Post by OZYMANDIAS on Jan 20, 2021 21:46:47 GMT -5
“...p-p-please, have mercy. We’re just simple folk, we don’t want any trouble, we just want to work and get on with our liv-”
The terrified man is stopped in his words, as a giant palm locks around his throat, lifting him up from the floor with ease. Scrawny and frail, he is hoisted up from the ground below, dangling in horror, grasping the arm that holds him up, his muted please for mercy now translated into a shocked state of eye contact.
“Do you see what can happen? What will happen, should you turn your backs on us? On our future? This world will burn, the skies themselves will fall and all of those not under His care, under His protection will burn alive. We are not here to scare or panic you, we are merely the messengers for what is to come!”
Her voice is so calm, so confident amidst the panic surrounding the room. She speaks freely, openly, as if there are not dozens of folks scattered in sheer dread around her.
“He speaks to us, He commands us to take action. He, will save this world, and build one anew! Ignore your false Gods, your weak idols, your wishful thinking of a sanctuary awaiting you. There is no Heaven above us waiting for your arrival, only the cold, empty void of death itself.”
She pauses, to look around the room once more.
“Join the 'Great Old One' and become immortal.”
She stops her rant to look around, the bodies and shapes of village folks strewn across the room. She closes her eyes, and breathes in deeply, almost savouring the scene before her. A local church, congregated by dozens of locals as they come to worship and praise their Christian God. They abide by the same rules, same basic principles set forth by the religion, they come here on schedule to show their love and praise, or to ask for forgiveness and to repent their sins.
Today, their church is a scene of sheer panic. Divided in half, there are those that live in this village, those that work the farms and fields nearby… Those are the ones cowering and huddled together in apprehension.
Then there are those that come from the shores, wearing long brown robes, their heads and faces concealed. They are the ones that arrive uninvited, unannounced. This is not their first stop, the news has spread of this same action occurring over the last few weeks, but never this far from the shorelines. These hooded figures, they roam further and further from the sea with each raid.
And at the helm, the Priestess and her Warrior. Famously known for their penchant of violence and brutality, the sword to match the shield. She stands before the innocent people, exclaiming her beliefs and her thoughts on their status, their future. She proclaims sanctuary and safety, before destroying all that they hold dear.
Then there is the Warrior. The hulking beast that stands alongside her, muted in voice but deafening in actions. The giant with the dead eyes, the relentless anger and fury pouring from his hands, his face masked in a ghastly veil.
She opens her eyes once more, to look around the room. A shoddy, makeshift church that houses a couple dozen at most. A refuge from the harsh world, the long days in the fields, the struggles of life. A place to come to and leave your woes behind, to come and speak to a greater power, to show your love, your belief, your faith.
The silence is the room is broken by the sound of a loud, clear ‘crack’, followed by the crumpled echo of a body falling to the floor. The man who previously thought to defend his town, his honor, now lays on the floor before the town. Broken, defeated, deceased.
“We came here today to share the word on the Great Dreamer, to shed some light on what dwells in the depths below us all. You truly believe that ‘God’ sits above us, watching down on all the sickness and decay that this world succumbs to? Without raising a finger to help? Where is your 'God' now!”
She stops, but smiling. Her pale, tight skin stretching around her barren cheeks, almost ghostly.
“Nothing good comes from above, except the rains. Your God, your TRUE God… He sleeps. Here on this very globe, amongst us, dreaming until it is time for him to awake. He sees all, He controls all. He feels the shame of this world, He sees how we are destroying our home, our planet with selfish acts. How we are killing one another, destroying one another.”
She walks forward, towards the now deceased man on the floor. Muffled cries and whimpers come from the gathered folks near her, hiding amongst the benches and pulpits of the church.
“We come today to offer hope, fortune... utopia. We come on our own time, on our own merits... and we are attacked at the door.”
“You burned down villages! You’ve killed innocent people!”
“Martin was a good man, and you killed him in cold blood!”
“I had family in Chiniak, and you put them in the hospital. You are monsters! Bullies!”
The jeers and cries of protest from the crowd do little to dissuade her from her mood, if anything they seem to enlighten her further.
“We will spread the word of Cthulhu to every village on this island. Kodiak will know who the Great Dreamer is, and soon we will move to the mainland. We won’t stop until our God has what he needs.”
“What’s that, the blood of the innocent? Fuck your God!”
She turns to her Warrior, the giant already approaching the remaining crowd but she stops him. Wordless, one lift of her hand is enough to stop the beats from his brutality.
