Post by Tytus Rost on Mar 17, 2024 1:10:05 GMT
As a bitter wind whipped across the snow-covered fields, Tytus Rost trudged through the thick drifts, his heavy boots sinking into the frozen ground with each step. The biting cold gnawed at his exposed skin, but he paid it little heed, his mind consumed by the troubling news he had received about his farm.
"Tytus! You're back!" Berrick's voice echoed across the snowy landscape as he emerged from the farmhouse, his face lighting up with a broad grin. Despite the frosty air, Berrick's enthusiasm seemed to thaw even the iciest of hearts.
"Tytus, my friend, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Berrick exclaimed, noting the furrowed brow and tense expression on Tytus' face.
Tytus grunted in response, his thoughts still weighed down by the news of his neighbors encroaching on his land. He needed to confront them, assert his authority, and reclaim what was rightfully his.
"Berrick, we have problem," Tytus spoke, his voice low and gruff. "Neighbors, they think they can take my land."
Berrick's eyes widened in alarm but quickly masked his concern with a forced chuckle. "Ah, those pesky neighbors! Always up to no good, eh? Well, not to worry, Tytus. We'll just have to show them who's boss."
Tytus nodded in agreement, his jaw set in determination. He knew that mere words would not be enough to dissuade the trespassers. He needed to take action, to confront them face to face and assert his dominance.
“Grab your coat,” Tytus said, his frame filling the doorway.
“What? Now?” Berrick questioned, looking at his watch. “Isn’t this the kind of thing that can wait until morning? I mean, they say you should never threaten people on an empty stomach and breakfast is the most important …”
“Now.” Tytus growled.
Berrick said nothing else and scooped up his heavy peacoat in one arm and his hat in the other and followed the large man outside. With Berrick by his side, Tytus marched towards the boundary of his property, his towering figure casting a long shadow in the fading light. As they approached, they could see the group of neighbors gathered together, their voices hushed in conversation.
"Hey! What are you doing on my land?" Tytus' booming voice echoed across the snow-covered fields, causing the neighbors to jump in surprise.
The group turned to face him, their expressions shifting from surprise to discomfort as they realized they had been caught red-handed. "We, uh, we were just, uh..."
"We were just admiring the view!" one of them stuttered nervously, a feeble attempt at an excuse.
Tytus narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through their flimsy facade. "You think you can steal from me? From Tytus Rost?" he growled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of Russian determination.
The neighbors exchanged nervous glances, their resolve crumbling in the face of Tytus' fierce demeanor. "We, uh, we didn't mean any harm, Tytus. We were just..."
"Just leave," Tytus interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Leave now, before I change my mind."
With a collective sigh of relief, the neighbors hastily retreated, their tails between their legs as they scurried away from Tytus' land. A few cast backward glances towards the pair, hatred burning in their eyes.
Berrick watched the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and amusement, a proud grin spreading across his face. "Well, would you look at that, Tytus! You scared them off without even breaking a sweat."
Tytus nodded, a sense of satisfaction coursing through his veins. He may have faced formidable opponents in the ring, but there was nothing more satisfying than defending his home and livelihood from those who sought to take it from him.
“This is not the end, Berrick. Men like them, vultures, they will regroup and be back.”
“Yeah,” Berrick said with a laugh, “but when they do you’ll be here to deal with them, right?”
Tytus said nothing as he turned and began making the trek back towards his home.
“You’ll be here, right big guy?”
Berrick caught up to Tytus but one look into the large Russian’s face told Berrick not to press the subject further.
As the sun began to set on the snowy landscape, Tytus and Berrick walked side by side. Together, they would weather any storm, secure in the knowledge that, at least for tonight, the land was safe from harm.
Tytus sat down heavily on a snow-covered log, his breath misting in the frigid air. "Berrick, my friend, I cannot thank you enough for your loyalty and support. Without you, I fear I would have lost everything by now."
Berrick waved away Tytus' gratitude with a dismissive gesture. "Ah, it was nothing, Tytus. Just doing what any good friend would do. Besides, who else would keep this place running while you're off wrestling with those overgrown oafs in the ring?"
Tytus chuckled, a rare smile breaking through his stoic exterior. "You are a true friend, Berrick. I am lucky to have you by my side."
The two men sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sound the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots.
Suddenly, the sound of a vehicle slowly crunching on the gravel drew the attention of the pair. Tytus and Berrick exchanged wary glances, their senses on high alert.
"Who goes there?" Tytus called out, his voice ringing out like a bell in the stillness of the night.
Exiting the vehicle, the strangers hesitated, their movements faltering as they caught sight of Tytus' imposing figure. "We, uh, we were just, uh..."
Tytus narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through their feeble excuses. "More trespassers on my land? I let the others get away, but now you are testing my patience," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“I’d get back in that car and back on outa here, fellas” Berrick added as he stepped in front of Tytus.
