Title: A new player has entered the game
Featuring: Azrael
Date: 7-27
Location: Final Resting Place
Show: Summer Games 2018

[Azrael is sitting on a park bench, overlooking a picturques cemetery.  It is a perfect day, warm but not sweltering, sun is shining, but not overpowering and there are a few fluffy white clouds, that look like boats, bunnies and dinosaurs.]

Azrael: It is a beautiful day, and a beautiful place to enjoy this perfect day.  A chance to allow awe to fill me with the joy that makes life worth living.  Odd, that this place, this final resting place is one that I can find peace, joy and a calming feeling.  That is why they are designed this way, to allow the peace to flow into the hearts of those suffering.  Most people are suffering a loss of a loved one, one whos earthly reminder of their existence is here.  Something that still has a physical presence that makes them feel connected.  I am not here because I have suffered a loss of a loved one, not in the traditional sense.  I come here, to remind myself, that these people have it easy.  They have return home and their suffering has ended.  Well, assuming they were able to find the path to eternal light.  There hasn’t a guide for a while, so I wonder how many souls were able  to find their way.  That is no longer my current concern.  No, my current concern needs to be re-establishing my life.  Finding the new normal, even among the chaos.  Determining what the new normal should be, and realizing the old normal wasn’t healthy or happy.  Yes there were portions that were.  But now it doesn’t matter.  The past has happen, and there is nothing anyone can do to change it.  So now I have to find the new normal with a new happiness.  One thing I know for sure, is my current ways within the CWF have to change.  The doormat status I have achieved doesn’t lead to happiness or healthiness.  So I am torn at this stage.  Do I give into the anger that can drive me but at a great personal cost or continue to try and find a new motivator. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take a moment and meditate allowing the perfect day to recharge me.  

[Azrael changes his posture, sitting up straighter, with both feet flatly on the ground.  He has begun taking deeper slower breaths.  His eyes remain open, taking in the tranquility that this normally sad place is exuding at the moment. ]

[After several minutes of stillness, and absorbing the calm, Azrael adjusts his position to a more relaxed position.]

Azrael: So Mr. Greene. Either you are so stuck in your own cloudy world that you can't see reality or you are pretty dumb. I don't know why anyone would attack the company doormat. What do you have to gain? Reiling up a man you had every chance to beat without any assistance. Taking as close to an absolute victory that can get in this business and make it harder for yourself. Lack of oxygen must have really killed most of your brain cells. You are too, I don't want to say lazy or stupid but I can't think of a better term to have a long term plan that these actions make sense. Your judgement is just to cloudy. You can't see the present let alone the future. The scales of my emotions is very unstable as I am working hard to keep the anger at bay. Your actions may have been the straw that broke the camel's back. I haven't felt like this. I haven't dealt with this level of turmoil ever before. I have never known the reasons for the anger just that it was there. So pray for me Mr. Greene to whatever higher power you believe in that I can control it. That I can keep the anger away. Otherwise, God help us all 

[Azrael get up and saunters down the path with his arms behind his back focusing on the techniques to allow him to remain in control of his emotion]

[A few hours later Azrael is shipping his usual amber liquid at a local watering hole, when a man who has a clear limitation, either mental or physical enters and has a seat in front of the television. Before the bartender can say anything the locals come barging in celebrating another empty victory at the local softball fields. Already intoxicated and in a rambunctious mood they set their sights on the poor individual who has accidentally wandered in to receive some substance. The leader of the group’s grin becomes even larger at the site of the easy prey. As the group begins their attack, first starting with simple readings and “accidental” contact. The gentleman not aware that he is a target for the group continues to take the abuse without comment. After a bit the bartender tries to get it to stop, but by the time he steps in its too late. The only thing that is going to stop them is a force greater than themselves. As the bartender recognizes this stage he looks over to Azrael with a pleading look as he makes his way over.] 

Bartender: Need anything else buddy? 

Azrael: nope 

Bartender: Good to hear. It looks like that guy could use some help from an intimidating figure such as yourself. 

Azrael: yup 

Bartender: There's possibly a free drink in it for you. 

Azrael: Look. I don't need free drinks to do what's right. But I can't get involved. I can't let their actions dictate what I do. If I do, I can guarantee you will not like the outcome.. Not them YOU. They won't be aware of what happens but you and this bar won't survive. Once I let it go, I don't control it. 

Bartender: Well if I had known the muscles were for show and action I wouldn't have bothered you. As a matter of fact I won't bother you the rest of the night. 

Azrael: thank you for understanding. 

