THOUGHTS FROM THE BUNKER …
By Dave “The Brute” Kent
“Straight from the Bunker — where no alliance is sacred.”
Well, well, well… ten days out from NIght 2 of Convergence — the joint HCW/NPCW supercard that’s got more backstage heat than a sauna full of bookers — and I’ve been glued to the prep notes. If you’re the kind of fan who loves chaos with a side of storytelling, circle November 16th in red, because this one’s shaping up to be the most unpredictable crossover since someone decided to book vampires, hunters, and demigods under the same damn roof.
This isn’t your typical “brand vs. brand” handshake event. No, this is ideology warfare — gothic dominion versus righteous rebellion, supernatural muscle versus mortal grit. Both sides are walking in with bruised egos, open wounds, and about three years’ worth of unfinished business.
From my bunker chair, three matches in particular tell the whole story — one that’ll test loyalties, expose frauds, and probably send at least one career spiraling into creative limbo. So pour yourself something strong and let’s dig in, shall we?
MAIN EVENT – NIGHT TWO
The Dark Dominion (Mina Harker, Korbi Kong & Grizelda)
vs.
The Sisters of the Hood (Crimson Vane, Scarlett Howl & Ruby Howl)
If Convergence were a movie, this is the climax — the emotional, bloody payoff to a saga that started in NPCW’s Hunter’s Enclave and curdled into full-on betrayal.
Mina Harker — once the steadfast huntress, the conscience of the Enclave — didn’t just turn heel; she jumped into the abyss and brought a stake with her. Her alliance with Count Vlad’s Dark Dominion didn’t just shock fans — it gutted the Sisterhood. She stabbed former ally Scarlett Howl in the back, then doubled down by recruiting muscle in the form of Korbi Kong and the newly-corrupted Grizelda, whose time under Vlad has sharpened her into something colder, crueler, and far more dangerous.
Now, the three women who once fought side by side face each other across the ring — hunter versus hunted, sister versus sinner.
On paper, Dominion’s got the numbers and the power advantage. Korbi’s a one-woman landslide, Grizelda’s hitting her prime, and Mina… she’s not the same wide-eyed tactician she used to be. She’s meaner now. Calculating. The kind of cold you can’t warm your way out of.
But don’t sleep on the Sisters. Crimson Vane is all business — a precision fighter with a streak of righteous fury — and the Howls have the kind of tag chemistry that can crack concrete. They don’t need black magic; they’ve got vengeance.
If this were booked fair (and with Vlad’s fingerprints on it, that’s a big if), it could be match of the year. Expect emotion, violence, and at least one “holy hell” moment that’ll light up social media.
Brute’s Pick: The Dark Dominion squeaks it out — not clean, not fair, but definitive. Mina pins Scarlett and drives the final nail in that friendship’s coffin.
Prediction Rating: ★★★★★ potential if the ref survives the chaos.
The Fangs of Despair (Dr. Red Fang & Nightfang) & Azrael
vs.
The Mirror Saints (Sorin Savax & Vael Thorne) & Ashen Vicar
Now here’s a match that’s got my curiosity clocking overtime. On one side, you’ve got the Dominion’s most sadistic trio: Dr. Red Fang (the genius of punishment), Nightfang (the enforcer who wrestles like he owes the devil a favor), and Azrael — the “fallen angel” who’s been terrorizing HCW locker rooms.
On the other side? The wildcard alliance no one saw coming — Ashen Vicar, HCW’s zealot of retribution, joining forces with The Mirror Saints, NPCW’s most mercurial team of self-styled martyrs and narcissists. It’s faith, vanity, and vengeance rolled into one ticking time bomb.
Here’s the twist: Vicar’s been hunting the Dominion for months, but nobody knows who’s been bankrolling him. The Mirror Saints don’t do anything without a reason, especially not out of moral alignment. So who’s writing the checks here? Is it a benefactor with a grudge against Vlad… or someone inside the Saints’ own mirror maze?
From a pure wrestling standpoint, this could steal the show. You’ve got the Saints’ crisp tandem work, Azrael’s heavy-handed offense, and Red Fang’s old-school cruelty wrapped in modern precision. But the real intrigue is chemistry. Can Vicar and the Saints coexist long enough to keep the match from imploding?