The strangers exchanged nervous glances, their resolve crumbling in the face of Tytus' fierce demeanor. "We, uh, we didn't mean any harm, Tytus. We were just..."
"JUST WHAT" Tytus interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.
“We … we’re here for your buddy there” one of the men said.
With that the men stepped into the light of Tytus’ porch, their five pointed badges glinting in the warm glow. Berrick looked back at Tytus with a combination of confusion and fear.
“Huh? What the hell did I do?” Berrick asked, now holding his arms out defensively in front of himself.
“We got a report of you making some threats around town as well as brandishing a weapon. We’re gonna take you in, ask you a few questions and see from there.”
“Like hell you are,” Berrick spat, “I know my rights, you can’t just …”
The men advanced on Berrick and Tytus, acting on instinct, pulled Berrick behind himself shielding him from the sheriff's deputies. Tytus glimpsed as one of the men’s hands went to his service pistol and then quickly fell away.
“Listen, Tytus,” the one in charge continued, “we’ve got no quarrel with you. Your little friend here will either be free to go tonight, or you can bond him out in the morning after his arraignment.”
“Tytus” Berrick squeaked as the deputies silently told hold of his arms and gently led him back to their unmarked car. He was tucked into the backseat without incident and Tytus could only look on and watch as his best friend was taken from him.
Tytus watched them go, his jaw set in determination. He knew that the battle to protect his land was far from over, and ordinarily with Berrick by his side, he could face whatever challenges lay ahead. But now, there was a new wrinkle to deal with.
As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the snow-covered landscape, Tytus stood on his porch wondering what the play was here.
For on this frosty Texas morning, he was not just a man defending his land. He was a warrior, a guardian of his home, and nothing would stand in his way.
The camera fades in, revealing the interior of a rustic barn, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb swaying gently overhead. Shadows dance along the weathered wooden walls as the camera pans to reveal Tytus Rost, the Russian Lion, standing in the center of the barn, his massive frame dominating the space.
Tytus's eyes gleam with a fierce intensity as he begins to speak, his voice a low rumble that echoes off the walls of the barn. "TJ Alexander, Allen Chaney, Nick Danger, Mr. Happy, and Phillip Deforrest," he begins, his Russian accent lending a menacing edge to his words. "You have all been chosen to step into the ring with me in what promises to be a brutal and unforgiving battle."
He pauses for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the empty space before him. "But make no mistake, my friends. This is not the match for the faint of heart. This is a battle for supremacy, a fight to determine who among us is truly worthy of victory."
As Tytus speaks, his voice grows more intense, each word dripping with conviction. "TJ Alexander," he continues, his tone laced with disdain. "you are the cocky one. With your quick reflexes and high-flying maneuvers, I know how quickly a man like you can get the momentum going. Considering the format of this match, a man who has the ability to soar around the ring puts you at odds for being able to quickly capture one of the briefcases. I will have to make sure to cut your legs out from under you."
Turning his attention to Allen Chaney, Tytus's expression darkens even further. "Chaney, the crafty strategist with a penchant for mind games.” Tytus knows that Chaney will have something witty to say, some comedic schtick meant to cast himself and his other opponents in a comical light. “Beneath all of that humor of yours is a man capable of being a champion and you may fancy yourself a formidable opponent, but you and your humor only mask the fact that you are a pretender to the throne," he snarls, his voice filled with contempt. "You may make all of the jokes that you want. But at the end of the day, you will always be the poor man’s Rob Diamond." Rost knows that he will have to humble this one.
As Tytus speaks, the camera cuts to close-up shots of his face, capturing every nuance of his expression. His eyes burn with a fierce intensity, his jaw clenched in determination. "Nick Danger, the bruiser who doesn’t know when to quit. You were nearly broken not too long ago by Wraith, the pretender of a champion. But here you are once more, which either makes you a masochist or a moron. No matter which it is, I know that you will not stay down, which only means that I must do what Wraith could not.
Mr. Happy, the enigmatic wildcard whose unpredictable nature makes him a dangerous foe. I don’t know what to expect from this one, only that you may be more useful as a distraction to the other men. Perhaps you won’t be immediately dispatched, but I will be sure to keep you on a short leash.
and Phillip Deforrest," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "the technical wizard whose mastery of the mat is unmatched. How you have remained without a major title at this point is surprising. But, like Happy, you are best used as a way to distract others and draw the focus and attention away from myself. "
The camera cuts back to Tytus as he raises a clenched fist in defiance. "For I am Tytus Rost," he roars, his voice echoing through the empty barn. "The Russian Lion, the unyielding force of nature. And I will stop at nothing to claim victory in this match."
With a final glare into the camera, Tytus strides purposefully out of the barn, leaving behind only the echo of his ominous words hanging in the air.
