Real Name: ?
Wrestlers Name: The Corpse
Wrestlers Nickname: Cyaneyed Assassin
Height: 6"2
Weight: 180 lbs
Hometown: Stratton, England
Billed From: Stratton, England
Appearance: Rough cut and rugged. Long dreadlocks, jeans and casual clothing.
-----------Hair color/length: Dark brown/long dreads
-----------Eye color: Cyan
-----------Facial Hair: Depends.
-----------Ring Attire: Loose jeans, navy shirt
-----------Backstage Attire: Depends.
-----------Physical Features: Average size, kinda Shawn Michaels esque.
-----------Tattoos: Lots.
Gimmick: Mysterious, not afraid to say anything. Asshole heel.
Strength/Weakness: That would be telling.
Alignment: Heel
Trained By: N/a
Sample Pic of Wrestler:
Brief History: Spent his whole career in the now defunct JWA:EWA. Hasn't wrestled for 2 years.
Title History: JWA:EWA World Champion, JWA:EWA IC Champion x2, JWA:EWA Champion x1, JWA:EWA Hardcore Champion x2, JWA:EWA EX24/7 Champion x3, JWA:EWA Tag Champion x2, ExWA Tag Champion x1
Entrance Music: Rammstein - Herzeleid
Entrance description: To be added
Finishers: Shining Triangle Hold
15 Most used moves: Stalling Brainbuster, Falling Neckbreaker, Cross Armbreaker, Cross Powerbomb, Crucifix Pin, Lariat, Russian Leg Sweep, Sidewalk Slam, STF, Emerald Fusion, Indian Deathlock, STO, Reverse DDT, Octopus Stretch
Sample RP:
Ok this is a random RP I found, not totally representative of me because it's my character in a different fed, and night on 3 years ago. But yeah.
*The Extreme Zone preshow has just finished. Fans, who sit in their seats, chatting excitedly about the previous night's events, and are all buzzing with excitement with the upcoming Pay per View No Mercy, labelled the 'Grand daddy of them all' in the industry. The fans mill about, buying refreshments, and taking the chance to go to the toilet before the show starts. Vendors seem to circle everywhere like vultures, guzzling change and notes from the unsuspecting masses*
Fury: I can’t believe it. Here we are, days away from the biggest spectacle on earth. The Pay Per View to end all, No Mercy.
Malenko: Indeed. It is a special Pay Per View to us all, and will forever remain in our minds regardless of victories and losses. No Mercy is the time when all stars step up their game, and put on the best matches they possibly…Conceivably can.
Fury: That’s why I love No Mercy. It brings the best out of everyone.
Malenko: Well, from what I’ve heard, the World’s Heavyweight title will be contested between Steve Austin and Batista.
Fury: Really?
Malenko: Yes, it seems that the three stars that were seen as the most likely to get the shot after In Too Deep are all involved elsewhere.
Fury: You mean the triple threat?
Malenko: Yes, and not the old faction either. Sunday will see Corpse, Brimstone and Vegito all face off in what will surely be one of the Pay Per View’s biggest matches.
Fury: Scariest matches.
Malenko: Perhaps so. And one wonders whether young Mastema will make his presence known in this one, like he has in Corpse’s last three matches.
Fury: I hope so, Corpse needs someone to distract him from intimidating me!
*Suddenly, a deep rumbling emanates from the walls, and people start to take notice. An image appears on the screen to confirm that the show is on air, but no pyro hits. As if in a trance, the people all walk to their seats, and sit down, staring blankly at the Extreme Vision*
Malenko: What is this?
Fury: These people are like Zombies…take my hand, Dean, I feel fear.
Malenko: Not likely sonnyboy.
