They'll chant "Gable."
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February Wrasslin' |OT| WrassleGAF. In 2016.
- Thread starter FallingEdge
- Start date
They'll chant "Gable."
UrbanDandy
Member
"The Kevinant"
Sweeney Tom
Banned
Holy shit, Trevor Lee just had a 105 minute long match
The Silver
Member
Where's Hog- oh right...... he doesn't exist.
You got that right, fruit booty.
Guhgoonneee?
slightconfuse
Banned
Remember when DX rode a tank into nitro
Turned the tide I tell ya
Turned the tide I tell ya
Sweeney Tom
Banned
Something I thought you all would enjoy: gaze at the wonders of Sheamus' site from when he was still in the indies/FCW http://sosofficial.com/
Featuring pics from his Second Life account!
Butts!
RealPlayer!
And fanfic!
Featuring pics from his Second Life account!
Butts!
RealPlayer!
And fanfic!
Sheamus O'Shaunessy was mortal... Born natural to a Father and Mother on the shores of Dubh Linn in an Epoch of Celtic Myths and Legends. His youth saw him grow fast and strong into a feared warrior gaining a hero's reputation on the battlefields of Erin, far too quickly in some estimations. As foreign invaders attacked from the North & the South his Clan and he pushed them back into the sea many times. But it was the fueds between the indigenous Celtic Tribes that would see him transcend mortality and ultimately become Cursed...
In the Pre-Christian Age before St Patrick held his purgatory at the gateway to the underworld on Lough Derg's Station Island Sheamus O'Shaunessy lay lifeless on the Battlefield of Tara, covered in the blood of his enemies with the head of Bosco still firmly gripped in his right hand. But this was not his end, rather the beginning of his curse.
The many violent years between man and boy, Sheamus grew weary of Celtic Laws and honour code. He grew blood thirsty prefering the life of a mercenary; offering his warrior services to the tribe willing to pay the highest price. SOS was lost amid the dark underworld of lusty wenches and yard after yard of mead. His reputation went before him and all feared his anger and might. But without honour he was a lost soul seeking a glorious and bloody death.
As fate would have it he found his destiny on the side of Good when he heard Ruaidhri's war cry on the Battlefield under the Hill of Tara when his heart told him to turn on his evil comrades slaughtering All under the command of Bosco and the Will of his lover, the witch Morgana.
A moment of clarity showed Sheamus the error of his ways and the darkness in Bosco's heart. SOS turned to face the marauding dark army, which he led only moments before. His hair stood on end and fire blazed in his eyes as he slew all that stood before him.
Bosco turned to flee after seeing the war frenzy which had overcome his former ally but before his foot left the battlefield of Tara Sheamus O'Shaunessy cleaved his head at the neck and stood there with it held aloft to deafening Banshee-like screams of Morgana from her craggy perch.
Morgana, now in a rage, summoned dark spirits and demons from the gateway of hell and struck down Sheamus where he stood with a blinding flash of blue & purple energy which shot out in swirling streams from her pointed fingernails. She screeched an enchantment over his dead body in a strange heavy tongue, instructing the spirits and demons to escort his soul to the underworld and torture him for eternity in hell.
As his soul was being forcibly dragged by supernatural forces from his body, he lay still and lifeless. Watching from the nearby wood, Ruaidhri's battle weakened sorcerer Morcant intervened with a spell, holding back the evil ghosts from stealing Sheamus' soul. The fight for the slain warrior's soul began. Morcant and Morgana battled for hours with counter-on-counter enchantment and spell over the body of the fallen fighter until finally it was torn in two with a blinding flash of white light, hurling the Witch into the boggy quagmire.
Sheamus awoke. The air fell silent and the mighty warrior got slowly to his feet and began to tremble and shake with internal turmoil and agonising pain. As all watched on as if in a trance on the blood soaked ground, Sheamus battled against himself at lightening speed. As he struggled on the spot where he once fell his feet seemed to merge into the soil as his aura was slowly pulled from his battered body.
The earth seemed to be desperately trying to hold on to the champion as the spirit world tugged at his soul. Finally with earth now up to his thighs Sheamus slumped over backwards and a ghostly white smoke bellowed from his eyes, ears and mouth.
As the white smoke filled the air it took on the shape of the warrior and glared at all onlookers with blood red eyes. Morcant bellowed "BAWN" (Bain in the Gaelic tongue) at the ghostly figure and ordered it to take to sinking pits of hell. All had gathered around Sheamus now and desperately dug at the soil which entombed his legs shouting "Bawn, Bawn, Bawn" at the looming spirit above his head until it backed off to the dark places.
Sheamus was now in a perilous fight for life in Morcant's cave which went on for many days and nights. Finally Morcant reluctantly tied his mortal body's destiny to that of the the land of Erin. With tears in his eyes and a heavy heart Morcant Cursed Sheamus with this destiny as it was all he could do to save him.
