Tokyo Gore Noir #10/11, Of Repugnance and Revolution

Fuck you, Josh Kennedy.

Fuck you, Eddy Poe.

And fuck you, Masatake Kawamata.

Fuck all of you.

Fuck you with a cactus.

Fuck you like it's a chore.

But fuck Kennedy in particular.

Because you haven't been paying attention at all.

You'd have to be living in a cave in the middle of the remote American wilderness with a bag on your head, plugs in your ears, and your head up your ass to not have heard literally ANYTHING about me.

"Blah blah blah, Kalinda, you sit on the throne of DTW surrounded by everything you've ever wanted!"

And you're sitting on a motherfucking throne of lies, Kennedy.

DTW Tokyo Gore Noir #9, Of Ostentation and Oases

[We open in the viewing lounge aboard A Zeppelin Called Trouble. The massive airship appears to be drifting above the ocean. The sky is awash with fiery colors while the sun is slowly setting into the brilliant blue-green sea.]

[But rather than staring out at the picturesque sight, Kalinda Kriegsdottir is instead hunched over a cluttered table. There ware printouts, a good deal of hand-written notes in an unfamiliar alphabet, a large map showing the island chain outside, photos of various DTW wrestlers (which seem to be focused on them winning titles or events in other companies), several photos of graveyards, a globe with bits of yarn pinned to it, and what looks to be plans for a garden with several layers of octagon-shaped trellises set up with a sinister looking centerpiece marked "DREAD GAZEBO!" in large, red letters.]

[Kalinda picks up a photo of Masatake Kawamata, fresh from his victory holding the CPW World Heavyweight Championship up high. She looks at it, sighs, shakes her head, and gives it a fling that sends it flying across the room.]

So this is what it's come to. Literally having to face my own creation. Save a dude from death, drag his soul back from its journey into whatever shitty afterlife you people have that's probably just as shitty as your shitty, shitty planet, stuff it back in his crispified corpse, de-crispify it, and then make the damned thing move again, and what do you get?

The bastard goes and wins a goddamned tournament with the intent on taking from you the prize that it took you three fucking years to get. Three fucking years where every title shot, every other match, and the entire backstage climate were rife with bullshit.

Three goddamned years where every chance I had was stolen away from me. Three goddamned years where I tried to play nice and do things by the rules, but everybody else decided to fuck the rules and propel themselves into title victories by having their friends help them. The rules were beaten, gagged, stuffed in a gimp suit, and became the centerpiece of a super-bukkake circle jerk of politics and corruption.

I'm happy for you, Masatake, I really am.

Somebody had to win the motherfucking Carnage Carnival, and you were one of the few rainbow sprinkles atop a festering mountain of repugnant shitheaps with nothing but avarice and hubris in their hearts.

Of Cowboys and Crushed Testes

Twenty four men and women, two dozen souls all coming together for one purpose: to show their skill, to show their strength, to show their determination, their will. Their capacity to soak up absolutely hellacious amounts of damage that would make lesser men and women simultaneously puke, piss, and shit themselves and shortly thereafter passing out.

Three points for a win, one point for a draw, no points for a loss. Whichever of the dozen individuals in each of the two groups scores the highest will face each other in May. The winner of that bout, having proved their mettle, will face me one on one for my DTW World Championship.

But you see, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, and human cancers of all stages, I'm also here too. A wolf amongst the sheep. I'm fighting my own future competition for my champion, my title, my belt. I am the first, the ONLY DTW World Champion and in the living hell I call a career, not a single one of you has managed to defeat me cleanly in one on one combat.

I get absolutely nothing out of this tournament if I win. A pretty, shiny trophy to adorn my mantle? I don't want them. I don't need them. Years ago I might have been filled with the desire to give it all, to do my best, to win at all costs and earn myself the prestige and glory that comes with victory.

Delilah na Kinai Biography

(WIP)

Character Details
Name: Delilah na Kinai
Alias: Boltfire, Enchantress, Evil Disney Princess, Snowmew, Fluffbutt, Black Angel, Elfy
Height: 6'6" (would be 6' without digitigrade legs)
Weight: 212 pounds
Age: ?
Hometown: New Avalon
Picture Base: Custom drawings
Body Type: Tall, Curvaceous Blacksmith
Alignment (Face/Heel/Neutral): Face
Entrance Music: "A Demon's Fate" by Dragon Menagerie

DTW Tokyo Gore Noir #5, The Menagerie RP 1/1: Of Misandry and Matriarchy

Lightning flashes ominously through the windows of the ruined chapel, thunder rattling the remaining shards of stained glass in their frames. Dozens of large, dribbly candles illuminate the scene of three hooded and cloaked figures standing around the desecrated altar.