*As the last fans sit themselves down, the lights in the arena cut out completely. Sounds resembling thunder sweep the conscience, and the Extreme Vision comes to life as if it were minds eye. The screen shows treetops. The trees are conifers, and stretch out in all directions. In this place, night is apparently dominant, for darkness has crept into every crevice in sight. The eye is drawn further upwards and a dull moon can be seen, not shrouded by clouds, nor tree tops, but just dull, casting no light whatsoever over the land. The eye wonders, exploring every canopy, every branch, as if searching subconsciously for something. Nothing is apparent. It almost seems as if this is some mundane other world, where there is no sound, scant light and no life but that of the trees themselves. It is with this passing thought that an eagle glides serenely across the picture, disturbing the tranquillity with nought but it's sight, for it makes no sound or any other indication of its' presence, save that of its sight. The Eagle glides majestically, before swooping down into the canopy. As it's self brushes the canopy, and dives into the sea of green, the branches sway and toss side to side as if they were mimicking water, appearing like ripples in the ocean. The movement subsides, and tranquillity reclaims her throne. The fans are immersed in this illusion as if they were really there. Simultaneously every fan in the arena turns their head away from the screen, and closes their eyes. The image on the screen fades to black, and the fans retrace their gaze. As they do so, the image returns, but as before was tranquil, now appears as an insurmountable inferno. The entire canopy is wrought with flames, and yet, no sound is heard. Again, after moments of plain sight, an eagle flies into sight, and dives into the canopy. This time ripples of flames engulf its' sight from conscience. The image is reverted oncemore to a night sky, illuminated by flames and the dullest glow from a pale moon. The Extreme Vision shuts itself off, and the fans seem to regain their consciences, and are looking around in confusion at eachother, wondering what had just happened. Some people weep with happiness at the first image, others cry with the despair of the second. Some people view both in their true forms, as symbolic, but remain silent. The lights are still out, and some people grow wary of their surroundings. As people feel around themselves and try to gain bearing of their surroundings, a voice rings through the arena, crying out in the most despairing fashion, the word 'Tier'. As the word rings through the conscience, in an instantaneous moment, 'Ein Spiel' by Rammstein hits. Fans rise in anticipation, the sight, or, non-sight, of darkness, meaning the entrance of The Corpse, who, though decidedly heel, still gets a huge reception. However, no music hits, and the fans grow anxious as instead, the Extreme Vision starts to flicker on and off, with a grainy image. The image withers in and out of existence, and finally settles, with a picture of a flaming crucifix, that flickers out in a heartbeat*
Malenko: I don't have a clue what's going on, but with the day of No Mercy so close at hand, there is surely a link to one of Extreme Zone's darker contingent, Corpse, Vegito or Vulcan.
Fury: I saw flames, maybe Brimstone.
*The Extreme Vision is dark, and only the occasional flash from a camera illuminates the arena. Darkness reigns supreme for what seems an eternity, yet is only seconds. Time in the arena seems to stand still. The arena becomes increasingly tranquil. A white, glorious light appears centrally above the ring, and begins to rotate. As it rotates, it begins to branch out, out and out, into several then hundreds of lesser fragments. These fragments of light drift around the arena in harmony, and the fans stare upwards without question of why or what ever crossing their minds. They are totally transfixed by the glorious beauty of the light. The lights begin to float down, each in a different direction, as it each choosing a member of the crowd. The lights pause for a second, as if considering any number of options. Then they start dashing around the arena, smashing into eachother indiscriminately and each time they do, a shrill shriek replaces the music playing in the background. Eventually, after many seconds of madness, the lights all disappear. 'Herzeleid' has reached the guitar solo, and the lights are strobing shades of dark and neon green. As the awesome guitar solo ends, several lightening bolts strike the crowd, ruining the tranquility. The fans scream and run in fear, crushing eachother on their way.
At this point, the music changes to 'Herzeleid' by Rammstein. The fans frantically surge toward the exits, as the smell of smouldering flesh descends upon their conscious selves. Lightening bolts again strike, hitting the exits themselves. As they do, the doors seem to mould in the darkness, appearing as pool-like mirrors, reflecting in the faces of those who still approach. The reflections, however, appear untrue. The observer looks into the pool of reflection, and sure enough they see themselves. But they do not see reality. They see a vulgar, debauched version of themselves, engaging in unworldly acts, with one another, with objects, and with demonic apparitions that flitter in and out of the images. People start to hold their heads and drop to the floor. Some people begin to shake uncontrollably, and others writhe on the spot, as if they are being manipulated by some unseen force*
Malenko: Questions answered, these horrific surroundings, and events, can signify only one thing. Corpse is imminent.
Fury: Oh, great.
Malenko: After your words last night towards that young lad Mastema, towards Corpse, I'd be very concerned.
