Tyler Night — Roleplayer Guild

Br-br-br-BRAP Br-br-br-BRAPThe sound of an impact wrench breaking loose bolts Hissssssssss the sound of air flowing into a tire. "Dammit!" The sound of a very imposing and angry man shouting after busting his knuckles a 3rd time in a row as he slips with a socket under the hood of a car.  The man is a very well known man in the wrestling world named Poetic Death, in this world, he is simply called Tyler or boss.  Moving away from the car he was working on he walks over to work sink, rinsing his knuckles, wincing as the blood flows over his fingers, revealing chunks of missing flesh. "Losing more meat from my hands than I have lost in a death match." He said deciding to call it a day.  Leaving the shop he climbs in a souped up Plymouth Prowler heading home.

Going through the normal day to day he begins getting antsy.  As he flips through the channels on his TV he lands on wrestling, though accidentally.  Having not watched it in years as he doesn't want to be pulled in he tries turning it only to find the batteries had died on the station.  Feeling lucky that a commercial break was on when he stopped he gets up and makes his way to the junk drawer in his kitchen to grab some batteries but as he returns the wrestling was already back on.  As he sits down he sighs, putting the batteries in he watches the wrestlers trade back and forth.  Calling the moves either before they happen or critiquing the form in review.  As he watches the action kicks into high gear and he is sucked in further.  Getting more and more invested he studies the form some more. "5 part chain.  4 chain then a finish..." The 2 wrestlers on the mat begin standing up.  First wrestler winds up and throws a punch. "Chain 1." Second wrestler blocks the punch. "Chain 2." The second wrestler kicks the first in the stomach after the block. "Chain 3." The second wrestler goes for their finisher. "Chain 4." The first wrestler from out of nowhere hits their finisher. "Chain 5 and finish." He said as the 3 is counted.

Sighing as he leans back. "Too predictable!" He said as he relaxes.  Changing the channel he shakes his head. "Why does modern pro wrestling make it so easy to guess the finish or have so many false finishes anymore?" He asks out loud with nobody but himself around." Turning off the TV entirely he leaves the house, hopping in another car of his, this time a low rider luv truck.  Heading to his wrestling school for the first time in several years.  He walks around the building, taking in the cool night air.  Standing at the front door he looks at the locks, pulling out a key he unlocks the building and walks in.

Thudthudthud Heavy steps pounding on wood and steel. Silence the momentary reprieve indicating a slingshot from the ropes. Thudthudthud once again repeating as the feet pound down by heavy steps in a run.  This goes on for some time, the sounds of the man running the ropes then the undeniable crash of a heavy body from the top ropes in a big splash or moonsault.  For hours into the early morning, he trains, only stopping occasionally to get a drink of water or go to the bathroom.  This goes on day after day as stress relief after or before work, sometimes both.

Day after day then week after week this goes on until he can no longer deny it.  The wrestling bug had bit him once again.  Setting out to make the world remember him once again, the man they have called The Narrator, The Enigmatic One, The Defiant One, Fallen Angel and The Veteran.  All monikers to one man, Poetic Death.

A month passes and Tyler made the transition back into pro wrestling, electing to go week off week on to split his time between his shop and wrestling.  As he wrestles at shows throughout the state he begins getting hit up for shows of his own decided that the time was good as any.  Setting out he starts putting out the word that he was reviving Deadly Arts Championship Wrestling.  Sharing all over social media and in-person he gets the word out, the best of old school and new school pro wrestling was returning.  Showcasing old school catch as catch can wrestling and modern-day spot fest all in a family-friendly environment.

Heading to his shop the following week he checks his messages and notices a note of a caller looking for car work and a request to work his next show.  Deciding to give the person a call he looks up the number to setup 2 appointments at once.  Hoping they both work out, having need for a few more people to make for the perfect 4 hour show.

Name: Jeff Naugle
Age: 32
Sex: Male
Wrestling Name: Kidd Karnage
Wrestling Moniker: King of Destruction
Wrestling Location: Gladwin, Michigan
Wrestling Theme: youtube.com/watch?v=Cae3QQipRmA
Wrestling Moveset(5-20 moves): 
1. Dropkick
2. Knee to the face
3. Bodyslam
4. Sidewalk Slam
5. Uranagi
Wrestling Signature(1-5 moves):
1. Knife Edge Chop
2. Boot to the Gut
Wrestling Finisher(1-3): Chop Chop, Cut(Double chop into a cutter)
Wrestling Entrance(Make it substantial, this is going in the shows.): Hall of Illusions begins playing, Kidd Karnage comes out to a mixed reaction.  He walks down to the ring with a swagger, taking in all the reactions with pride. "From Gladwin, Michigan, standing 6'1" tall and weighing in at 240 pounds.  He is the King of Destruction, Kidd Karnage." He rolls into the ring and shouts "Whoop whoop.  Some fans shout it back as he removes his red Hatchet Man jacket, wearing a red tank top and red pleather pants.  He hops and shakes it out to get ready for the match.
Wrestling Appearance:

Wrestling Bio: Long time friends with Poetic Death, having met way back in 2004 and quickly becoming a tag team named Death and Destruction, the sheer brute force of Death with the mat technicality and aerial offense of Karnage.  Though in recent years they have gone their separate ways.  Outside of their time as a tag team, Karnage is the definition of a tweener, taking the cheers equally with the boo's
Additional Info: Kidd Karnage is the creation of my real life friend Jeff Naugle, he passed away suddenly at the age of 29 just 3 years ago.  I carry on the character in his place as tribute to his memory.

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