Post by The Solomons on Dec 5, 2016 19:30:06 GMT -5
CHARACTER INFORMATION
REAL NAMES: Duke and Darcy Solomon
TEAM NAME: The Solomons
NICKNAME(S): N/A
PICTURE BASES: Matanza Cuenzo (Photoshopped to be taller) and Sharon Ehman (with her face obscured, like in any of these pictures)
AGES: Duke is 25, Darcy is 21
COMBINED WEIGHT: 385 lbs
ENTRANCE MUSIC: "Belly of the Beast" by Danzig
HAILS FROM: Black Cat, Arkansas
ALIGNMENT: Darcy is a Principled Heel, Duke is a Chaotic Heel
TWITTER @: N/A
SALARY: $5,500 Each Per Match
POPULARITY:
PRIMARY FIGHTING STYLE: Duke is a straight powerhouse, Darcy is a high flyer
SECONDARY FIGHTING STYLE: Duke does a lot of brawling, Darcy implements more technical moves and submissions from time to time
IN-RING STRENGTHS: Duke Solomon is massive, an absolute juggernaut in the ring. His immense strength and ridiculous durability makes him incredibly hard to take down with just brute force. Darcy is quick, clever, and most importantly, cut throat. She'll cheat, exploit old injuries, and do whatever else she has to do to squeeze out a win.
IN-RING WEAKNESSES: Duke Solomon is not a thinker. He does not strategize or plan. He is easily outsped and outwitted, and often relies on Darcy for guidance. Darcy does not have her brother's durability; she is lightweight and easily overpowered.
PERSONALITY AND GIMMICK: Duke Solomon is an oldschool monster, resembling Jason Vorhees more than most modern wrestlers. He's brutal, violent, and if left unchecked, will destroy everything and everyone he gets his huge hands on. He doesn't speak, and doesn't seem to understand anything but fighting--but he'll listen to Darcy. Darcy is the brains of the outfit. Despite appearances (and a mild southern drawl), she's well read and fairly intelligent, often waxing philosophical and analyzing opponents... and wielding her brother like a weapon. Either sibling would kill to protect the other.
BIOGRAPHY: Duke Solomon was documented as legally dead in late 2014. Either Darcy Solomon has done something very bad to get her brother back, or the man in the mask is not in fact Duke Solomon. Darcy's 100% convinced that she's brought her brother back from the dead somehow, and no one knows well enough to tell her differently. The two have been on the road for a while, struggling to make ends meet given Duke's subdued mental capacity. He's grown very violent, and Darcy has no qualms with helping him get what he wants; it was inevitable that they'd find their way to the wrestling world.
ACCOMPLISHMENTS: N/A
RING ATTIRE: Duke wears ripped up coveralls and a mask. Darcy usually wears something like this or this, sans jacket. She always wears a hooded mask with black mesh over the face, a bit like Ophidian from Chikara but without the snake theme.
MOVESET
STANDARD MOVES (DARCY):
Corner Foot Choke
Crossface Chickenwing
Diving Tornado DDT
Enziguri
German Style Pin
Grounded Knee Strikes
Hanging Cross Armbreaker
Hurricanrana
Propeller Headscissors
Running Headscissor
Slingshot Somersault Senton
Spinning Wheel Kick
Yakuza Kick
Tope Con Hilo
STANDARD MOVES (DUKE):
Backbreaker w/Press
Belly to Back Sideslam
Belly to Belly Suplex
Clothesline
Full Nelson Slam
Gorilla Press Powerslam
Release Flapjack
Reverse Elbow
Running Powerslam
Scoop Slam
Shoulderblock
Sitdown Powerbomb
Spinebuster
Two Handed Chokelift
SIGNATURE MOVES: Chokeslam (Duke)
TAG FINISHER: Nowhere to Turn (Duke does a sit out spinebuster, Darcy comes off the ropes and catches them mid-air with a neckbreaker. link enclosed.)
HANDLER(S) INFORMATION
NAME(S): K
AGE(S): 29
CONTACT DETAILS: Just PM me on the board.
SAMPLE ROLE-PLAY
(An old one, during my brief foray as Oni Oshima).
The flickering lights provide little in the way of details. A warehouse? An old gym? Large. Empty. Her thin silhouette stands firm in the dark, impacts echoing through the sizable arena. She brings focused punches and powerful kicks to bear against a hanging bag, the camera framing the shadows across her back. Her voice pierces the darkness, narrating, guiding, as she fights against her foes invisible.
"I've been asked a lot of questions since arriving in CWT."
Sweat hits the floor in droplets. The sound, as it splashes against concrete, is the only noise in the room. That, and the sound of her hands and feet slamming into dangling weight.
"Questions I'm not always willing to answer."
Her narrow arms sling around the bag, letting it support her. She's battled to the point of exhaustion, struggling to keep her knees from the mat.
"Questions I can't answer."