Bartender: You don't understand. That was my polite way of telling you I'm done serving you. You want more go find it elsewhere. I don't have time to deal with people who are so self absorbed they won't help out those who truly need it and have the ability to do so. 
[with that the bartender walks away, continuing to try to get the guys to stop picking on the poor soul all to no avail. Azrael continues to sip and savor his drink until the looks the bartender have been giving him finally get to him. Azrael stands up finish his drink and slams the glass on the bar. This gets the attentions of everyone in the bar. At this Azrael turns and walks out. Once it was clear that he was leaving the predators turn some attention to Azrael talking a big game. The door shuts, effectively reducing the taunts to nothing more than unintelligible noises.] 

Bartender: What an asshat. 

[things in the bar continue the way they were until things get violent when the poor gentlemen finally had enough and yelled at me of the bullies. This was the reaction the group wanted, this was the point they were waiting for to take things to the next level. The poor guy didn't stand a chance. The violence in the bar was over before the bartender finished calling the police. The gentleman reduced to a bloody pile of flesh and bones within mere minutes from the onslaught. Upon seeing the damage they had caused and the possible murder charges in their future the group sobered up real quick. One of the guys yelled to meet up at his farm as if they had enough of this scene and needed a new one. The group began to regain some of the moxie it had prior to the violence. They all pile out and leave as the cops pull in several minutes later. After an hour or so the officials wrap up the investigation, with the driver of the simple black van, with its cargo leaving last.] 

[The mob has retired to a member’s house, well it’s more of a shack on a plot of land, but there is a freedom here that they enjoy.  The fun time has carried over from the bar, to the backyard, with no thought to the assault that occurred.  Most of the men, are unaware of the health of their victim, not that it would matter much to them.  At this stage of inebriation, the guys were well past feeling good.  Beers, freedom and fire, life was good for them. ]

Frank: Hey I gotta piss.  I’m going to piss in the fire.

Tom: Don’t do that

Frank: I’ve gotta fire hose, but I’m not going to put it out.  Look at it, it’s a raging fire.  

Tom: I’m not worried about the spaghetti noodle between your legs, I’m worried about the smell.  Urine stinks as it burns.  It’s fucking terrible

Frank: Yeah, yeah.

[Frank goes around to the other side of the fire and relieves his blatter.  He heeded Tom’s advice, but was close enough to make everyone doubt it.]

Frank: Someone get some dry wood.  We are going to have to start a new fire after this fire hose puts this one out.

George: That’s not what your wife calls it.  I think the term she uses is lima bean.

Tom: Ah man, you are killing the mood you ass.

Frank:  Ha ha suckaaahhhhhhh

[Frank’s words are cut off as a thump is heard.  A hooded figure emerges from the other side of the fire.  The sudden sound of violence has gotten the attention of most individuals in attendance.  As the figure moves toward the group, it steps on a stick that is sticking out of the fire, knocking the burning end from the fire.  The figure picks up the stick, inspects it, and waves it around as if it were a sword.  The figure, happy with it’s new weapon, begins to slowly advance toward the group]

Tom: Where the hell did you come from?  What are you doing here?  This is private property get the fuck out of here before I get my rifle and send you to your maker.

George: He’s got the right.  You are threatening his home, he’s got the right to defend himself and his homestead.  It’s the second amendment you freak.

[The figure responds in a soft, slow tone, projecting an air of calm and collections.  Almost as if he has seen the future and knows how this evening is going to end.]

Everyone has the right to defend that they hold dear, including the right to life.  Not everyone has ability.  Peter loved life.  Peter saw only the good in everything.  The world would be better if we were more like Peter and less like Frank.  People like Peter shouldn’t need protection, but people like Frank exist, so I exist.  I am not here to protect Peter, that is not my role.  I am here to avenge him.  That is my lot in this existence.  To be here to punish those who need it, those who have earned the right to feel the burning for the all of eternity.  To those who are worthy are God’s wrath.  I am the instrument of God’s wrath.   

[The flaming stick arches through the air, striking Tom in the face, singeing his face.  Tom’s piercing screams are cut short by  those of George’s and the rest of the group, as the figure makes quick work the inebriated group. The skills and talent for violence the figure displays is a sight to behold, as the sheer number of people were unable to land an offensive.  The flaming “sword” hasn’t had a chance to consume for of the wood.  The figure looks at, and admires the flame, the strength and destructive power that is held within its beauty.  After properly paying respect to the tool of his destruction, the figure returns it to the fire.  The figure begins to return from where it came, but first stops at the bonfire, becoming mesmerized by the dancing light, entering into a trance like state, almost as if the fire cleanses the soul of this individual.  A landing crow, snaps the figure out of the trance, leading to a look of confusion.  The hooded figure removes the hood, and reveals his identity. ]

Oh shit.  It’s happen again.  I can’t.  This can’t.  I swore that I would not return to this role.  You promised never again, that I was free from this.….   

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