“We have come, we have said our words, and we will take our leave. This world does not have long left, He awakes and rises in our near future. His power is unfathomable, for those unprepared for his arrival will descend into madness just by looking upon him. And for those who are left? ...he will raze this entire world, to start anew as He sees fit.”
She turns her back on the people, walking towards the exit before stopping.
“We are the Children of Cthulhu, and we come with a promise of peace, prosperity and eternal life. We do not wish to send mixed messages about where our allegiance lies, nor whom we praise as our God. He WILL return, and He WILL end this world as you know it. We leave you with this offer… join us, and live eternally by my side, as the Great Old One delivers us into the new world.”
She folds her arms, in a matter of fact manner.
“Or continue to worship your false Gods, your saint that resides above us, who watches on all his creations die from sickness, famine and war. When the time comes, when R’lyeh rises from the depths, it will already be too late.”
She signals for her followers to leave the church, so that just the locals remain. Her Warrior remains in place, watching the townsfolk, breathing steadily as he absorbs their fear.
“Join us… and together we shall rebuild this world in His light.”
Finally, she motions for the last of the followers to leave, and with no more hooded robes left her Warrior joins her as they exit. Outside there is a large military-esque transport vehicle, which the hooded figures climb into the rear of. The pair walk towards the vehicle, stopping to take one last look back at the building.
“...do not linger on what transpired, that man fought to defend his honor and his people, but he still fought. You had every right to defend yourself and to make an example while doing so. His life now has a purpose, to be a message for others to adhere to.”
She looks around her, the small town of Port Lions now resembling a ghost town, folks hiding or fleeing since their arrival.
“We will soon run out of towns and villages, yet our numbers are not many. Our influence must grow.”
“Give them time… they will break.”
His words come out harsh and metallic, almost synthetic through his tight mask. His face concealed and hidden, only his dead eyes remain to show any emotion. And now, they are alight in fire.
“Come Ozymandias, we have much work to do.”
She motions to the vehicle for them to enter, and Ozymandias aids her entry by extending a hand. Once inside, the vehicle turns to leave the small town, with nothing but fear and suffering left behind.
MEREDITH AGNAR
Her world has changed the most over the years, ironic that she is voice promoting a new beginning.
Her family have long overseen the governing and progress of the small fishing village Old Harbour, in Alaska. Naturalizing from Norway many many years ago her Father, Aron Magnar, arrived as a measly fisherman seeking work, refuge and safety in the small town and quickly grew to being a key figure amongst the tradespeople. His prowess on the waters along with his cool, collected attitude on land made him a strong figure within the town. From aid to good company, people flocked to be in his presence.
Over time the town agreed to elect a mayor, to have a single point of contact to deal with the issues and challenges the town might face. There was a collective vote, and by a landslide Aron was chosen to represent the town. Alongside his wife Margit, the Agnar’s quickly became the leading family of the town and helped to grow the village into what it is now.
Flash forward several years and the couple have brought two small children into this world, Meredith and Pol. Lively and energetic, Pol was always playing with other kids and getting into mischief but Meredith was different. Something about her didn’t feel right, she was darker and brooding most of the day, affixed with strange stories and tales of witchcraft, occult and so forth.
As time passed the family welcomed a long-separated sect to their family, the Magnus family. Karl Magnus and his son Baldur arrived at Old Harbour following a great tragedy back home in Reine. It was never discussed or mentioned, but Meredith could sense great pain and suffering in Baldur and as such took to him like a friend. Maybe closer. Upon losing her own Mother, Baldur was there as a pillar of support, having endured the same pain as she was in.
They grew closer as time passed, and sealed their friendship eternally after a terrible storm swept through the Northern Pacific ocean. Hurricane Loke came unexpectedly, and with it came dread, despair and death. An unprepared voyage to sea, Meredith’s Father and Brother were aboard a fishing vessel which never returned. The Captain of that same vessel was Baldur’s Father.
Both lost their worlds that day, Meredith losing her entire family in one shot. They were racked with grief, but they supported one another all the same. The village pooled together in support for their losses, and proclaimed that Meredith remains in place as the mayor of this town. She would take her Father’s spot, and look over Old Harbour. This unification, this sense of family, helped bring them back from the darkest days to a brighter future.
What began as a simple hobby grew deeper and darker with time, especially without the distractions of her family nearby. Meredith was always fascinated with theories of magic, voodoo, witchcraft and such but one that really embroiled her in wonder was the story of a cosmic horror from before. The story of Cthulhu.
She became obsessed, captivated with the mysteries and the mythology surrounding it. The sorrow of losing his family weighed heavily on Baldur, who simply shrugged off this notion as a means of escape, a glimmer of hope or fascination to take away the pain and suffering of the world around him. He approached the docks late at night, to gaze upon the moon and pray for answers, and within the sea itself he heard them.