Fury: I'm quiet.
*The screaming in the arena subsides suddenly, and everyone in the arena is either kneeling or lain out on their backs. A chill sweeps the arena momentarily, and a flicker of light appears in the middle of the ring, just the right size to be a person, but way too thin. The image broadens out, and for a moment, an unworldly calm crosses the arena, a euphoric sensation that flirts with the mind of the crowd, but it lasts very little time, seconds perhaps. The sensation is quickly denied, as the beam of light becomes a column of flame. The smell of burning flesh returns, and some fans are sick, over themselves, the floor, eachother, indiscriminately. People begin crawling on their knees, some lurching blood from their bowels, others just crawl blankly. The floor becomes a carpet of blood, flesh and sick. The whole arena looks like the inside of hell. The column of flames subsides and the darkness rises to a dull grey, just bright enough that a figure is visible in the center of the ring, a dark silhouette, impossible to read its features. The figure raises its arms about its sides, and a coat is lifted by an invisible presence. The figure drops to its knees, and the lights rise a little more, showing the figure fully, though mist distorts the image*
*The lights in the arena mysteriously flicker on and off, deep shades of green and blue. A sense of foreboding sweeps the conscious minds of the fans, those that still sense at all. Most of the fans simply lie in their own faecal ridden pools of blood, unmoving, not sensing a thing. Corpse surveys his diabolical paradise, and raises a microphone to his mouth, and as if on cue, his music cuts*
Corpse: I suppose those of you who survived the journey are all wondering what that little display was that started the show. Actually, it's quite simple. The first image saw a dark forest. The supreme entity was the night. The second saw the same place, yet the supremacy was held by fire. Now, ask yourselves, who could these comparisons be attributed to? The first, the darkness, its symbolises Vegito, his dark roots, his dark personality. His dark realm, if you will. And the second? The flames represent Brimstone. A man who claims to be here as a messenger of Satan himself, from the flaming pits of Hell. You will notice also, a solitary being, an eagle, disturbed each image. An eagle that descends into the forest and disrupts the very fabric of the personality. Well let me tell you, and I mean, both of you. That eagle is my symbolism. Do I represent the American spirit? Hell no. Do I represent strength? Perhaps, in essence, I may. But that is not the purpose of my imagery. The eagle represents the ripple in the ocean. The one thing that upsets the balance...ME. It seems you two have your own embrolio going on already, I'm like the third man here. Well let me remind you, I earned my way into this match. I beat Vulcan in two consecutive weeks. Now whether or not Vegito wants to claim glory for my win last week I really don't care. And whether Brimstone wants to celebrate his little cheap attack, a Chokeslam after the match, I really don't care. You two both just gave me reasons to kill you out there. Vegito, our bad blood is long in the making. It has been building ever since we first met, and I smashed that shovel over your head. Vegito, I don’t need to remind you, I was green then. Don't, and I mean don’t, make the mistake of underestimating me on the basis of those early events. Now, back to the subject at hand.
*Corpse grabs a dreadlock and swishes it from the back of his head, and looks up*
Corpse: You two seem to have a long-standing rivalry. It's not surprising, both former champions, Vegito on Action Zone, Brimstone on Extreme Zone. Both of you are revered and feared by the majority of the roster, and that’s on both shows. Well let me be clear about this-I do not fear you. I fear noone. Not Brimstone, the pyromaniacal ‘Demon’, nor ‘Super’ Vegito. Which brings me to my next point, that title in itself. Is the word ‘super’ supposed to strike fear into our hearts? Is it your weapon of force in your war of attrition with Brimstone? Christ, the word super is purely homoerotic these days, you may as well call yourself Camp David. Then again, with the look, I guess you could be one of those late night Welcombe Dungeon goers. I don’t know, maybe you were closer to 3T when the Four Horsemen were about than we knew. Christ, maybe horses were on the agenda, hence the name. I don’t know what goes on in that dungeon. But ever since I heard the name ‘Super’ Vegito, I haven’t been able to shake the horrific mental image of you holding 3T on a leash, telling him to fetch and crying ‘Super’ when he knaws on that bone. It’s not a nice image. And I have to say, since the revelation, I mean, since you came out on Extreme Zone, I’ve been wondering what your agenda is. I mean, sure Brimstone tried to kill you, but why are you really mad? You’ve been in that situation countless times before. You’ve had your fair share of dances with death. You’ve spun that roulette wheel more than most…Wait, I’m having a crescendo. I just realised something, I once held the ‘Super’ gimmick. Believe it or not, that’s true. I was nicknamed ‘Superbeast’. But not because of any sick dungeon activities, purely because in the ring, at the time, I was so green, yet my moves came off so stiff. Therefore I was like a wild creature in the ring-a beast. And not an ordinary beast, a beast built upon destruction and misery. However, I am deferring from the topic.