Her body gives out, and Oni Oshima sinks to the ground. Her gloved hands stay, desperately gripping at the hanging bag, the only thing keeping her from dipping further. Her shoulders heave, lungs wheezing an uneven rhythm.
"Questions I don't have answers to. People want to why I'm here, what I'm after, who I am--funny, to be asking the woman in the mask, but here we are. The truth is... the truth is that I don't know. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want. I started wrestling in Japan when I was fifteen. I could barely drive by the time I won my first title belt. From there, the novelty of my career has carried me from opportunity to opportunity. I've never been an icon, never a household name... but I've always been there. There's always a place for me, if I want it. There's always a title shot, if I'm ready to have it handed to me. I never had to carve out my own niche, never had to find my own place. I never had to make my own way. I lived under the banner of Japan, thrived off reputation and consistency.
...And I'm tired of it."
Flashbacks. Footage reels. Grainy. Black and white. A smaller, younger Japanese girl, in a simpler form of Oni's mask. In more meager attire. In more humble surroundings. She fights, hard, but she's still uneducated. Inexperienced. Weak. Multiple matches blink by, different opponents. Sometimes she wins... sometimes she doesn't.
"The mask was a placeholder. I didn't know who I wanted to be. I didn't know where my life was going. I was shy. I was embarrassed. It was all... so... new to me, but I was absorbed in it. Consumed by it. I fell in love with that ring, the crowd, the atmosphere. The world of wrestling became me, and I became that mask. I thought about it, dreamed about it. The kunoichi costume became a self fulfilling prophecy, because soon, my life was that of a fragile assassin. Enigmatic. Mysterious. A mercenary, serving whichever lord would pay the most. Serving whichever lord would satisfy my thirst for combat.
I've been told that the Heartland Television Championship is the wrestler's title. It's appropriate, then, that I'll be competing for it... because a wrestler is what I am. It's all I've ever been. It's all I know. I'm not Andrew Ashton, swollen, bloated, with prestige and egomania. I'm not here out of desperation, or as a last resort. I choose to be here. I want to be here, because I need to break away from the world that made me. I need to experience the free and different. I'm stagnating in Japan, disillusioned with the pedestal they've put me on. I want to crawl my way from the bottom, I want to struggle, I want to be an unknown, unheard from underdog... because it's in adversity that I thrive. It's in the fight that I develop, that I grow, that I become something greater.
I'm not James Edwards, a maniac trying to contain himself. I'm not here to sate some bloodlust, I get no satisfaction from pain. I get my thrills from the competition, from the energy, from the challenge. I live to overcome. I live to leap the obstacles that this sport puts before me, because it's just that: a sport. A sport that I want to be the best at. The best. Not just here, not just in Japan... but in the world. I want to be the best in the world. And to that end, I can't get lost in my own head. I can't let my thoughts, my doubts, my questions about my place in this world... I can't let them tear me apart. I can't let them overpower my will to win.
It was in wrestling that I was born, wrestling that I was raised, and it will be in that ring that I finally begin to see myself for what I really am.
What I'm not... is Skeeter."
The footage has finally built to this, her present age. Her costume has been refined and replaced to the modern day, her ring work has been practiced and honed. Oni Oshima. She stares into the camera from the edge of an empty ring in the midst of a dusty gym. She leans back into the ropes, arms extending down them, eyes weary. Her mask, as typical, hides her real expression.
"I don't have a family. I don't have friends. I don't have allies. I could drop eeeverything I had and leave Japan... because everything I had was, frankly, not all that much. No one misses me, except boys in suits hoping to cash in on my name. No one begged me to stay, except old enemies wanting their second, third, or fourth chances. My phone has been ringing constantly since I left... tens, hundreds of people, people that don't know me, faces that I don't recognize. I have no connections, no ties to sever, no groups to break away from, no one and nothing I care about
except
this
ring.
I am empty of all but war.
My heart beats for no one, pumping only poison.
And in that, I am weak.
In that, I am lacking.
And in that, I am so much more dangerous than any of you.
I will go all out. No restraint. No fear. No love. Severed from the outside, existing only in the reality between bells. I know that my reputation is of no consequence. I know that if I become ash, I will not be mourned. I know that I have nothing to gain from loss, and only understanding to gain from victory.
And that's... all I want.
To understand.
To know.
To come one step closer to realizing why I'm here, why I do this, what it all means...
...or to being destroyed by it.
The Heartland Television Championship
is the wrestler's title, and beneath this mask,
beneath this mask,
I am nothing
nothing
but a wrestler."
The flickering lights provide little in the way of details. A warehouse? An old gym? Large. Empty. Her thin silhouette stands firm in the dark, impacts echoing through the sizable arena. She brings focused punches and powerful kicks to bear against a hanging bag, the camera framing the shadows across her back. Her voice pierces the darkness, narrating, guiding, as she fights against her foes invisible.
"I've been asked a lot of questions since arriving in CWT."