A voice called to him from the depths, willing him forward, asking him to join them. Was it his Father’s, or the voice of another he is unsure, but he dove within those waters without pause. The aftermath of the storm and the poor weather meant the waters quickly overpowered him, and left him unconscious, floating and ready to venture to his watery grave.
Meredith saved him. She spied him enter the waters, and she rescued him. His explanation of what happened didn’t phase her… she had heard the sea too, calling to her. Not the voice of her family, but of her new world. She had heard the call of Cthulhu.
Bound together in life, in death and now in cosmic mystery, they formed a union to seek out the mysteries of the deep, and bring about a new understanding of the world beneath us. Obsessed and possessed by the idea, Meredith quickly became the Priestess of Cthulhu. For Baldur, he died in the waters that night, leaving his old life to drown alongside his family. This was a new man, a new life. A new purpose. He was no longer Baldur Magnusson.
He was now Ozymandias.
OLD HARBOUR
“...with Port Lions complete, that finishes our island. Our numbers are still too low for us to make any change, however our message is travelling. Word has arrived on the mainland of what we are doing here, what we are trying to achieve.”
She looks to Ozymandias, who simply grunts and gives her a sideways eye.
“I know what you are thinking, this will bring bad attention to us, or possibly issues with the law. Fret not, for I have a friend within the ranking of the police. Anchorage’s finest, no less.”
He looks at her, but says nothing.
“Our word will get out one way or another, when the Great Old One rises it will mean nothing if we did not try. Let them worry or fear what we are doing, it is all for the greater good.”
“The greater good…” he replies, mumbling.
His focus shifts to the road before them, as the vehicle trundles along. Their recent pilgrimage has been testing, both for Ozymandias but also Meredith. Their numbers were solely made up from the loyal followers and friends within Old Harbour. The neighbours and friends of the Agnar clan that welcomed Meredith as their mayor, listened to her preachings and her praising of the Sunken God. Those that vowed their lives to her, and care only for her continued success.
To ask this much of a simple fishing village, to have them honor and worship a new God, a new deity they know nothing about is a tall ask… which is where Baldur helped. Meredith alone could speak volumes, but her words would fall on deaf ears. To have the orphan of Karl Magnus follow suit however, to have him devote his life to the sea, to the great cosmic horror beneath the surface, and to watch him ascend and grow in power and fortitude… he was the example of change they needed.
Some folks have come and gone from the town, but those that remain are now loyal to the cause. Meredith has erected a lighthouse overlooking the town and the sea, a beacon to show Him the way once he awakes. They have begun construction on a temple, her own altar from which to worship and also communicate with Him still asleep in the depths.
Old Harbour has changed over the years, but now they are truly one with the sea. Their old Gods have failed them, allowing too much heartache and suffering to wrack their lives. They now choose their own destiny, their own faith. And Meredith is the voice of that faith.
“I see you are still favouring your wrist. I can bind it and ice it again once we return home.” She looks at Ozymandias, rubbing his left wrist as it causes him some pain, but quickly he stops. He loathes sympathy, he despises the weak so to show any suffering or injury is an insult to himself.
“You took a bad fall at your last match, the tides went against you in that match. It is not your fault you were targeted, it should be considered an honor! You struck fear into the hearts of many, and in greater numbers they overcame you. Nothing to be shamed for.”
Ozymandias took part in a gauntlet recently, a rumble of sorts within the WrestleWorld federation. Quickly rising to the top of the hitlists, he knew he would enter that fight with a target on his head, and soon the reality of the match became clear. As new foes arrived to fight, they quickly formed an alliance with whoever else was not named Ozymandias, and turned on the Butcher.
Individually, they never stood a chance. Side by side, teams feel against his strength and power. But combined, they managed to break down the giant. It took the combined efforts of eight wrestling stars, many of whom sought revenge on Ozymandias due to past defeats, to finally push him over. Eight against one.
“Who am I to face next?”, he asks. The concept of fighting is not a new one to Ozymandias, but he perceives the battles to be more than a win or losing situation. To him he needs to eviscerate his foe, to truly manhandle them and make them beg for his mercy. If he were to simply pin his foe to the mat and raise his arm in victory, it would mean nothing. He does not come to battle for a record, but to show the world what he can do. Hard, brutal beatdowns are what fuels him.
“Nobody… we are not returning to that Island.” He turns to face her, curious about her statement. “WrestleWorld has shown its cards, and it is not the hand we wish to play. You have garnered a reputation there, but with too much heat we will merely burn out. Some might say it is intimidation or fear, but I call it petty politics.”
