Pecking order puncture wounds
Feb 15, 2016 13:01:16 GMT -5
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Eira and Nathan Saniti like this
Post by Grimm on Feb 15, 2016 13:01:16 GMT -5
The thing that stood out most was how it lacked the expected sensations. No dripping, no splashing – despite feeling as if he was deep within the cathedral room of a cave, the space was as dry as one of Granny’s corn husk hex dolls. No oozing stalactites. No subterranean streams rushing past. No blind critters scurrying around his feet. The stones around him had not been carved out by water working through limestone. These were the works of man.
A single light shone down from high above. At least it appeared high above as there was no way to judge distance or scale in this place. He stood on flat slabs of stone, with dust and shards of rock filling the chinks in between. Phinehas detected the vague outline of a circular enclosure, something like a solid wall, just beyond the limits of the light. He dared to take a deep breath. The space reminded him of some place…old, as if it had been sealed and forgotten until just now. Not unlike his root cellar.
Phinehas spoke first. “What am I being charged with?” His voice echoed back to him from several directions.
As his voices faded, there came a rushing sound. Phinehas was unsure whether it was wind, or just the blood rushing through his head. The words came to him in layers, as water rushing over rocks.
“Charges? No one has said anything about charges. We are here to offer our pronouncements, and you are here to listen. You are our witness, but you shall not testify against anything you hear. Is that understood?”
The room remained unchanged other than the sounds. Phinehas squinted but could not see even so much as an outline or silhouette in the shadows. He answered.
“…Yes.”
“In the parlance of your Pure Class Wrestling, the Black Hand has accomplished much. Championship titles, air time, boosted television ratings. You drew out the Order onto a stage the size of which none of us ever anticipated. That being said, if you think a wrestling promotion is our only concern you are sorely mistaken.”
The voices swirled around him and dissipated into the stones. But then a singular voice approached out of the dark. Singular and very familiar.
“We look to promote intelligent thought and reason as a natural progression of humanity. The Order looks to enslave them in their quiet quest for global domination and the accumulation of power. They must be stopped at all costs.”
He recognized Billy’s words in Billy’s voice. Phinehas worked to keep his glancing about to a minimum in hopes of maintaining his cool exterior. He did not have long until the myriad voices returned, tracing the circumference of the room.
“Though he still has much to answer for, William was correct in his assessment. This world, however, is not yet ready for the next step. Unready, and unwilling. By its very existence the general populace is irrational, and irrational behavior does not respond to reason. It responds to fear. And so that is what we have used since time immemorial. And we saw that it was good. But now Nathan Saniti’s recent actions have forced us to reveal our true nature, even as he struggles to determine his own. Thus, we shall remove ourselves from the inner workings of your federation. For now. “
Phinehas turned in a slow circle. He looked up towards the light. He was unsure of to whom or what he spoke, but speak he did.
“So…that’s it?”
“What, with the Black Hand? Not in the slightest. You misunderstand us. We are running Michael Wryght’s presidential campaign. And whatnot. But we no longer need to exercise our influence within the confines of the PCW Arena. It is a microcosm of the world at large, and we consider it something of a successful reconnaissance exercise. The Black Hand’s efforts, yours included, were not in vain. But now we shall direct our energies and efforts outside those walls.”
This reply brought with it a sickly sweet undertone of tobacco. Phinehas cast about and thought he saw, for a moment, the flash of an ember or quivering of a flame, but then it was gone.
If he hadn’t known any better, it sounded to Phinehas like he would be left to his own devices. His beard masked a smile.
Phinehas knew the Order opposed the Black Hand, but despite the centuries of animosity he really didn’t understand much about them. He’d made the effort at first, but that had quickly collapsed into lists of Clerics and Seekers and Spellslingers and Guardians and Archivists…nothing more, really, than a flowchart which read like the genome mapping project. It was like trying to work your way through those parts of the Old Testament. You know the ones.
…begat…begat…begat…
Of course, with both he suspected there was a reason beneath it all, with hidden codes and ciphers worked into the innocuous lists of names. But it didn’t take him long to lose interest. He’d seen it as nothing more than abstract over-analyzed nonsense.
The presence returned. They (it?) apparently knew his mind. Well, that’s just great.
“It is a fool’s errand, and it is not yours to understand. While trying to allow for all the possibilities, you will be circumvented by the circumstances. If nothing else, consider your opponent. You’ve seen this Rhodes fellow make attempts at understanding The Order. Even he doesn’t fully grasp the inner workings, because no one person does. It’s how they regulate themselves.”
The voices coalesced and funneled into Phinehas’s head. He dropped to one knee at the impact.
“At the end of the day, Phinehas, does it really even matter? The Order is corroding from the inside out. We, and therefore you, don’t need to be quite so concerned about them at this point in time. They don’t know anything about the Black Hand. They don’t even know who they themselves are anymore. They even have Non Compos Mentis questioning himself. His role. His relevance.”
