS! I have given them my full effort, my entirety to them. My career depends on this very match. I will be demoted to the Dungeon, I will lose my salary. My woman will divorce me, or worse!" Now..." He took a deep breath. "I will battle him on the eve of another religion's holiday. I have taken standards and classes to make sure that I block his submission attempts, and worked up my strength so that I may kick out of his pins. My chance will come to hit him with my fierce right hand, and from there, I will garner my strength, and hit the Crucifixion. His words will count for nothing. Wave after wave of Metal's attack SMASH against my hardy body. Metal's physical strength will be so drained, his moral depleted, he will have but no choice to submit. To abandon all hope." "We must consult with the oracle. Trust the gods then, Abendroth." "I would prefer you trusted your reason." "YOUR BLASPHEMOUS WORDS HAVE COST US... quite enough already. You must calm yourself. We will... consult... the Oracle." They led him to where they the Oracle was housed. One of the priests, covering his mouth, opened the lid to something aromatic. It was arousing, yet disgusting at the same time. Abendroth, although wishing he could have just taken the blessing and left to wage war, had to respect the laws. No Roman man, woman, child, slave, or king was above the law. The smell spread, and it seemed to awake the Oracle. It made her move, dance in a way. Her limbs moved rhythmically, it was tantalizing. Enticing and capturing. Abendroth could not turn his eyes away. With a scowl, he merely watched. It was all on her now. ![]() After her dance was finished, she fell to the ground. The priest rushed over, and attended to her. He went down to his knees and put his ear next to her mouth. He was ready to receive the message. "Pray to the winds... Abendroth will fall... Your career will fall... Trust not in men... Honor the gods!" The priest turned to Abendroth with another of his disfigured smiles. Abendroth turned, and left. His heart heavy. Pompous fools. Evils cast from society. Corrupt old men. No matter what the Oracle says, blessing or not, he would go and fight. This decision he already made before he even came. The visit was merely a formality. The gods may hate him, despise him, but he shall always love them. They turn their back on him, blind him from his eyes, but he shall always worship. This one thing he had to do for himself. For all those who loved, or despised him. Let the Oracle keep her blessing. Abendroth needed no one's assistance for this. ... |
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| HistoryHITM | Dec 29 2010, 09:40 AM Post #2 |
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Curtain Jerker
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December 26, 2010 Post-Snowbrawl 6:48 AM EST There was no use dwelling in the past. After all, there was nothing that was going to change. What happened at Snowbrawl X, happened. He had failed to leave his imprint on RCWF history on that day. If anything were to be remembered from that day, in Ryan Abendroth's and Mike Metal's history, it would be that he was hit with four finishers and two signatures moves before he fell. Hit after hit he took, every time he was taken down, he would rise back up. What exactly to take away from this? If anything, it was to hold resilience and to hold stead-fast in the face of danger. That, or the scar that now crossed his forward from the battle. To bleed was both Roman and Spartan. To lose was neither. To hold a mighty grudge, was both. Again, there was no use dwelling in the past, but there was all the intention and reason to hate Metal until the end of days. At times, this grudge would continue. Metal would be taken down, by normal means or by other... means. But to his enemy, he was but an afterthought. Oh, how much he would savor proving him wrong. To take him to newer depths of Jupitor's world. Death and desolation waiting for him. To feel the pain that he has only met in unholy nightmares. He believes that with his tricks and mirrors, he is the embodiment of that such feeling? The thought was laughable, something to mock and scoff at. He had not even the smallest understanding of the sensation... Ah, no. There was no need to continue on that path. Abendroth stopped his moping and settled into his throne. Now that Demolition would soon be underway, future plans needed to be thought out. His loss at Snowbrawl may have led to lack of of a match, but nonetheless, he would take full advantage of this. The day would be dedicated to planning and recuperation. If he had a match today, it would only lead to further injury to his forehead. There was no need for that, right? Knock... knock... knock... Someone was at Abendroth's door? At this early in the morning? With a heavy sigh, he stepped off his throne and approached the door. He made a note to himself, find an assistant to do this. A lackey of some sort. A god-king did not need this kind of menial labor thrust upon him. It seemed as just as he was about to open the door, the man outside kicked it open. Pouring rain splattered on the front porch, the cloaked figure outside dropped forward