She looks at him, sensing the concern in his eyes. His return to the fight was never about pride or fame, but to fund their mission in Old Harbour. His earnings are pledged to the construction projects taking place, from the lighthouse to the new temple. He alone has funded the revival of half the fishing fleet, and as such he is the main benefactor for Old Harbour.
Funny, he pays for their growth and expansion, despite preaching about their world being on the verge of collapse. But for now, his loyalties lay with Meredith and Old Harbour. Her word, her focus, is everything to him.
“I have found us a new home, where we can begin fresh and achieve greater heights. New horizons mean new opportunities, new accolades to chase.” He grunts, not even dignifying her remark with a response. To her, gold and titles mean something. To wake up the beast of the depths, to raise R’lyeh as you don a championship belt around your waist is a huge honor.
To him, the one that holds the gold is the top of the pecking order, and the hardest to kill. That is who he chases, that is who he fights. Belt or titles do not matter, the fight to the top of the mountain is all that matters.
“There will be some familiar faces at least, and some of who wish to never meet your presence again. You remember Drago Santiago, from WrestleWorld?” He grunts, not even dignifying the name. “Kim Chase, our old guest from the Carnival has called this place home too.” Even less of a response, choosing to ignore the name and the history surrounding it. “Daniel Horror has also travelled over.” He grows unsteady at this name, Horror being one of the eight to have helped push him out of the ring at the final War match.
Her words and these names only seem to draw out anger, so she quickly moves along. “There are others too, newer foes we are yet to cross paths with. Maverick, Emmanuelle, Myojin, Zane, have all made the transition too. The money is better there, better for us, and the-”
“Name.”
He cuts her off sharply, and his impatience is clearly a sign of something else. New lands means new foes, and this brings new challenges. But he will not fight for another circus, his own worth has risen far above that.
“...Project Honor. You will join one of their shows, and face off against the best of their talent. I have seen to it that your contract rewards you fairly, and it should prove to be better compensation that our last arrangements. A boon for our village.”
The vehicle moves along further, and as the dark above begins to darken the horizon shows the small fluttering lights of a nearby village. They continue along the path, and within minutes arrive into Old Harbour, no more words being spoken along the path.
Ozymandias jumps out first, the truck being elevated higher poses issues so he aids Meredith down to the floor.
“Proving Ground.”
He looks at her, confused in her statement.
“The show is called Proving Ground. They plan to pit their best fighters against one another, until one is left victorious over all the others. This is their proving ground.”
He ponders the name for a moment, before asking, “I assume you have an opponent in mind?” Her face turns pale, even in the darkness of the night and lower light, it is apparent.
“They have chosen one for you… a foe I would not have expected. He is… special.” Ozymandias motions with his hand to move her along, waiting for the good news. “Seven feet tall... nearly five hundred pounds in weight… his passion is in wrestling, in fighting to be the very best.” Ozymandias just nods in glee, already anticipating the battle ahead of him. He nods and turns to take his leave.
“...and he is a mailman.” Her words trail off as she says them, causing Ozymandias to turn around in confusion. “...a Postman, actually…” Not sure what to do with this, he nods again and takes his leave, walking back towards his home. Meredith waits for the followers to exit the vehicle, calling them round for a huddle before her night is over.
PROVING GROUND
As he does every morning, Ozymandias returns to his home following a brisk morning run. Regardless of weather, he savours the salted air and the cold, brisk snap of the low temperatures that the Alaskan seafront brings. He sharpens his tools with exercise, being his mind and his body. He focuses his attention, into his strength and his stamina. And now, he faces a new challenge, a new horizon to venture towards.
Throughout his years Ozymandias has travelled for his sport, fought in countries and places he never expected to see. A small boy from Reine, he did not expect to see most of Norway, let alone a large section of this world. But now his career has taken him on many voyages, and he is only warming up. Leaving one island behind, he is setting forward to take on another challenge.
As he arrives at his home he enters through the rear door, making his way through his mud room and removing his boots. His kitchen is poised and ready for him to heat up some water and fry some kippers. Most days he works the docks, tending to the ships in the bay, aiding the fisher folk where needed. Often he finds himself on the open waters, a seasoned fisher himself with a craft and a gift.
As he boils the water for his tea, he heats his pan on the stove and makes his way to the front of his home. A small cabin, half log and half stone, very humble and meek for a man of his wealth, status and notoriety. But here in Old Harbour, Ozymandias is just another villager. He is a friend that you can ask a favour of. He is a neighbour you can borrow supplies from. He is a guide and mentor, to the younger generation looking to learn the craft of the seas. To those who see him each day, welcome him and salute him, he is nothing unusual, nothing different than they.