Brute’s Take: If the alliance holds, they’ve got a chance to hand the Dominion its first six-man loss in months. But if ego wins out — and with the Saints, it usually does — expect the Fangs to feed.
Brute’s Pick: The Dominion takes it after Vael Thorne eats a Red Fang DDT while Vicar saves himself.
Prediction Rating: ★★★★ — high drama, higher body count.
HCW’s Orange Fury Owen Zestwell vs. NPCW’s Abaddon (w/ Lilith)
Now this right here? This is your certified slobberknocker special.
Owen Zestwell — the human energy drink in trunks — brings the flash, the cardio, and the crowd on his side. The man’s got gas for days and enough charisma to light up a power outage. But across from him stands Abaddon, the Demonic Legion’s walking apocalypse. The guy’s a wall of meat and menace, and he doesn’t just beat opponents — he erases them.
And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Lilith will be at ringside — and when Lilith’s involved, matches stop being “contests” and start being psychological warfare. She doesn’t shout or cheat loud; she whispers, she manipulates, she bends the flow of the fight with a single look.
Owen’s smart enough to use his speed, but he’s never faced someone who treats pain like a suggestion. If he gets caught in Abaddon’s grip, it’s over.
The crowd’s going to love this one — the classic “pure heart vs. pure darkness” matchup. But make no mistake, the Demon’s bringing hell to the big stage.
Brute’s Pick: Abaddon wins — Lilith ensures it — but Owen walks out earning more respect than anyone expected.
Prediction Rating: ★★★★½ — violent, theatrical, and tailor-made for a highlight reel.
Brute’s Parting Shot:
If you’re a fan of cross-promotional chaos, Convergence is your ticket. The Dark Dominion’s looking to dominate both federations and stamp their sigil across the wrestling map, but the resistance — from the Sisters to the Saints — isn’t rolling over quietly.
This is where legacies get written and alliances burn. And when the smoke clears on November 16th, don’t be surprised if the lines between HCW and NPCW are blurrier than ever.
So buckle up, keep your eyes on the monitors, and remember — in this business, you can fake a punch, but you can’t fake momentum.
NO WORDS BARRED
Dave’s Takes on NPCW House Show from Charlottetown, PEI (November 5, 2025)
They say the East Coast crowds are polite — but whoever said that clearly never spent a night in Charlottetown, PEI, packed into the Civic Centre with 2,000 fans screaming for blood, glory, and a clean pinfall. NPCW rolled into town with a lineup that looked more like a pay-per-view than a tune-up: dragons, knights, witches, hunters — and enough bad blood to fill the North Atlantic.
No frills. No filters. Just straight-up wrestling with mythic stakes. This is what NPCW does best: it takes the supernatural, the legendary, and the downright absurd — and makes it feel real for twenty-one minutes at a time.
MATCH 1 – Jasper Fang vs. Dragon King
Referee: “Honest” Abe (and for once, he lived up to half that nickname)
The Hype
Now this one was a legacy clash with fangs bared. On one side, you’ve got Jasper Fang — the latest bloodline bruiser from the cursed Red Riding Hood lineage, wrestling like he’s got generations of wolf hunts in his DNA. On the other, Dragon King — the self-proclaimed “Sovereign of Scales,” a hybrid striker who treats every match like a kung-fu movie he refuses to lose.
Both of these guys are second-generation egos with something to prove. Jasper wants to step out of his family’s fairy-tale shadow; Dragon King just wants to prove that his mentor, Dr. Frankenstein, didn’t waste all that lightning resurrecting a career.
The crowd in Charlottetown didn’t know who to boo — the haunted hunter or the fire-breathing aristocrat — but they damn sure knew they were watching a clash of styles. Fang’s pure grindhouse brawler meets King’s smooth hybrid offense.
And the wild card? Dr. Frankenstein lurking at ringside with that smug “science experiment gone right” grin. You just knew there’d be interference before the third count was up.
The Match
Bell rings, and Jasper explodes out of the gate — double-leg takedown, ground control, pure aggression. Dragon King eats canvas and the crowd pops hard. The early going was all Fang — chain wrestling and stiff kicks that sounded like he was trying to exorcise the family curse through shin contact.
