Post by Ra's Tomas on Dec 5, 2020 11:49:52 GMT -5
Jacob Ludwig Karl Grimm (1785–1863) and Wilhelm Carl Grimm (1786–1859)
They are the brothers Grimm who collected and published the folklore of both German and European tales and for reviving interest in the long remembered traditional folklore. Many know the names and many more know the stories. Most people today will remember those for their Disney endings. Happy and heart warming stories that we were told, we read, or we watched as children. For some they will be the classics that are told for generations. Passed down from parent to child and yet they never know nor learn of the origination of those stories. We all remember those fairy tale endings.
I first learned of the little boy with unwashed hands and hair. He had dirt smeared across his face. He had a hunger in his eyes and upon his bones. He was small and one may even describe him as fragile. Most people who walked along those dirt filled streets on the outskirts of a Romania town would simply walk past him without much of even a second look. The town was littered with the lost, forlorn, and homeless who by day begged and by night stole. Looking for nothing more than another tomorrow instead of dying a slow painful death of hunger. Something the hopeless were resigned to see more often than they would want.
Those outskirt city streets filled with the poor and down trodden bustled with activity. Though that little boy didn’t have the words to speak. He could still say everything he needed with a simple glance a darting of his eyes.
Those busy streets seemed to fade away from thought as those cold uncaring eyes with much more carelessness than you’d expect from someone so young.
Those eyes peered into you.
An icy chilling feeling creeping into the back of your mind.
Those small dark pupils reaching out towards you.
You could try and look away. Grasp for the attention of anything.
A stolen few seconds you look away but that little boy just stood there, watching.
Those thoughts are burned into my memory as if they had just happened. The look of those eyes have scarred my own to this very day. Sometimes when I’m not thinking about him I can close my eyes and when I open them he’s standing there momentarily. Watching. Peering. As if he saw my very soul.
It’s a hauntingly impression upon your mind feeling as though your soul, your deepest thoughts, are laid bared to that of someone unknown, someone so young.
I was in that Romanian town as part of the traveling circus that was professional wrestling in those days. We’d travel from town to town putting on shows for small crowds making pocket change at best. In those European travels wrestling wasn’t the speckle that we see now. Turning on a television now you can just about catch a some wrestling show or a commercial with some wrestler advertising a blue chew pill or your favorite brand of cereal.
The business has changed however those peering icy eyes they remain even now that little boy has grown into a man. He’ll be at Action Wrestling’s World Tour coming to those televisions in mere days. He was one of the lucky few who got the call after his name was thrown out in hopes of catching someone’s eye.
The boy and I both have come along ways since those days when I first met him on that street and I was later told the story of his brother who had met a grim ending. Forever changing both the lives of both their mother and the boy of Radu. It the coming days and years it would forever change mine as well.
The old lady sitting on a wobbling stool within the Inn, where I had stayed, she first spoke at the lighting of a candle with the raging storm just outside the door.
“It was a cool morning on the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains but the air seemed heavier on that day for some reason,” her words tremble as she spoke.
“It was quiet but young Ștefan felt as though someone was watching him. He was a curious boy but he wasn’t the kind to be paranoid. The sun hadn’t risen yet as he was hoping to get his morning chores done early as he had plans with his friends and brother. They all went to the same school but his family was leaving, moving, at the end of the coming summer. His mom had gotten a job in Germany the place where she tells him that his father was born.”
The a raddled of shaking with the winds and a small puddle of water had formed coming from under the door.
“Some would say that you could feel it in the air that day. That something tragic was going to happen and it seemed as though everybody was just waiting for that moment. This part of the country would say that it was haunted by the spirit of a monster that preyed upon the hearts and minds of those who were unlucky.
It’s legend that this boys father have fallen victim to a crazed man. Nobody really knew what happened for sure and what was true or not. Some say it’s just a story that the mother had imagined within her crazed moments. It was a strange lady who had told me of Ștefan. She said that though he believed those stories. Stories told on a lone windy night when the electricity had gone out and the room was only lit by a lone candle.
He felt those shadows watching him as his mother told the story and now he felt those same peering eyes coming from the darkness. He had poured the pail of water into the trough for the cow that would soon be slaughtered. The neighbors chickens had sounded differently than normal. They sometimes made a repeated shrill cackle when a predator was nearby. There had been reports of several chickens and a dog that had come up missing lately from people nearby.”
