OOC: Bringing this to PH from a previous location, to have it with the character and shed more light on his origins. Enjoy!

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Our story begins in Reine, Norway. A small fishing village on the cusp of the North Atlantic ocean, most often visited by seals, cod, haddock and the occasional broken ice flotilla in the waters. A town of maybe a hundred on a busy year, not a lot is mentioned of Reine anymore however its history and lore can take us back millennia to the time of Vikings, Norse Gods and those that came even before then. The people of Reine are quiet, devoted to their craft but their blood holds mysteries and keys to some of the greatest tales ever told. Today we learn of one such villager, who’s place in the history books is yet to be written.

THE VILLAGE OF REINE

The Winter of ‘82 was one of the harshest, roughest seasons the small fishing village had seen in decades with howling winds blowing eternally, icy sharp and bitter against anyone brave enough to weather the storms. What little fishing could be done in these late days was now over, as folks stuck to their homes and avoided the dangers of the outside world. Few families lived in Reine itself, most preferring to live inland at Reinebringen and away from the harsh coastal aggression's. However not all families saw the weather as a difficulty but a test, and the Magnus family revelled in these conditions.

Denizens of Reine for several generations, the Magnus family were as much part of this village as the stones, sea and air were. A tough, seasoned, fearless clan that never balk at a challenge, unshaken and unwavered by any danger or threat before them. Now scattered across the lands, only one family remains to carry the historic name - Karl and Ana Magnus, in possession of a small skipper, an aging black labrador and a stone homestead on the cusp of the thrashing Atlantic. They are the last remaining Magnus’s in Reine, keeping the craft of the family name alive, but soon their family will grow.

Storms had blown through this town for decades, but tonight this storm brings good tidings with it, good fortune even. The winds howl outside, shrieking and cheering at all in hiding from it’s chilling touch. But in the Magnus homestead, it is a celebration. The storm brings winds of old, historic and ancient powers, or so the legends say, but tonight those legends come true. ‘The Winds of New Life’ as they are known, howl against the wooden doors and shutters of the homestead, eager to get inside and lay their icy touch upon all, but the Magnus house stands firm with howls of its own, shrieks and cries from inside. As the winter winds take life all around them, tonight they bring energy and a blessing instead; a screaming, furious little blessing that brings light and joy to the homestead. Karl and Ana Magnus finally birth a son, their first child. And with the light and happiness he brings, just as the Norse Gods of legend had done so, then so shall he take the same name; Baldur, son of Magnus.

BALDUR MAGNUSSON

Growing up in a small fishing village teaches you a great number of things about life, love, adventure, loyalty and mostly the importance of family. Baldur learned all that he knows from the love and attention of his parents, picking up the craft of fishing and his mastery of the seas from his father while also learning the humble acts of praying, worshipping and even sacrificing himself to the Gods from his mother. His life was simple, more so that you or I shall ever know. Educated in the world at home, trained and mentored at sea by his Father, and shaped into a caring and loyal man by his Mother, Baldur grew up as a model child. When he became of age to complete his schooling, he accepted a full-time apprenticeship alongside his Father to fully understand the seas, to command his own vessel and provide for his family. And so he did, acquiring his own boat at the age of seventeen and setting sail for open waters alongside his liege.

On shore his name was known far and wide, the son of the great Karl Magnus; the only child his parents could bear to this world. His loyalty knew no bounds, for he wore the Magnus name like a badge of honor. Townsfolk near and far could call on him for help, and he would come post-haste. His craft, his errands, all shaped him into a strong, capable young man that more resembled the Gods of his namesake by the passing years. His hard craft combined with his boundless energy and appetite resulted in his vast growth, quickly out-sizing and dwarfing some of the other villagers. A boy, but within a giant's body. He worked harder, accepted more jobs and duties, grew in size, strength and mind by the passing years however with that time came curiosity. Fishing, crabbing, pulling lobster pots and the occasional dive into the arctic waters was a pleasant, worry free life but Baldur craved more, desired more. When time permitted he liked to watch television, finding the window into other worlds to be magical and inspiring. Of all the shows, his favourite was wrestling, namely SmackDown. Once a week, for two hours he would get to watch and enjoy the over-the-top action, the hard-hitting moves and slams and mostly the entertainment aspect of the big names, big characters, big stage setting.  

Much like the storm that howled and celebrated his birth, Reine was hit with yet another wild storm. One with much greater vigor and vim, it swept through the town unlike any before, shredding roofs from homes and capsizing boats in the harbour. Animals fled their confines in terror, people scattered to escape the wrath of the Gods. When the storm passed, Reine was broken. Many families could not stay due to the aftermath, the damages to their home too costly or challenging to repair. Farmers moved inland as their stock of animals could not bear the coastal weathers much longer. And for the fishers, the seas took all from them. Vessels shattered, their livelihood sat in shambles before them on the bay. Ships broken asunder, more sunk as if the sea had swallowed them whole, and those that remained in dire need of aid. Reine could not recover from this on fish markets and trade alone, this disaster demands a miracle lest it be the death of Reine.

Concerned for his family's well-being, Baldur sought a way to help them surpass this devastation. They would need immediate financial assistance, but without vessels and the sea he feared his Father would succumb to derangement at the upheaval of his life. The trauma of the Magnus clan losing their lives by the sea was too much to swallow, so Baldur set forth on the task of finding a solution.