But by the third minute, the King adjusted. He slowed the tempo, landed a Brainbuster that rattled Fang’s spine, and followed it up with consecutive Body Slams to tilt the scoreboard. The man wrestles like he’s conducting a clinic — crisp, cruel, clinical.
The fifth minute saw Jasper roar back with a reversal clinic — countering the slam into a flurry of stiff kicks that lit the place up like Christmas in the woods. Both men traded bombs from there: Fang hitting belly-to-belly suplexes like surefire exorcisms, Dragon King firing back with those picture-perfect Spinebusters and his signature Dragon Bomb that nearly folded Jasper in half.
Then came the shenanigans. Around minute ten, Dr. Frankenstein hopped on the apron, waving his clipboard and distracting “Honest” Abe long enough for the King to land a cheap shot and rack up points. Abe missed it — shocker — but the crowd didn’t.
Still, Jasper kept fighting like a man possessed. By minute thirteen he was chaining suplexes and submissions like a machine — full hammerlocks, turnbuckle smashes, and a beautiful Bloodfang Bomb that nearly sealed it.
Dragon King rallied late, hitting his aerial ace — the Dragon’s Fury corkscrew moonsault — for a near fall that had everyone gasping. But Jasper bit down, survived, and stormed back with relentless offense, smashing King into the corner, then unleashing another round of — you guessed it — stiff, echoing kicks.
Twenty-one minutes deep, Dragon King’s aura cracked. Fang hit one final combo — boots, elbows, and a head-clattering shot that looked straight out of a wolf hunt — and went for the pin.
1… 2… 3!
Charlottetown erupted. The heir of the Red Hood curse had just slain a Dragon — fair and square.
Kent’s Take
Winner: Jasper Fang via pinfall (STIFF KICKS)
Time: 21:00
Ref: “Honest” Abe (miraculously didn’t ruin it)
Now that was a slugfest with teeth. Fang’s got the kind of intensity you can’t coach — raw, hungry, and a little unhinged — and it’s starting to click. He’s still green in spots, still sells like a man counting his heartbeats, but the man can flat-out fight.
Dragon King? Smooth as silk, sharp as steel — but too reliant on his entourage. The second Frankenstein sticks his nose in, King loses focus. That “Sovereign” act won’t last long if he can’t win without lightning bolts and distractions.
This wasn’t a technical masterpiece — it was a scrap. A battle of grit versus grace, and grit won.
Rating: ★★★★
Brute’s Parting Shot: Jasper Fang just earned his first big pelt in NPCW. The Dragon King might breathe fire, but tonight, the hunter burned brighter.
MATCH 2 – Crimson Vane vs. Gilda the Greedy
Referee: “Honest” Abe (0 integrity bonus detected)
The Hype
You could smell this one before the bell even rang — the scent of bad blood, pride, and maybe a touch of perfume from Gilda’s “sponsor money.”
On one side, you’ve got Crimson Vane — Van Helsing’s prize huntress turned cold-blooded tactician, a walking vendetta in boots. On the other? Gilda the Greedy, the self-proclaimed “Golden Idol,” whose entrance alone probably cost more than the ring canvas.
Vane came in looking like she wanted to fight. Gilda came in looking like she wanted to negotiate. Problem is, you can’t bribe a woman who hunts witches for a living.
This wasn’t just a match — it was philosophy versus excess. Discipline versus indulgence. And “Honest” Abe was in charge, so we were guaranteed at least one questionable count and a whole lot of hollering from ringside.
The Match
Right out the gate, Gilda threw the first shot — a stiff forearm smash that rattled Vane’s jaw and drew heat from the crowd. You could practically hear Gilda’s jewelry clinking with every swing. But Vane’s not the type to blink. She fired back with that signature Banshee Claw — her European uppercut that sounds like it breaks the sound barrier — and from there, business picked up.
By the fourth minute, Crimson found her rhythm. She hit a picture-perfect Crimson Thornplant (DDT) that spiked Gilda like a tent peg, and locked in Vane’s Vice, the Fujiwara armbar that’s quickly becoming her calling card. Gilda flailed, screamed, and reached for the ropes — and for her wallet — but survived.