*Corpse places the mic by his side a moment, taking a quick look at his paradise. After seconds of not talking, in which time the only sound is the slithering of bodies desperately trying to crawl in vain through the faeces, bile and blood from their own guts, Corpse raises the microphone again, and speaks oncemore*
Corpse: I am present here to discuss No Mercy. This match will be, to my recollection, my first triple threat. Does that concern me? Not in the least. In fact, I’m relishing it. Lots of people always came up to me in the past, when I was on Action Zone, all with the same mundane verbiage, do I compare to Brimstone, am I better…Etcetera, etcetera. Now is my chance to end those words, those boring repetitive questionings of my ability. And I am also given the opportunity to slay the demon of my past, the shadow walker, Vegito. Ever since losing to you all that time ago, my very first loss, the memory has stalked me as persistently as the sun rises and sets. The memory has held me back so many times mentally. Well the time for memories is slipping away…Now the time has arisen, whereby I can take that memory from my mind, and throw it on the mire, never to be heard from again. The memory of that time will be erased once and for all. I am sure in preparation for this match, you will review that match, and take note of my weaknesses. But, I implore you, do not. That display in no way represents my skills at present. I am far despondent to my ways back then. That match happened at a time when I was tag partners with Virus, the man who has vacated the title on Action Zone. The man who defected from our…our collective. And the man who betrayed me, leaving me to hold the can for him with the tag team titles. I ask you, were my actions naïve? I would tell you that yes, they were. But the more objectionate observer would point out that I was not to be aware of Virus’s situation. I was not to know of his mental instability. Well, like everyone does, Virus found out what it meant to betray me. I beat him 1-2-3 simply in the middle of the ring. His pathetic body couldn’t withstand the punishment…much like mine could not the first time I faced you. The time when my body was tossed into a six-foot deep grave and ‘torched’, whilst you shovelled on the dirt. I don’t know if you noticed, but…it was since that encounter that my power grew. Your victory awoke something inside me that I never knew existed. Some call it rage, others redemption. For some, even desire is a fitting description. I choose to call it fuel for the fire. The only analogy I can draw is that of coal being shoved into a steam train. That sounds dumb, but let me get it out. If there is little coal, the train will go slower. Less heat, less energy. Before you beat me, I wasn’t necessarily running on empty, but I was greener than brown bread-figure that one out. When you beat me, it was like having a bucket of coal all forced in at once. It forced an insurmountable energy out of my soul and into my conscience. Ever since then, every victory, every soul taken, it’s all been fuel for the fire. The fire in my soul. The fire that you begat when you defeated me. Let me tell you, this train isn’t heading for a dead end. Whether I beat you into another direction at the crossroads, or I simply derail you, it doesn’t concern me. All that concerns me is that I defeat you. That’s why I want this match to be altered. I want it to be triple threat…Elimination style. That way, at least one of the three of us gets our respective revenge, and then prove themselves by taking away the Intercontinental Title, gold that will forever validate the accomplishment in the annals of this company. I say this change be made to the match. I have already sent a viceroy to the offices of both the Commissioner and Al Powers. Whatever happens, this will go ahead.