Norway spans a great area of Northern Europe, however opportunities for the miracle he prayed for did not travel as far north as Reine. Many other villages and ports sought new help in these times, ship-hands and fishers to command their own vessel but the reward for work was little enough to save his town, and his family name. Baldur needed quick income, larger amounts, big risk with big rewards. And so he found it in Oslo, a local boxing league offered cash rewards for the victors of their paid matches. It would not be enough at the beginning, but it could lead into something worthwhile. Baldur was a man of great stature, and his energy next to his strength meant he would be a formidable foe. With the blessing of his family, Baldur set sail to Oslo to enter into the world of professional combat and try his luck. Learning quickly the phrase ‘success does not happen overnight’, Baldur’s first few months in the boxing league were not as fruitful as expected, with his winnings providing little to no help to his family and village of Reine. But he was winning, and that success was being noticed.

After a grueling few rounds, ending in a predictable knockout as usual Baldur shook hands with the ring announcer, raised his hand in victory once more and made his way to the back. Perhaps the fight, perhaps the stress or pressure or potentially the absence from his family, but something stirred up in him that night. He met his locker room with a stumble and found a bench, quickly slouching on it with his head in his hands, tears not seen since his childhood. Was this is? Was this the best he could do? The great Baldur would not be found crying in a small room, the God would be charging forth but for Baldur Magnusson was close to breaking. That is when a door opened, and a stranger made himself present.

“Baldur? Hey… sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, if you are in the middle of something.” He dressed casual but smart, satchel by his hip, hair brushed nicely with product in it and had a lanyard dangling around his neck that screamed ‘VIP’. Baldur lifted his head, sitting up to look at the man. No doubt curious, the man eyed the red eyes and puffy cheeks of Baldur, fresh from his emotional collapse. “I can come back if you like…”

“No, no. Please, I apologize. I… after a fight sometimes things happen, maybe emotional or so. Please, stay.” This man was a stranger, an unknown face but Baldur but something told him that he needed to hear what this man had to say. The man rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to Baldur.

“Mark Taylor, nice to formally meet you.”

Baldur took a quick glance at the front, seeing the title ‘Talent Scout’ but the back caught his eye - “Debug Inc. Wrestling Federation”.

“I represent a company in the United States that is rapidly growing, and you look like someone who could fit in well there. We are the Debug Inc. Wrestling Federation, DiWF for short. We’re getting our name out there, rivaling the likes of WCW or WWE in time. But we are different to those brands, see what the DiWF does best is its varying and distinctive roster." He pauses with a slight smirk, eyeing Baldur over. "I have seen you fighting a number of times, and you have amazing punching power, quick on your feet, and not to mention the size to outshine most opponents. But aside from boxing, have you ever thought about other avenues of professional entertainment? Say, professional wrestling”.

Baldur had dreamed for years of being a wrestler, a star on stage with the giants like Andre, Hulk, Roberts, Savage. He never envisioned himself actually going through with it, but then again he didn't think he would ever be a boxer either. This was a sign, a blessing from the Gods themselves.

“Thank you for your interest in me, but I have to be honest with you. I have never wrestled before, even boxing is new to me, and I am still learning that also.” The man smiled, somewhat appreciative of Baldur’s transparency but also non-phased by it.

“Most guys I find are new to the business, they are involved in pro-sports in one way or another but professional wrestling is a new jam. I wouldn’t worry too much, from what I’ve seen you’ve got all the right moves and attributes. Besides, we have a training camp for all new recruits so you’ll learn the ropes with other folks in the same boat as you.” His offer sounded so sincere and honest that Baldur can’t help but crack a smirk, a talent scout for a big name wrestling brand had come to him with a proposition.

“I have a life here, in Oslo, in Norway. It would be very difficult for me to move to America and get papers, and will it be worth it to do all that? Will it be enough to be worth my time, and yours?” The heavy loaded question, the around-the-park way of asking how much it pays, and will this get me papers for America. Judging by Mark’s grinful expression, he picked up the hint.

“It will be very worth your while, financially at least. Take your earnings tonight, and multiply that by… five? Every two weeks we have a show, and then there are pay-per-views, you get on those cards and you get a take from the doors and viewings. Not to mention the fame and fan base our main roster stars get, maybe sponsorship or advertising perks… I can see this is all a lot to swallow, I’ll give you some time to decide.” Baldur’s eyes must have been glowing, because the scout never stopped smiling back at him. They shook hands but Mark didn't get further than a few steps away before Baldur was calling him back.

“This sounds good to me. Let us do it.” The talent scout nodded, a big grin on his face and began to produce papers from his satchel. And that is how Baldur Magnusson got his ticket to America.

DEBUG INC.

A new land and a new adventure, Baldur was thrilled to be on this journey abroad and finally achieve his childhood dreams of entering into the big bad world of professional wrestling. The flight from Oslo to New York was a very special one, not only was this his first trip across the Atlantic but in his company were several other new hires from home too. He would not be going through this alone, and he could already see the competition that will be testing him along his rise to success. All very exciting, very exhilarating. Upon his arrival at the airport a SUV emblazoned with the DiWF logo decal along its side was waiting, and this almost broke the giant baby. His first time ever being treated like a VIP, and it was a ride to his dream job. The other new hires paled in sized next to Baldur so he opted for the front seat, cramming himself into the passenger chair. Not a man of great height but great bulk and tremendous weight.


After what seemed like the shortest five-hour ride, they had arrived in Washington DC, and to the DiWF’s training facility. Already overwhelmed with what he had seen from the window of the vehicle, Baldur was now in the nation's capital, surrounded by historic landmarks and an extreme level of wealth and power. He was almost in over his head, but a friendly face appeared to settle his emotions, Mark the talent scout. He guided Baldur and the other two recruits to their new home, and showed them how to comfortably navigate their surroundings. He set them up with cellphones, bank accounts, made introductions to new faces and names that would become key people in their daily lives. He informed them about the city, about the history and culture, he discussed details around their visas and papers that allowed them access to America. Baldur owed a lot to this man, a stranger who has given him so much opportunity, a true blessing in disguise. Sadly, this was where the mollycoddling ended.