Thus, Sheamus O'Shaunessy was reborn as immortal with his destiny tied directly to that of Ireland. As the centuries wield and past he grew strong and weak and strong again as his homeland met with countless turmoils. He was always haunted by the evil ghost of his former self, Bawn, which is ever present looking to repossess the warrior's soul once more.
Sheamus O'Shaunessy became known as the Irish Curse as his fate was tied to that of Ireland. He has known many great battles over the millennia with numerous invasions from the Viking tribes of the North, Germanic, Norman and Anglo-Saxon armies from the East, and The Moors and The Romans from The South. But the hardest one he fights everyday...
The Battle for his Soul.
TWO CELTIC HEROS MEET IN BATTLE...
Many Centuries Ago, when the world was younger, Sheamus O'Shaunessy found himself wandering in a part of the land he had not visited before. For many days Sheamus had battled with Bawn for possession of himself, and so he was weary and confused. All he could say with certainty was that he had been walking for many miles. All that he looked for now was rest and so he trudged on northwards, looking for somewhere that he might sleep and recover himself....
Even as Sheamus was walking north, others were heading south on the same road. Four horsemen surrounded a chariot that clearly belonged to someone wealthy. The horses were fine beasts, and the chariot was ornamented with jewels. Indeed, it might have been thought that four men was not a sufficient guard for such a rich prize, but in truth the occupant of the chariot feared no bandits or robbers. His name was Clovis, and he was a sorcerer from a far land. Yet Clovis clearly was afraid, for he kept turning as if to make sure that he was not being followed. In truth, he was troubled by strange dreams, and being an experienced sorcerer, he had learned to trust his dreams, even when they foretold things that he would rather not believe.
Clovis had only recently come to Ireland, having been forced to leave his own country when his king had discovered him abusing his magical powers. However, although banished, Clovis had not lost heart. He was still young enough to rebuild the wealth and power he had lost, being not yet forty, and so he had journeyed until he came to a land where none had heard of him, a land called Ulster. There he had quickly made himself indispensable to the king who had rewarded him richly. As yet, Clovis had not fallen back into his old habits of using his powers for theft and murder, reasoning that it was wiser to make sure that he was trusted before he did anything that might raise people's suspicions. Not until the time was right would he strike. First he would take Ulster for his own, then more lands and still more, until he could finally return to his own country at the head of an army and humble the king who had once banished him.
Even so, there was still one person who Clovis believed did not trust him, the king's champion, Cuchulain. The small dark warrior watched Clovis suspiciously whenever they were in the same room, although thus far he had found no grounds to attack him. At first, this had not worried Clovis, for what did one warrior's opinion matter, no matter how mighty he may be? After the dreams began, however, Clovis rapidly progressed from worry to fear. His dream was brief, and always the same. He staggered back as the mighty spear of Cuchulain, the Gae Bolg bit deep into his chest. As his life ebbed away, the last thing he saw was the bloodstained face of Cuchulain. For two weeks now he had had this dream, and finally he had come to the conclusion that he must kill Cuchulain before the dream came true.
So he had persuaded the king to send Cuchulain down to this remote southern part of Ulster alone, to "deal with brigands". Still, he was worried. Even alone, Cuchulain would easily overpower Clovis' four guards and, when Cuchulain was in the grip of his ferocious battle rage, the dreaded warp spasm, he would even be immune to Clobis's sorcery. All in all, it was a most disturbing problem for Clovis. Consequently, he was deep in thought when his guards challenged the man walking towards them.
Out of the way, rabble. You're blocking the road. The guard spoke roughly and without respect, for in truth Sheamus was dressed poorly, and in any case the guards of Clovis feared little, between their own prowess and their master's spellcraft. Even so, a wiser and more prudent man might have considered that the bulging muscles and mighty axe of the stranger deserved a certain amount of respect.
Sheamus looked up slowly, a certain insolence visible in his very movement. Confused and frustrated by his inability to remember where he was and how he had got there, he was more than willing to work out his frustration in battle. With the glance of an experienced warrior he assessed his situation in a split-second. Four men, mounted and well-armed, well-trained from the look of their posture in the saddle, and a fifth man in a chariot, distracted and soft, no threat there. Sheamus smiled to himself, half happy, half disappointed. He probably wouldn't even need his axe.
What's that you're saying, boy? Sheamus responded, a deliberately insulting edge to his voice. Mebbe it's you needs to be moving out of my way, before I split you're skull open and use it for a toilet!