To those who follow the Call, the unspoken connection with the sea, he is the Warrior. He is untouchable, a hulking beast of unrelenting power and merciless violence. He walks these village paths and accepts warm welcomes, returning the waves. He plays with children in the streets, helps fishwives in the market, water the flowers outside the florists stalls. He has helped build and fun this town, and they prosper for it. So when he returns home with blood-soaked clothing, nobody questions it.
When he returns for a pilgrimage, where the followers are robed and hooded, nobody asks why. What business they tend to outside of normal hours, is up to them. This village thrives because of Meredith and Ozymandias, they are it’s children. And should the sea rise to swallow them whole, they can sleep comfortably knowing their protectors are always on watch.
The Priestess and the Butcher.
Ozymandias steps outside to the front of his home, holding his tea cup in one hand. With the other he unclasps the mask upon his face, and removes the cold, sharp metallic guise. His face is worn, scarred and tattered from years of brawling, fighting his foes and fighting the elements. His skin is pocked, damaged from wear and tear. His lips, cracking and bleeding, dried out entirely from the salted air. His throat, raw, uncomfortable to speak, from his spiritual and physical offerings to the Sunken God.
His drownings.
Ozymandias takes another sip from his tea, and observes the ongoing of the villages around him. The sun has just risen yet there is life and motion within the town. As people pass by, some acknowledge his presence, some do not spot him entirely, but none pay any attention to his exposed face, or the scarred remnants that once were. In Old Harbour, he is home, and as such he is treated that way. He guzzles the last of his cup and reaffixes his mask.
‘SNAP’
The sound of a nearby mailbox shutting, his eyes wander across the street to the mailman delivering letters. Going about his business, casual and friendly. The messenger turns to spy Ozymandias watching him and gives him a courteous wave, which is met with stone cold silence.
"Hello there, beautiful morning no?" The mailman's jolly attitude is met with a fierce silence. No emotion from the Butcher.
The postman is not safe, and he knows this.
Turning on his heels, he quickly moves his rounds to another street, as far and away from the home of Ozymandias as he can. With the threat of the postman gone, Ozymandias retreats into his home, a humble man in humble surroundings. A far cry from the Warrior who crushed a man's windpipe the night previous, a fighter who thrives in blood-soaked battle, a monster who wields a cleaver and fist against the world.
Ozymandias is looking forward to this new Proving Ground.
The terrified man is stopped in his words, as a giant palm locks around his throat, lifting him up from the floor with ease. Scrawny and frail, he is hoisted up from the ground below, dangling in horror, grasping the arm that holds him up, his muted please for mercy now translated into a shocked state of eye contact.
“Do you see what can happen? What will happen, should you turn your backs on us? On our future? This world will burn, the skies themselves will fall and all of those not under His care, under His protection will burn alive. We are not here to scare or panic you, we are merely the messengers for what is to come!”
Her voice is so calm, so confident amidst the panic surrounding the room. She speaks freely, openly, as if there are not dozens of folks scattered in sheer dread around her.
“He speaks to us, He commands us to take action. He, will save this world, and build one anew! Ignore your false Gods, your weak idols, your wishful thinking of a sanctuary awaiting you. There is no Heaven above us waiting for your arrival, only the cold, empty void of death itself.”
She pauses, to look around the room once more.
“Join the 'Great Old One' and become immortal.”
She stops her rant to look around, the bodies and shapes of village folks strewn across the room. She closes her eyes, and breathes in deeply, almost savouring the scene before her. A local church, congregated by dozens of locals as they come to worship and praise their Christian God. They abide by the same rules, same basic principles set forth by the religion, they come here on schedule to show their love and praise, or to ask for forgiveness and to repent their sins.
Today, their church is a scene of sheer panic. Divided in half, there are those that live in this village, those that work the farms and fields nearby… Those are the ones cowering and huddled together in apprehension.
Then there are those that come from the shores, wearing long brown robes, their heads and faces concealed. They are the ones that arrive uninvited, unannounced. This is not their first stop, the news has spread of this same action occurring over the last few weeks, but never this far from the shorelines. These hooded figures, they roam further and further from the sea with each raid.
And at the helm, the Priestess and her Warrior. Famously known for their penchant of violence and brutality, the sword to match the shield. She stands before the innocent people, exclaiming her beliefs and her thoughts on their status, their future. She proclaims sanctuary and safety, before destroying all that they hold dear.