His first few weeks were routine, training everyday on how to navigate the ring, how to take a proper bump, how to slide in across the apron - basic entertainment values. They were also given a glimpse into how the action unfolds, and much to Baldur’s surprise a lot of how DiWF operated was unscripted. In fact, the only reason to learn proper falling and bumping mechanics was due to a set of strict rules, but outside of that it remained a free for all. Baldur will not be wrestling, he will be fighting through the persona of a character. This suited him fine, he was naturally gifted at fighting but boxing would only get him so far. He took advice from a superstar that was training them, Manbeast. The man would show Baldur the best way to lock in a suplex from nowhere, how to use an opponent's size and weight to his advantage, the true damage momentum can achieve and most importantly the who’s-who if the Debug Inc. Wrestling Federation. Time rolled by, but after roughly three months of training it was debut time. Baldur was ready for the big screen!


...only it wouldn’t be Baldur, it would be a predetermined character set forth by the DiWF. His character would be named ‘Axel Steele’, a tough and aggressive indie action movie star that has come to the wrestling world for more glory, fame and money. Baldur would have to adopt this name, change his appearance to match the look, and perfect the moveset assigned to him. And the option to dispute this was never mentioned, it was a case of ‘take it or leave it’. Baldur protested, repeatedly, that he wanted to keep his own name, keep his own backstory. But a decision was already made, a fisherman's son from the dickhole of Norway was not going to sell as many tickets a former movie star playboy would. Baldur was livid, but this was the price to pay for his dreams. He was told to cut his weight down dramatically, shred the soft blubber and get lean, and was instructed- not advised- to start abusing steroids. They would make him into a monster, a raging beast. In turn, he would get a spot on each house show and a slight push if the crowd loved him as predicted. Against all odds, Baldur did what he was told.



AXEL STEELE, ‘THE AMERICAN DREAM’



Not the first to use that moniker, and definitely not the last, Baldur stepped into the ring for the very first time ever as Axel Steele. It was almost seven months since his arrival to the US, and he had transformed himself physically and emotionally into a lumbering beast. He was leaner than ever before, ripped and bulging muscles he didn’t know he had, and had perfected his mean arrogant attitude to a tee. He lost a lot of who he was in this transformation, but they did permit him to keep his long flowing hair and beard at least, the blonde locks seen as a gift from Thor by Nordic mythology. Plus, wrestling stars were known for their locks so it was an easy approval. Baldur was set, he looked the part, acted the part, he believed himself to be a star before he had even debuted, but one house show later the DiWF knew they had something special here. He continued on these ‘dark’ matches, wrestling for the crowds, living for their reactions. He was building his brand with the fans, and the DiWF was watching closely. Quickly came time for his first televised show, his first on-screen appearance. Nervous, nauseous and completely restless this was his time to shine and he needed to nail it. Axel Steele was giving a hometown of Texas, as that was the best American accent Baldur could manage, so they rolled with it.


Wednesday Night Warzone. The weekly show televised lived across the globe. Since his faithful meeting in Oslo to this day the DiWF had grown in size so quickly, so rapidly that they now stood shoulder to shoulder with the WWE. And Axel Steele was opening the show. Butterflies aside, Baldur was ready for this. He was pumped up and set to show the world what he could do. His match was against an easy jobber called The Bagg. Smaller in every way, the man's gimmick was a gangster, hustling break-dancing kind of moron. Should be easy pickings. The crowd cheered when Axel was declared the victor, and execs thought to try it again the following week. A rematch, this time with a bit more action expected. Another victory, and more cheers. This became the trend for a while, jobbers and low-card wrestlers being fed to the hungry, lumbering monster that was Axel Steele. The fans loved him, the crew behind the scene loved his attitude, and quickly he became a house name.


Maybe a year into his career Axel closed his first title match, winning the notorious HardKore title. After a brutal match involving barbed wire and light tubes, he sank to the bench in his locker room and held up his golden belt, the first major achievement in his career. He had to destroy two others to win it, Code Red and Cherokee Warrior, but he did it. The fight was unscripted, no holding back, and he won on pure prowess. This marked one of many solo titles he would earn, going on to win a number of solo belts as his career progressed. During his third year with the business he was one of the top guys, least in his own frame of view, and was approached with a genuine offer of promotion. Michael Scorbutic, owner and GM of Debug Inc. Wrestling Federation came to Baldur with a story line too good to pass up. Called ‘The Inner Circle’, way ahead of its time in concoction it would be Axel plus three other stars working for the boss directly. A heel faction, a corporate collective of tough and punishing enforcers doing the bidding of the boss. This would mark his first heel turn, and the chance for him to challenge for the main event spots. Axel, Manbeast, SX and The Judge would run this group through the roster of the DiWF, and take all in their path.


The switch was tremendous, Axel Steele escalating his status with the heel turn. He was cruel, aggressive, unmerciful in his matches but that is how Baldur enjoyed fighting the most. It was a perfect fit. Axel won the Internet Championship and soon after, the World Championship. He was on top of the world, and called home to share the news with his family. His successes were well known in his hometown, especially as he was single-handedly funding the rebuild of his family’s business and brand. But as soon as the call was answered, he knew something bad had happened. Reine has changed dramatically in the last few years, more so than Baldur even knew and it sounded like another storm was brewing. With Reine slowly rebuilding thanks to his contributions, they were back to business as usual, if not better than ever before. Fishing was plentiful, and the catch was exceptionally good thanks to better weather. But a local biker gang had established themselves not too far from Reine, in the bigger town of Sørvågen. According to his mother's shaking voice the gang had crossed paths with some of the fishermen in a local bar, and a fight occurred. Now the gang torment the village by cruising through on their bikes, jeering or attacking anyone in their way. Boats have been set alight in the bay, and many have fallen victim to beatings and extortion. His mother got as far as mentioning a case of sexual assault before Baldur had heard enough.