The guard needed no further invitation, but urged his horse straight at Sheamus, leveling his spear as he did so. To his astonishment, however, the red-haired vagabond leapt high into the air, vaulting right over the spear, his right arm held stiffly out to the side. The forearm smashed straight into the guard's throat, the impact knocking him from his horse. Caught by surprise, the other guards were a moment slower in their reactions than would normally have been the case, and that moment was all Sheamus needed. As they dismounted from their horses, readying their axes and spears, Sheamus picked up the crumpled body of the first guard and pressed it high above his head, before launching the unfortunate into his comrades like a missile. Bellowing a war cry, Sheamus lowered his head and prepared to charge bull-like into the struggling mass of men, only to stop suddenly, sinking to his knees without warning. The angry guards, picking themselves up, moved forward to finish him off, only to be stopped in their turn by a shout from Clovis.
Hold! I have ensorcelled him. He cannot move until I release him from my spell, and I have no mind to do so yet. Clovis' words, though decisive, did not mollify his guards, however.
He's killed Dara! We must have blood, demanded Clovis' lieutenant, a grizzled veteran of many battles. Fear not! He will die, and soon I think. Yet I have a use in mind for this mighty stranger. I'd guess that even the mighty Cuchulain himself would not easily deal with such a warrior.
With that the discussion was over, for while the guards were not entirely happy with the decision, they all knew that Clovis did not permit debate. Besides, none of them had especially wanted to face Cuchulain themselves. Therefore, they stood back as Clovis laid a mighty enchantment on Sheamus, causing him to seek always for Cuchulain, and not to rest until he had slain him. Long did Sheamus resist the magic, but Bawn, ever seeking to take the soul of the cursed warrior saw an opportunity in Clovis' spell. Reasoning that if Sheamus could be forced into such a dishonourable deed as slaying Cuchulain without provocation the Irish warrior's resistance to Bawn's evil would forever be lessened, Bawn added its own strength to the spell, undermining Sheamus' resistance from within. Finally, the spell that was intended to doom two of Erin's greatest warriors was complete. As soon as Clovis released Sheamus from his paralysis, the cursed warrior bounded off, seeking Cuchulain.
And now, we have only to follow him and he will lead us to Cuchulain. Then, when he is weary from fighting this red giant, you will strike down the Hound of Ulster. But, remember! No one is to attack until Cuchulain has thrown the Gae Bolg. As long as the spear is in his hand, he is too dangerous.
Cuchulain himself was several miles away, roaming a great forest and wondering why he was there. He had been sent there on the king's instructions to deal with a band of brigands that the king had had report of. Now that he was in the right area, however, Cuchulain could find no trace of any brigands, and the bandit had not been born that could hide from the Hound of Ulster. In truth, this region was sparsely populated, and any bandits would have found little enough to steal here. Cuchulain was beginning to wonder why he had been sent so far from his king, almost to the borders of Ulster, and he rightly suspected that it had to do with some plot conceived by Clovis. Yet, never once did the thought occur to the mighty warrior that the plot was directed against him. Rather, he thought that Clovis purposed some mischief to the king, and had therefore made sure that his most loyal and powerful protector was away.
With that in mind, Cuchulain began the long journey north back to his king, and it was therefore almost nightfall when, upon entering a wide clearing he saw a flame-haired giant enter from the other side. The two paused for a moment before Cuchulain spoke.
Good evening, friend. Know you of any home nearby where a servant of the king may sleep the night? Cuchulain spoke politely, but something about the demeanour of the man facing him warned him to be wary, and not without reason. Sheamus made no answer, but simply took his great axe in his hands and advanced upon the one that every impulse told him he must kill. For his part, Cuchulain needed no further warning and quickly drew his own axe. His spear, the mighty Gae Bolg which never failed to kill he did not touch at this point, preferring to use it only when all else failed....
With a ringing clash, the two axe-blades met as battle was joined. Never was such a battle seen as this. If Sheamus had thought from Cuchulain's small, wiry frame that he would be easy prey then he soon realised the truth. The Hound of Ulster was stronger by far than his size indicated, and his small stature actually gave him some advantage over the larger man. The ferocious blows that their axes dealt smote the tress and earth about them, but always the two warriors managed to avoid the fatal strike from their enemy. In later times men called it the Battle of the Longest Day, for it was said that the Sun ceased his setting in order that he might see the fight to its end...
Eventually, Sheamus put forth all his strength in one mighty blow of his axe, only for Cuchulain once again to dodge away at the last second. The axe of Sheamus buried itself deep in a huge ancient tree that Cuchulain had been in front of, sinking a full foot into the bark. As Sheamus wrenched at it he was forced to let go and leap back as Cuchulain came forward swinging his own axe with reckless abandon, ready now to make an end of this mighty stranger who attacked without cause or provocation.
With a suddenness that belied his gigantic frame, however, Sheamus dropped to the floor, catching Cuchulain's ankles between his own feet and bringing the Hound of Ulster crashing to the forest floor, sending his axe flying away out his grasp. In a heartbeat, Sheamus was on his fallen foe, gripping the smaller man's waist and squeezing with all his might. Lifting Cuchulain high by the waist, Sheamus smashed him into the floor again, never relenting in his grip, and squeezing all the while. A sickening crack and a gasp from Cuchulain told Sheamus that a rib was broken, and he smiled, sure now that the day was his...