Sweat hits the floor in droplets. The sound, as it splashes against concrete, is the only noise in the room. That, and the sound of her hands and feet slamming into dangling weight.
"Questions I'm not always willing to answer."
Her narrow arms sling around the bag, letting it support her. She's battled to the point of exhaustion, struggling to keep her knees from the mat.
"Questions I can't answer."
Her body gives out, and Oni Oshima sinks to the ground. Her gloved hands stay, desperately gripping at the hanging bag, the only thing keeping her from dipping further. Her shoulders heave, lungs wheezing an uneven rhythm.
"Questions I don't have answers to. People want to why I'm here, what I'm after, who I am--funny, to be asking the woman in the mask, but here we are. The truth is... the truth is that I don't know. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I want. I started wrestling in Japan when I was fifteen. I could barely drive by the time I won my first title belt. From there, the novelty of my career has carried me from opportunity to opportunity. I've never been an icon, never a household name... but I've always been there. There's always a place for me, if I want it. There's always a title shot, if I'm ready to have it handed to me. I never had to carve out my own niche, never had to find my own place. I never had to make my own way. I lived under the banner of Japan, thrived off reputation and consistency.
...And I'm tired of it."
Flashbacks. Footage reels. Grainy. Black and white. A smaller, younger Japanese girl, in a simpler form of Oni's mask. In more meager attire. In more humble surroundings. She fights, hard, but she's still uneducated. Inexperienced. Weak. Multiple matches blink by, different opponents. Sometimes she wins... sometimes she doesn't.
"The mask was a placeholder. I didn't know who I wanted to be. I didn't know where my life was going. I was shy. I was embarrassed. It was all... so... new to me, but I was absorbed in it. Consumed by it. I fell in love with that ring, the crowd, the atmosphere. The world of wrestling became me, and I became that mask. I thought about it, dreamed about it. The kunoichi costume became a self fulfilling prophecy, because soon, my life was that of a fragile assassin. Enigmatic. Mysterious. A mercenary, serving whichever lord would pay the most. Serving whichever lord would satisfy my thirst for combat.
I've been told that the Heartland Television Championship is the wrestler's title. It's appropriate, then, that I'll be competing for it... because a wrestler is what I am. It's all I've ever been. It's all I know. I'm not Andrew Ashton, swollen, bloated, with prestige and egomania. I'm not here out of desperation, or as a last resort. I choose to be here. I want to be here, because I need to break away from the world that made me. I need to experience the free and different. I'm stagnating in Japan, disillusioned with the pedestal they've put me on. I want to crawl my way from the bottom, I want to struggle, I want to be an unknown, unheard from underdog... because it's in adversity that I thrive. It's in the fight that I develop, that I grow, that I become something greater.
I'm not James Edwards, a maniac trying to contain himself. I'm not here to sate some bloodlust, I get no satisfaction from pain. I get my thrills from the competition, from the energy, from the challenge. I live to overcome. I live to leap the obstacles that this sport puts before me, because it's just that: a sport. A sport that I want to be the best at. The best. Not just here, not just in Japan... but in the world. I want to be the best in the world. And to that end, I can't get lost in my own head. I can't let my thoughts, my doubts, my questions about my place in this world... I can't let them tear me apart. I can't let them overpower my will to win.
It was in wrestling that I was born, wrestling that I was raised, and it will be in that ring that I finally begin to see myself for what I really am.
What I'm not... is Skeeter."
The footage has finally built to this, her present age. Her costume has been refined and replaced to the modern day, her ring work has been practiced and honed. Oni Oshima. She stares into the camera from the edge of an empty ring in the midst of a dusty gym. She leans back into the ropes, arms extending down them, eyes weary. Her mask, as typical, hides her real expression.
"I don't have a family. I don't have friends. I don't have allies. I could drop eeeverything I had and leave Japan... because everything I had was, frankly, not all that much. No one misses me, except boys in suits hoping to cash in on my name. No one begged me to stay, except old enemies wanting their second, third, or fourth chances. My phone has been ringing constantly since I left... tens, hundreds of people, people that don't know me, faces that I don't recognize. I have no connections, no ties to sever, no groups to break away from, no one and nothing I care about
except
this
ring.
I am empty of all but war.
My heart beats for no one, pumping only poison.
And in that, I am weak.
In that, I am lacking.
And in that, I am so much more dangerous than any of you.
I will go all out. No restraint. No fear. No love. Severed from the outside, existing only in the reality between bells. I know that my reputation is of no consequence. I know that if I become ash, I will not be mourned. I know that I have nothing to gain from loss, and only understanding to gain from victory.
And that's... all I want.
To understand.
To know.
To come one step closer to realizing why I'm here, why I do this, what it all means...
...or to being destroyed by it.
The Heartland Television Championship
is the wrestler's title, and beneath this mask,
beneath this mask,
I am nothing
nothing
but a wrestler."