Forging His Way

Friday April 19th - Boone, North Carolina The cacophony of the crowd inside the George M. Holmes Convocation Center swelled to a deafening sonic wave that crashed against the confines of the arena.

Two gladiators circled each other inside the wrestling ring with a predatory focus. Adam Ellis, his body tensed and ready to spring, answered the open challenge issued by Dayle Joe Foster, the seasoned brawler and member of the People’s Front of Berea (Kentucky)… the current Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling champion.

Amidst the chaotic scene at ringside, Dawn McGill sat in her chaise lounge chair with an air of serenity. Her loyal cabana boys swarmed all around her and eagerly tended to her every desire. One cabana boy massaged her tense shoulders.  Another one fetched her a drink.  The third cabana boy knelt down and rubbed her feet.

She was a vision in her alluring attire - a tight black leather corset hugging her curves and a scandalously short black skirt that revealed the length of her legs. A bold red choker adorned her neck. Her golden locks cascaded around her face.

In the ring, Adam's youthful intensity was like a beacon, his deep-set eyes reflecting an inner fire that would not be quenched even going up against the more experienced man in Dayle Joe Foster.  The match was evenly fought between the two men until Adam seized his chance in a moment that felt suspended in time.

Surging forward, propelled by a rush of adrenaline, Adam’s fist led the charge- a Superman punch aimed with the precision of a marksman. When it connected, the impact resonated like a thunderclap, Foster's jaw snapping back with the force of the blow, his rugged features etched with shock and pain.

Sensing victory, Adam struck with the speed and grace of a jungle cat, capturing Foster's legs, lifting them into the air, and turning him over… locking in an Elevated Boston Crab.  Adam wrenched back with unyielding force. Foster's anguish was painted across his face, a canvas of torment as he grappled with both the physical agony. His yells were raw sounds that bounced off the turnbuckles and pierced the soul.

Finally, Foster's hand came down and he tapped out in desperate surrender.

“The winner and NEW Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling champion!” the ring announcer proclaimed, “ADAM ELLIS!”

Adam raised his arms in triumph, his face alight with the glory of victory.

Dawn McGill's blue eyes sparkled with the reflection of the spotlight as she rose from the chair and her feet found the six-inch heels she’d left by the lounger.  Dawn approached the squared circle and with a fluid motion that betrayed no hint of effort, slid under the bottom rope and to join Adam who still basked in the glow of his hard-won title.  He turned towards the approaching towering figure of Dawn. Their embrace was more than a mere celebration and for a moment, the fans continued to roar, and the two stood as one. The manager and her champion. Together, they had conquered the mountain...

…the Appalachian mountain, that is.

AMCW’s Syndicated Show Taping – Boone, North Carolina On the cheap wall of the cheap set that looked like a relic teleported forward in time from the 1980s was a large sign with APPALACHIAN MOUNTAIN CHAMPIONSHIP WRESTLING… complete with a cheesy logo straight out of an old circa 2000 Microsoft paint program.

Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling’s weekly syndicated show aired in West Virginia, eastern Kentucky, western Virginia, western North Carolina, northern Georgia, and eastern Tennessee television markets.

Announcer Alan Davis stood in front of the wall dressed in a nice suit and tie. He had some notes written down on top of a ‘desk’ like table top that he worked from. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it is my honor to introduce your NEW AMCW Champion… Adam Ellis!"

“Mama Didn’t Raise No” by Garrett Biggs… Adam's entrance music…  blasted through the speakers and Adam confidently strode onto the set, the championship belt glistening around his waist.  His grin stretched wide for everyone to see.  Dawn McGill followed right behind, adorned in a sleek black pantsuit and stiletto heels.

“Adam, welcome to Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling.”

"Thank you, Alan," Adam spoke into the microphone, his small-town roots still evident in his voice.  "I cannot express how much this means to me to be standing here as the champion of AMCW. In Boone, North Carolina last Friday night, in that ring, I gave everything I had and left everything I had. And now, I'm standing before all of you as the AMCW Champion.  But I didn't get here alone. It's thanks to the fans, my wife Ginny Van Lear back home… love you darlin’…and of course…" Adam turned, offering a respectful nod toward Dawn, "Dawn McGill, who believed in me enough to offer to step in for Ginny-"

“Adam’s wife is pregnant with their first child,” Davis interjected, informing the audience of why Ginny was not with him.  “She’s resting at home…

Or was she?