Yet suddenly, Sheamus felt Cuchulain shift and twist impossibly in his grasp. His burden grew with a terrifying speed and Sheamus found even his grip broken. In the grip of the warp spasm, Cuchulain had transformed into something barely human. Sheamus found himself facing a creature even taller than his own six and a half feet, its features hideously twisted and deformed. With a primal cry of rage, The beast-that-was-Cuchulain charged, and Sheamus answered with a scream of his own. Once more battle was joined, yet now all skill and guile was abandoned. This was now purely a contest of power and strength. Relentlessly the two rained blows upon each other, heedless of the damage they were taking in their eagerness to defeat their enemy.
Only now did Clovis and his three guards arrive, hiding at the edge of the clearing and trying to restrain themselves from crying out at the monstrous spectacle in front of them. So quickly had Sheamus set off after Cuchulain when Clovis had completed his enchantment that only now had they caught up to him. Axes at the ready, the three guards awaited Clovis' command.
Time wore on. Sheamus' face was a bloody mess, and his left arm hung limp at his side; still he battled on. For his part, Cuchulain was beginning to revert to his normal form. So tired was he, and so much fury he had expended, his warp spasm was beginning to fade. Lunging forward, he feinted an attack, forcing Sheamus back for a moment, and buying him time to spring backwards. With space between them, Cuchulain was free to use the Gae Bolg. With one smooth motion he took the spear and hurled it unerringly into the chest of Sheamus, knocking him down. Yet Cuchulain did not have any time to relax.
Now! roared Clovis, and his men set upon Cuchulain, who barely had time to defend himself before they had reached him. For all his skill and strength, it seemed that the Hound of Ulster had finally been brought to bay, and Clovis stepped into the clearing, a greedy smile upon his face.
Across the clearing, however, Sheamus stirred, the Gae Bolg still jutting from his chest. As soon as the fabled weapon had struck him the enchantment that clouded his mind had been broken. Looking up, Sheamus saw Cuchulain battling for his life, wounded and unarmed against three hardened mercenaries and knew the part that he himself had played in bringing this about. Looking to the right, he saw Clovis, still drinking in his triumph and a white-hot fury awoke in the heart of the Irish Curse.
Taking the Gae Bolg, he pulled with all his might. The barbs that ran the length of the dread spear tore through his flesh, but Sheamus did not relent, nor did he once let out a noise that might alert his enemies. Finally, with a last agonising wrench, the spear came free. With all the strength that was left to him, Sheamus hurled the spear at Clovis, yelling as he did so...
Sorcerer! Turning to face that dreadful cry, Clovis' eyes widened in terror as he saw the Gae Bolg coming for him. The black spear caught him directly in his evil heart, driving in and bearing him to the earth. As Sheamus rose to his feet, blood flooding from his chest and face he looked like something truly otherworldly. The cowardly warriors Clovis had brought with him wanted no part of him, and quickly they turned and fled. A weary Cuchulain readied himself for battle once more as the bloody Sheamus approached him, but Sheamus only pointed at Clovis. Seeing the sorcerer there, Cuchulain soon understood what must have happened. Cuchulain staggered over to the sorcerer to reclaim his spear and look upon his fallen enemy. As the dying Clovis loosed his final breath, the last thing he saw was Cuchulain standing over him, exactly as in his dream.
The two warriors were men of few words, although Sheamus certainly felt that Cuchulain was owed a full explanation of what had happened. The next morning the Sun rose late, and the two men had already gone their separate ways. Yet Sheamus' heart was lighter than it had been in some time, for although he did not remember what had brought him to Ulster, in coming there he had found a friend...
And did they ever meet again? That would be a story for another time.
In the Pre-Christian Age before St Patrick held his purgatory at the gateway to the underworld on Lough Derg's Station Island Sheamus O'Shaunessy lay lifeless on the Battlefield of Tara, covered in the blood of his enemies with the head of Bosco still firmly gripped in his right hand. But this was not his end, rather the beginning of his curse.
The many violent years between man and boy, Sheamus grew weary of Celtic Laws and honour code. He grew blood thirsty prefering the life of a mercenary; offering his warrior services to the tribe willing to pay the highest price. SOS was lost amid the dark underworld of lusty wenches and yard after yard of mead. His reputation went before him and all feared his anger and might. But without honour he was a lost soul seeking a glorious and bloody death.
As fate would have it he found his destiny on the side of Good when he heard Ruaidhri's war cry on the Battlefield under the Hill of Tara when his heart told him to turn on his evil comrades slaughtering All under the command of Bosco and the Will of his lover, the witch Morgana.