Career or not, it was time for him to go home.



HOME

The flight back was a hot potato of two emotions- worry, for his family, his friends and neighbours, his town and everything that he had known. And fury, towards those that would come to Reine to threaten them, to dare upset or tarnish the happy balance that was established. The DiWF allowed him some leave, marking his absence as an ‘injury’ sustained from a previous title defense. He had to fight a star named Frenzy, he had to drop the Internet Championship he held so dearly, his second time acquiring the belt but without a champion a belt is flawed. He vowed to return to them, promised to show his face again in the DiWF but as to when that was unknown. A lot of what was about to happen was unknown to him.



He made his way to Reine by car, a long drive from the closest airport but seeing his old village almost brought him to tears. They had rebuilt, and it was more beautiful than even he could imagine. Flowers blooming, homes painted in bright colors and boats in the bay bobbing and swaying like a dance with the sea. It was hard to believe such nightmares were taking place in the magical town. His parents showered him with affection upon his arrival, his Father making sure to remind him he could still beat him in an arm wrestle while his Mother cooked just about every ‘favourite’ meal of his she could remember. After the jet setting life of a TV sports star, settling down in this village would never be a solution again, it was sadly apparent. Baldur knew he had to fix the problems, but ultimately the beck and call of the action would draw him back.


A couple of days went by, so peaceful and relaxing before Baldur heard the slow buzz of the approaching motorcycles, the low rumble of the v-twin engines humming from far off in the distance. Like bees, they flew in packs, their noise more threatening as their numbers are unknown in this case. Baldur made his way up from the shore towards the main road, a small sealed road most often used by cargo vehicles and bicycles. The mob drove by, slowly, each one taking a good look at Baldur. They must have not expected someone of his size to be in the village, or perhaps were too intimidated to stop, but each one cruised by slowly watching the man with intense concern, studying him. Baldur noticed their bikes had bags, but emptied already, assuming they were about to approach the villages in demand of goods or valuables. The swarm of bikes was only seven strong, but their noise made them sound like those numbers could be tenfold. Baldur watched them, as they watched him, before they continued out the other side of the village. This would not be the last time they meet.


As the days went by, Baldur slowly unravelled and got back into the good life of Reine. He returned to his old chores of helping neighbours and townsfolk, who in turn showed him with love and praise for all his monetary assistance sent back from America. He ate like a King, drank like a fool, and was merry with each passing day. After one quick voyage to the open sea with his Father, his lungs full of the fresh salt air and his hair course with moisture, they returned to the docks only to see some commotion in the village. The bikers had returned, with impeccable timing it seemed. There were three of them this time, hassling a fishwife for some of her catch and some produce too. They spotted Baldur pulling into port, but they did not fret. It would take Baldur some time to tie the boat in, and they had the length of the village between them still. The boat was not moored when Baldur witnessed one thug hit the fishwife with the back of his hand, dropping her to the floor. Her husband was nowhere to be seen, and Baldur was still on the water so all he could do is watch, his eyes burning with anger. The mob laughed as they took what they could carry, loaded up their bikes parked close by and kickstarted their growling machines. By the time Baldur was on dry land and close to the scene they had already left, the fishwife crying on the floor still. Baldur helped her up, asking a million questions only to learn the husband had also fallen victim. He sat further up the village, bloodied and bruised from his defensive stance against the aggressors. Baldur has seen enough.


As nightfall approached, Baldur began his march towards Sørvågen. A short ten minute ride only, Baldur knew that he would be best off walking instead, perhaps the air might cool his temper before his arrival. Sørvågen was maybe thrice the size of Reine, but a city by definition. They had more amenities, more conveniences than Reine. Unfortunately, more trouble also. The gang had taken over a local bar named the Maren Anna. They moved into a local hotel, meant to house tourists and travellers but with a group of bikers their business declined rapidly. Baldur barged his way in the door of the Maren Anna and was met with several concerned faces, namely that of the bikers. Their back patch spoke volumes of their intentions and merits- Hells Angels. Counting the bikes outside and the numbers within the bar Baldur could see that the seven he spotted a few days back would be the mob in its entirety, and seven against one seemed like a fair fight to him. He approached the table where they all sat, expecting a polite discussion but as predicted that would not be the case.


The first to stand approached Baldur so aggressively, looking to push the lumbering giant that Baldur easily sidestepped him and let his own momentum carry him to the floor. The next ran forward with a punch, but again a quick sidestep avoided that. This time, Baldur retaliated with a swift lariat to the hard stone floor. The remaining five stood their ground, neither advancing nor retreating.


“...Reine”, Baldur growled, making sure each person in the bar could hear him, “...is off limits.” He looked around, the regulars of Sørvågen watching him, waiting for what comes next. “Anyone has a problem with that… come speak with me.”


Baldur’s words landed with heavy impact, but the reality was not as effective. Days went by without incident, but now and then Baldur would hear the bikes arriving in town, or perhaps just driving by the village as a means of torment. A couple of times Baldur encountered some troubles in the village, the bikers arriving by foot so as to not alert him. Naturally, Baldur showed them the way home but it was beginning to grow into a real issue. After a small brawl took place on the outskirts of the village, Baldur knew this had gone too far. They were not backing down, not relenting in any way, and becoming braver and more ruthless by the day. They did not fear him any more, did not heed his warnings or his threats. They were unhindered by Baldur, and that worried him.