with the splintered door. Abendroth had the luck and reflexes to step back just before the action. Still, even further confusion gripped him, and with that, more questions. Who was this figure? Why did he enter in such a way? With that last one, anger held him as well. Abendroth grabbed the hooded figure and tossed him against a wall. He followed shortly with a kick to the stomach... several kicks to the stomach. When he had finally exhausted his rage, the effort was taken to pull the hood off the man. He soon wished he hadn't. It was one of the priests of the Oracle. His disfigured face was more animal than man. Abendroth turned his head and resisted the urge to spill the breakfast he never had. If he had any appetite before this moment, he sure didn't anymore. When he turned back, the priest was hooded once more. He breathed heavily, labored with pain. "Abendroth, you damned fool! You dare attack a priest?" This was only met by a short laugh. "I dare whatever I please, the gods favor me more than an old fool such as yourself." The priest pulled himself into a sitting position. "And this is why the gods allowed you to lose?" Abendroth was taken aback. How did the priest know about that? "Hehehe... Yes Abendroth, we know. The gods see all, and they tell the Oracle. All the Oracle knows, she passes onto us. And this is the reason why I have come, humbled myself to this position. The gods have entrusted in me a message of grave importance. Something from the Oracle herself. This could very well change your entire life, my child. However, you have disgraced me this much thus far. I have lost my reason to tell you what I know..." "HA! Do you believe that you can threaten me? Who do you think you are? What power do you hold on me? You have entered my abode. My kingdom. This is my territory, and you will do as I see fit. The world may be the gods playground, but this is mine. You have no friends here. Now, will you kindly rethink your answer? It would be a shame to spill your dirty blood on my floor. Plus, there is no mortician that would handle your disgusting body. I would merely have to dump your body on the side of a road. Now, what do you say to that?" The priest took serious time to consider. Was this merely a bluff with this upstart? There was fire in his eyes, ignited most likely from the loss he suffered from not too long ago. There were now two things on the scale: his pride or his life. Which one outweighed the other? His minutes to deliberate were slowly ticking away. Abendroth was a fan of Roman artifacts, some of which were in surprisingly great condition. Others were merely replicas. On the walls, there were dozens and dozens of Roman weapons. Real metal. The Roman was inching closer and closer to these. "ALRIGHT! Alright, please. I understand. I will tell you the prophecy." "I'm glad we have reached an understanding." The priest took a deep breath, and began to speak. ![]() "You shall search the world and find only few, You shall find one of old and one quite new, You shall fall slowly and slightly like a rose petal, And you shall fail in your search for the prized metal." The priest took a deep breath after he was finished, and continued to breath heavily for several more seconds. During the moment the prophecy was given, it was as if he was possessed by a higher being. That was still not of any concern. The major problem here would have to be the end of the prophecy. Prized metal? That had to be a title, was it not? Strange as it was, not to use gold in the end... Stranger still that he had just exited a match with Mike Metal. But wouldn't that mean the prophecy was just a bit late? Ah, curiouser and curiouser. "Leave me." The priest smiled darkly, and bowed mockingly deep. He left through the hole that used to be the door, leaving behind an Abendroth deep in thought. ... |
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| HistoryHITM | Jan 7 2011, 08:36 PM Post #3 |
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Curtain Jerker
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January 7, 2011 Romanorum Familia 3:15 PM EST It was a great day for all of Greco-Roman kind, kin or otherwise. After a rather embarrassing loss to a former foe, Abendroth came back with an impressive victory over dominant Demolition superstar, Buzz. Not only that, but after quite a streak, Buzz had been taken down a notch with his first 2011 loss. This, like many of the fights before him, was his first meeting with this, this... supreme bearded monster. He was right to be called as such, 'Big Bad Buzz.' Although, it was rather hard to take the man seriously after he had come out to the 'Barney' theme song. It was PG week, but really? Of course, one could not underestimate his opponent merely based on this theme. Abendroth faced one of the greatest opponents he would, perhaps, even meet throughout the course of his career. His height and strength, equal to that of the most fierce minotaur, would leave a mark on him. Abendroth looked forward to meeting him once again in battle, another day. Another glorious battle of epic proportions would bound to take place. However, that was enough flattery for one day. The Roman