The former holiest of holies in the chapel has been adorned with a blue velvet cloth, adorned with gold fringe (making it an admiralty chapel according to the Sovereign Citizen movement), upon which sits a wooden box with wood so dark it's nearly black.

"Sisters of the Darkness," states the tall one. That being me, Kalinda Kriegsdottir. DTW World Champion, Dragoness, and Seducer of the Innocent. "Upon this unholy eve I call upon each of you to report on how you've sought to bring down the cisgender heteronormative patriarchy."

The camera zooms in as I pull back my hood, showing off my true demonic features, gaunt, pale, demonic, and in tribute to a certain horror movie icon wearing a bald cap and adorned with shiny silver thumbtacks.

Okay, it's not my true form, it's special effects makeup. You're ruining the ambiance. Shut the fuck up and let me get back to the scene.

DTW Tokyo Gore Noir #4,Double Dragon RP 1/1: Of PETA and Playground Bullies

Twas the night before Blood Bowl, and all through the arena, not a creature was stirring, not even Antonio Pena (who was probably looking for masked wrestlers to haunt, steal their clothes, and hand them off to somebody else). Well, okay, actually there were at least two creatures stirring.

My minion had snuck out of the hotel and had wandered off in search of mischief, and I was pretty sure I knew what kind.

Which was why I was headed towards some other, smaller creatures that were potentially stirring in the arena, though I wasn't sure.

I hadn't looked to see if the spiders, snakes, and scorpions that had been secured for one of the team tournament match semi-finals were nocturnal or not.

But I was probably going to find out as a side effect, because that was precisely where I was headed, along with my trusty cameraman.

Because as long as Claudia's on camera she can't do her horror movie monster teleport thing when I blink.

I manage to arrive just in time, or more likely Claudia has stalled for the purposes of drama and narrative convenience. I reach out and grab the haft of her mallet before she can smash open a terrarium that houses a few tarantulas.

"Can't let you do that, Star Fox." I intone.

VK's Unnecessary Plotline; a Deluge of References and Apocalyptic and Fantasy Tropes Novel, Chapter 2

Delilah Darkbolt.

Fuck.

While she was the closest thing I had to a friend amongst the dark elf nobility, I'd kind of been avoiding her for the past few days. Not for the usual reasons either. I mean the usual reasons why everybody else avoided her.

Delilah na Kinai, Scion of House Darkbolt, Firstborn True Daughter of Dara na Kinai, Heir to the Matriarchy.

Dark elves are born with innate magic, tied to the totem animals of their race, house, and family. It always manifests in the same three ways: sorcery; the application of raw magical power as destructive energy, enchantment; the application of magical power for strengthening one's self or allies and weakening one's foes, and channeling; the act of imbuing one's self with the raw essence of one's patron, gaining their traits and physical aspects.

Delilah was a pure Enchanter, and to compliment their powers of being able to enhance others most enchanters went out and found a fearsome beastie and bound it to them as a loyal protector.

Delilah had tried that. Dozens of times.

UWA Outbreak #3, Kalinda RP 1/1: A Not-So-Brief Kayfabe History of the Universe

Delilah Darkbolt.

Fuck.

While she was the closest thing I had to a friend amongst the dark elf nobility, I'd kind of been avoiding her for the past few days. Not for the usual reasons either. I mean the usual reasons why everybody else avoided her.

Delilah na Kinai, Scion of House Darkbolt, Firstborn True Daughter of Dara na Kinai, Heir to the Matriarchy.

Dark elves are born with innate magic, tied to the totem animals of their race, house, and family. It always manifests in the same three ways: sorcery; the application of raw magical power as destructive energy, enchantment; the application of magical power for strengthening one's self or allies and weakening one's foes, and channeling; the act of imbuing one's self with the raw essence of one's patron, gaining their traits and physical aspects.

Delilah was a pure Enchanter, and to compliment their powers of being able to enhance others most enchanters went out and found a fearsome beastie and bound it to them as a loyal protector.

Delilah had tried that. Dozens of times.