Screams in the night set Baldur alive, waking him from his sleep with a jump. Screams he had not heard before, familiar yet strange. His eyes heavy from slumber, he crawled from his bed to find the air thick and heavy with smoke. The screams lead him forward, stumbling and crawling towards the sound until he finally awoke fully. His Mother, petrified by flames, trapped in their own home as it lights ablaze. The sound of wood breaking and collapsing above signalled danger, yet Baldur could not see. A hand grabbed him and pulled him, leading him to the outside where he could finally take a clear breath of air, and cough some soot from his lungs. His Father has saved him, but his Mother's chilling screams could still be heard.


“She ran back in for the dog! I tried to hold her but she slipped away, I just had time to grab you!”. His Father, tears pouring from his eyes, could only watch as their home danced with red, hellish flames all around. Baldur strained his ears for his Mother's sounds, but they had ceased, perhaps swallowed by the sound of burning timber and billowing smoke. Baldur dashes forward towards the home once again, a rescue attempt but the complete collapse of their building stops him. Stone walls with wooden interiors, a single spark could cause huge damage but this was different. This was a message.


They say you could hear Baldur’s scream of grief all the way to Oslo, loud enough to wake up the Gods.



THE BUTCHER OF REINE

Tears. Pouring down his face, drowning his dirtied face in streaks or sorrow and anguish. The village was alive with light, as homes burned all around them, screams and cries of terror and pain played a hellish melody into the night's darkness. The bay itself was crying, as boats creaked and groaned under their collapse, fire spreading along the moored fleet. Reine was burning, and people were dying.


Baldur embraced his Father, the two men sobbing uncontrollably as their world burned to ashes behind them. Storms had splintered and devastated this town over countless seasons, but in one night the monstrous and depraved actions of but a few had taken everything from them. From the Magnus clan, the Agnar’s, the Ulrichs, the Svarns. The village of Reine was crumbling, and Baldur’s blood boiled with it. He released his Father, who had no more strength than to fall to his knees, and Baldur marched for the tool shed. He heard his Father’s voice, knew his Father was yelling but words did not meet his ears. Baldur only heard the maddening beating of vile drums within his ears, thumping in beat to his march. He grabbed a fish pole, an axe and began his march towards the neighbouring town. His mind turned black.


Sørvågen had never seen such violence, such brutal and unmerciful carnage in its history. Blood covered walls, sinew and viscera remains partially burned on the floor and surfaces, the remains of more than a half dozen bodies, chopped and dismembered pieces scattered from one end of the rubble to the other. To this day, police has not been able to identify who caused this, who could have been capable of such manslaughter, and the town of Sørvågen has it’s lips sealed. Only they know the truth of what happened, and they seem content with the conclusion.


The Maren Anna bar. They had been so crass, so arrogant in their actions that they returned to enjoy their petty victory in the company of drinks and terrified looks. The regulars did not know at the time what the Angels had done, but their bragging and gloating quickly led them to conclusions. For some of the locals this was time to go home, for others it was when the door was kicked open by a giant wielding two weapons. An axe in one hand, a fish hook in the other, towering in size and leagues ahead in strength. Grieving his murdered Mother, and his burning towns. Anyone with sense fled the bar that very moment, the only ones who stayed were poised and ready for a fight. That was the last night the Hells Angels existed in Sørvågen.


The news reported it as a massacre, claiming whoever burned down Reine also performed the murders in Sørvågen. The media called it ‘horrific, depraved, abominable’. Bikers, hacked to shreds, their vehicles set alight alongside their bodies, the entire bar collapsing in flames around them. To this day, witnesses and victims alike have not mentioned that night. Only one name mattered to them that night, and forever after. Their liberator, their protector…


...The Butcher of Reine.

A NEW LIFE IN OLD HARBOUR

Years slowly passed since the fires, yet Reine never fully recovered. Folks found the small village to now be a burden than a blessing, with the storms of old accompanied in the history books by the storms of now. The growing changes in weather and temperature meant longer, colder winters for all, and fishing was slowly growing stale. Some remained in Reine still, however many found refuge and green pastures inland, further North or anywhere they could settle that was not Reine. It seemed the fishing village was doomed to collapse and wither away as nothing but a memory to all.


Baldur worked the lands, worked the seas, helped to rebuild all he could, trying to keep morale and spirits high but he struggled at times. Folks had outlived Reine, and that realization was starting to creep into his Father’s mind too. Without fishing to keep him occupied and his wife, Baldur’s mother to keep him company, Karl Magnus slowly whittled away and grew older with increasing speed. This tore Baldur apart more than anything that had come before, more than the fires that devastated their family nor the storms that ravaged the village. Sadly, the truth was evident- Reine was no longer going to be there home.


Baldur looked for a way-out, something to keep him and his Father safe and happy for their days. Vowing he would never leave the seas, Baldur struggled to identify another village or coastal town that would suffice as their new home, where starting over would not be so hard. With a bizarre stroke of luck, a letter arrived by mail from a dear old friend of Karl Magnus. It contained a very heartwarming message from a friend long since departed from Reine, and who had ended up located in Alaska, US. His friend Aron Agnus, a fellow fisherman, more adventurous and daring than Karl ever was. He had married his childhood sweetheart Margit, a fish hand from Reine also, and bore two beautiful children. As their careers progressed, Margit was offered an opportunity within an established global fishing conservation company, and several years later they were now living a life of peace and paradise working the North Pacific seas. The letter was more than a friendly hello, it was an invitation, for the news of the fires and desecrated town of Reine had reached his ears, and this friend wanted to extend a welcome to his long lost pal. With much deliberation, Baldur and his father Karl decided that it was time for them to leave Reine behind, and set forth on their pilgrimage to Alaska.