"Tytus! You're back!" Berrick's voice echoed across the snowy landscape as he emerged from the farmhouse, his face lighting up with a broad grin. Despite the frosty air, Berrick's enthusiasm seemed to thaw even the iciest of hearts.
"Tytus, my friend, you look like you've seen a ghost!" Berrick exclaimed, noting the furrowed brow and tense expression on Tytus' face.
Tytus grunted in response, his thoughts still weighed down by the news of his neighbors encroaching on his land. He needed to confront them, assert his authority, and reclaim what was rightfully his.
"Berrick, we have problem," Tytus spoke, his voice low and gruff. "Neighbors, they think they can take my land."
Berrick's eyes widened in alarm but quickly masked his concern with a forced chuckle. "Ah, those pesky neighbors! Always up to no good, eh? Well, not to worry, Tytus. We'll just have to show them who's boss."
Tytus nodded in agreement, his jaw set in determination. He knew that mere words would not be enough to dissuade the trespassers. He needed to take action, to confront them face to face and assert his dominance.
“Grab your coat,” Tytus said, his frame filling the doorway.
“What? Now?” Berrick questioned, looking at his watch. “Isn’t this the kind of thing that can wait until morning? I mean, they say you should never threaten people on an empty stomach and breakfast is the most important …”
“Now.” Tytus growled.
Berrick said nothing else and scooped up his heavy peacoat in one arm and his hat in the other and followed the large man outside. With Berrick by his side, Tytus marched towards the boundary of his property, his towering figure casting a long shadow in the fading light. As they approached, they could see the group of neighbors gathered together, their voices hushed in conversation.
"Hey! What are you doing on my land?" Tytus' booming voice echoed across the snow-covered fields, causing the neighbors to jump in surprise.
The group turned to face him, their expressions shifting from surprise to discomfort as they realized they had been caught red-handed. "We, uh, we were just, uh..."
"We were just admiring the view!" one of them stuttered nervously, a feeble attempt at an excuse.
Tytus narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through their flimsy facade. "You think you can steal from me? From Tytus Rost?" he growled, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of Russian determination.
The neighbors exchanged nervous glances, their resolve crumbling in the face of Tytus' fierce demeanor. "We, uh, we didn't mean any harm, Tytus. We were just..."
"Just leave," Tytus interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Leave now, before I change my mind."
With a collective sigh of relief, the neighbors hastily retreated, their tails between their legs as they scurried away from Tytus' land. A few cast backward glances towards the pair, hatred burning in their eyes.
Berrick watched the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and amusement, a proud grin spreading across his face. "Well, would you look at that, Tytus! You scared them off without even breaking a sweat."
Tytus nodded, a sense of satisfaction coursing through his veins. He may have faced formidable opponents in the ring, but there was nothing more satisfying than defending his home and livelihood from those who sought to take it from him.
“This is not the end, Berrick. Men like them, vultures, they will regroup and be back.”
“Yeah,” Berrick said with a laugh, “but when they do you’ll be here to deal with them, right?”
Tytus said nothing as he turned and began making the trek back towards his home.
“You’ll be here, right big guy?”
Berrick caught up to Tytus but one look into the large Russian’s face told Berrick not to press the subject further.
As the sun began to set on the snowy landscape, Tytus and Berrick walked side by side. Together, they would weather any storm, secure in the knowledge that, at least for tonight, the land was safe from harm.
Tytus sat down heavily on a snow-covered log, his breath misting in the frigid air. "Berrick, my friend, I cannot thank you enough for your loyalty and support. Without you, I fear I would have lost everything by now."
Berrick waved away Tytus' gratitude with a dismissive gesture. "Ah, it was nothing, Tytus. Just doing what any good friend would do. Besides, who else would keep this place running while you're off wrestling with those overgrown oafs in the ring?"
Tytus chuckled, a rare smile breaking through his stoic exterior. "You are a true friend, Berrick. I am lucky to have you by my side."
The two men sat in companionable silence for a moment, the only sound the soft crunch of snow beneath their boots.
Suddenly, the sound of a vehicle slowly crunching on the gravel drew the attention of the pair. Tytus and Berrick exchanged wary glances, their senses on high alert.
"Who goes there?" Tytus called out, his voice ringing out like a bell in the stillness of the night.
Exiting the vehicle, the strangers hesitated, their movements faltering as they caught sight of Tytus' imposing figure. "We, uh, we were just, uh..."
Tytus narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through their feeble excuses. "More trespassers on my land? I let the others get away, but now you are testing my patience," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.
“I’d get back in that car and back on outa here, fellas” Berrick added as he stepped in front of Tytus.
The strangers exchanged nervous glances, their resolve crumbling in the face of Tytus' fierce demeanor. "We, uh, we didn't mean any harm, Tytus. We were just..."