A moment of clarity showed Sheamus the error of his ways and the darkness in Bosco's heart. SOS turned to face the marauding dark army, which he led only moments before. His hair stood on end and fire blazed in his eyes as he slew all that stood before him.
Bosco turned to flee after seeing the war frenzy which had overcome his former ally but before his foot left the battlefield of Tara Sheamus O'Shaunessy cleaved his head at the neck and stood there with it held aloft to deafening Banshee-like screams of Morgana from her craggy perch.
Morgana, now in a rage, summoned dark spirits and demons from the gateway of hell and struck down Sheamus where he stood with a blinding flash of blue & purple energy which shot out in swirling streams from her pointed fingernails. She screeched an enchantment over his dead body in a strange heavy tongue, instructing the spirits and demons to escort his soul to the underworld and torture him for eternity in hell.
As his soul was being forcibly dragged by supernatural forces from his body, he lay still and lifeless. Watching from the nearby wood, Ruaidhri's battle weakened sorcerer Morcant intervened with a spell, holding back the evil ghosts from stealing Sheamus' soul. The fight for the slain warrior's soul began. Morcant and Morgana battled for hours with counter-on-counter enchantment and spell over the body of the fallen fighter until finally it was torn in two with a blinding flash of white light, hurling the Witch into the boggy quagmire.
Sheamus awoke. The air fell silent and the mighty warrior got slowly to his feet and began to tremble and shake with internal turmoil and agonising pain. As all watched on as if in a trance on the blood soaked ground, Sheamus battled against himself at lightening speed. As he struggled on the spot where he once fell his feet seemed to merge into the soil as his aura was slowly pulled from his battered body.
The earth seemed to be desperately trying to hold on to the champion as the spirit world tugged at his soul. Finally with earth now up to his thighs Sheamus slumped over backwards and a ghostly white smoke bellowed from his eyes, ears and mouth.
As the white smoke filled the air it took on the shape of the warrior and glared at all onlookers with blood red eyes. Morcant bellowed "BAWN" (Bain in the Gaelic tongue) at the ghostly figure and ordered it to take to sinking pits of hell. All had gathered around Sheamus now and desperately dug at the soil which entombed his legs shouting "Bawn, Bawn, Bawn" at the looming spirit above his head until it backed off to the dark places.
Sheamus was now in a perilous fight for life in Morcant's cave which went on for many days and nights. Finally Morcant reluctantly tied his mortal body's destiny to that of the the land of Erin. With tears in his eyes and a heavy heart Morcant Cursed Sheamus with this destiny as it was all he could do to save him.
Thus, Sheamus O'Shaunessy was reborn as immortal with his destiny tied directly to that of Ireland. As the centuries wield and past he grew strong and weak and strong again as his homeland met with countless turmoils. He was always haunted by the evil ghost of his former self, Bawn, which is ever present looking to repossess the warrior's soul once more.
Sheamus O'Shaunessy became known as the Irish Curse as his fate was tied to that of Ireland. He has known many great battles over the millennia with numerous invasions from the Viking tribes of the North, Germanic, Norman and Anglo-Saxon armies from the East, and The Moors and The Romans from The South. But the hardest one he fights everyday...
The Battle for his Soul.
TWO CELTIC HEROS MEET IN BATTLE...
Many Centuries Ago, when the world was younger, Sheamus O'Shaunessy found himself wandering in a part of the land he had not visited before. For many days Sheamus had battled with Bawn for possession of himself, and so he was weary and confused. All he could say with certainty was that he had been walking for many miles. All that he looked for now was rest and so he trudged on northwards, looking for somewhere that he might sleep and recover himself....
Even as Sheamus was walking north, others were heading south on the same road. Four horsemen surrounded a chariot that clearly belonged to someone wealthy. The horses were fine beasts, and the chariot was ornamented with jewels. Indeed, it might have been thought that four men was not a sufficient guard for such a rich prize, but in truth the occupant of the chariot feared no bandits or robbers. His name was Clovis, and he was a sorcerer from a far land. Yet Clovis clearly was afraid, for he kept turning as if to make sure that he was not being followed. In truth, he was troubled by strange dreams, and being an experienced sorcerer, he had learned to trust his dreams, even when they foretold things that he would rather not believe.
Clovis had only recently come to Ireland, having been forced to leave his own country when his king had discovered him abusing his magical powers. However, although banished, Clovis had not lost heart. He was still young enough to rebuild the wealth and power he had lost, being not yet forty, and so he had journeyed until he came to a land where none had heard of him, a land called Ulster. There he had quickly made himself indispensable to the king who had rewarded him richly. As yet, Clovis had not fallen back into his old habits of using his powers for theft and murder, reasoning that it was wiser to make sure that he was trusted before he did anything that might raise people's suspicions. Not until the time was right would he strike. First he would take Ulster for his own, then more lands and still more, until he could finally return to his own country at the head of an army and humble the king who had once banished him.