Even bowed there, seemingly buffeted by the Black Hand personified, Grimm knew who he was, though.
The Lord of Misrule’s strength was not the muscularity of one such as Non Compos Mentis. Nor did he display the grace of Eira or Justin Kaard. Rather, his strength flowed from a single-minded intelligence that made his movements deliberate. Relentless. When wielding his battle-tested focus, he had no need for haste, thoughtlessness, and artificial urgency. It was how he had, once again, become World Champion.
The World Champion of a federation in something of a flux. Eira had her injuries and pregnancy. Murdoc had withdrawn to…wherever or whatever it was that called him away from time to time. Non Compos Mentis would never be free from the oppression of his unreliable mental state. Billy Sadistic’s comings and goings were well known, as were both Michael Wryght and Justin Michael’s extracurricular aspirations.
But Grimm…Grimm has not, will not, would not, go anywhere.
“We know that, Phinehas. That’s why you are here.”
After a few seconds of quiet and therefore reprieve, he struggled to his feet. With head down and eyes closed, he spoke again.
“Who are you?”
They replied.
“We are The Tribunal.”
“We are Legion.”
“And you are dismissed.”
A blink, and Phinehas was back in All Souls Hollow. The devil’s own luck found him standing in a fallow winter field, surrounded by the fodder of harvest. Once he regained his bearings, the Fiend in the Furrows frowned.
Grimm and Non Compos Mentis had no long-standing accounts to settle. Their respective organizations declared bitterness throughout the ages, but the Order had attempted to manipulate Sean Rhodes through lies. And the Black Hand, well, to them this match was a footnote. So, unexpected as it might have been just a few weeks ago, when PCW appeared to have been the center of the Black Hand – Order conflict, for now this would be nothing more than FISTICUFFS between two of the federation’s most staunch stalwarts. And even so, there was little doubt they would rush at one another with an unmatched savagery.
Why?
Because it’s just what these two have always done.
Streets have run red. The aisles have as well, and would do so again. There were those who wanted to end Grimm’s brother but were unable to follow through.
But Grimm had.
Grimm did not wish to end Non Compos Mentis any more than he had ended anyone else. Which, perhaps unfortunately for him, he had. It was a long list. Justin Michaels’ beautiful face had been added to it most recently.
At one time, Non Compos Mentis behaved as though he knew his destruction was inevitable and he sought the federation as audience worthy of it. Just last week, however, he had intervened to protect two of his fellow PCW’ers from certain injury. And he had performed his duties as guest referee as well as anyone could have hoped. Phinehas would toast him for that.
The question was, which Non Compos Mentis would step into the ring at Trauma 187?
Phinehas looked down and dug his boot into the earth. A flash of movement caught his eye, but it was just a tuft of fur caught on a barb wire fence.
A single light shone down from high above. At least it appeared high above as there was no way to judge distance or scale in this place. He stood on flat slabs of stone, with dust and shards of rock filling the chinks in between. Phinehas detected the vague outline of a circular enclosure, something like a solid wall, just beyond the limits of the light. He dared to take a deep breath. The space reminded him of some place…old, as if it had been sealed and forgotten until just now. Not unlike his root cellar.
Phinehas spoke first. “What am I being charged with?” His voice echoed back to him from several directions.
As his voices faded, there came a rushing sound. Phinehas was unsure whether it was wind, or just the blood rushing through his head. The words came to him in layers, as water rushing over rocks.
“Charges? No one has said anything about charges. We are here to offer our pronouncements, and you are here to listen. You are our witness, but you shall not testify against anything you hear. Is that understood?”
The room remained unchanged other than the sounds. Phinehas squinted but could not see even so much as an outline or silhouette in the shadows. He answered.
“…Yes.”
“In the parlance of your Pure Class Wrestling, the Black Hand has accomplished much. Championship titles, air time, boosted television ratings. You drew out the Order onto a stage the size of which none of us ever anticipated. That being said, if you think a wrestling promotion is our only concern you are sorely mistaken.”
The voices swirled around him and dissipated into the stones. But then a singular voice approached out of the dark. Singular and very familiar.
“We look to promote intelligent thought and reason as a natural progression of humanity. The Order looks to enslave them in their quiet quest for global domination and the accumulation of power. They must be stopped at all costs.”
He recognized Billy’s words in Billy’s voice. Phinehas worked to keep his glancing about to a minimum in hopes of maintaining his cool exterior. He did not have long until the myriad voices returned, tracing the circumference of the room.
“Though he still has much to answer for, William was correct in his assessment. This world, however, is not yet ready for the next step. Unready, and unwilling. By its very existence the general populace is irrational, and irrational behavior does not respond to reason. It responds to fear. And so that is what we have used since time immemorial. And we saw that it was good. But now Nathan Saniti’s recent actions have forced us to reveal our true nature, even as he struggles to determine his own. Thus, we shall remove ourselves from the inner workings of your federation. For now. “
Phinehas turned in a slow circle. He looked up towards the light. He was unsure of to whom or what he spoke, but speak he did.