Ginny’s Most Excellent Adventure At Fort Leonard Wood, the Missouri sun hung high and merciless over Inchon Range 24, relentless in its scrutiny as it bore down on the soldiers stationed there. But even under that watchful gaze, a new figure stood out starkly against the backdrop of fatigues and military green—a fiery redhead with the kind of determination in her eyes that spoke of battles fought in rings rather than on battlefields.

"Alright ma'am, just brace it firmly against your shoulder, and—" A uniformed sergeant began, only to be cut off abruptly.

"Trust me, sugar, I've done this dance before," Ginny Van Lear interjected, her voice tinged with a Kentucky twang that seemed to carry the echoes of Appalachian mountains.

The soldiers exchanged glances that were equal parts confusion and curiosity. This slip of a woman, no more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, claiming expertise with military hardware?

Ginny advanced towards the breech-load grenade launcher with a confidence that belied her youthful age. Her red hair, tied back in a practical ponytail, swayed with each step, a bright banner amidst the drab range. Despite being six months pregnant, she cradled the weapon like an old friend, fingers dancing over the cold metal with the ease of one who had spent countless hours turning firearms into extensions of their own will.

Downrange, a target loomed- no simple bullseye, but the larger-than-life visage of Vickie Hall, PRIME Wrestling’s current villainess extraordinaire. The image was plastered across a piece of plywood, a sneer painted on her face, taunting, daring.

Ginny paused, her eyes narrowing as she stuck a finger into the sky, testing the wind's direction.

Another soldier stepped forward, a hand outstretched, perhaps to offer a final piece of advice or encouragement. But Ginny waved him off without so much as glancing his way.

"I've got it," she said, the edges of her voice sharp enough to slice through any doubts.

Ginny's grip on the launcher was steady as bedrock, resting on her shoulder, a testament to strength that belied her slender frame. Her red hair, caught by the Missouri breeze, seemed to blaze with the same intensity that smoldered in her eyes.

"Ready!" Ginny called out, her voice resonant over the field, tinged with that distinctive Appalachian twang.

She exhaled slowly, a predator timing her strike, and then—BANG! The grenade launcher recoiled against her shoulder as it unleashed its payload. The projectile arced through the air, a deadly harbinger racing towards the target.

An explosive crescendo shattered the silence; a bloom of flame and smoke erupted where Vickie Hall's picture once sneered. The force of the explosion rippled back towards them, the heat of it brushing against their faces like the afterglow of victory.

The soldiers' jaws dropped collectively, their military bearing momentarily forgotten in the wake of such raw, untamed prowess.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” mumbled one soldier.

Another soldier, his face etched with newfound respect, stepped forward.

"That was a perfect shot, ma'am," he said, his voice carrying an edge of genuine awe.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Ginny's lips. She turned to the soldier.

"This ain’t my first rodeo," she replied coolly, the unspoken stories behind those words hanging in the air like the smoke on the range.

Back to the AMCW Taping "I’ll be straight with you, PRIME wrestling may be my official home," Adam continued, his gaze sweeping over the audience, “but… I am proud to be your AMCW champion… I promise to carry this title with honor… I promise to defend it with every ounce of strength I have. This is more than just a win for me; it's a win for any wrestler be it PRIME, AMCW, MVW, who dares to dream big!"

"Adam," Alan Davis leaned in, microphone in hand, "what's next for the man who now holds the most coveted title in our promotion?"

Before Adam could answer, a commotion stirred at the edge of the set… sort of like a twister tearing through the calm of a Kentucky hollow.  Former champion Dayle Joe Foster and the People's Front of Berea, Kentucky- Zeb Morris and Kellyanne Morris in tow- barged onto the set, their steps heavy with intent.

"Hope I'm not interruptin'," Foster drawled, though it was clear he didn't care one iota about the disruption. He clutched a DVD in his hand- its cover glinting under the studio lights. “I just wanted to come out and congratulate the new champion.”

But instead of shaking Adam’s hand, Foster sauntered over to Dawn, eyes gleaming with mischief. "But I got somethin' here needs signin'.”  Dayle held the DVD up to the camera.

The title? 'Dawn- Queen of Desire... Island’

The cover showed Dawn regally lounging on her throne with a chilled Mai-tai in her hand while being attended to by three cabana boys in a strapless white top that barely covered her chest, one leg prominently sticking out of the slit of the white sarong at her hip showing off her bronzed skin.

“Let’s see what it says here… a hot and steamy movie about a queen on a faraway island,” Dayle Joe read from the DVD cover, “Dawn McGill sizzles whether she’s sprawled topless on a lounge chair with a mixed drink in her hand, cavorting with a pirate in her boudoir, or fighting to defend the island.” Dayle Joe turned back to the camera. “Now ain't that a classic?"

