Post by Deleted on Jul 17, 2019 20:36:54 GMT -5
Character Name: Eddie Dread
Nickname: N/A
Hometown: Hell, Michigan
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 240 lbs
Alignment: Face
In-Ring Style: Eddie has never been good at wrestling. The actual, technical craft. He can't do a waistlock real well and his hips don't pop like they should for suplexes. Asking him to chain wrestle is like asking a bear not to eat salmon; a futile endeavour. But what he can do is fight. He can brawl like it was saturday night at the honky-tonk and he just tried playing Gangsta's Paradise. Wild swings, thrown chairs, body slams, takedowns, he can hurt people pretty well. Just don't ask him to make it look pretty.
Theme song: "Hey Hey, My My" by Neil Young
Pic Base: If I have to have one, then a pre-WWE Jon Moxley is probably closest.
Entrance: I'll fill this in later.
Favorite moves:
1. Vertical Suplex
2. Shoulder Tackle
3. Wild Punches
4. Flying Knee
5. Body Slam
6. Powerslam
7. Backdrop Suplex
Signature move(s):
1. Spinebuster
2. Brainbuster
Finisher(s):
1. Piledriver
2. Lariat
Nickname: N/A
Hometown: Hell, Michigan
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 240 lbs
Alignment: Face
In-Ring Style: Eddie has never been good at wrestling. The actual, technical craft. He can't do a waistlock real well and his hips don't pop like they should for suplexes. Asking him to chain wrestle is like asking a bear not to eat salmon; a futile endeavour. But what he can do is fight. He can brawl like it was saturday night at the honky-tonk and he just tried playing Gangsta's Paradise. Wild swings, thrown chairs, body slams, takedowns, he can hurt people pretty well. Just don't ask him to make it look pretty.
Bio: Eddie always loved wrestling. From the time he could speak and understand what it meant when mama said "go play with your dolls" while fondling the belt buckle of one of her many "patrons," Eddie often retreated from a volatile home-life into the cartoon world of professional wrestling. He loved the good guys, the bad guys, the announcer guys, even the the crowd guys. Sure, it's fair to say that from the time he was a small child, Eddie dreamed of nothing but becoming a professional wrestler.
He had a rather unremarkable childhood. His mother lost custody of him several times, but would always come back for him. He learned to fight at a young age during his many "summer vacations" in group homes, often clinging to the handful of possessions one was allowed in such a place. And, you know, kids are mean. And they like to take things that aren't theirs.
By the time he was old enough, Eddie dropped out of high school and pursued his dream. Faculty called him another burnout. Students said he'd probably be back to shoot up the school. The joke was on them, though. Eddie was going to make it big. Eddie was not going to be beat. He was going to become a professional wrestler.
Excep the didn't, not really. What he did do was find a school that was crooked enough to take his money, and he was trained in the ways of the grappling arts. Though "trained" is a strong word. In reality an old coot named Jeb robbed him blind while teaching Eddie nothing more than to how to take a shit-kicking and keep on ticking. With training out of the way, Eddie was a professional wrestler, and he began seeking out territories and bookings to hone his craft. Who knows? Maybe he'd make it big and become a champion somewhere. Earn a little spending money and maybe, just maybe, buy his mother a house.
But that never happened. Instead, Eddie woke up ten years later to realize that life was no different than it was before. Sure, he got older. He was a single father with a young daughter to care for. He had a stack of bills thicker than the Holy Bible (King James Version, thank you very much). And, as it happens with all men who wake up on that particular day, his dream was fading quickly, having woken to his new reality. With nothing to show for his "career" but a body with more holes and scars in it than the fields of Verdun during the great war, Eddie found himself at a crossroads. Did he put the dream away and concentrate on raising his little girl, maybe taking that warehouse job full-time? It did have dental after all, and her bottom teeth are a little crooked...