*Corpse takes a few steps, left and right, and starts to talk again*
Corpse: Brimstone. Once again, I mention the fact that for months now, I have been compared to you. I find the comparison interesting, but I do not subscribe to it. Sure, for a long time, I have watched your actions on Extreme Zone. Both of us are voyeurs in the proverbial art termed ‘mind games’. Apparently we both like to ‘address’ our opponents in our own paradises. The difference is, reality. I address these people, my opponents, and whoever-whatever, from here. Here is real. These walls, in the next realm, do not exist. This ring? It does not either. But the appearance…The blood, bile, the fear, the helplessness of it all-this is real. You see, this is what the next life looks like. This is what awaits each and every person on this earth. I know this because I have been there. After my death, this was where I found myself. Difference was, where most find the world diabolical, I found it to be paradise. So I was sent back here to inflict its glory on you all. Everyone who I defeat, when I look into their eyes, inside their souls, they know it. Problem is, they also have you. You out here, ‘led’ by the one you call Holocaust, trying to convince everyone that you come from Hell, and that Hell is a flaming paradise. Brimstone, if you knew anything, you would know that that is not true. There is no Heaven. There is no Hell. To be utterly blunt, those terms are kayfabe, created by religion and those who wish to believe that their perfect lives will be prolonged in another way. Heaven and Hell are kayfabed terms, and you are profiting from this. The reason you profit is that these people have no clue that they are being led on. And, to be fair, how would they? Until they die themselves, they will never know for sure will they-whether they believe you or not. Well let me tell you something Sputnik- there’s no Heaven, and there’s no Hell. What there is…is this.
*Corpse stretches his arms by his sides and grins broadly*
Corpse: Now, I don’t know where or how the deception stems from. Either you are being led to believe by this…Holocaust…that there is a Hell, and you truly believe him, perhaps only because of blind fear of the man, or you know it doesn’t exist, as does he. Either way, it’s a masterful mind game you play. For the average person, you appear intimidating, and your leader Holocaust appears the very same way. But Brimstone, you are human. You proved it when you let the human inside you out…The part of you that cried for procreation-that is, your ‘manhood’, the desire inside you that led you to forget your ‘path of destruction’ and claim Shorty as your ‘Queen’. Well, perhaps the arrival of Shorty will be beneficial. Maybe someone mentally stable in your life is what you needed. But then, you have to ask yourself, can she actually BE mentally stable, Brimstone? I don’t remember her putting up much resistance when you ‘claimed’ her, do you? Think about it. A huge guy like you goes around talking about Hell, holocaust, Satan and the such, and he kidnaps a woman. Correct me if I’m wrong, but…wouldn’t a normal woman be terrified? Running and screaming? I think the answer to that rhetorical question-it’s rhetorical because nobody here can answer it-is yes. So, ask yourself, how would the beast ever capture the beauty? It certainly isn’t love between you two. Fact of the matter is, you are two charity cases bound by your instabilities. Pretty soon, one of you is going to realise that the only person you can trust is number one, numero uno, yourself. Because sooner or later one of you will take advantage of the other and your relationship will disappear down the sh!tter. And both of you will, like Quantum physics, leave you asking ‘Why?’.
*Corpse chuckles and leans on the ropes for a second, then bounces back up and begins to talk oncemore*
Corpse: So, the ‘monster’ has his vices. Much like everyone does. Brimstone has made the mistake of wearing his heart on his sleeve. And the mistake of fuelling his persona on fake claims. Claims that I will prove the negligence of, one way or the other, in all their falsehood. In simple terms, Brimstone, you are a fraud, and you are weak. And it takes more than words to expose that. Your ‘exposal’ at my hands will begin this Sunday when I slay you and your reputation, and gain the Intercontinental title at the same time. A title that has been perpetually fouled by existing in the hands of first Vulcan and now you. A title whose heritage means nothing to me, but whose essence, whose spirit, I need to capture to retain. I’m talking about all of the souls who have fallen trying in vain to gain it. All the pride denied in the quest to attain it. All the strife, the blood and the effort that has gone into the mission of obtaining it. All of that energy exists within that belt. And it is this energy that I will take, once the belt is mine. Taking that belt will be like winning a hundred matches in one. And the other bonus is pride. Given this is the biggest show of the year, and possibly of all time for JWA:EWA, both you chaps will be banking it all on walking out of No Mercy the winner. You will be battling for gold, and now more than ever, pride. Pride is an essence whose receipt into my person holds more value maybe even than a victory. To garner a man’s pride is to take away the moral victories that man may have taken from winning a match. This is something that steroid freak Polo has realised. He sucks in the ring, so he takes it all on with his mouth. And no, I’m not talking about Tomko’s strudel. The best example of this was his cage match the other week. Polo fell off the cell twice, and yet once he’d won, he did his best to make Reaper, the clear winner, look like sh!t with every word he spoke afterwards. Granted, in his case it wasn’t founded, clearly the better man was reaper anyway. But what I’m saying is, Polo’s words took the wind out of Reaper’s sails. I didn’t see Reaper competing the next week, nor Polo. In fact, the one man from that match who did was Big Show, and that’s saying something.