“So…that’s it?”
“What, with the Black Hand? Not in the slightest. You misunderstand us. We are running Michael Wryght’s presidential campaign. And whatnot. But we no longer need to exercise our influence within the confines of the PCW Arena. It is a microcosm of the world at large, and we consider it something of a successful reconnaissance exercise. The Black Hand’s efforts, yours included, were not in vain. But now we shall direct our energies and efforts outside those walls.”
This reply brought with it a sickly sweet undertone of tobacco. Phinehas cast about and thought he saw, for a moment, the flash of an ember or quivering of a flame, but then it was gone.
If he hadn’t known any better, it sounded to Phinehas like he would be left to his own devices. His beard masked a smile.
Phinehas knew the Order opposed the Black Hand, but despite the centuries of animosity he really didn’t understand much about them. He’d made the effort at first, but that had quickly collapsed into lists of Clerics and Seekers and Spellslingers and Guardians and Archivists…nothing more, really, than a flowchart which read like the genome mapping project. It was like trying to work your way through those parts of the Old Testament. You know the ones.
…begat…begat…begat…
Of course, with both he suspected there was a reason beneath it all, with hidden codes and ciphers worked into the innocuous lists of names. But it didn’t take him long to lose interest. He’d seen it as nothing more than abstract over-analyzed nonsense.
The presence returned. They (it?) apparently knew his mind. Well, that’s just great.
“It is a fool’s errand, and it is not yours to understand. While trying to allow for all the possibilities, you will be circumvented by the circumstances. If nothing else, consider your opponent. You’ve seen this Rhodes fellow make attempts at understanding The Order. Even he doesn’t fully grasp the inner workings, because no one person does. It’s how they regulate themselves.”
The voices coalesced and funneled into Phinehas’s head. He dropped to one knee at the impact.
“At the end of the day, Phinehas, does it really even matter? The Order is corroding from the inside out. We, and therefore you, don’t need to be quite so concerned about them at this point in time. They don’t know anything about the Black Hand. They don’t even know who they themselves are anymore. They even have Non Compos Mentis questioning himself. His role. His relevance.”
Even bowed there, seemingly buffeted by the Black Hand personified, Grimm knew who he was, though.
The Lord of Misrule’s strength was not the muscularity of one such as Non Compos Mentis. Nor did he display the grace of Eira or Justin Kaard. Rather, his strength flowed from a single-minded intelligence that made his movements deliberate. Relentless. When wielding his battle-tested focus, he had no need for haste, thoughtlessness, and artificial urgency. It was how he had, once again, become World Champion.
The World Champion of a federation in something of a flux. Eira had her injuries and pregnancy. Murdoc had withdrawn to…wherever or whatever it was that called him away from time to time. Non Compos Mentis would never be free from the oppression of his unreliable mental state. Billy Sadistic’s comings and goings were well known, as were both Michael Wryght and Justin Michael’s extracurricular aspirations.
But Grimm…Grimm has not, will not, would not, go anywhere.
“We know that, Phinehas. That’s why you are here.”
After a few seconds of quiet and therefore reprieve, he struggled to his feet. With head down and eyes closed, he spoke again.
“Who are you?”
They replied.
“We are The Tribunal.”
“We are Legion.”
“And you are dismissed.”
A blink, and Phinehas was back in All Souls Hollow. The devil’s own luck found him standing in a fallow winter field, surrounded by the fodder of harvest. Once he regained his bearings, the Fiend in the Furrows frowned.
Grimm and Non Compos Mentis had no long-standing accounts to settle. Their respective organizations declared bitterness throughout the ages, but the Order had attempted to manipulate Sean Rhodes through lies. And the Black Hand, well, to them this match was a footnote. So, unexpected as it might have been just a few weeks ago, when PCW appeared to have been the center of the Black Hand – Order conflict, for now this would be nothing more than FISTICUFFS between two of the federation’s most staunch stalwarts. And even so, there was little doubt they would rush at one another with an unmatched savagery.
Why?
Because it’s just what these two have always done.
Streets have run red. The aisles have as well, and would do so again. There were those who wanted to end Grimm’s brother but were unable to follow through.
But Grimm had.
Grimm did not wish to end Non Compos Mentis any more than he had ended anyone else. Which, perhaps unfortunately for him, he had. It was a long list. Justin Michaels’ beautiful face had been added to it most recently.
At one time, Non Compos Mentis behaved as though he knew his destruction was inevitable and he sought the federation as audience worthy of it. Just last week, however, he had intervened to protect two of his fellow PCW’ers from certain injury. And he had performed his duties as guest referee as well as anyone could have hoped. Phinehas would toast him for that.
The question was, which Non Compos Mentis would step into the ring at Trauma 187?
Phinehas looked down and dug his boot into the earth. A flash of movement caught his eye, but it was just a tuft of fur caught on a barb wire fence.