Even so, there was still one person who Clovis believed did not trust him, the king's champion, Cuchulain. The small dark warrior watched Clovis suspiciously whenever they were in the same room, although thus far he had found no grounds to attack him. At first, this had not worried Clovis, for what did one warrior's opinion matter, no matter how mighty he may be? After the dreams began, however, Clovis rapidly progressed from worry to fear. His dream was brief, and always the same. He staggered back as the mighty spear of Cuchulain, the Gae Bolg bit deep into his chest. As his life ebbed away, the last thing he saw was the bloodstained face of Cuchulain. For two weeks now he had had this dream, and finally he had come to the conclusion that he must kill Cuchulain before the dream came true.
So he had persuaded the king to send Cuchulain down to this remote southern part of Ulster alone, to "deal with brigands". Still, he was worried. Even alone, Cuchulain would easily overpower Clovis' four guards and, when Cuchulain was in the grip of his ferocious battle rage, the dreaded warp spasm, he would even be immune to Clobis's sorcery. All in all, it was a most disturbing problem for Clovis. Consequently, he was deep in thought when his guards challenged the man walking towards them.
Out of the way, rabble. You're blocking the road. The guard spoke roughly and without respect, for in truth Sheamus was dressed poorly, and in any case the guards of Clovis feared little, between their own prowess and their master's spellcraft. Even so, a wiser and more prudent man might have considered that the bulging muscles and mighty axe of the stranger deserved a certain amount of respect.
Sheamus looked up slowly, a certain insolence visible in his very movement. Confused and frustrated by his inability to remember where he was and how he had got there, he was more than willing to work out his frustration in battle. With the glance of an experienced warrior he assessed his situation in a split-second. Four men, mounted and well-armed, well-trained from the look of their posture in the saddle, and a fifth man in a chariot, distracted and soft, no threat there. Sheamus smiled to himself, half happy, half disappointed. He probably wouldn't even need his axe.
What's that you're saying, boy? Sheamus responded, a deliberately insulting edge to his voice. Mebbe it's you needs to be moving out of my way, before I split you're skull open and use it for a toilet!
The guard needed no further invitation, but urged his horse straight at Sheamus, leveling his spear as he did so. To his astonishment, however, the red-haired vagabond leapt high into the air, vaulting right over the spear, his right arm held stiffly out to the side. The forearm smashed straight into the guard's throat, the impact knocking him from his horse. Caught by surprise, the other guards were a moment slower in their reactions than would normally have been the case, and that moment was all Sheamus needed. As they dismounted from their horses, readying their axes and spears, Sheamus picked up the crumpled body of the first guard and pressed it high above his head, before launching the unfortunate into his comrades like a missile. Bellowing a war cry, Sheamus lowered his head and prepared to charge bull-like into the struggling mass of men, only to stop suddenly, sinking to his knees without warning. The angry guards, picking themselves up, moved forward to finish him off, only to be stopped in their turn by a shout from Clovis.
Hold! I have ensorcelled him. He cannot move until I release him from my spell, and I have no mind to do so yet. Clovis' words, though decisive, did not mollify his guards, however.
He's killed Dara! We must have blood, demanded Clovis' lieutenant, a grizzled veteran of many battles. Fear not! He will die, and soon I think. Yet I have a use in mind for this mighty stranger. I'd guess that even the mighty Cuchulain himself would not easily deal with such a warrior.
With that the discussion was over, for while the guards were not entirely happy with the decision, they all knew that Clovis did not permit debate. Besides, none of them had especially wanted to face Cuchulain themselves. Therefore, they stood back as Clovis laid a mighty enchantment on Sheamus, causing him to seek always for Cuchulain, and not to rest until he had slain him. Long did Sheamus resist the magic, but Bawn, ever seeking to take the soul of the cursed warrior saw an opportunity in Clovis' spell. Reasoning that if Sheamus could be forced into such a dishonourable deed as slaying Cuchulain without provocation the Irish warrior's resistance to Bawn's evil would forever be lessened, Bawn added its own strength to the spell, undermining Sheamus' resistance from within. Finally, the spell that was intended to doom two of Erin's greatest warriors was complete. As soon as Clovis released Sheamus from his paralysis, the cursed warrior bounded off, seeking Cuchulain.
And now, we have only to follow him and he will lead us to Cuchulain. Then, when he is weary from fighting this red giant, you will strike down the Hound of Ulster. But, remember! No one is to attack until Cuchulain has thrown the Gae Bolg. As long as the spear is in his hand, he is too dangerous.
Cuchulain himself was several miles away, roaming a great forest and wondering why he was there. He had been sent there on the king's instructions to deal with a band of brigands that the king had had report of. Now that he was in the right area, however, Cuchulain could find no trace of any brigands, and the bandit had not been born that could hide from the Hound of Ulster. In truth, this region was sparsely populated, and any bandits would have found little enough to steal here. Cuchulain was beginning to wonder why he had been sent so far from his king, almost to the borders of Ulster, and he rightly suspected that it had to do with some plot conceived by Clovis. Yet, never once did the thought occur to the mighty warrior that the plot was directed against him. Rather, he thought that Clovis purposed some mischief to the king, and had therefore made sure that his most loyal and powerful protector was away.