Dawn's eyes, usually steely and composed, widened. Her legs shifted, a subtle sign of the off-guard moment she found herself in.

"Sure thing, Dayle Joe." Dawn forced a smile as her hand took the DVD and a pen from Foster's outstretched fingers and signed the DVD cover.

"Thank you kindly, ma'am," Foster tipped an imaginary hat, his chuckle low and grating. It was a small victory for the People’s Front of Berea… a first shot across the bow to Adam Ellis’s newly won title.

After the taping… Dawn's shoulders slumped the moment they passed through the door to the back, a stark contrast to the confident, almost regal bearing she maintained in front of the cameras.

"What the hell?" Dawn said, her voice raw with emotion as she tossed the pen onto the table.

Adam closed the door, shutting out the residual noise of the studio. “What was that all about?”

“I can explain.”

“You made a movie?” he asked.

"Look, Adam.  In 2017 and 2018, HOW was closed... MVW was on hiatus... PCW was a financial disaster… I was divorced from Ray McAvay…,” Dawn's shoes clicked against the polished floor as she paced back and forth. She could feel Adam's eyes on her, voice faltering as she spoke, words punctuated by long pauses.  “I was broke and I was desperate," Dawn admitted, feeling vulnerable under Adam's scrutiny. “So, yes.  I made a movie.  I made fifteen of them.”

Adam leaned casually against the cool metal door, his height making him an imposing figure even in repose. His piercing gaze never wavered as he listened to her confession.

“I hooked up with an independent filmmaker named Silvio Castellanos.  He specialized in cheap, raunchy, campy, trashy, Roger Corman-style 1970’s-like B-movies that once upon a time people would go and watch at a late-night drive-in theater."

"Porn?"

"NO!  Are you kidding me? God, Adam. I have four children… I wouldn’t do that.” Her voice softened as she continued, her eyes downcast. "But… with titles like 'Island Heat 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5', 'Dixie Sheriff 1, 2, and 3', 'Island of Fantasies'... I'm sure Ginny would not approve of the content."

"Why?"

“They were hard R-rated movies. I was topless in quite a few of them.”

Adam’s eyes lit up.  “Really?”

“ADAM!”

“Sorry.”

"Look, I was young and I needed the money.”

In his mind, Adam subtracted the years since she made the movies.  "Um, wouldn’t that put you at 38 years old?" he pointed out.

Dawn put her hands on her hips and glared back at him.

"Sorry." Adam pushed off from the door and approached her, his movements deliberate. "Look, you did what you had to do, Dawn. I'm not going to judge you for doing it."

Dawn sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable in front of Adam. "What about Ginny?" she asked, dreading his answer.  “What is she going to say about it?  She’s not going to want me to be your manager when she gets wind of this.”

Adam's expression softened. "Ginny has her beliefs but she's not one to judge either. I mean, don't get me wrong, I know she won't like any of those movies… but she'll understand, Dawn.  Don't you worry.  I got your back… and I know she will too."

Dawn paced back and forth before him, her usually stoic face etched with lines of vulnerability.

Adam leaned against the cold concrete wall, his championship belt slung over one shoulder.

"Adam," she began, pausing to take a deep breath, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that stopped him short. "I envy you, you know?"

“You do?” Adam's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, I do." Dawn hugged herself as if bracing against a cold only she could feel. "You've got Ginny- a good wife. You two...you belong together. It makes me sad..."

Adam shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of both the belt and Dawn's words on his shoulders.

"…not for you… but for me.  I messed up big time with Ray McAvay back in 2016," Dawn continued, her voice cracking slightly. "More than you’ll ever know. I wish...I could go back and fix all the mistakes I made in that marriage."

Adam watched as the strong and confident woman who steered the careers of countless wrestlers navigated through her regrets, giving way to raw honesty.

"Marriage isn't easy, Adam," she said firmly, locking her gaze with his. "But don't you let Ginny go, no matter what. Protect what you have with her, even when the odds are stacked against you."

He nodded solemnly, stepping forward to close the distance between them. "Dawn," he said, "I will. And I value our friendship, your advice, everything."

"Thanks, Dawn." His hand found its place back on her shoulder, firm and reassuring. "You were there for me last year when I hit rock bottom after Culture Shock.  I’ll be here for you.”

"You'll make a damn good champion here,” Dawn said, putting her arm around Adam and pulling him close. “And you’ll get there in PRIME in time.  Just don’t give up."

“I won’t.”