walked through his Virginia-based home. With the winter falling, and night coming sooner and sooner everyday, he was soaking up as much sunshine as possible. He exhaled and inhaled the cold air, there was nothing quite like it. Perchance he should have been training at this time. After all, he was facing Roz. It was a name everyone knew quite well. A grizzled and rugged veteran of the RCWF. Winning the Television Championship, as well as keeping his career alive, only weeks ago. Holding the coveted 7th spot on the RCWF All-Time 100 listing. The achievement list could move on and on. The biggest worry, of course, would be his technical mastery. He could go into the match a man with his limbs intact. Not soon later, he could come out with limbs broken and detached. Of course, this was only a part of the wrestling lifestyle. The Roman lifestyle. The Spartan lifestyle. Abendroth did not fear it, but he would very well avoid it if he could. Be that as it is, pre-match jitters could come at a later date. There was a reason that he took a plane to his vacation home in the Virginian countryside. He was meeting someone. Many had already known of Abendroth's surprise meeting with the priest. More specifically, the prophecy that the priest gave him. The information was made viral at some point, through an unknown source. Wikileaks? ...Pft, no. Nonetheless, there was no worry in this. In fact, all the better. If the people that fit the description came to him, there would no time wasted going out in search of them. In this case, that was exactly what happened. The man he was meeting today sought him out after reading this information. He did this strangely, through mail and without revealing his identity. Abendroth was no fool. He decided to only meet with the man if it was only on his territory, his home. Thus, this is how things ended up. Only seconds remained before the established meeting time would strike. Tick... Tick... Tick... The time had arrived, but still no one had come. First came anger. How dare this man make a meeting with Abendroth, and deny to show his face. What, was this all some sort of trick or joke to waste his time? Next came curiosity. Could this man have been the prophetic one? Why did he not reveal his identity? Questions raced through his mind, but the train of thought was broken. A subtle sound came from a bush near the garden wall. He turned his head to the direction of the noise, picked up the decorative spear that was surprisingly near, and tossed it to the noise. He quickly followed up by sprinting towards it after the projectile was thrown. What he found was surprising, an unexpected turn of events. ![]() Victor Creed? In his home? The spear had missed him by a mile, but it seemed to have spooked his former enemy. Abendroth being instinctively a 'shoot first, questions later' sort of fellow, he grabbed Creed by the shirt and tossed him back to his feet. He still bore scars of months prior, the brutal and merciless attacks. Underhanded tactics from an unsavory foe. His hands held firm on the collar of Creed's shirt. "CREED! Have you come to attack me once again?! I thought we had passed this phase. We have both made it to the main roster, were our animosities not set aside? Is your anger so deep that you hold this much grudge against me? It is not smart to enter a Spartan's home and threaten them my friend. I've watched the movie 300, and I'm sure you have as well. I've installed a giant pit-hole over there, and I've been itching to test it out." Creed smiles ever so darkly, smacking away the hands of Abendroth off him. "I've known you for a long time Abendroth, History in the Making, whoever the hell you are right now. Don't give me that 'tough-guy' bullshit. I've seen you from the very start. Where's that pretty silver hair you used to have? And did you shave your pubes and attach them to your chin, what EXACTLY is that supposed to be? I mean, I've been watching you for a while now. You sure as hell failed against Metal at Snowbrawl, didn't you? Ooh, I flinched every-time I saw you go down. You took it like a real bitch didn't you?" What was his purpose? To be irritating? The anger and tension was mounting. Abendroth walked slowly towards the spear. "Hold on there tough guy. Like I've said, I've been following you lately. That little prophecy you got there? That first part, could be me, y'know. As you might know, my endeavors in the RCWF haven't been... 'fruitful' to say the least. Haven't been having the best of luck lately. I thought it'd be in the best of both our interests to combine forces." Abendroth took no effort to hide his laughter and scorn. "HA! So you have come to me to bail you out of your troubles? I have no use for a man who no longer knows how to fight. There is no use in legionaries that will flee upon contact. I do not ask for constant victory, but you must give something to offer. If anything, you will be my subordinate. My lackey. And that is on the furthest extent of this deal. You serve under me as my legionary, my warrior, you may have something to offer yet." Creed was obviously offended by this. "Really? I come to you offering my help, and you treat me like this? Two words. Hell... no." The Roman was apathetic about this. "I hold no opinion on this, it is your choice, now, get out of my house." Creed glared at Abendroth, but realized there was nothing he could really do. There was no swaying this man, he was headstrong as ever. Silently, he went back the way he came. Or he tried. After a few failed attempts at trying to get back over the wall, Abendroth showed him the way to the door. With the prophecy in mind, the Roman went to the basement to train further. "You shall search the world and find only few, You shall find one of old and one quite new," ... |