With that in mind, Cuchulain began the long journey north back to his king, and it was therefore almost nightfall when, upon entering a wide clearing he saw a flame-haired giant enter from the other side. The two paused for a moment before Cuchulain spoke.
Good evening, friend. Know you of any home nearby where a servant of the king may sleep the night? Cuchulain spoke politely, but something about the demeanour of the man facing him warned him to be wary, and not without reason. Sheamus made no answer, but simply took his great axe in his hands and advanced upon the one that every impulse told him he must kill. For his part, Cuchulain needed no further warning and quickly drew his own axe. His spear, the mighty Gae Bolg which never failed to kill he did not touch at this point, preferring to use it only when all else failed....
With a ringing clash, the two axe-blades met as battle was joined. Never was such a battle seen as this. If Sheamus had thought from Cuchulain's small, wiry frame that he would be easy prey then he soon realised the truth. The Hound of Ulster was stronger by far than his size indicated, and his small stature actually gave him some advantage over the larger man. The ferocious blows that their axes dealt smote the tress and earth about them, but always the two warriors managed to avoid the fatal strike from their enemy. In later times men called it the Battle of the Longest Day, for it was said that the Sun ceased his setting in order that he might see the fight to its end...
Eventually, Sheamus put forth all his strength in one mighty blow of his axe, only for Cuchulain once again to dodge away at the last second. The axe of Sheamus buried itself deep in a huge ancient tree that Cuchulain had been in front of, sinking a full foot into the bark. As Sheamus wrenched at it he was forced to let go and leap back as Cuchulain came forward swinging his own axe with reckless abandon, ready now to make an end of this mighty stranger who attacked without cause or provocation.
With a suddenness that belied his gigantic frame, however, Sheamus dropped to the floor, catching Cuchulain's ankles between his own feet and bringing the Hound of Ulster crashing to the forest floor, sending his axe flying away out his grasp. In a heartbeat, Sheamus was on his fallen foe, gripping the smaller man's waist and squeezing with all his might. Lifting Cuchulain high by the waist, Sheamus smashed him into the floor again, never relenting in his grip, and squeezing all the while. A sickening crack and a gasp from Cuchulain told Sheamus that a rib was broken, and he smiled, sure now that the day was his...
Yet suddenly, Sheamus felt Cuchulain shift and twist impossibly in his grasp. His burden grew with a terrifying speed and Sheamus found even his grip broken. In the grip of the warp spasm, Cuchulain had transformed into something barely human. Sheamus found himself facing a creature even taller than his own six and a half feet, its features hideously twisted and deformed. With a primal cry of rage, The beast-that-was-Cuchulain charged, and Sheamus answered with a scream of his own. Once more battle was joined, yet now all skill and guile was abandoned. This was now purely a contest of power and strength. Relentlessly the two rained blows upon each other, heedless of the damage they were taking in their eagerness to defeat their enemy.
Only now did Clovis and his three guards arrive, hiding at the edge of the clearing and trying to restrain themselves from crying out at the monstrous spectacle in front of them. So quickly had Sheamus set off after Cuchulain when Clovis had completed his enchantment that only now had they caught up to him. Axes at the ready, the three guards awaited Clovis' command.
Time wore on. Sheamus' face was a bloody mess, and his left arm hung limp at his side; still he battled on. For his part, Cuchulain was beginning to revert to his normal form. So tired was he, and so much fury he had expended, his warp spasm was beginning to fade. Lunging forward, he feinted an attack, forcing Sheamus back for a moment, and buying him time to spring backwards. With space between them, Cuchulain was free to use the Gae Bolg. With one smooth motion he took the spear and hurled it unerringly into the chest of Sheamus, knocking him down. Yet Cuchulain did not have any time to relax.
Now! roared Clovis, and his men set upon Cuchulain, who barely had time to defend himself before they had reached him. For all his skill and strength, it seemed that the Hound of Ulster had finally been brought to bay, and Clovis stepped into the clearing, a greedy smile upon his face.
Across the clearing, however, Sheamus stirred, the Gae Bolg still jutting from his chest. As soon as the fabled weapon had struck him the enchantment that clouded his mind had been broken. Looking up, Sheamus saw Cuchulain battling for his life, wounded and unarmed against three hardened mercenaries and knew the part that he himself had played in bringing this about. Looking to the right, he saw Clovis, still drinking in his triumph and a white-hot fury awoke in the heart of the Irish Curse.