Ștefan wouldn’t come home that morning or any morning after as his remains wouldn’t be found for over ten years. His mother would be heard crying, screaming, from that morning until her last breath years later. The brother called the boy Radu from all that knew him would say that he was haunted by that morning. That he had seen, known, what had truly happened to his brother. The only thing that the boy Radu had ever spoke of that day was simply, “Black, Black…”
I sat there and listened to her words feeling them as she spoke. As she had finished telling of the story I had a feeling come over me as I knew this boy wouldn’t have a future in a place such as this. I had stopped and talked to his mother and offered to help. Between sobs she asked me why I would do such a thing. I didn’t have an answer for that question. I had left but I would send money to this woman for years. I as well paid for the boy to see the best of doctors.
A physiologist that I had taken the boy too and had treated the boy for years believes that he was trying to say, “Black Forest Butcher”, a supposed serial killer that had stalked that region of the country for about a year and a half before he just disappeared. The boy Radu was only five on that fateful day and he hasn’t spoken a word since.
The boy with the icy cold steer had just experienced a traumatic event is the boy who had stared at me looking into my heart and my thoughts.
People have a hard time believing that both Ștefan and his father could have fallen to the same grim demise years apart from the hand of something so sadistic as the Black Forrest Butcher. However doubtful the story remains that the boy of Radu had lived growing into the man you now see standing before you.
His skin an ashy white from the disease that causes albinism doctors say he was born with but he didn’t show any signs until after his brothers death. They never moved to Germany after that day as his mother refused to leave that house in case he returned.
The boy Radu was given the nickname Nostroza by the bully’s in town. The meaning of which is still unclear. Those boys learned soon to not pick on him. He was ruthless and ferocious with his onslaught of throwing fist, biting, using rocks, sticks, anything it took to beat down anyone that opposed him.
I’m Ra’s Tomas and I’m the voice of the man you seeing standing beside me. He sees me as the father he never knew and I see him as that of my son. Though it may not be by blood shared in our veins it’s built upon the blood we’ve seen within our eyes and shared in battles. Those within the confines of a ring with the wrestling ropes secured around it and blood shared and spilled in the back alleys and streets where a fight could be found.
Now it brings us to Action Wrestling and their so called World Tour, a tournament, of unknowns. There’s eight individuals that will share that ring in which we’ll fight.
First Round
Marcel Vogel vs. Nostroza
First Round
Whale Helmet vs. Keynan Isara
First Round
Fortune vs. Nio
First Round
Miguel Guerrero vs. Denir Acar
The Nieuw Amsterdam Nightmare is the first fight in which Nostroza will find himself against. I can see why they were put against each other in the first round. They match up well against each other. Vogel is two pounds heavier and a few inches taller but does this man’s brute strength match that of Nostroza? That’s a story that will be told inside of the ring come December seventh. It’s an early Christmas present for Nostroza at least in his eyes.
This little tournament of Action Wrestling is a chance, an opportunity, to be seen and show what each man has to offer within that ring. Many want the money, the acknowledgment of success, hopes of signing an AW contract for the coming year. It’s written on the special little roster pages that Action Wrestling has placed on their company website. Their making this their biggest showing of foreign talent with the most potential to move on to bigger things.
Within those bios it’s a story of each individual in the tournament all the way down to their entrance theme. Ha.
Entrance theme? A spectral of the weak minded and glory hogging hounds.
Nostroza
He has no theme. It’s not about the spectacle but about the brutality.
That won’t be a monumental event it’ll be a brutal one. Nostroza isn’t going in to win he’s going in to simply lend legitimacy to Action Wrestling’s little tournament.
There are individuals in this tournament that are unknowns to both Nostroza and myself. To each other and to those who run the company. Unknowns are dangerous as you don’t remember know what lays within the heart of someone. The brutality of their life. The wrath within their minds. The strength of character and body. Unknowns.
These things will be revealed to some extent within that of the first round of bouts. A round where Nostroza will stand across the ring from those individuals. One by one. Round after round.
Nobody can predict who will win going into this event. Would it be Vogel? Maybe the guy with the dumbest name Whale Helmet. His opponent Keynan Isara?
They say fortune is an arbitrary force that affects the affairs of all humans. So then perhaps he, Fortune, shall win against both Nio and the rest?
Nio? A guardian of Buddha? Does he help with the automotive design of vehicles? An unknown nickname like that of Nostroza? It’s another example of the unrevealed going into this World Cup.
