DTW Deathmatch Demolition II, Of Valor and Villains

[The scene opens with the ocean, the waxing gibbuous moon, still nearly full, shining down from the cloudless starry sky. The lovely view of the night, enough to make poets and fans of purple prose sploosh in their prissy, pretty, pansy pantaloons, is cut out by a suddenly flash of blue, the camera adjusting from taking in the night sky to focusing on the source of the blue blaze.]

[It's none other than recently ascended (or would that be descended?) Evil Overlord and Bosslady Extraordinaire Kalinda Kriegsdottir. An orb of eldritch flame held in her gauntleted hand.]

[She tosses the ball harmlessly from hand to hand, then grips it like a basketball player about to make a three pointer before she smiles. She tears the orb in half and sends the two smaller orbs into nearby braziers, their prepared oily contents catching fire and illuminating the scene with a brighter light.]

[DTW's resident Necromancer Queen and World Champion is seated upon her throne of skulls and bones, her attire different than usual. Her pauldron has been replaced with something more spiky and sinister. Like if a tribal tattooed buggered one of those oversized World of Warcraft shoulderm pads and out popped a creepy kind skeletal looking black and silver baby that grew up on a diet of horse steroids. Also yes, I said shoulderm. That was totally on purpose. It's cute and I will not hear a mean word against it. Because I'm wearing a voice over headset. These headphones are thick as heck, you realize.]

[Her top is also different. The half 'n half design is gone, replaced by pure black, once again adorned with silver stylings meant to imitate bones. In this care a sternum and ribcage. She's still got the black cargo pants, but her kneepads are now stylized like jawless skulls, and the leg guards are a black matte material adorned with stylized silver ribcages.]

[She's also changed her hairstyle, pulling most of it back into a ponytail and leaving her bangs going to either side of her heart-shaped face. Kalinda Kriegsdottir smiles, showing off her fangs, and tilts her head, her bangs moving aside momentarily to show that she's got the beginnings of tiny horn nubs going on. *sniffle* My dark mistress is growing up and starting to blossom into true dragondom!]

[Next to her throne on a purple velvet pillow is the DTW World Championship, all polished and spiffy. Jokingly dubbed the "killer codpiece" the tribal design resembles a bearded lion's face composed of shapes resembling dragon's wings, a spider, and if you squint really hard a stabby bit that extends down the the groin that looks kind of like a demonic wasp. Kalinda's new attire aesthetic seems to be suited to match the style of the belt almost perfectly.]

[She beckons the camera forward and sits up upon her throne. She steeples her fingers and takes on a serious expression.

"Before we start things off I need to make something perfectly clear, because nobody seemed to get the full picture. When I said I was going to be a villain, y'all jumped to conclusions and immediately decided that I was going to immediately become some sort of puppy-kicking, baby-eating monstrosity that was going to be a dick to everybody for no reason."

[Kalinda extends six inches worth of forked tongue and blows a raspberry.]

"And that's just not true."

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.

UWA Olympus, Kalinda RP 1/1: Darko's Self-Loathing On a Forklift Match

The Raeth Report
By Ron Raeth

Leading into Olympus the UWA's two day fan festival was quite a success, though there were some interesting highlights, or lowlights if you will.

The last signing of the first day featuring Kalinda Kriegsdottir, Angelica Jones, and P. Clarence Whitman was marred by the notably sensitive British gentleman making his way to the tables first, and shortly thereafter being introduced to Kalinda.

Apparently having repressed the memories of the horrible horrible Kalinda/Hush/Whitman vs. Leviticus/Fitzgerald/Stumpy Rodriguez feud in IWC, a feat that I'm sure many IWC fans would like to be able to replicate (I know I would), Mr. Whitman took one look at the towering form of the Azure Nightmare and promptly passed out.

Every time he would reawaken he would look around with his usual look of befuddlement at the world around him, catch sight of the Big Blue Beastie, and then return to the great state of unconsciousness.

About halfway through the signing Kalinda got up to her usual mischievous tricks and in between signing autographs spent several minutes of the signing using her marker to inscribe devil horns on Whitman's temples, Frankenstein-esque stitching on his neck and wrists, and for the magnum opus added what appeared to be KISS inspired facial designs.

Mr. Whitman can only hope that the marker manages to wash off before his debut match with Lilith Evans later tonight.

IWC's Last Stand 2016

When you're thrown into a casket, locked in, and set on fire oddly enough you end up with quite a bit of time to think about things before it gets really uncomfortable. It isn't the flames that end up doing the damage, but rather the heat.

If it had been a nice, pleasant pine box I would've been good. I could've punched through that sucker like tissue paper. It would've taken forever to burn. Think of how long it takes for logs on a fire to burn all the way through. Your average casket's got a good inch or so of wood between you and the outside world, and wood is a shitty conductor. Like Southeastern levels of shitty conductors.