Landing into the small port town of Old Harbour, it seemed as if the universe was calling their names. The town, beautiful and bountiful with ships, boats and trawlers, market stalls overflowing and trade happening loudly and excitedly in the air, Baldur and his father immediately felt at home. The friend, Aron, immediately extended his welcome by offering them shelter within his homestead, and assisted them with the purchase of a home themselves soon after. Aron had recently endured some trauma himself, his wife passing away during labour of their third child. His wife and child did not make it, so Aron was left with the company of his two children, Pol and Meredith. Bonded in their grief, the two fathers embraced and old friendships blossomed once more.


Pol and Meredith were a little younger than Baldur, but their experience on the seas mirrored that of Baldur’s many years. With a new home, a new perspective, and a new lease of life in his father's blood Baldur returned his attention to the world of professional wrestling.


The many years that had passed affected the landscape of professional sports, and for Baldur he learned it is harder to restart than the initial foray into the world. DiWF was a rolling train, however many of the names that once shone in bright lights had left the business or moved on, and those that now ruled were new, unknown names to Baldur. Furthermore, his old gimmick would not fit in this new DiWF, as the brand of Axel Steele had been replaced with a new showstopper, a younger heartthrob named Becks. His brand, his offering was gone and Baldur needed something new. The fires that tore Reine apart forced Baldur to change his appearance, forcing him to shave his burned beard and hair, but finding that he liked the look more he kept it. Bald, clean shaven, more bulk than ever before, Debug Inc. Wrestling Federation would no longer be his home, and instead he set his eyes on their sister company High Impact Wrestling Federation. Born as a proving ground for new recruits in training, HIWF had now become a challenging brand, standing shoulder to shoulder with its parent federation. With many old school names making the change, along with some new steady risers, HIWF would be the new battlegrounds for Baldur. But with Axel Steele all but gone to history, Baldur concocted a new persona, a new image that played well with his feelings of fury, hatred and anguish.


For the first time in his life, Baldur put on a mask, concealed his true self and became Mr. X.



HIGH IMPACT

Established as a training grounds, HIWF now ranked amongst the top three of wrestling shows with fans across the world, with a budding roster of nearly 100 active stars, and several well-known old faces from the DiWF era who still fought for their glory. New management and new directions meant a lot of changes and adjustments for Baldur, but his method of appearances won the fans over quickly. A masked monster, muted by reasons unknown, ‘Mr. X’ would go to the ring to destroy all who stood in his way, a verifiable-demon of unbridled power and wrath. He was assigned a ‘valet’ who performed as his mouthpiece, the luscious seductive Tara. Speaking on his behalf, wooing the male fans and standing as an image of female-power at the time, the duo paired perfectly on-screen, and became closer friends off. With her as the face, the attitude and Baldur/ Mr. X as the muscle, the brawn, the brand skyrocketed to the top of the federation with ease. Bypassing the junior and mid-level belts, apart from the occasional jaunt into the hardcore division for shits and giggles, Mr. X ravaged his way to the top faster than any had expected, even he. Taking the crown prize, the World Title in his first year was a huge achievement, but trouble began brewing in paradise. Management loved the monster gimmick of Mr. X, but despised the sexy, alluring persona that Tara bore. It clashed on screen, it made no sense for them in a creative aspect, and against all protests, they decided to separate the duo. Tara would move onto the active roster at DiWF, a career-long dream of hers while Baldur would maintain his image and mantra in the HIWF. With sad farewells, the duo were split apart.


And as such, began the decline of Mr. X’s popularity. Without a sex-appeal of Tara, fans slowly disliked Mr. X’s muted appearances and performances, and Baldur quickly realized he would need to get a new mouthpiece, or he would be left to do his own promos again. Not enthralled by the idea of spoiling his gimmick, he looked for solutions for a new ‘valet’, a new partner that could provide some sex-appeal to draw the crowds attention, some aggressive nature to show that she meant business but also someone that fit the gimmick of Mr. X’s dark, unstoppable anger. He returned home to Old Harbour to rest and recover during a small break, and the answer was waiting for him at his home.



MEREDITH AGNAR



First born of Aron and Margit Agnar, Meredith grew up in Reine just as Baldur had, she lived her youth on the ships on the docks and at sea just as he had, and truly loved Reine with her heart, just as he had. When the opportunity of a lifetime knocked, her Mother accepted and the family was uprooted from Reine. After several years of travel, her mother's career in the world of conservation and fishing limitations, they managed to find a place to call home - Old Harbour. Margit could continue her work and research remotely, or with little travel while Aron could help the kids settle and grow into the world from their new home. Like Baldur had done so in Reine, Meredith and Pol both took to the oceans immediately and found a love for the sea that seemed to be in their blood. Pol outshone Meredith in the labour aspect of the role, but Meredith’s genius knew no bounds it seemed. A well oiled team, the Agnar family quickly grew their fishing fleet from one trawler to many more, and formed a very popular business of trades with neighbouring villages and towns.  As the life blossomed, they soon welcomed a new joy into the world, their third child. Due to difficulties presented during the childbirth however, Margit lost her life to the trauma caused, along with her unborn child. This travesty rocked the small village, but ultimately drew the Agnar family closer than ever before, along with the love and support of the entire town.


Growing up the family followed in the footsteps of their peers. While Pol and his father loved the seas and the thrill of the catch, Meredith’s attention moved to more aspects of the world, the arts and the mysteries of life. She became an avid consumer of poetry, music, and developed quite the taste for topics unusual and strange; the occult, the paranormal of our world, the mysteries of outer space. Pol grew up with dreams and ambitions imbibed by his father, to work the seas and grow his catch, and to find a love that one day might share his world. Meredith however did not share the same sentiment, leaning further and further into the darkness of our world. She aided and assisted the empire the Agnar’s were constructing, but her passions took her elsewhere.