Then there is the Warrior. The hulking beast that stands alongside her, muted in voice but deafening in actions. The giant with the dead eyes, the relentless anger and fury pouring from his hands, his face masked in a ghastly veil.
She opens her eyes once more, to look around the room. A shoddy, makeshift church that houses a couple dozen at most. A refuge from the harsh world, the long days in the fields, the struggles of life. A place to come to and leave your woes behind, to come and speak to a greater power, to show your love, your belief, your faith.
The silence is the room is broken by the sound of a loud, clear ‘crack’, followed by the crumpled echo of a body falling to the floor. The man who previously thought to defend his town, his honor, now lays on the floor before the town. Broken, defeated, deceased.
“We came here today to share the word on the Great Dreamer, to shed some light on what dwells in the depths below us all. You truly believe that ‘God’ sits above us, watching down on all the sickness and decay that this world succumbs to? Without raising a finger to help? Where is your 'God' now!”
She stops, but smiling. Her pale, tight skin stretching around her barren cheeks, almost ghostly.
“Nothing good comes from above, except the rains. Your God, your TRUE God… He sleeps. Here on this very globe, amongst us, dreaming until it is time for him to awake. He sees all, He controls all. He feels the shame of this world, He sees how we are destroying our home, our planet with selfish acts. How we are killing one another, destroying one another.”
She walks forward, towards the now deceased man on the floor. Muffled cries and whimpers come from the gathered folks near her, hiding amongst the benches and pulpits of the church.
“We come today to offer hope, fortune... utopia. We come on our own time, on our own merits... and we are attacked at the door.”
“You burned down villages! You’ve killed innocent people!”
“Martin was a good man, and you killed him in cold blood!”
“I had family in Chiniak, and you put them in the hospital. You are monsters! Bullies!”
The jeers and cries of protest from the crowd do little to dissuade her from her mood, if anything they seem to enlighten her further.
“We will spread the word of Cthulhu to every village on this island. Kodiak will know who the Great Dreamer is, and soon we will move to the mainland. We won’t stop until our God has what he needs.”
“What’s that, the blood of the innocent? Fuck your God!”
She turns to her Warrior, the giant already approaching the remaining crowd but she stops him. Wordless, one lift of her hand is enough to stop the beats from his brutality.
“We have come, we have said our words, and we will take our leave. This world does not have long left, He awakes and rises in our near future. His power is unfathomable, for those unprepared for his arrival will descend into madness just by looking upon him. And for those who are left? ...he will raze this entire world, to start anew as He sees fit.”
She turns her back on the people, walking towards the exit before stopping.
“We are the Children of Cthulhu, and we come with a promise of peace, prosperity and eternal life. We do not wish to send mixed messages about where our allegiance lies, nor whom we praise as our God. He WILL return, and He WILL end this world as you know it. We leave you with this offer… join us, and live eternally by my side, as the Great Old One delivers us into the new world.”
She folds her arms, in a matter of fact manner.
“Or continue to worship your false Gods, your saint that resides above us, who watches on all his creations die from sickness, famine and war. When the time comes, when R’lyeh rises from the depths, it will already be too late.”
She signals for her followers to leave the church, so that just the locals remain. Her Warrior remains in place, watching the townsfolk, breathing steadily as he absorbs their fear.
“Join us… and together we shall rebuild this world in His light.”
Finally, she motions for the last of the followers to leave, and with no more hooded robes left her Warrior joins her as they exit. Outside there is a large military-esque transport vehicle, which the hooded figures climb into the rear of. The pair walk towards the vehicle, stopping to take one last look back at the building.
“...do not linger on what transpired, that man fought to defend his honor and his people, but he still fought. You had every right to defend yourself and to make an example while doing so. His life now has a purpose, to be a message for others to adhere to.”
She looks around her, the small town of Port Lions now resembling a ghost town, folks hiding or fleeing since their arrival.
“We will soon run out of towns and villages, yet our numbers are not many. Our influence must grow.”
“Give them time… they will break.”
His words come out harsh and metallic, almost synthetic through his tight mask. His face concealed and hidden, only his dead eyes remain to show any emotion. And now, they are alight in fire.
“Come Ozymandias, we have much work to do.”
She motions to the vehicle for them to enter, and Ozymandias aids her entry by extending a hand. Once inside, the vehicle turns to leave the small town, with nothing but fear and suffering left behind.
MEREDITH AGNAR
Her world has changed the most over the years, ironic that she is voice promoting a new beginning.