ULW RingKing, 10/30/15, Kalinda RP 1 of 1

I thought my opinion of my co-workers couldn't sink any lower. That I had finally managed to delve to the deepest, darkest depths of disregard for the rest of ULW. But no, around here when you hit rock bottom on the chart of human stupidity folks don't stop. Folks break out the pick axe and keep fucking digging.

Because it can't be laziness, oh no. You'd think that people would realize by now just how fucking indestructible I am. I've been shot in the face, I've taken shots that would end careers and gotten up minutes later, and just this week I was the victim of an attempted motor vehicular homicide. Well, it would've been one had I been just about anyone else on this silly blue ball of a world.

I shouldn't have to do this. I shouldn't have to come out and remind everybody day in, day out, week after week, month after month that I am a giant magical dragoness from another world. I shouldn't have to smack people about the face and scream in their ears about the fact that I'm different than all the other wrestlers they've ever faced.

I have done everything but stand in the arena with a megaphone, shouting facts about myself into the ears of my would be opponents. But no, despite everything I have ever done no one seems to believe me. They don't believe their eyes when they see a seven foot tall, bright blue, honest-to-goodness fire breathing woman with a tail.

ULW Paranoia, 6/27/15, Kalinda RP 2 of 2

I sit in the darkness, illuminated by the cone of light provided by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. The scarred and tattered table before me has born witness to creation and destruction both. The creation of wondrous devices, prosthetics, and effects for use in film and television, as well as the destruction of dozens, perhaps even hundreds of individuals.

This is where the magic happens. This is where the Dark Man himself, Desolation, verbally devastated a stunning amount of people during his career. Today it's not covered with special effects debris, photographs of foes, or piles of title belts. It is not a place for the trophies of my mentor, but rather my own.

Spread out before me are the remnants of those who have fallen before me. Swords, knives, maces, staves, spears; the enchanted arms and armor of dozens of men and woman. I give the bulb a tap with my fingers setting it swaying from side to side as the camera zooms out.

There isn't just one table. There are several. And they are not alone in their contents. The floor holds a vast array of treasure and trophies alike. Precious metals in the form of coins, of bars, of crafted works like cups, statues, ceremonial attire and weapons, and other decorative objects.

ULW Paranoia, 6/27/15, Kalinda RP 1 of 2

Tradition.

Tradition is what Lethal Weapon drives him, motivates him, what has set him on a path against me.

Not the tradition of professional wrestling, but rather the tradition of everyone that seems to oppose me having their head crammed way up their own ass.

Because if you want a traditional professional wrestler you don't have to look much further than me.

This sport has always been about size and spectacle. About larger than life physical specimens with equally large and vibrant personalities. People come to wrestling shows to be awed, to be entertained, to stare in wonder at feats of athleticism that the average man on the street is utterly incapable of performing.

They come to watch other human beings doing flips, twists, and rotations as they soar through the air. They come to watch masterminds sizing up their foes and picking them apart, reducing them to a physical wreck as they destroy a single body part. They come to watch behemoths trade blows that would fell a normal human being.

I am a sight to behold, a wondrous creature from another realm of existence. I am a powerful, agile, beautiful titan. I tower over the vast majority of humanity. There are less than a hundred men in the US that are taller than I am. The tallest living woman in the world has a scant four inches of height on me.

ULW's Ascendancy, 3/17/15, Kalinda RP 2 of 2

What's wrong, Lenore? Why are you so quiet all of a sudden? Why aren't you frothing at the mouth and chomping at the bit to get at me, hmm? Why aren't you just bursting at the seams with the desire to verbally butt in to my life, eh?

Because you seem oh so eager to throw yourself at me when my back is turned. That you just adore coming at me when I'm not looking and trying to blindside me.

You're all ready and raring to go, as your mush-mouthed manager would say, a mare all a-lather, and yet here you are. It's been three weeks since FUF VII, where you stuck your nose all up in my business once again.

But you haven't said a word. Not one peep.

ULW's Ascendancy, 3/17/15, Kalinda RP 1 of 2

I've been nice. I've been polite. I've been downright pleasant.

For the last few weeks I figured I'd try to play along with ULW management and behave in the way that they reward. The whole Certified Baddie thing was me taking the complete and utter piss out of the whole thing. I didn't think I'd get anything out of it, it was to serve merely as a vessel to bring out the hypocrisy of one Raymond der Vaart.

If it actually worked and I was showered with rewards and praise and offers for brightly colored merchandise, I think that might actually managed to make me think even less of The Fart than I do now.

But I wasn't expecting what happened the moment he walked out to the ring on FUF 7. He came down, opened his mouth, and once he started speaking I felt something within my soul that I didn't think I would ever feel for such a simple, fragile, mortal man.

Hatred.

IWC's Last Stand, 2/25/15, Kalinda/Legion RP 1 of 1

Five months ago I severed ties with the IWC. Five months ago I cut the federation that I spent six months of my life prepping for. Five months ago I said farewell to the collection of idiots, morons, hacks, and egomaniacal dipshits that decided that the best place to put a seven foot tall dragoness was in a freakshow division fighting against an idiot, a moron, and a retard.