As the Agnar name grew in Old Harbour, their reach did too. Aron Agnar was elected as Mayor of the small town, much to the delight of his children. Pol went on to take charge of the family fishing fleet as his father aged gracefully, and Meredith kept the operations within the homestead, from managing the accounts to the hiring and delegation of the staff. As she grew older, Meredith grew into her looks more and was more than an eyeful for many of the fishermen. They had notions and ideas of lust, while Meredith’s heart belonged in books and poems. As such this causes some concern for the boys in her family, worried her looks might get her in danger with the rough, boorish fishermen. Meredith on more than one occasion proved them to be naïve of her, as she could not only defend herself from the advances of foolish men, but she was more than capable of shedding their blood without remorse. In fact, as she talked about ‘cutting off their pieces’ or ‘gutting them like fish’, her smile widened. The darkness that she grew fond of in books and poems also grew within her, residing in her heart.


Returning home to Old Harbour on a visit, Baldur entered his home to find his father accompanied by the Agnars. It was not unusual for them to share a meal or one another's company, but today was a different day. It was his mother's birthday, as as tradition they always enjoy a delicious meal with loved ones. The Agnars had done so much for the Magnars, they truly did feel like family. Baldur embraced Pol like a sibling, and Meredith the same. Pol was several years younger but Meredith was almost his twin with how close their birthdays were. He was fond of Meredith, not through eyes of lust of affection, but he admired her darkness, her somewhat colder presence. She reminded him of the sea, the cold air and icy touch of the water, her skin pale and eyes dark reminded him of the moon's pale glow.


After dinner Baldur thanked his father for cooking, and the Agnars for joining, and took his leave so he could walk the waters of the shore alone. He found a certain peace or tranquility in the waters, the sound of the water gently clashing the sands with the tide, the soft cool career of salt in the night air. He found his spot by the end of the pier, a newly discovered favourite location of Baldurs, where he could stop to observe the sea and ponder the world before him. Tonight, his meditation was interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, the arrival of another.


“The sea is sleeping, it seems”. Her voice, deeper and more dead than her looks depict. She walks along the pier, passing the spot where Baldur is stood and continuing to the very edge. “Do you ever wonder what secrets lie beneath us, Baldur?”, she asks, still looking forward. Her hair blows gently in the wind, the moonlight catching the pure black, silk-like loose strands. “The sea calls to me, ever so gently. People in the town mock me, tell me my head is full of childish notions. But, I hear it whispering, calling to me, trying to tell me more but I…”. She turns to look at Baldur, a side glance only. “I... don’t yet understand it.”


Baldur moves forward so that he is standing alongside her, looking out to the horizon also. “I often thought the same, that the sea was speaking to me, calling to me. I put it down to wind, to stress or anxiety. The sea is a strange place.”


“A wonderful place. Someday, it will consume us all, and bring us to a new world.” She says this ever so confidently, like she is aware of more than she lets on, but Baldur doesn’t press. In the pale moonlight, with the wind carefully blowing back her hair, the dull glow reflecting her features Baldur knows immediately, almost like it is a sign.


“You and I should work together, to build something incredible.” A soft, slow upward curve on the corner of her mouth is enough for Baldur, to know this is the right decision.



HURRICANE LOKE

Returning to the HIWF with Meredith by his side, Baldur knew things would be drastically different. Meredith oozed gothic appeal for the fans, she drew in the attention of the ‘emo’ generation, and her spoken word combined with her gravely, ghostly voice would send chills down the backs of the viewers. Meredith poured her soul into this persona, made the ‘valet’ position more than a side piece, more than an acquaintance for Baldur. Meredith was building a legion, an empire of fans that would listen to her every word about dark forces in the universe, evil powers at play amongst us, the ever-beating hearts of demons and monsters beneath our very feet. She told the story of Mr. X so artfully that in truth, she was telling the story of Meredith.


And it worked. Mr. X continued to fight and dominate at the upper echelon of the roster, slaying superstars and main event venues for a couple more years to come. On-screen the duo were a force, a dark army of two that could not be contained. Meredith was the tongue and Baldur was the sickle, even going as far as to include some spoken promotional clips carefully crafted and guided by Meredith. As their name grew famous, Meredith’s desires and intentions grew darker. Her obsessions with death, the darkness around us and the occult slowly began to eat at her mind, invading her psyche as if she could not separate truth from fiction. She vowed her life to Gods unknown, devoted her spirit to Hell itself and begged Baldur to follow suit. He had known such sadness, such misery in his life that leaning closer to the darkness in his heart was ill-advised, and the two clashed more so than preferred. Meredith wanted more, she hungered for more power, control, decay. Baldur wanted to wrestle, to fight, to unleash his anger unrestricted. As the team hit a turning point in their world of entertainment, a bigger foe looming on the horizon of their real worlds.


Hurricane Loke, one of the largest to hit the Pacific Ocean in decades, was fast approaching the shores of Alaska, and both Meredith and Baldur feared for their family. On tour with the HIWF, they were placed on a show in Florida, but on the night an omen called to them, warned them even. The seas were angry, more harsh and wild than ever before and Baldur could feel it. He could feel its torment, like an animal in a cage, it needs to lash out and break free. Meredith’s mind was filled with shadows and darkness, but in her heart she cared deeply for her family, and after frequent failed calls and efforts to connect with their families they abandoned their post on the HIWF roster and grabbed a flight home. Due to poorer weather conditions, their return was hampered at every corner, stalling at every opportunity. By the time they returned to Old Harbour, it was too late.