Greedy managed to claw her way back around minute eight with a spear that nearly cut Vane in half, followed by a Chicken Wing that had the Charlottetown crowd gasping. For a second, it looked like the “Golden One” might actually buy herself an upset. But Vane’s endurance is as supernatural as her bloodline. She refused to tap and came back snarling.
The match turned into a seesaw of violence — forearms, suplexes, knees, and the occasional hair-pull that Abe somehow didn’t see. Gilda landed a Powerbomb that should’ve ended it, but couldn’t follow through. Vane made her pay — Witchwood Drop, then another Vane’s Vice, then a final DDT that planted Gilda like an unwanted investment.
By minute 18, Gilda’s greed finally cost her. She went for one last desperate Lariat, but Vane caught the arm, rolled through, and cinched in the Snare of Silence (Arm Trap Crossface) dead center of the ring.
Gilda screamed. Kicked. Flopped. And then? Tapped like a Vegas ATM.
Crimson Vane wins by submission.
Kent’s Take
Winner: Crimson Vane via submission (Snare of Silence – Arm Trap Crossface)
Time: 18:00
Ref: “Honest” Abe (no visible bribes, shocking development)
This one was crisp, mean, and violent in all the right ways. Vane’s in-ring precision is a thing of beauty — she’s wrestling like a woman who’s figured out who she is again. The transitions between strikes and submissions? Smooth as buttered steel.
Gilda, bless her golden heart, played her role perfectly. She’s loud, arrogant, and delusional — the kind of heel who still checks her reflection after taking a DDT. But she can hang, even if half her offense looks like she’s swinging to protect her manicure.
The crowd got their money’s worth: clean finish, no interference, and one hell of a statement from Vane heading into Convergence. She’s not just a hunter anymore — she’s a predator.
Rating: ★★★★¼
Brute’s Parting Shot: Greed got greedy, and Crimson cashed in. If Gilda wants a rematch, she’ll need more than gold — she’ll need a miracle.
MATCH 3 – Lady Guinevere vs. Thimble Hex
Referee: “Honest” Abe (as usual, the “honest” part is more of a suggestion)
Manager at Ringside: Merlin (for Lady Guinevere)
The Hype
You ever see two worlds collide so violently that the audience doesn’t know who to cheer for? Welcome to Lady Guinevere versus Thimble Hex — a collision between chivalry and sheer malevolence.
On one side, Lady Guinevere — the medieval powerhouse, NPCW’s golden knight and courtly brawler who wrestles like she’s defending Camelot itself. With Merlin at ringside, expect magic, theatrics, and at least one “did that even make sense?” distraction.
Across the battlefield? Thimble Hex, the cursed seamstress of the Witch’s Coven — stitched-together spite and hexed muscle. She’s meaner than a needle jab under the fingernail, and her Final Stitch (Michinoku Driver) has ended more careers than bad booking.
The crowd in Charlottetown was split. Half wanted nobility. Half wanted chaos. Everyone wanted blood.
The Match
The match opened like a carnival act gone wrong. Merlin, ever the meddling magician, threw flash powder at the start, temporarily blinding Hex and giving Guinevere an early lead. It popped the crowd, though “Honest” Abe somehow missed a literal explosion to his left. (That’s PEI officiating for you.)
Both women traded heavy offense in the opening minutes — Guinevere with her double-underhook powerbombs and Alabama Slams, Hex answering back with short-arm clotheslines and those nasty slingshot splashes that hit like falling furniture.
By minute five, the bout started feeling like a duel between a knight and a banshee. Hex cracked Guinevere with her first Final Stitch, scoring big, but the Lady refused to fall. She countered with powerbombs, suplexes, and even a sit-out piledriver that echoed through the civic center. The fans were eating it up.
Of course, it wouldn’t be an NPCW match without shenanigans. Merlin tried to mesmerize both the ref and Hex multiple times — the first time backfired, the second time bought Guinevere a breather. Hex, not to be outdone, jammed her cursed thimble right into Guinevere’s eye around the 13-minute mark. Abe somehow missed that, too. Maybe the man’s allergic to eyesight.
From there, things went full-on demolition derby. Hex hit another Final Stitch, Guinevere answered with more slams and a suicide dive that nearly took out the timekeeper’s table. Both were exhausted, both looked ready to collapse.