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| HistoryHITM | Jan 16 2011, 05:28 PM Post #4 |
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Curtain Jerker
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January 16, 2011 Tabellae ex Ryan Aprox. 10:42 AM EST Dear Reader, To whomever found this letter on my doorstep, this is a mere note that I am not here currently. I highly dis-advise you to enter my home in my absence. The security is tight, and if I were to catch you, you would very well hope I did not. The reason for my leaving is, as you may have guessed, my loss in the Elimination Chamber at Brutal Reunion. The loss was my second at a major Pay-Per-View, and further hindering my path onto glory, and furthering the Romanization of the RCWF. Either the gods remain displeased at me for the incident at Snowbrawl, or this is just a fulfillment of the prophecy. It may very well be two and the same. That only leaves the curious note that I have yet to meet my second "ally"... that is to say, the second is even an ally. To even say, Creed is an ally. Its always been said in those half-assed movies that the hero must undergo a life-changing journey to turn a new leaf and come back a changed man. I could take weeks off at a time to do such a thing, but the next episode of Demolition is mere days away. Instead of weeks, months, or years, I will shorten this all into the course of five days. Short, but enough. To fully maximize the time, the schedule will run as the following: In the first two days, I will travel to visit the Oracle once more. Those foolish priests have nothing to offer me, but the Oracle may very well be able to give me something. My prophecy did not go chronologically, as it normally should have. My chance at the "prized metal", which I must assume by this time is the Custom Championship, was an utter failure. I have met one of my "allies", in Victor Creed. He is the old, but I have yet to meet the new. At the end, the note of my career falling, I'm sure this isn't the start of it. There hasn't been any indication. The Oracle may provide me further interpretation, or guidance. Rome did not fall in a matter of days. In the two days following, I will enter a regime of intense preparation and training. I cannot solely place the blame on higher powers, that would be short-sighted and narrow-minded. I have grown lazy and inept in the skills of wrestling, this must be acknowledged. This disgrace cannot stand. I will return to my previous trainers, as well as new, to hone my skills. The day I return to Demolition, I will enter changed and refined. On the final day, I will hunt down my next foe. On the target? Cid Phoenix. To be taken seriously, each and every competitor in that Elimination Chamber match must be taken down. Eliminated first. A laughable effort. This will change. The armies of Rome have tasted defeat, but only so few before they return with twice the force. In order of Elimination, each match will be taken through a glorious victory. Fall, rung by rung. Examples must be set. Crucifixion, if the need is great. The bottomless pit cries out in hunger. Victims, soon. Victoria ut Rome, filiolus es per Romanorum. - Ryan Abendroth |
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| HistoryHITM | Jan 20 2011, 03:05 PM Post #5 |
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Curtain Jerker
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January 19, 2011 Secundum Pugna 10:14 PM EST Two times, two disappointing losses. Eliminated first in the Elimination Chamber, and then defeated by Cid Phoenix. It was almost unfair, pin after pin attempt. It was like after every attempt to win the match, every time he pulled a pin out of his ass, Cid finally got lucky on one. The plans, the opponents to take on, all for naught. Who did he think he was, $lim? Unless he suddenly turned in a black man with a fetish for lists, that was highly unlikely. Whatever happened in the end, not what happened in between, mattered. Troy Sharp's spirit engulfed Cid's fighting style, and he ended up winning. Those stood as the facts. It was just another loss to add, but a number separated to another by a dash. In wrestling, there were parts in which the wrestlers judged each other upon. One part on how they acted, another part on how they talked the talk, but yet another part on how they fought. Being stopped short like that, it sent him to the bottom of the barrel. The Custom Championship race, one he was thrust into, was looking dimmer and dimmer. The Dungeon had trained him for this disappointment. The anger and