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Growth.; HATE Character Development
Topic Started: Jun 28 2016, 12:22 AM (28 Views)
NOTHING
The Purveyor of HATE
We open up in the familiar back room of William West’s bar. Unlike the last time, when we joined the Three Pillars of HATE, there is no roaring flame in the fireplace. William West himself sits in a familiar wing chair - he is now maskless allowing his scowl to be seen without impediment. His left arm rests on the arm of the chair while his right arm hangs over it. He grips a glass with what appears to be whiskey and makes hypnotic, swirling circles with the liquid as he sways the glass round and round. His gaze is locked onward into the void, no doubt deep in thought over the coming battles at Path of the Warrior.

From across the room Indrid Calder slinks toward West at a sedated pace. There is no rush in his step nor in his movements as he seems to glide across the room. He steps behind West and places a hand on his shoulder, giving him a pair of friendly pats. West simply nods, his expression unflinching, as Calder continues to move across the room. He walks past the matching chair set next to West and takes up residence in the next seat. He settles himself in, the men sitting in a semicircle in front of the empty fireplace.


Calder: Are you thinking about him? The sound of his muscles screaming. His tendons ripping. His nerves like flayed strings to be played with at your leisure. They still call him Red Hot, but his coal is burning down, and all it takes is that sweet “I Quit” to snuff out the flaming spirit inside of him…

Calder smiles that barren smile.

Calder: We might walk separate HATEful Paths, but it all boils down to the same thing for us. HATE is spreading. HATE is putting down roots. HATE…is the indomitable force that the EWA was never prepared for. I’ll end this war with Dredd through HATRED, and you’ll make Willmott utter those final, fateful words…

Calder tips back his own glass, letting absinthe slide down his gullet.

Calder: It’s our time, my friend. The winds of HATE are blowing, and how I love the coppery stench of them. The promise of blood and ruin on the horizon…

The corners of Lunatikk Crippler’s mouth twitch. A grin dances upon the darkened face of the man who, very soon, may be Atlantic Coast Champion. A title that his friend, his brother, his fellow Pillar of HATE has already once held.

Crippler: Oh, yes. There WILL be blood. Pints. Quarts. Gallons. Rivers.

Crippler drains his glass. He dabs at the corner of his mouth, snuffing out the one drop of alcohol attempting to escape its fate.

Crippler: Ray Willmott will attempt to do me harm. We all know this. Much like Dredd has been on the Monster’s Path, it’s crescendo ending at your feet. Ray Willmott will use the stipulation to pull. To twist. To do his dirtiest to make me submit.

A smile, genuine, eerie, rests upon the face of William West now.

Crippler: I will use the guise of the stipulation to rip. To tear. To maim. I don’t need my Crossface. I don’t need fancy submissions that are near impossible to escape. I am free to use any implement of destruction I see fit.

Crippler reaches to the base of the chair, pulling up a bottle of Old Number Seven. He refills his glass, and he sips.

Crippler: It’s…...it’s actually enthralling, the things I could do to him that he won’t be expecting. The pain I’m going to leave him in that no amount of rest, no amount of bandaging, that no amount of rehabilitation will fix.

The door of the bar swings open. A moment later, in snaps shut, the sound echoing throughout the room.

The Harbinger of HATE, The Purveyor. NOTHING has arrived. Crippler tips his glass, a sign of respect, for his longtime friend and ally as he stands behind the center chair.


Crippler: Our path has been set for some time. At Path of the Warrior? Everything will fall into place. What will the EWA do when three of its most cherished prizes fall into the hands of the Three Pillars of HATE? The Atlantic Coast Title?

He nods at NOTHING.

Crippler: The Network Title?

A tip of the glass to Indrid Calder.

Crippler: The World Heavyweight Championship? Mere trinkets, the titles themselves. I prefer to see what the represent in my eyes, my vision. Three signs of force, showings of power. Three Pillars, standing taller than their highest glass ceiling. After Path of the Warrior, we will no longer need to hunt.

Crippler grins, that sick, maniacal grin that leaves a ghastly reminder of the mask he recently wore.

Crippler: After Path of the Warrior, the prey will come running to US.

NOTHING nods acceptingly at Crippler’s comments with a slight smirk on his face. He turns his head slowly toward Calder and nods in his direction after the two men lock eyes. NOTHING saunters around the center chair taking his seat at a leisurely pace. He settles in and places his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers interlocked below his chin. He looks straight ahead toward the empty fireplace.

NOTHING: Moments like these, gentlemen, are hard to come by. After Path of the Warrior, they’ll be an even rarer commodity. These moments of quiet and solace will be a thing of the past once we set into motion our second phase.

When we first stood together in the ring, I could feel it. Everybody in the arena could feel it. The power of HATE was palpable, floating in the air like we could reach out and grab it… press it to our tongues and taste it. Since that day, our power has only grown.

At Path of the Warrior, that power grows once more. Be they the championships we aim to take or the heads we aim to stick on the end of spikes, we will come home with our trophies. We will hang them high and we will know that the future of the EWA goes nowhere if it doesn’t go through HATE. More importantly, though… they will know that fact.

There’s no turning back now, gentlemen.


NOTHING settles back softly into the chair as Crippler and Calder do the same. The fate of their opponents at Path of the Warrior weigh on their minds, but in this moment they feel no trepidation. Secluded in the back of William West’s bar, they find comfort in the eerie silence--

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The silence is broken with a harsh banging in the background. None of the men flinch at the intrusion, all three sitting stoic and motionless. As if on cue, NOTHING and Crippler turn their heads toward one another with grins crawling across their faces. The two men then turn their heads toward Calder who greets them with the same expression.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

The banging rings out again and prompts NOTHING to stand from his seat. He straightens out his clothing as he stands in front of the chair.


NOTHING: I think we know who that is. It’s time, my hounds… do you think our visitor is truly ready?

Calder and Crippler look up at NOTHING, the three men almost beaming with an uncomfortable air hanging around them.

Calder: There has never been one more ready, Harbinger.

Crippler: Once we open that door… we grow with a strength beyond this world.

NOTHING: Any structure is suitably supported with three pillars, we know this to be true. With four pillars standing tall, there will be nobody who can tear us down.

NOTHING nods in approval at each man and then begins the walk toward the door in the back. He grasps the doorknob and looks back toward Crippler and Calder. They nod toward him and The Purveyor turns the knob then pushes the door open. He smiles as he looks beyond the door.

NOTHING: Welcome, my friend.

NOTHING extends his arm into the room to welcome his guest. As he does, we fade to black.
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