Taking the Gae Bolg, he pulled with all his might. The barbs that ran the length of the dread spear tore through his flesh, but Sheamus did not relent, nor did he once let out a noise that might alert his enemies. Finally, with a last agonising wrench, the spear came free. With all the strength that was left to him, Sheamus hurled the spear at Clovis, yelling as he did so...
Sorcerer! Turning to face that dreadful cry, Clovis' eyes widened in terror as he saw the Gae Bolg coming for him. The black spear caught him directly in his evil heart, driving in and bearing him to the earth. As Sheamus rose to his feet, blood flooding from his chest and face he looked like something truly otherworldly. The cowardly warriors Clovis had brought with him wanted no part of him, and quickly they turned and fled. A weary Cuchulain readied himself for battle once more as the bloody Sheamus approached him, but Sheamus only pointed at Clovis. Seeing the sorcerer there, Cuchulain soon understood what must have happened. Cuchulain staggered over to the sorcerer to reclaim his spear and look upon his fallen enemy. As the dying Clovis loosed his final breath, the last thing he saw was Cuchulain standing over him, exactly as in his dream.
The two warriors were men of few words, although Sheamus certainly felt that Cuchulain was owed a full explanation of what had happened. The next morning the Sun rose late, and the two men had already gone their separate ways. Yet Sheamus' heart was lighter than it had been in some time, for although he did not remember what had brought him to Ulster, in coming there he had found a friend...
And did they ever meet again? That would be a story for another time.
FallingEdge
Member
ggs was super fun, lets play some more for sure
half a moon
Banned
What's missing on the network from wcw/wwe attudide era?
All the C shows and most of the B shows
sf2fanatic
Member
What is this, a clean defeat? Never heard of it.
Hopefully there's some more footage of this tourney. Would love to watch y'all play SFV
half a moon
Banned
Well I bought wwe network on a month without a ppv. Thank shane o mac.
Watching nitro/raw/ppvs from 97-2000
Watching nitro/raw/ppvs from 97-2000
UrbanDandy
Member
Syder, my man.
British Monsoon
Member
Can't wait to see this, their Vimeo site has been up for a few weeks now; https://vimeo.com/overthetopwrestling grabbed Martina's Gaff Party and was really surprised at the quality, both in-ring and production-wise. Lots of young promotions kicking arse in that regard.
Marvel
could never
Absolutely why
PHOENIXZERO
Member
I wonder if any of the e-fed nerds I interacted with from 1998 to 2002 as either an RPer or e-fed "owner" ever moved beyond writing fantasy wrasslin' to the actual thing.
Hopefully it was akin to Steiner's math promo.
Bluekaveli
Member
Ahh good times, I completely moved from writing fantasy but the real thing is still very much intriguing to me.
I Wanna Be The Guy
U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!
When I was a kid I used to write my own wrestling stories that featured me and my friends. The plan was to reenact it all on my parents bed. The pricks never followed the scripts I laid out and all they wanted to do was chokeslam each other. I was right to write myself as champ. Undeserving motherfuckers.
Nocturnowl
Member
Perhaps he should've considered calling her a "hoeski" or a "stick all the nickels and dimes in a bag and shove it straight up your candy ass slut" like the promo masters.
Jarrett can't even draw himself onto a poster
Masquerader
Member
Much love, HH
BOY!
Bluekaveli
Member
I'm hearing nothing but good things about it.
Sibersk Esto
Banned
.
Bluekaveli
Member
Straight out victories should be for the Wyatt's
Bluekaveli
Member
If anything, they learned do much from 95. Stop leaving your audience with solved Raws. Leaving them chaotic is awesome.
Did you see that audience, brother? It was a packed house! Women and children all over the place!
slightconfuse
Banned
UrbanDandy
Member
Whoops! sorry. My main boy.
Thoughts from a dude who hasn't been really following WWE for a few years (outside of Botchamania...)
-I don't want to root for Roman Reigns, he's boring as fuck, and HHH champ in this day and age makes me sick
-Ambrose is better
-Shane coming back had me marking
-R-Truth... in 2016
-AJ is litterally like a CAW from SvR right now
-Usos are dull
-Wyatts are getting old
-I don't want to root for Roman Reigns, he's boring as fuck, and HHH champ in this day and age makes me sick
-Ambrose is better
-Shane coming back had me marking
-R-Truth... in 2016
-AJ is litterally like a CAW from SvR right now
-Usos are dull
-Wyatts are getting old
Bluekaveli
Member
That's Dustin and Terri, I mean Marlena lol!
Bluekaveli
Member
On this Raw, the three guys who beat Austin to end Raw are dead.
Attitude Era Podcast, Inside the Ropes
Already listened to every Attitude Era released. Shit was good.
NGP should have a new episode on Wednesday. It's about the shift to two hour RAWs and the lead up to Wrestlemania XIII.
HarryDemeanor
Member
Big Show needs a manager with him. Turn him back into the monster he should be.