frustration that came from each loss, the participation and effort he put into it. It was infuriating to see others rise while he fell and fell. With a purpose and drive to use others as a stepping stone for once, he failed utterly. His victory over Buzz now even seemed worthless, Beauty and the Beard were unable to gain the contendership with their loss to Dark Bullet. But a number, but a number. Not age, his record. This saying repeated over and over in his mind, reassuring him. The fears of a normal man take over, thoughts race through his head. The brass would surely recognize him as one of the competitors that put more effort into what he did? It was not the thoughts of a Roman, nor a Spartan. This was not the fearless warrior, this was the fearful man. Jumping to conclusions, questioning his future. Yet the future still had so much more for him in store. The Oracle was the furthest from his mind... Yet... yet... This fit the prophecy so perfectly. On the first and second days, when he attempted to meet the Oracle, there was some sort of godly force surrounding him. It weakened him, preventing him from taking the steps required to meet the Oracle. It was holy punishment, taken from the gods. Any right minded, religious man would say that. But Abendroth, religious as he was, was equally strong-headed. He refused to believe that the foolish men in Apollo's temple were right. He even went so far as to curse Apollo himself. The god-fearing man was slowly losing his purpose. The end of the prophecy continued to reveal itself in clear losses, horrible outcomes. Perhaps Rome would fall before it even began its glorious reign... Such pessimistic thoughts. Foolish to even think of such a thing. Backstage, Abendroth was ready to make his second public statement to the people. "I entered RCWF so energetic, confident. I radiated with some sort of light, pouring from my every pore. I thought the Dungeon sucked that spirit out of me. The confidence, everything that came with it. Thats what the purpose of the Dungeon is, correct? To empty everything out from the ones who enter with such a drive. Its a reality check, a slap in the face. It ought to be someone shaking me down and yelling, 'GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF.' Giving realistic goals, unlike those who would dare to think that they would be able to gain championships, get the titles, everything that they would ever possibly dream on a whim. Yes, there are those success stories. How many could say that Pedro did not win his title merely on luck? Norn's victory over him merely showed that. I'm sure that Pedro will willingly avoid him at all costs from here on out... Don't misunderstand, digging into Pedro isn't the point of this, however. This is not some sort of call-out or a publicity stunt. I speak only on my behalf." Abendroth takes a deep breath and lets his head fall. His bright-red cape laid strewn across the floor, his helmet laying sideways. It had the strange appearance of a fallen warrior, as if a poltergeist had laid them in such a way. The marks of previous battles criss-crossed around Abendroth's torso, the mark across his eye glaring into the camera. "Questions abound, where here from now? I look to the future, and I see nothing for me in store. A shot will not land on a silver platter in my face. I would say I would try to run and grab it, steal it if possible, but I am chained. I am chained by the steel of limitations, a material so strong, that I am unable to break it. I am a prisoner of my own mindset, a mere puppet who dances and prances for the masses. Held in darkness, released to entertain. I am no Spartan, I am no Roman. I hold no place in the Legion. I am a gladiator, fighting for his own freedom. And someday, I will watch as the thumb is put down, and I am executed. Terminated. I talk large about how the rungs will 'fall one by one.' Rome was not built in day, but it was ravaged savagely in one." "What do I need? A pep-talk? Is this a plea for pity? To be cliche, I don't need your damn pity. Then who am I? Who am I? The gladiator who fights. Who is he? What is my purpose? Why not ask yourself that? I am a tool used for entertainment value. Am I against that? The emperor was once lowered to a status of being of the highest bidder, the greatest position in the world lowered to such a state. Am I not that? No, I am not. If one has not reached the top, they can not dig themselves further down. Coherent? This doesn't need to be." "I am not a raving lunatic. Am I Roman? Spartan? Greco-Roman? Lets say all of the above. Am I angry? Sad? Happy? Lets say all of the above. This isn't self-promotion, this is being Roman, Spartan, and Greco-Roman. The reign of Rome comes, cometh, fanciful and everything that goes with it. The gods have forsaken me, the people had never taken me, and yet I care surprisingly little. I am a gladiator. I fight for no man, but for my life. I test the chains of limitations, but I will drag them to their longest range. The bars of my mindset will rust and break. Time will take its toll." "Victoria ut Rome, filiolus es per Romanorum." ... |
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1:21 PM Jul 11