Miguel Guerrero and his opponent Denir Acar the final pairing of round one. Again, who wins? There’s no way to predict anything in this match or the others. This tournament the imagination of those calling the shots within Action Wrestling. They are looking for both entertainment and competition. Something I’m sure they will have once everything is finally said and done. That moment when the lights dim, the crowd leaves, and the combatants bruised and bloodied. AW would have ultimately been the ones victorious.
The camera that has previously been focused on that of Ra’s Thomas changes to that of a map of the entire world and then slowing begins fading to scenes from every country represented within the AW’s World Cup. Tomas begins talking again.
This world may seem small in the grand scheme of things. Observatories across the world are always looking outwards towards the unknown. Other plants, other galaxies, millions of light years away. Living on this planet you learn that your life isn’t as small as sometimes people try to make it seem. We’re all here for only a certain period of time and within the annuals of history most of us won’t be remembered.
We all have two deaths in life.
The day that we stop breathing and then the day that our names are last spoken. The memory of us is wiped from the face of this world.
Why does this matter now? In the grand scheme of AW and the World Cup?
It’s the grand idea that we’re all the same. Perhaps we all have different nationalities, different languages, a different tone of skin, and we live our lives differently. Each individual that steps between those ropes this tournament will represent a part of those lives. In a way it’s another memory in the life of how we’ll be remembered. That star of individuality will fade with time as it elegantly sails upon the winds of change. Yet, only one will make an impact.
I’ll be the first person to say that Nostroza will walk into that match with high hopes and thoughts of grandeur. He’s not expecting to win and I’m not expecting him to win either. I do expect that we’ll give a good showing. At the end of the night he’ll be bruised and battered. His opponents will be the same.
It’s the great unknown. Both those that will complete and who of them shall be the last standing in victory. It’s a mystery that will unfold before each of us watching. Those weeks of planning and prepping for uncharted territory.
Nostroza sees it as an attack on Action Wrestling it’s self and the entire company is anticipating what will come but it may cost them more than they are expecting. That victory may be cut, ripped, from those opponents that will stand across from him. It’s a full scale war within his eyes. It’s not a showing of mere strength as many have compared strength to his. Their minds though will show to be that of the weaker of the two minds within those confines. He’s a craftsman that is patient, uncaring, a man with
great strengths and glaring weaknesses.
After AW’s World Cup life will be unknown and we shall see truly what’s next.
They are the brothers Grimm who collected and published the folklore of both German and European tales and for reviving interest in the long remembered traditional folklore. Many know the names and many more know the stories. Most people today will remember those for their Disney endings. Happy and heart warming stories that we were told, we read, or we watched as children. For some they will be the classics that are told for generations. Passed down from parent to child and yet they never know nor learn of the origination of those stories. We all remember those fairy tale endings.
I first learned of the little boy with unwashed hands and hair. He had dirt smeared across his face. He had a hunger in his eyes and upon his bones. He was small and one may even describe him as fragile. Most people who walked along those dirt filled streets on the outskirts of a Romania town would simply walk past him without much of even a second look. The town was littered with the lost, forlorn, and homeless who by day begged and by night stole. Looking for nothing more than another tomorrow instead of dying a slow painful death of hunger. Something the hopeless were resigned to see more often than they would want.
Those outskirt city streets filled with the poor and down trodden bustled with activity. Though that little boy didn’t have the words to speak. He could still say everything he needed with a simple glance a darting of his eyes.
Those busy streets seemed to fade away from thought as those cold uncaring eyes with much more carelessness than you’d expect from someone so young.
Those eyes peered into you.
An icy chilling feeling creeping into the back of your mind.
Those small dark pupils reaching out towards you.
You could try and look away. Grasp for the attention of anything.
A stolen few seconds you look away but that little boy just stood there, watching.
Those thoughts are burned into my memory as if they had just happened. The look of those eyes have scarred my own to this very day. Sometimes when I’m not thinking about him I can close my eyes and when I open them he’s standing there momentarily. Watching. Peering. As if he saw my very soul.
It’s a hauntingly impression upon your mind feeling as though your soul, your deepest thoughts, are laid bared to that of someone unknown, someone so young.
I was in that Romanian town as part of the traveling circus that was professional wrestling in those days. We’d travel from town to town putting on shows for small crowds making pocket change at best. In those European travels wrestling wasn’t the speckle that we see now. Turning on a television now you can just about catch a some wrestling show or a commercial with some wrestler advertising a blue chew pill or your favorite brand of cereal.