And they teamed him with an autistic and a midget.

I'm better than that. I know I'm better than that. But because I didn't pick a side, that I didn't surgically graft my lips to the asses of either one of the emergent factions whose warfare dominated IWC I was ignored. I was an afterthought. I was given no opportunity to thrive amidst inferior fellows. There were teeming masses of non-wrestlers and the personal friends of Mr. Flies and the Dumbest Woman in Professional Wrestling needed lavish paydays, and brother dude jack, trickle down Hoganomics is what's best for business, Mean Gene!

And in those five long months I've shown the IWC what fools they were to waste me like they did. Remember my farewell pay per view match? You know, the one that was signed into being at virtually the last minute. The one that got made as an afterthought. The one where two people who had been with the IWC since its founding were given less consideration than some schmucks who had just signed with the company days before.

And speaking of schmucks, do you know just how wonderful and forward looking that little contest was? Of the four people that stayed with the fed in those five months only Leviticus has wrestled, he only did it for one match, and he sucked ass in it.

Yeah, the exact moment I left the fed, they stopped bringing in Fitzgerald. Amazing, isn't it? It's like he was brought in with the sole intention of being an embarrassment and being a gods damned albatross around my neck.

ULW Re:Birth, 12/20/14, Kalinda RP 1 of 1

LiveWireWrestling.com Exclusive!
The Secret Origins of Kalinda Kriegsdottir
Part One of God Knows How Many
By Kalinda Kriegsdottir

I get asked stupid questions all the time on Twitter. Am I a real dragon? How long do I have to sit in the chair to put the blue makeup on? How the heck does the whole prosthetic tail thing work, is there a remote control? Magic isn't real, I am dumb. That's not a question.

And then there are the fedora-wearing diaper babies with no social skills, an entitlement complex, and absolutely zero misogynistic intentions (no he-man woman haters here, nosiree!) that think watching women wrestle is gay and that I shouldn't fight guys. So they can get back to their totes heterosexual watching of oiled up dudes in underpants writhe against one another and swap sweat.

That last one was totally not a question either, @BongPrinceBlazeIt420SmokeWeedE'eryDay.

IWC's Upping the Ante, October 19, 2014, Mr. Hush RP 1 of 1

[And we find ourselves backstage, where the identically dressed pair of Aloysius Todd-Meriwether and Mr. Hush are standing around. The pair have forgone their usual suits, ties, and bowler hats in favor of what appear to be some rather ostentatious, ridiculous, and overly ornate military parade uniforms, sporting an absolutely ludicrous amount of medals.]

Al Todd-Meriwether: WELL, MY BOY, I HAVE TO SAY IT HAS MOST DEFINITELY BEEN AN HONOR TO WORK WITH YOU. THIS HAS INDEED BEEN ONE OF THE MOST INTERESTING AND UNIQUE ROLES THAT I HAVE HAD TO PORTRAY DURING MY STORIED CAREER OF MANY DECADES AS AN ACTOR!

[Mr. Hush nods, extending a hand for his soon-to-no-longer-be-need voice actor to shake.]

Al Todd-Meriwether: WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT SO MANY MONTHS AGO, ENTERING WITH A BANG, AND LEAVING WITH LITTLE MORE THAN A WHIMPER.

[Then again Al's whimpers are of parallel volume to most people's bangs.]

Al Todd-Meriwether: SO HERE WE ARE WITH ONE LAST SOLILOQUY BEFORE WE STRIDE OFF INTO THE NIGHT AND I AM MADE TO TAKE OFF THE MASK OF MR. HUSH FOR THE LAST TIME.

[We turn to Mr. Hush, who has produced the diminutive handpuppet of none other than Mr. Sock Puppet Stick-Poked-in-His-Tushie Ba'al in order to more effectively communicate.]

IWC's Upping the Ante, October 19, 2014, Kalinda RP 1 of 1

The dumbest man and woman in professional wrestling today.

That is what I called Clarence Whitman and Taylor Chase four days ago. But I didn't say it here. I said it in ULW. I said a lot of things in ULW. I said a lot of things about the IWC over in ULW.

And do you know why?

Do you know why I went out of my way to vent my spleen on somebody's else's wrestling program and not here?

Because I wanted to test something. I wanted to see what would happen. I wanted to experience the fallout, the reprimand, the ass-chewing, the bitch fest from people in power. How dare I, as an active IWC employee wander off onto somebody else's show and basically pull down my employer's pants and give the IWC a verbal sodomizing right there on the airwaves and internets for all to see.

It never came.

I buried the federation less than a week removed from a big PPV, I did it in a company with an IDENTICAL market and parallel media presence. We share the same gods damned building. I can't think of ANYBODY who would be the IWC's biggest competitor and rival than ULW.

I threw down the gauntlet and announced my pending departure from the IWC four days ago. Half because I meant it, and half because I wanted to see what would happen.

The answer to that is nothing.

Nothing happened.