Her family have long overseen the governing and progress of the small fishing village Old Harbour, in Alaska. Naturalizing from Norway many many years ago her Father, Aron Magnar, arrived as a measly fisherman seeking work, refuge and safety in the small town and quickly grew to being a key figure amongst the tradespeople. His prowess on the waters along with his cool, collected attitude on land made him a strong figure within the town. From aid to good company, people flocked to be in his presence.
Over time the town agreed to elect a mayor, to have a single point of contact to deal with the issues and challenges the town might face. There was a collective vote, and by a landslide Aron was chosen to represent the town. Alongside his wife Margit, the Agnar’s quickly became the leading family of the town and helped to grow the village into what it is now.
Flash forward several years and the couple have brought two small children into this world, Meredith and Pol. Lively and energetic, Pol was always playing with other kids and getting into mischief but Meredith was different. Something about her didn’t feel right, she was darker and brooding most of the day, affixed with strange stories and tales of witchcraft, occult and so forth.
As time passed the family welcomed a long-separated sect to their family, the Magnus family. Karl Magnus and his son Baldur arrived at Old Harbour following a great tragedy back home in Reine. It was never discussed or mentioned, but Meredith could sense great pain and suffering in Baldur and as such took to him like a friend. Maybe closer. Upon losing her own Mother, Baldur was there as a pillar of support, having endured the same pain as she was in.
They grew closer as time passed, and sealed their friendship eternally after a terrible storm swept through the Northern Pacific ocean. Hurricane Loke came unexpectedly, and with it came dread, despair and death. An unprepared voyage to sea, Meredith’s Father and Brother were aboard a fishing vessel which never returned. The Captain of that same vessel was Baldur’s Father.
Both lost their worlds that day, Meredith losing her entire family in one shot. They were racked with grief, but they supported one another all the same. The village pooled together in support for their losses, and proclaimed that Meredith remains in place as the mayor of this town. She would take her Father’s spot, and look over Old Harbour. This unification, this sense of family, helped bring them back from the darkest days to a brighter future.
What began as a simple hobby grew deeper and darker with time, especially without the distractions of her family nearby. Meredith was always fascinated with theories of magic, voodoo, witchcraft and such but one that really embroiled her in wonder was the story of a cosmic horror from before. The story of Cthulhu.
She became obsessed, captivated with the mysteries and the mythology surrounding it. The sorrow of losing his family weighed heavily on Baldur, who simply shrugged off this notion as a means of escape, a glimmer of hope or fascination to take away the pain and suffering of the world around him. He approached the docks late at night, to gaze upon the moon and pray for answers, and within the sea itself he heard them.
A voice called to him from the depths, willing him forward, asking him to join them. Was it his Father’s, or the voice of another he is unsure, but he dove within those waters without pause. The aftermath of the storm and the poor weather meant the waters quickly overpowered him, and left him unconscious, floating and ready to venture to his watery grave.
Meredith saved him. She spied him enter the waters, and she rescued him. His explanation of what happened didn’t phase her… she had heard the sea too, calling to her. Not the voice of her family, but of her new world. She had heard the call of Cthulhu.
Bound together in life, in death and now in cosmic mystery, they formed a union to seek out the mysteries of the deep, and bring about a new understanding of the world beneath us. Obsessed and possessed by the idea, Meredith quickly became the Priestess of Cthulhu. For Baldur, he died in the waters that night, leaving his old life to drown alongside his family. This was a new man, a new life. A new purpose. He was no longer Baldur Magnusson.
He was now Ozymandias.
OLD HARBOUR
“...with Port Lions complete, that finishes our island. Our numbers are still too low for us to make any change, however our message is travelling. Word has arrived on the mainland of what we are doing here, what we are trying to achieve.”
She looks to Ozymandias, who simply grunts and gives her a sideways eye.
“I know what you are thinking, this will bring bad attention to us, or possibly issues with the law. Fret not, for I have a friend within the ranking of the police. Anchorage’s finest, no less.”
He looks at her, but says nothing.
“Our word will get out one way or another, when the Great Old One rises it will mean nothing if we did not try. Let them worry or fear what we are doing, it is all for the greater good.”
“The greater good…” he replies, mumbling.
His focus shifts to the road before them, as the vehicle trundles along. Their recent pilgrimage has been testing, both for Ozymandias but also Meredith. Their numbers were solely made up from the loyal followers and friends within Old Harbour. The neighbours and friends of the Agnar clan that welcomed Meredith as their mayor, listened to her preachings and her praising of the Sunken God. Those that vowed their lives to her, and care only for her continued success.
