Post by magnificent on Mar 5, 2017 14:06:42 GMT -5
CHARACTER INFORMATION
REAL NAME: Dexter Severin
RING NAME: Tragik the Magnificeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeent
NICKNAME(S): King Kickass, Wrestling Fucking Royalty, the Sexiest Man Alive, the Greatest Wrestling Journalist in the History of Forever
PICTURE BASE: Kevin Owens
AGE: 39
HEIGHT: 5'9"
WEIGHT: 220
ENTRANCE MUSIC: King of Kings, Motorhead
HOME TOWN: Riverside, CA
HAILS FROM: The Abyss
ALIGNMENT: Chaotic Face - an anti-hero. The Fans will cheer, but it's often questionable whether the action was for selfish reasons, or for some other rationale altogether.
TWITTER @:
PRIMARY FIGHTING STYLE: Brawler
SECONDARY FIGHTING STYLE: Hardcore
IN-RING STRENGTHS: Absorbs a lot of punishment, a surprisingly deadly superkick
IN-RING WEAKNESSES: Very little technical skill
PERSONALITY AND GIMMICK: A former wrestling journalist who become a (initially comedic!) hardcore icon, and for about six months in 2016, an actual wrestler. Oozes sex appeal.
BIOGRAPHY:
Dexter Severin is also known as Tragik, a wrestling journalist covering the business for over 20 years, known for his brutal trash talk and comedic timing. After once pissing off an entire roster, he debuted in a battle royal, where he was summarily thrashed by said roster, and then began to compete in hardcore matches on a regular basis. His last stint of active competition was in Texas in 2016 as part of a multi-fed stable of wrestlers known as the Songs of Swag, alongside Benny Stevens, Skeeter, and Zoe Chaos.
In last several months, he has gotten married to Zoe, had said marriage annulled, and disappeared into the Abyss. He has now crawled himself out and placed his eyes on Benny who he has, in a series of messages from his radio show, accused him of sleeping with Zoe about 30 seconds after the annulment papers were signed. He arrived at Massacre #9 to eliminate Benny from the opening battle royal.
ACCOMPLISHMENTS: Many hardcore titles, a few legit titles, two best-selling autobiographies, more chicks banged than any three random porn stars combined
RING ATTIRE: Black shorts and a black t-shirt, the logo being different at every show.
PREFERRED DIVISION: Wherever that "two-timing, scrawny, douchebag is"
MOVESET
STANDARD MOVES: Dex has ZERO technical skill. He relies on punches, kicks, slams, and his suprisingly effective finishes.
SIGNATURE MOVES:
The Squarsh: Affectionately named by his buddy Skeeter, Tragik's flying elbow drop is more of a falling elbow drop. He has ZERO vertical leap and thus must have his opponent basically be right next to the turnbuckle.
California Dreamin': A (poorly applied!) cobra clutch
FINISHER(S):
The Tragikick: While he may have virtually no skill in wrestling, something about the angle of his superkick is deadly. He has knocked out some of the best in the business with it.
The Tragikplex: A spinning Fisherman's Buster
HANDLER INFORMATION
NAME: J-$AGE: 35
CONTACT DETAILS: Board DMs
SAMPLE ROLE-PLAY
A car door slams shut. Doc Martins on pavement. Black pants. View pulls up at see a building looming a few feet away.
“‘Sup, Boo?”
The unmistakable voice of Dexter Severin. The building gets closer as boots strike pavement, the view that special point-of-view afforded by a GoPro camera strapped to a forehead.
“Seems like I set off a few bombs this week, huh? Whole lotta action going down in our little world. Lots of people crying. Moaning. Clutching pearls. Hell, there was even this one old chick who literally got her granny panties bunched up because of what I have been doing.”
Building gets closer.
“Everyone is all ‘ZOMG I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD’ or some such variation. People all mad that I would say the stuff I say, mad that I brought Brit up. Oh! Hey! Brit! Sorry I missed your birthday! Uncle Trag will make up for it!”
Building is only a few feet away.
“But everyone mostly is all, ‘Whatever. Talky talky, blah blah.’ They think I can only sit back and do my radio show. They think I can only sit behind my desk, behind my mic, and talk shit. Oh...Sasha...we know better, don’t we? Oh...baby...we SO know better.”
The building is right in front of the man. The GoPro pans up to see the sign above the door:
Squires Wrestling Academy.
A hand attached to an arm wrapped in a leather sleeve opens the door, the camera entering the building.