... Or did he want to walk the same road that he'd just been down? The same road that left him with a bad knee and no knuckles? The road that brought him to a woman he loved that, like all things, had been taken from him far too soon?
A smart man would settle down. Would look in the mirror and admit that he'd given it his everything, and he just wasn't good enough. A smart man would look into his daughter's eyes and see a future full of moments that would shine brighter than any championship gold could glint under those hot lights. A smart man would choose family.
Eddie has never been a smart man.
So he decided, like everyone who could stop if they really wanted to before him: one year. One last year to make it. To get a contract somewhere where he can quit his warehouse job and wrestle for a living. One year to make a name for himself. One year to become a champion. One year to make it big, to be able to look into his little girls' eyes and not have to look away. One year to be the best Eddie Dread that he could ever be.
Attire: Plain black trunks, kneepads, boots, and taped fists. Sometimes he'll come to the ring in a trucker hat and a t-shirt.
He had a rather unremarkable childhood. His mother lost custody of him several times, but would always come back for him. He learned to fight at a young age during his many "summer vacations" in group homes, often clinging to the handful of possessions one was allowed in such a place. And, you know, kids are mean. And they like to take things that aren't theirs.
By the time he was old enough, Eddie dropped out of high school and pursued his dream. Faculty called him another burnout. Students said he'd probably be back to shoot up the school. The joke was on them, though. Eddie was going to make it big. Eddie was not going to be beat. He was going to become a professional wrestler.
Excep the didn't, not really. What he did do was find a school that was crooked enough to take his money, and he was trained in the ways of the grappling arts. Though "trained" is a strong word. In reality an old coot named Jeb robbed him blind while teaching Eddie nothing more than to how to take a shit-kicking and keep on ticking. With training out of the way, Eddie was a professional wrestler, and he began seeking out territories and bookings to hone his craft. Who knows? Maybe he'd make it big and become a champion somewhere. Earn a little spending money and maybe, just maybe, buy his mother a house.
But that never happened. Instead, Eddie woke up ten years later to realize that life was no different than it was before. Sure, he got older. He was a single father with a young daughter to care for. He had a stack of bills thicker than the Holy Bible (King James Version, thank you very much). And, as it happens with all men who wake up on that particular day, his dream was fading quickly, having woken to his new reality. With nothing to show for his "career" but a body with more holes and scars in it than the fields of Verdun during the great war, Eddie found himself at a crossroads. Did he put the dream away and concentrate on raising his little girl, maybe taking that warehouse job full-time? It did have dental after all, and her bottom teeth are a little crooked...
... Or did he want to walk the same road that he'd just been down? The same road that left him with a bad knee and no knuckles? The road that brought him to a woman he loved that, like all things, had been taken from him far too soon?
A smart man would settle down. Would look in the mirror and admit that he'd given it his everything, and he just wasn't good enough. A smart man would look into his daughter's eyes and see a future full of moments that would shine brighter than any championship gold could glint under those hot lights. A smart man would choose family.
Eddie has never been a smart man.
So he decided, like everyone who could stop if they really wanted to before him: one year. One last year to make it. To get a contract somewhere where he can quit his warehouse job and wrestle for a living. One year to make a name for himself. One year to become a champion. One year to make it big, to be able to look into his little girls' eyes and not have to look away. One year to be the best Eddie Dread that he could ever be.
Attire: Plain black trunks, kneepads, boots, and taped fists. Sometimes he'll come to the ring in a trucker hat and a t-shirt.
Theme song: "Hey Hey, My My" by Neil Young
Pic Base: If I have to have one, then a pre-WWE Jon Moxley is probably closest.
Entrance: I'll fill this in later.
Favorite moves:
1. Vertical Suplex
2. Shoulder Tackle
3. Wild Punches
4. Flying Knee
5. Body Slam
6. Powerslam
7. Backdrop Suplex
Signature move(s):
1. Spinebuster
2. Brainbuster
Finisher(s):
1. Piledriver
2. Lariat