*Corpse is laughing and holds the microphone away from his face. It almost seems as if his surroundings are so familiar that they are homely in his mind, and he barely acknowledges a man who is desperately reaching up from the mud like carpet of blood underneath him. With another laugh, he regains his composure and begins speaking again*
Corpse: So, I think you may have missed my point. What I'm getting at is that as well as beat you two on Sunday, and as well as take the Intercontinental Title belt on Sunday, I am also going to take your pride. And I will do that whether I achieve the first two goals or not. That is my promise to you. Well I feel like I’m running out of words, so let’s just end this little speech now. Vegito, Brimstone, be ready. Your dance with the Creeper is imminent. The roulette wheel is spinning again, and it’s bearing your numbers. Vegito, the black, Brimstone, the red. Just remember, the order of selection is not important, the fact is, both your numbers will be called. It’s only a matter of time now. Until you both fall at my hands…Until Brimstone’s aura is destroyed, before Vegito’s ‘ super iority' is no longer seen as a given, only a perhaps. Until I take the Intercontinental Championship. What is important is that in five days you will both get called up, and you will both fall. That’s not a promise, not a guarantee, not my word, but my directive. Well, see ya Sunday lads.
*The lights begin to dim oncemore to a dullish grey, Corpse's silhouette the only apparent source of light. Corpse raises his arms about his sides again, and his coat rises and fits around hits shoulders. Corpse drops to one knee, and bows his head. As he does so, his whole body becomes a piercing white light, which bursts outwards and in a second the arena becomes an ocean of whiteness. The light subsides after a moment, and the arena is returned to it's original state...Walls clean, people in their seats, and lights set to normalcy. The fans look at eachother with looks of perplexion and fear, each wondering if the nightmare was real. In the ring, Corpse has disappeared*
Malenko: Wow.
Fury: Every time he comes out here, I get a little more confused.
Malenko: Why?
Fury: Ssh, I don’t want to talk Quantum Physics, not right now.
Malenko: Wow, you were listening for once. Well, Corpse certainly said a lot of virulent things. I wonder if what he said about Heaven, Hell and his paradise are true?
Fury: Oh, I believe it. How else do you explain the last few minutes?
Malenko: Well, for arguments sake, you could say the same for Brimstone’s entrance. And none of us are actually dead yet, either. So both party’s words could conceivably be the truth.
Fury: Well for the sake of not finding out, and also not getting into a conversation about philosophy with you, I’m just going to abstain from putting an opinion forwards.
Malenko: *In shock* Did you just use two four syllable words in the same sentence?
Fury: Bat your ar$£ Dean
Malenko: Uh-oh, looks like I’ve upset super Irvin
Fury: Do superheroes ride rockets?
Malenko: Not like you do, not.
Fury: But they get to fight baddies who wear leather and carry whips?
Malenko: ‘……………………..’
Fury: It happened again, didn’t it?
Malenko: Yes. Please try to curb your homoerotic urges when on the air. That includes taking your hand off my knee, NOW.
Fury: My mistake.
Malenko: How many mistakes can you make?
Fury: Well speaking of mistakes, this Sunday will not be a time for mistakes, not for Vegito, not for Corpse, and certainly not for Brimstone.
Malenko: Never a truer word spoken. In fa…
*Malenko trails off from speaking as the pyrotechnics that would normally open the show go off suddenly, as if the show was just beginning*
Fury: Better late than never, I guess.
Malenko: Yeah. I guess.
*The pyro falls to silence, and as the last sparks float and dissipate in the air, Malenko speaks up once more*
Malenko: Well folks, we have to cut to commercials. See you in five.
*The Extreme Zone cameras zoom in on the massive No Mercy logo above the ring as the show fades to commercials*
J Sulivan