The business has changed however those peering icy eyes they remain even now that little boy has grown into a man. He’ll be at Action Wrestling’s World Tour coming to those televisions in mere days. He was one of the lucky few who got the call after his name was thrown out in hopes of catching someone’s eye.
The boy and I both have come along ways since those days when I first met him on that street and I was later told the story of his brother who had met a grim ending. Forever changing both the lives of both their mother and the boy of Radu. It the coming days and years it would forever change mine as well.
The old lady sitting on a wobbling stool within the Inn, where I had stayed, she first spoke at the lighting of a candle with the raging storm just outside the door.
“It was a cool morning on the foothills of the Carpathian Mountains but the air seemed heavier on that day for some reason,” her words tremble as she spoke.
“It was quiet but young Ștefan felt as though someone was watching him. He was a curious boy but he wasn’t the kind to be paranoid. The sun hadn’t risen yet as he was hoping to get his morning chores done early as he had plans with his friends and brother. They all went to the same school but his family was leaving, moving, at the end of the coming summer. His mom had gotten a job in Germany the place where she tells him that his father was born.”
The a raddled of shaking with the winds and a small puddle of water had formed coming from under the door.
“Some would say that you could feel it in the air that day. That something tragic was going to happen and it seemed as though everybody was just waiting for that moment. This part of the country would say that it was haunted by the spirit of a monster that preyed upon the hearts and minds of those who were unlucky.
It’s legend that this boys father have fallen victim to a crazed man. Nobody really knew what happened for sure and what was true or not. Some say it’s just a story that the mother had imagined within her crazed moments. It was a strange lady who had told me of Ștefan. She said that though he believed those stories. Stories told on a lone windy night when the electricity had gone out and the room was only lit by a lone candle.
He felt those shadows watching him as his mother told the story and now he felt those same peering eyes coming from the darkness. He had poured the pail of water into the trough for the cow that would soon be slaughtered. The neighbors chickens had sounded differently than normal. They sometimes made a repeated shrill cackle when a predator was nearby. There had been reports of several chickens and a dog that had come up missing lately from people nearby.”
Ștefan wouldn’t come home that morning or any morning after as his remains wouldn’t be found for over ten years. His mother would be heard crying, screaming, from that morning until her last breath years later. The brother called the boy Radu from all that knew him would say that he was haunted by that morning. That he had seen, known, what had truly happened to his brother. The only thing that the boy Radu had ever spoke of that day was simply, “Black, Black…”
I sat there and listened to her words feeling them as she spoke. As she had finished telling of the story I had a feeling come over me as I knew this boy wouldn’t have a future in a place such as this. I had stopped and talked to his mother and offered to help. Between sobs she asked me why I would do such a thing. I didn’t have an answer for that question. I had left but I would send money to this woman for years. I as well paid for the boy to see the best of doctors.
A physiologist that I had taken the boy too and had treated the boy for years believes that he was trying to say, “Black Forest Butcher”, a supposed serial killer that had stalked that region of the country for about a year and a half before he just disappeared. The boy Radu was only five on that fateful day and he hasn’t spoken a word since.
The boy with the icy cold steer had just experienced a traumatic event is the boy who had stared at me looking into my heart and my thoughts.
People have a hard time believing that both Ștefan and his father could have fallen to the same grim demise years apart from the hand of something so sadistic as the Black Forrest Butcher. However doubtful the story remains that the boy of Radu had lived growing into the man you now see standing before you.
His skin an ashy white from the disease that causes albinism doctors say he was born with but he didn’t show any signs until after his brothers death. They never moved to Germany after that day as his mother refused to leave that house in case he returned.
The boy Radu was given the nickname Nostroza by the bully’s in town. The meaning of which is still unclear. Those boys learned soon to not pick on him. He was ruthless and ferocious with his onslaught of throwing fist, biting, using rocks, sticks, anything it took to beat down anyone that opposed him.
I’m Ra’s Tomas and I’m the voice of the man you seeing standing beside me. He sees me as the father he never knew and I see him as that of my son. Though it may not be by blood shared in our veins it’s built upon the blood we’ve seen within our eyes and shared in battles. Those within the confines of a ring with the wrestling ropes secured around it and blood shared and spilled in the back alleys and streets where a fight could be found.
Now it brings us to Action Wrestling and their so called World Tour, a tournament, of unknowns. There’s eight individuals that will share that ring in which we’ll fight.