And then — the end came sudden. Hex dug deep, caught Guinevere mid-motion, and planted her with a picture-perfect Saito Suplex. Hooked the leg, counted clean, and got the three. Just like that, the cursed seamstress stitched herself another victory.
Winner: Thimble Hex via pinfall (Saito Suplex, 17:00)
Kent’s Take
This one was messy, magical, and magnificent — a fever dream of wrestling styles that shouldn’t have worked together but somehow did. Guinevere wrestled like a true knight — proud, precise, powerful — but even the noblest warrior can’t fight blind and hexed.
Thimble Hex, on the other hand, continues to impress. She’s meaner every time I see her. Her timing’s improving, her confidence is lethal, and her power moves hit like they’re being pulled from some dark spellbook.
Merlin’s antics added flavor (and smoke), but they backfired just enough to keep it fair-ish. The crowd got a finish, both women looked strong, and the story between the royal and the cursed is far from over.
Rating: ★★★★
Brute’s Parting Shot: Camelot might have magic, but tonight, the witch’s curse had gravity. Guinevere fought like a knight — and fell like one too.
MATCH 4 – Virtuous Blades (Sir Gawain & Sir Galahad) vs. The Howlers
Referee: “Honest” Abe (still unbothered by reality)
The Hype
You couldn’t script a better clash of style and story: Virtuous Blades, NPCW’s knights of honor, armor-clad and code-bound, riding into battle under the banner of chivalry and mutual respect… versus The Howlers, HCW’s feral tag team of unwashed, chain-chewing, table-breaking chaos wolves.
Sir Galahad, the pure. Sir Gawain, the proud. They speak of valor, justice, and “the light of righteousness.” The Howlers? They speak in snarls, chair shots, and spilled beer. This was less a wrestling match and more like a Renaissance fair getting mauled by a biker gang.
The crowd knew what it wanted — blood, noise, and a clean finish. They got two of the three.
The Match
The bell rings and immediately, the Howlers jump Sir Galahad two-on-one. No surprise there — the wolves don’t wait for ceremony. But to everyone’s shock, Galahad reversed the early double-team, firing off a Pele Kick that knocked both beasts into retreat. The knights weren’t here for pomp — they came to fight.
The next few minutes turned into an ugly, beautiful brawl. The Howlers hit slams, claws, and elbows; Galahad countered with suplexes and his “Chosen Fall” 630 Senton that looked like a human trebuchet in motion. Every time the Howlers gained momentum, the Virtuous Blades found a way to bring the crowd back with pure athletic spectacle.
By minute five, both teams were firing on all cylinders — Gawain tagged in and dropped a Crucifix Powerbomb, while Howler #1 answered with a Samoan Drop that rattled the ring ropes. The Howlers fought like they were allergic to tags, while the knights treated every switch as an oath renewed.
Then came the turning point: the wolves started hunting in packs. Repeated double teams, Howler Drops, and neckbreakers ground Galahad down. Still, the knight kept landing his big flying shots, including a perfect Springboard Clothesline and that show-stealing Running Shooting Star Press.
Merlin tried to intervene — again — attempting to “mesmerize” the ref (or maybe just distract him with hand jazz). That only opened the door for the Wolf Pack, a couple of HCW’s resident hyenas, to sneak ringside and slide a foreign object to the Howlers. Of course, “Honest” Abe noticed nothing.
The chaos crescendoed around minute sixteen, when all four men — and, apparently, every god in medieval mythology — collided in one massive melee. Galahad hit a 630, Gawain landed White Noise, and both Howlers answered with a Pile-Driver-and-Clubbing-Blow combo that looked straight out of a bar fight. Somehow, everyone lived.
The finish saw the Howlers weather one more Verdant Oath (Brogue Kick) from Gawain, shake it off like lunatics, and plant him with a bone-snapping Howler Drop for the three-count.
Winners: The Howlers via pinfall (Howler Drop on Sir Gawain, 23:00)
Kent’s Take
This was a long one — twenty-three minutes of pure, chaotic, tag-team carnage. The Howlers may not know how to spell “strategy,” but they sure as hell understand “damage.” They dragged the Virtuous Blades into their kind of fight — ugly, grinding, violent — and that’s where the knights fell.