“See...I am not just here to talk shit. I am not just here to do my show. I did not crawl out of the Abyss to simply play the fool and make people laugh. And one of the funny things about life is how people only see what they want to see. They did not see me slinking around, watching and pondering. They did not see me coming. And now? Guys like Envy will never see this coming. See, I have to prove the point. I have...I have to…”
The camera stops. We see a wrestling ring. In the ring, a dozen or so men and women standing outside, is Jan van der Roost. The Rooster is the paragon of honor and respect in the business, passing down important lessons to the future generation of the business. The hand comes back into focus, the other joining it, as Dex wraps a metal chain around his right hand.
“This has to end, Sash. And this? This is the End Game.”
The ring comes at the camera quickly, Dex bursting into a sprint. The camera slides under the bottom rope. The camera rises and rushes at the back of the oblivious Deathstalker. The chain-wrapped hand enters the view and smashes into the head of Jan, the man crumbling from the unexpected blow. Students scurry, cries are brought up, but the camera stays on Jan, now on the floor. A Doc Martin steps on the back of Jan’s neck.
“Everyone shut the fuck up or I break his neck!”
The camera turns to the group outside the ring, but the cries of the students are silenced.
“You came here for a lesson in On-The-Fly promos, right? Here’s one from Wrestling Royalty!”
The camera turns back to the downed Jan.
“Spike that, fucker.”
The hand drops the chain onto Jan’s back. The camera gets closer to Jan as Dex kneels. The camera moves up and shifts over quickly as hands remove it from his head and swivels until all it can see is Dexter’s bearded face.
“Any and all?”
He gives the camera an exaggerated wink.
“See ya around.”
He drops the camera by Jan’s head and walks away.
End.
“‘Sup, Boo?”
The unmistakable voice of Dexter Severin. The building gets closer as boots strike pavement, the view that special point-of-view afforded by a GoPro camera strapped to a forehead.
“Seems like I set off a few bombs this week, huh? Whole lotta action going down in our little world. Lots of people crying. Moaning. Clutching pearls. Hell, there was even this one old chick who literally got her granny panties bunched up because of what I have been doing.”
Building gets closer.
“Everyone is all ‘ZOMG I THOUGHT HE WAS DEAD’ or some such variation. People all mad that I would say the stuff I say, mad that I brought Brit up. Oh! Hey! Brit! Sorry I missed your birthday! Uncle Trag will make up for it!”
Building is only a few feet away.
“But everyone mostly is all, ‘Whatever. Talky talky, blah blah.’ They think I can only sit back and do my radio show. They think I can only sit behind my desk, behind my mic, and talk shit. Oh...Sasha...we know better, don’t we? Oh...baby...we SO know better.”
The building is right in front of the man. The GoPro pans up to see the sign above the door:
Squires Wrestling Academy.
A hand attached to an arm wrapped in a leather sleeve opens the door, the camera entering the building.
“See...I am not just here to talk shit. I am not just here to do my show. I did not crawl out of the Abyss to simply play the fool and make people laugh. And one of the funny things about life is how people only see what they want to see. They did not see me slinking around, watching and pondering. They did not see me coming. And now? Guys like Envy will never see this coming. See, I have to prove the point. I have...I have to…”
The camera stops. We see a wrestling ring. In the ring, a dozen or so men and women standing outside, is Jan van der Roost. The Rooster is the paragon of honor and respect in the business, passing down important lessons to the future generation of the business. The hand comes back into focus, the other joining it, as Dex wraps a metal chain around his right hand.
“This has to end, Sash. And this? This is the End Game.”
The ring comes at the camera quickly, Dex bursting into a sprint. The camera slides under the bottom rope. The camera rises and rushes at the back of the oblivious Deathstalker. The chain-wrapped hand enters the view and smashes into the head of Jan, the man crumbling from the unexpected blow. Students scurry, cries are brought up, but the camera stays on Jan, now on the floor. A Doc Martin steps on the back of Jan’s neck.
“Everyone shut the fuck up or I break his neck!”
The camera turns to the group outside the ring, but the cries of the students are silenced.
“You came here for a lesson in On-The-Fly promos, right? Here’s one from Wrestling Royalty!”
The camera turns back to the downed Jan.
“Spike that, fucker.”
The hand drops the chain onto Jan’s back. The camera gets closer to Jan as Dex kneels. The camera moves up and shifts over quickly as hands remove it from his head and swivels until all it can see is Dexter’s bearded face.
“Any and all?”
He gives the camera an exaggerated wink.
“See ya around.”
He drops the camera by Jan’s head and walks away.
End.