Words Backstage at the Banterra Center in Carbondale, Illinois, Dawn McGill reclined with regal poise on a plush chaise lounge chair, her statuesque frame accentuated by a fiery red corset that hugged her curves while her legs stretched out on the chair.  A cabana boy, muscles rippling under his tight white polo, knelt down while his hands worked diligently to soothe the arches of her feet. Another one expertly massaged Dawn’s shoulders, easing away the tension with each calculated stroke. The third stood by her side, holding a freshly prepared mai-tai, condensation beading down the glass, ready for when Dawn signaled her desire for a sip.

In stark contrast, Adam Ellis leaned against a nearby wall, his towering frame and earnest expression capturing a different kind of attention. Dressed in his ring gear, he exuded a quiet intensity as he prepares to address the camera.

"Y'know. I came to Appalachian Mountain Championship Wrestling for a reason. Drew Mitchell from HOW blindsided me at an MVW show and we were going to settle it in the ring.  MVW majority owner Ray McAvay stepped in and shut it down and then made arrangements for me to go to AMCW. I mean, I get why he did it.  Ray had been dealing with the Evil Empire bullshit for over a year now and he was tired of it.  I’ve been dealing with Lee Best targeting me ever since I signed with PRIME. But that's alright.”

Adam pushed off the wall, standing tall, his confidence growing.

"Maybe going to AMCW is for the best… a change of scenery… new opponents to test my mettle against. Despite the fact I’ve lost six matches in a row in PRIME, I can honestly say I'm in better shape now than I was last year. I've grown, I’ve evolved.  At War Games, four weeks ago at Culture Shock, my team fought hard and we clawed our way to second place. And that's something I was a part of. Last year's Culture Shock... well, it nearly broke me. I hit rock bottom after I got my ass handed to me and I contemplated walking away from it all… PRIME, wrestling, my dreams, everything. But Ray McAvay kicked me in the ass and told me to basically grow up.  He wouldn’t let me walk away.  So here I am, ready to prove that I have what it takes… that I’m ready to turn the corner and start winning.”

The camera zoomed in on his face, the image of determination, before panning back to capture the contrast of Dawn's leisure behind him.

"Last year at Culture Shock, I felt alone. But this year, I found strength in unity. Teamed up with Jared Sykes, Brandon Youngblood, Nate Colton, The Anglo Luchador, Dabney Doubleday, and Chandler Tsonda… we stood together with common purpose against three other teams at War Games. And let me tell ya, how did Ivan Stanislav and Vickie Hall's crew do?”

He paused, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Dead last. How did our team do? Second, only to the Glueminati… and that brings me to my opponent at ReVival 47… Flamberge. The man's a juggernaut.  2024 War Games Winner… 2023 PRIME Wrestler of the Year… record holder for most consecutive singles victories- twelve… Triple Crown Champion, Universal, Intense, 5-Star, BRAZEN Onslaught Champion. The accolades go on.  And me? What have I done in PRIME… besides losing six straight singles matches? I keep showing up. Every. Single. Time.  I keep fighting for my career, for my life, for what I believe in. That's why I went to AMCW… to do the extra work... to train harder… to become a better wrestler in PRIME. Because one day these losses will forge the champion I know I can be.  But at ReVival 47? Flambo. The Neck Collector. French Phenom. Le Protagoniste, The Bearded Dragon. The Lizard King. The Ace."

He paused again, letting each moniker hang in the dense atmosphere, their weight acknowledged but not feared. Dawn reclined, her indulgence in the pampering a stark contrast to Adam's solitary intensity.

"Great nicknames, impressive titles—hallmarks of a decorated career.  Me? I don't have a fancy nickname. I wear gold around my waist for AMCW but I don't wear gold around my waist for PRIME... yet.  All I need is to turn the corner. Start stacking those wins. Make every match count. Will it happen Friday night? I don't know. But I can promise you this. When the bell rings, and it's just you and me in that ring, you're going to feel every ounce of my will to win. Every hit, every hold, every high-flying risk I take… you'll know that Adam Ellis isn't just another name on your list or another neck for you to collect.  Flamberge, this Friday night, you'll understand why they say 'it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.’  Because when you step out of that ring after our match at ReVival 47, regardless of whose hand is raised, you’re going remember that you've been in one hell of a fight. A fight with someone who has nothing to lose and everything to prove. And trust me, there's still plenty of fight in Adam Ellis."

The scene lingers for a moment longer on Adam's resolute stance, the juxtaposition clear: while Dawn remains ensconced in her world of luxurious attention, Adam stands ready to forge his path through sheer grit and determination.