Galahad looked tremendous, carrying the early going and hitting highlight-reel stuff that belongs on an NPCW compilation. Gawain had fire and poise, but that Howler Drop hit like a car accident in slow motion.
The only real knock? Too much interference fluff. Merlin, the Wolf Pack, double-teams every other minute — it made for a wild spectacle, but it’s hard to believe in “honor” when your ref couldn’t catch a mugging in broad daylight.
Rating: ★★★¾
Brute’s Parting Shot: The knights fought bravely — but in Charlottetown, the beasts ruled the forest. The Howlers don’t win clean, but they do win loud.
MAIN EVENT – The Huntsman vs. Sir Lancelot
Referee: “Honest” Abe (still missing every trick in the book)
The Hype
Two NPCW mainstays standing at opposite ends of the mythic spectrum — Sir Lancelot, the golden boy of the Round Table, armor shining, pride intact, carrying himself like the hero of an Arthurian epic; and The Huntsman, the grim stalker of beasts and men alike, all grizzle and grit.
This wasn’t just knight versus hunter — this was NPCW’s ongoing war of ideology distilled into one match.
Honor vs. Instinct.
Valor vs. Violence.
Sword vs. Axe.
Merlin, of course, was lurking ringside, crystal ball in hand like the world’s most annoying flashlight. The crowd in Charlottetown was fully split — half chanting “SLAY THE KNIGHT,” the other roaring “HAIL THE HUNTSMAN.”
The Match
Right from the bell, it was a slugfest disguised as a showcase. The Huntsman’s Woodsman Uppercut cracked through Lancelot’s guard, but the knight responded with a gorgeous Running Shooting Star Press — the kind of move that looks like ballet until someone lands on your ribs.
They traded offense like duelists. The Huntsman used suplexes, crushers, and slams to wear down the hero, while Lancelot kept soaring — hitting that press so many times you’d think it was in his contract. Neither man could hold control longer than a minute; every high-impact move was answered with one just as vicious.
By minute ten, both men had found their rhythm — Lancelot snapping off Superkicks like a modern-day paladin, the Huntsman answering with every lumberjack special in the book. When the Woodsman Uppercut landed flush in minute fourteen, the crowd bought it as the finish. One... two… but Lancelot kicked out, proving once again that chivalry apparently comes with nine lives.
The match hit full epic mode around the twenty-minute mark — each kickout louder than the last, each near-fall tighter. You could feel the fatigue set in, but neither man gave an inch. The Falcon Arrow by Lancelot (minute fifteen) might have ended a lesser mortal, but the Huntsman rose again, dripping sweat and spite.
The final stretch was pure exhaustion and instinct. Clotheslines. Suplexes. Elbows. Both men emptying the tank. Then — of course — Merlin had to make himself known, “mesmerizing the referee” in minute twenty-seven, which achieved nothing except giving the crowd another reason to boo him out of the province.
The finish came after a thirty-minute war. Merlin tried to “seek guidance” from his crystal ball, but the vision clearly didn’t favor his knight — the Huntsman scooped Lancelot into a Vertical Suplex, held him for what felt like an eternity, and planted him clean.
One... Two... Three.
The hunter slayed the knight.
Winner: The Huntsman via pinfall (Vertical Suplex, 30:00)
Kent’s Take
This was less a match and more a saga. Thirty minutes that felt like a legend being written in real time. Both men went deep into their playbooks — Huntsman’s strength and timing were immaculate, while Lancelot hit aerials that defied logic for a man in plate mail.
If this were a pay-per-view, we’d be calling it match of the year. On a house show in Charlottetown? It still might be.
What drags it down slightly is the Merlin factor. His “magical meddling” didn’t affect the outcome, but it sure diluted the purity of what was otherwise a world-class, mano-a-mano main event. Still, the finish was decisive, the pacing never sagged, and both guys came out looking like icons.
Rating: ★★★★★– (4¾)
Brute’s Parting Shot: The Huntsman proves that grit beats gallantry — and that sometimes, the only magic that matters is muscle memory.