The storm had rolled in, just like the many Baldur had endured through his years in Reine, but this one rang differently. The air was sharper, bitter to the taste. The skies broke and screamed like valkyries, marching forward to war with the seas below. They had only arrived, but both Baldur and Meredith knew they were far too late. The bay was dotted with boats and ships, working through the bad conditions to keep their craft alive. The port was emptied of almost all vessels, but only one mattered to them today, the Agnar. Meredith’s family vessel, the largest in their fleet and her father's favourite. Missing, she knew they must be on the seas, and her voice cried out for family. With her brother and father at sea, Baldur ran home to check upon his own father, only to learn that he was not there. As feared, Baldurs father had joined them on their catch, as he had done many times since coming to Old Harbour. He wished that today his father had declined the invitation.


Hurricane Loke came to Old Harbour and swept the port away with its thunderous waves and wakes, sending shards of frozen ice onto the lands and damaging people's homes. The sea reclaimed all that had been taken from it in one night, and consumed any and all lives that were unfortunate enough to be in its wrath. For Baldur and Meredith, their worlds were over, their families lost to the mercy of the sea.



THE CALL

Many lives were lost that day, not just those closest to Meredith and Baldur. The small town of Old Harbour was devastated, destroyed by the hurricane. Homes could be rebuilt, boats and vessels replaced but for Baldur he had already endured this suffering. He had already lost everything, and rebuilt. For Baldur, this was the final storm he could take, the last blow his heart could take. He lived for Reine, worked for Reine, butchered for Reine, he rebuilt it when it was broken and he revived it when it was dying. Old Harbour now lay ravaged around him, and without his father, mother or any living family to console him he concluded that he was cursed. This was his burden to carry, this was his cross. Baldur Magnusson was an omen of destruction and desecration, and any who came close to him would perish. He forewent all niceties and formalities of a funeral, avoided the eyes of other townsfolk and the words of condolences they spoke, and resolved to end his curse himself. Days after the storm, Baldur was committed to end his curse on this world. With one final moment to stand on the pier, looking to the ocean as he had done so fondly in times past, Baldur then jumped. He would not fight, he would not struggle, simply he would drown and end this horrid legacy he has written.


The water was icy cold, forcing a sharp gasp from his mouth which only further forced the cold, shrill waters down to his lungs. His first instinct was to fight, to survive but he forced himself against him, swallowing and gorging what he could. He would die tonight, as he had intended to do so, but something called to him beneath those waters, something sang his name. He could hear it, like the sirens of mythology, their beautiful words beneath the waves called to him. As he sank deeper, the pressure of the waters forcing his eyes shut, his last living vision was that of a beautiful woman, swimming to him, calling his name…


...he didn’t die of course, but was saved. Barely. As he had been reminded of many times before, him and Meredith seemed to share a single mind at times, and tonight was no different. Seeking refuge from the harsh, cruel existence she was enduring, Meredith too sought out her favourite spot on the pier, to overlook the torrid waters below and afar. As she approached, she witnessed a figure leaping before her, that of Baldur. With her world over, collapsing around her, she could not dare to lose her last link to the times before and quickly ran to his rescue. She called his name, yelled for him to rise but seeing his drift lower in the waters she knew this was his own choice. Unlucky for him, this wasn’t his time to die and Meredith dove from the pier into the waters below to sacrifice herself, and save her friend. Surprised with her own strength and fortitude, Meredith managed to pull Baldur from the icy depths and to the surface, dragging his body to the pier steps close by. She pounds on his chest, pumping life back into his body until he sputters and coughs up the seawater filling his lungs.


*coughing* “What...what happened?” he asks, bewildered as he opens his eyes. He continues to spit water from his lungs, as his vision returns enough to see Meredith above him. “I… I had died, under the waters. The water called to me, it called my name.” Meredith looks down on his face, a slight smile on her face.


“You heard it too then. Many thought I was crazy, hearing the sea call to me… now you know, now you have heard it also.” She cradles his head in her lap, soaked from the icy waters yet unphased or shaking from it.


“I… I died. In the water.”


“Yes… and now you are reborn. The oceans taketh life… the oceans giveth life.”


Baldur coughs more, the salt water scratching his throat as he does so, his voice growing more coarse as he speaks. “Meredith… I can feel them, I can almost hear them… they are alive. They are still out there.” He turns to the horizon, to look at the waving flow of the waters, dancing in the dull moon’s light. “They haven’t left us.”


Another eerie smile from Meredith, her eyes wet with tears. “No, they have just gone before us, to the Dreaming City.” Her tears drip down her face, landing on the face of Baldur before. “R’lyeh has called to them, and has invited them inside. Now the ocean calls to you, and soon we will join them again.”


Delirious from the seawater, Baldur watches her tears as they fall, and something about what she has said makes sense to him. Something about her mind, her words are fair. “We must find them, and reunite with them. Here, Reine, or another city.” His voice worsens, crackling now from the salt water. “I failed them, Meredith. I should have saved them. I once had the world in my grasp… now I have lost everything.”


Meredith keeps her eyes on the horizon, still crying. She strokes his head, bald and cold. “I read a poem once, about a King who ruled the world for as far as he could see. His name was revered, legendary. But like all things, time comes for us all. Death and decay took his lands, his name, his legacy. He was a King of wealth and power, but now he is a King of decay, death and a putrefied world. Your sorrows remind me of him.”


“Everything he had fallen to ruins. Sounds like we are very similar with luck.” He coughs again, his voice worsening rapidly. “What was… his name?”


“...Ozymandias… his name was Ozymandias...”