"JUST WHAT" Tytus interrupted, his tone brooking no argument.
“We … we’re here for your buddy there” one of the men said.
With that the men stepped into the light of Tytus’ porch, their five pointed badges glinting in the warm glow. Berrick looked back at Tytus with a combination of confusion and fear.
“Huh? What the hell did I do?” Berrick asked, now holding his arms out defensively in front of himself.
“We got a report of you making some threats around town as well as brandishing a weapon. We’re gonna take you in, ask you a few questions and see from there.”
“Like hell you are,” Berrick spat, “I know my rights, you can’t just …”
The men advanced on Berrick and Tytus, acting on instinct, pulled Berrick behind himself shielding him from the sheriff's deputies. Tytus glimpsed as one of the men’s hands went to his service pistol and then quickly fell away.
“Listen, Tytus,” the one in charge continued, “we’ve got no quarrel with you. Your little friend here will either be free to go tonight, or you can bond him out in the morning after his arraignment.”
“Tytus” Berrick squeaked as the deputies silently told hold of his arms and gently led him back to their unmarked car. He was tucked into the backseat without incident and Tytus could only look on and watch as his best friend was taken from him.
Tytus watched them go, his jaw set in determination. He knew that the battle to protect his land was far from over, and ordinarily with Berrick by his side, he could face whatever challenges lay ahead. But now, there was a new wrinkle to deal with.
As the first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, casting a golden glow across the snow-covered landscape, Tytus stood on his porch wondering what the play was here.
For on this frosty Texas morning, he was not just a man defending his land. He was a warrior, a guardian of his home, and nothing would stand in his way.
-----------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------
-----------------------------------------------
The camera fades in, revealing the interior of a rustic barn, dimly lit by a single hanging bulb swaying gently overhead. Shadows dance along the weathered wooden walls as the camera pans to reveal Tytus Rost, the Russian Lion, standing in the center of the barn, his massive frame dominating the space.
Tytus's eyes gleam with a fierce intensity as he begins to speak, his voice a low rumble that echoes off the walls of the barn. "TJ Alexander, Allen Chaney, Nick Danger, Mr. Happy, and Phillip Deforrest," he begins, his Russian accent lending a menacing edge to his words. "You have all been chosen to step into the ring with me in what promises to be a brutal and unforgiving battle."
He pauses for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the empty space before him. "But make no mistake, my friends. This is not the match for the faint of heart. This is a battle for supremacy, a fight to determine who among us is truly worthy of victory."
As Tytus speaks, his voice grows more intense, each word dripping with conviction. "TJ Alexander," he continues, his tone laced with disdain. "you are the cocky one. With your quick reflexes and high-flying maneuvers, I know how quickly a man like you can get the momentum going. Considering the format of this match, a man who has the ability to soar around the ring puts you at odds for being able to quickly capture one of the briefcases. I will have to make sure to cut your legs out from under you."
Turning his attention to Allen Chaney, Tytus's expression darkens even further. "Chaney, the crafty strategist with a penchant for mind games.” Tytus knows that Chaney will have something witty to say, some comedic schtick meant to cast himself and his other opponents in a comical light. “Beneath all of that humor of yours is a man capable of being a champion and you may fancy yourself a formidable opponent, but you and your humor only mask the fact that you are a pretender to the throne," he snarls, his voice filled with contempt. "You may make all of the jokes that you want. But at the end of the day, you will always be the poor man’s Rob Diamond." Rost knows that he will have to humble this one.
As Tytus speaks, the camera cuts to close-up shots of his face, capturing every nuance of his expression. His eyes burn with a fierce intensity, his jaw clenched in determination. "Nick Danger, the bruiser who doesn’t know when to quit. You were nearly broken not too long ago by Wraith, the pretender of a champion. But here you are once more, which either makes you a masochist or a moron. No matter which it is, I know that you will not stay down, which only means that I must do what Wraith could not.
Mr. Happy, the enigmatic wildcard whose unpredictable nature makes him a dangerous foe. I don’t know what to expect from this one, only that you may be more useful as a distraction to the other men. Perhaps you won’t be immediately dispatched, but I will be sure to keep you on a short leash.
and Phillip Deforrest," he growls, his voice low and menacing. "the technical wizard whose mastery of the mat is unmatched. How you have remained without a major title at this point is surprising. But, like Happy, you are best used as a way to distract others and draw the focus and attention away from myself. "
The camera cuts back to Tytus as he raises a clenched fist in defiance. "For I am Tytus Rost," he roars, his voice echoing through the empty barn. "The Russian Lion, the unyielding force of nature. And I will stop at nothing to claim victory in this match."
With a final glare into the camera, Tytus strides purposefully out of the barn, leaving behind only the echo of his ominous words hanging in the air.
Well howdy there pardner.