THE BRUTE’S OVERALL TAKE — SHOW SUMMARY
Charlottetown got a clinic in contrasts — brute force vs. finesse, greed vs. pride, dark magic vs. blind faith. The undercard did exactly what it should: built anticipation, told stories, and gave every worker a chance to make the crowd care. By the time the main event hit its stride, the place was electric — like the audience knew they were watching two pillars of NPCW history carve another chapter.
The standouts?
Jasper Fang continues to evolve — the “legacy of the Hood” is starting to live up to the bloodline.
Crimson Vane looks sharper and meaner every week — easily the most complete performer in NPCW’s women’s division right now.
Thimble Hex and Lady Guinevere gave a masterclass in chemistry — dirty tactics vs. divine magic, both perfectly played.
And the Virtuous Blades vs. The Howlers bout? Chaotic, ugly, and everything tag wrestling should be.
But the main event — Huntsman vs. Sir Lancelot — that’s the one people will be talking about. Thirty minutes of war, no shortcuts, no comedy, no filler. A throwback to when main events mattered.
Final Verdict:
Charlottetown didn’t just get a house show — it got a myth retold through muscle, sweat, and storytelling.
Overall Rating: ★★★★★ (Show of the Month contender)
THE FINAL WORD
CAMELOT EMERGING
By Dave “The Brute” Kent
Let’s get something out of the way right now: I’ve seen a lot of “grand debuts” in my day. I’ve seen fire, blood, lightning, and once, a man literally rise from a coffin. But snow from the rafters and a guy swinging a glowing sword like he’s auditioning for Final Fantasy XVI? That’s a new one, even for NPCW.
So yes — the Champions of Camelot have officially arrived. King Arthur, Merlin, Lancelot, Guinevere, and the Virtuous Blades — riding into the company on a blizzard of blue light and bombastic monologues about “purity,” “honor,” and “restoring the realm.” The presentation was pure spectacle. Theatrics off the charts. Production budget clearly blown to pieces.
And yet, beneath all that pomp and pyro, I couldn’t shake one thought: this is NPCW’s answer to a question no one asked.
Let’s break it down.
King Arthur — the “Once and Future King.” He talks like a philosopher, poses like a champion, but wrestles like a man who’s been reading too much of his own mythos. In a world where killers like The Huntsman, The Sandman, and Mean Jack are redefining brutality every week, Arthur’s brand of shining heroism feels… dated. NPCW isn’t a fairy tale anymore. It’s a warzone. And Arthur’s walking into it with a sword and a sermon.
Sir Lancelot? Great athlete. Can go. Always has been. But ever since Merlin started waving his magic stick around, Lancelot’s edge has dulled. He used to be the knight that bled; now he’s the knight that kneels. You can’t sell valor in a company built on vengeance.
Lady Guinevere? Tremendous presence, great performer, but she’s carrying more narrative baggage than a three-act tragedy. She’s supposed to be the “heart” of Camelot, but the only thing pumping right now is the crowd’s skepticism. If Camelot wants to prove itself, Guinevere’s going to have to stop preaching courage and start throwing punches.
And the Virtuous Blades — Sir Gawain and Sir Galahad — are stuck in the worst spot of all: talented, athletic, technically solid, but orbiting a gimmick that’s heavier than their armor. Their match against The Howlers was proof — when they wrestle, they shine. When they roleplay as medieval missionaries, the magic dies faster than Merlin’s credibility.
Speaking of Merlin…
If I wanted to watch a cloaked man recite prophecies into a microphone, I’d fire up late-night cable. The guy’s got presence, sure, but he’s a walking distraction. You don’t need wizardry when your roster’s this good.
And that’s my real gripe with this whole “Camelot Rising” business — it’s too self-serious for its own good. NPCW thrives on danger, mystery, and edge. It’s supposed to feel unpredictable. The Champions of Camelot, with their clean lines and moral speeches, feel like they wandered out of a theme park attraction and into a brawl.
Now, don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying they won’t draw. Crowds love pageantry, and there’s money in myth. But if Camelot doesn’t start bleeding soon, they’re going to drown in their own purity. Because in NPCW, it’s not the knights in shining armor who survive — it’s the ones willing to tarnish the steel.
Brute’s Parting Shot: You can dress up virtue in gold and frost, but inside that armor, you’d better have a fighter — not a fairy tale.
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