The Nomad

Title: The Nomad
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BrokenOrbital

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From：USA
Register：04/03/2010 7:35 AM

Date Posted：02/19/2012 9:17 AMCopy HTML

:Narrative:

It's been a long time... Far too long.

The world of wrestling as it pertains to the Aimoo circuit is in a sad state of affairs. The 'old guard' that moved from the MSN circuit is all but gone, and the very few still standing, shards of what they once were, shattered by the almighty fist of time. Long gone are the 'glory days', the golden years of the business. Now, it's a struggle even for the companies with main stream revenue and advertising to keep things together. There are no loyalties left, work ethic is a thing of the past. Talent has all but dried up. There was no new generation, not here. Wrestling has picked up and moved else where...

Professional Wrestling Today, one of the major titles, a long standing company with the reputation of being one of the absolute best. This is one of the few places where the 'big dogs' come to play. One of the biggest yards on the block. That's a tough name too live up too, but PWT is coming back around to try it again. So many other's have failed at the goal PWT is about to try and tackle. Rise from the ashes, like a phoenix, and survive in a harsh world, where wrestling companies come and go on a monthly basis. Even now, where are the 'pillars' of a long dead circuit. The BUD's, The Wrestling 2000's, the ICWA's and all in between. So close to death you can feel the names of said companies turn cold as they roll off the tongue. Yet, here PWT is. Trying to do what so many others either couldn't, or are still barely struggling to do.

Get up off the mat, get back into the fight, and find some way too survive the night....

The cool breeze of the midnight air rushes over his exposed skin. The flash of his headlights, cutting through the darkness of the empty road, the roar of his Harley shattering the silence of the night. His leather cut flaps in the wind behind him, his black cap reflects the few lights that he passes under, the chin straps of said cap, unsnapped and clicking against the hard helmet as the motorcycle thunders on. Blonde hair twisting in the wind under the cap, cold blue eyes, scanning the surroundings, aware at all times. Tyler Chambers has been alot of places in his short years, he's seen alot of bad shit, and done even worse. Former World Champion of a few dead companies even he doesn't remember the names of. Not that they are important any longer. They died out long ago, and no one remembers them, not even the men that were in them.

The bike rolls up too the nearest gas station and pulled into the log, rolling up too a pump it comes to a halt. Chambers keeps it upright, planting a foot and kicking out the stand with another. As the bike's weight shifts to the stand, Chambers steps off, pulling off the cap and hanging it on the handle bar. He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders. Long rides can be hell on the bones, especially when the tempature begins to plummet. Chambers strolls into the gas station, empty save for the man behind the counter. He eyes Chambers as he walks too the back to grab a drink. The 'Hells Angels' top rocker puts just about any man on edge, and sometimes the 'Nomad' across the bottom is even worse.

Nomad, the perfect description. For Chambers, that has been his life since before he was eighteen. A born and bred Angel, a tough kid who grew up running guns, drugs, getting into bar fights, back alley brawls, and any other trouble he and his brothers could go out and find. A tough life, and usually a short one. For Chambers, sticking around never was his strong suite. He'd be there for a brother in arms at a phone call, if he was in the area, but being out on the open road, going from place to place, that was his life. Never could feel like he was home, no matter where the black top seemed to take him. Not alot of money for a man that can't stay in one place for very long, not alot of careers call for that, save one.

Professional wrestling, sure he's taken some shit from brother members over the years, but that usually ended in a fist fight with Chambers standing over said insitgator. All good fun and games in the end. Chambers had a reputation country wide, charter to charter amongst his band of hellions. A rep, he sometimes had to live up too, just to prove he still could.

Chambers strolled back up the control and tossed down some cash for the drink and the gas. Not bothering to say a word he walked out the door back to his bike. Unscrewing the cap he chups the water and tosses the empty bottle before pulling the pump and filling up his bike. He still has quite the ride ahead of him...

Hours have passed, the sun has risen, and Chamber's ride has come to an end. The rumbling of his bike is now muffled by the sounds of other vehicles, pedistrians, the sounds of a city that has come too life with the sun's new light. Chambers rolls into the parking area of the arena, PWT blinking across the marquee. He pulls into a parking spot and kills the engine, kicking out the stand and resting the bike on it. Tyler steps off, pulling off his cap and holding it in hand, making his way towards the entrance....

PWT is trying to make a come back, and so is Tyler Chambers.