First Round
Marcel Vogel vs. Nostroza
First Round
Whale Helmet vs. Keynan Isara
First Round
Fortune vs. Nio
First Round
Miguel Guerrero vs. Denir Acar
The Nieuw Amsterdam Nightmare is the first fight in which Nostroza will find himself against. I can see why they were put against each other in the first round. They match up well against each other. Vogel is two pounds heavier and a few inches taller but does this man’s brute strength match that of Nostroza? That’s a story that will be told inside of the ring come December seventh. It’s an early Christmas present for Nostroza at least in his eyes.
This little tournament of Action Wrestling is a chance, an opportunity, to be seen and show what each man has to offer within that ring. Many want the money, the acknowledgment of success, hopes of signing an AW contract for the coming year. It’s written on the special little roster pages that Action Wrestling has placed on their company website. Their making this their biggest showing of foreign talent with the most potential to move on to bigger things.
Within those bios it’s a story of each individual in the tournament all the way down to their entrance theme. Ha.
Entrance theme? A spectral of the weak minded and glory hogging hounds.
Nostroza
He has no theme. It’s not about the spectacle but about the brutality.
That won’t be a monumental event it’ll be a brutal one. Nostroza isn’t going in to win he’s going in to simply lend legitimacy to Action Wrestling’s little tournament.
There are individuals in this tournament that are unknowns to both Nostroza and myself. To each other and to those who run the company. Unknowns are dangerous as you don’t remember know what lays within the heart of someone. The brutality of their life. The wrath within their minds. The strength of character and body. Unknowns.
These things will be revealed to some extent within that of the first round of bouts. A round where Nostroza will stand across the ring from those individuals. One by one. Round after round.
Nobody can predict who will win going into this event. Would it be Vogel? Maybe the guy with the dumbest name Whale Helmet. His opponent Keynan Isara?
They say fortune is an arbitrary force that affects the affairs of all humans. So then perhaps he, Fortune, shall win against both Nio and the rest?
Nio? A guardian of Buddha? Does he help with the automotive design of vehicles? An unknown nickname like that of Nostroza? It’s another example of the unrevealed going into this World Cup.
Miguel Guerrero and his opponent Denir Acar the final pairing of round one. Again, who wins? There’s no way to predict anything in this match or the others. This tournament the imagination of those calling the shots within Action Wrestling. They are looking for both entertainment and competition. Something I’m sure they will have once everything is finally said and done. That moment when the lights dim, the crowd leaves, and the combatants bruised and bloodied. AW would have ultimately been the ones victorious.
The camera that has previously been focused on that of Ra’s Thomas changes to that of a map of the entire world and then slowing begins fading to scenes from every country represented within the AW’s World Cup. Tomas begins talking again.
This world may seem small in the grand scheme of things. Observatories across the world are always looking outwards towards the unknown. Other plants, other galaxies, millions of light years away. Living on this planet you learn that your life isn’t as small as sometimes people try to make it seem. We’re all here for only a certain period of time and within the annuals of history most of us won’t be remembered.
We all have two deaths in life.
The day that we stop breathing and then the day that our names are last spoken. The memory of us is wiped from the face of this world.
Why does this matter now? In the grand scheme of AW and the World Cup?
It’s the grand idea that we’re all the same. Perhaps we all have different nationalities, different languages, a different tone of skin, and we live our lives differently. Each individual that steps between those ropes this tournament will represent a part of those lives. In a way it’s another memory in the life of how we’ll be remembered. That star of individuality will fade with time as it elegantly sails upon the winds of change. Yet, only one will make an impact.
I’ll be the first person to say that Nostroza will walk into that match with high hopes and thoughts of grandeur. He’s not expecting to win and I’m not expecting him to win either. I do expect that we’ll give a good showing. At the end of the night he’ll be bruised and battered. His opponents will be the same.
It’s the great unknown. Both those that will complete and who of them shall be the last standing in victory. It’s a mystery that will unfold before each of us watching. Those weeks of planning and prepping for uncharted territory.
Nostroza sees it as an attack on Action Wrestling it’s self and the entire company is anticipating what will come but it may cost them more than they are expecting. That victory may be cut, ripped, from those opponents that will stand across from him. It’s a full scale war within his eyes. It’s not a showing of mere strength as many have compared strength to his. Their minds though will show to be that of the weaker of the two minds within those confines. He’s a craftsman that is patient, uncaring, a man with
great strengths and glaring weaknesses.
After AW’s World Cup life will be unknown and we shall see truly what’s next.