To ask this much of a simple fishing village, to have them honor and worship a new God, a new deity they know nothing about is a tall ask… which is where Baldur helped. Meredith alone could speak volumes, but her words would fall on deaf ears. To have the orphan of Karl Magnus follow suit however, to have him devote his life to the sea, to the great cosmic horror beneath the surface, and to watch him ascend and grow in power and fortitude… he was the example of change they needed.
Some folks have come and gone from the town, but those that remain are now loyal to the cause. Meredith has erected a lighthouse overlooking the town and the sea, a beacon to show Him the way once he awakes. They have begun construction on a temple, her own altar from which to worship and also communicate with Him still asleep in the depths.
Old Harbour has changed over the years, but now they are truly one with the sea. Their old Gods have failed them, allowing too much heartache and suffering to wrack their lives. They now choose their own destiny, their own faith. And Meredith is the voice of that faith.
“I see you are still favouring your wrist. I can bind it and ice it again once we return home.” She looks at Ozymandias, rubbing his left wrist as it causes him some pain, but quickly he stops. He loathes sympathy, he despises the weak so to show any suffering or injury is an insult to himself.
“You took a bad fall at your last match, the tides went against you in that match. It is not your fault you were targeted, it should be considered an honor! You struck fear into the hearts of many, and in greater numbers they overcame you. Nothing to be shamed for.”
Ozymandias took part in a gauntlet recently, a rumble of sorts within the WrestleWorld federation. Quickly rising to the top of the hitlists, he knew he would enter that fight with a target on his head, and soon the reality of the match became clear. As new foes arrived to fight, they quickly formed an alliance with whoever else was not named Ozymandias, and turned on the Butcher.
Individually, they never stood a chance. Side by side, teams feel against his strength and power. But combined, they managed to break down the giant. It took the combined efforts of eight wrestling stars, many of whom sought revenge on Ozymandias due to past defeats, to finally push him over. Eight against one.
“Who am I to face next?”, he asks. The concept of fighting is not a new one to Ozymandias, but he perceives the battles to be more than a win or losing situation. To him he needs to eviscerate his foe, to truly manhandle them and make them beg for his mercy. If he were to simply pin his foe to the mat and raise his arm in victory, it would mean nothing. He does not come to battle for a record, but to show the world what he can do. Hard, brutal beatdowns are what fuels him.
“Nobody… we are not returning to that Island.” He turns to face her, curious about her statement. “WrestleWorld has shown its cards, and it is not the hand we wish to play. You have garnered a reputation there, but with too much heat we will merely burn out. Some might say it is intimidation or fear, but I call it petty politics.”
She looks at him, sensing the concern in his eyes. His return to the fight was never about pride or fame, but to fund their mission in Old Harbour. His earnings are pledged to the construction projects taking place, from the lighthouse to the new temple. He alone has funded the revival of half the fishing fleet, and as such he is the main benefactor for Old Harbour.
Funny, he pays for their growth and expansion, despite preaching about their world being on the verge of collapse. But for now, his loyalties lay with Meredith and Old Harbour. Her word, her focus, is everything to him.
“I have found us a new home, where we can begin fresh and achieve greater heights. New horizons mean new opportunities, new accolades to chase.” He grunts, not even dignifying her remark with a response. To her, gold and titles mean something. To wake up the beast of the depths, to raise R’lyeh as you don a championship belt around your waist is a huge honor.
To him, the one that holds the gold is the top of the pecking order, and the hardest to kill. That is who he chases, that is who he fights. Belt or titles do not matter, the fight to the top of the mountain is all that matters.
“There will be some familiar faces at least, and some of who wish to never meet your presence again. You remember Drago Santiago, from WrestleWorld?” He grunts, not even dignifying the name. “Kim Chase, our old guest from the Carnival has called this place home too.” Even less of a response, choosing to ignore the name and the history surrounding it. “Daniel Horror has also travelled over.” He grows unsteady at this name, Horror being one of the eight to have helped push him out of the ring at the final War match.
Her words and these names only seem to draw out anger, so she quickly moves along. “There are others too, newer foes we are yet to cross paths with. Maverick, Emmanuelle, Myojin, Zane, have all made the transition too. The money is better there, better for us, and the-”
“Name.”
He cuts her off sharply, and his impatience is clearly a sign of something else. New lands means new foes, and this brings new challenges. But he will not fight for another circus, his own worth has risen far above that.
“...Project Honor. You will join one of their shows, and face off against the best of their talent. I have seen to it that your contract rewards you fairly, and it should prove to be better compensation that our last arrangements. A boon for our village.”
The vehicle moves along further, and as the dark above begins to darken the horizon shows the small fluttering lights of a nearby village. They continue along the path, and within minutes arrive into Old Harbour, no more words being spoken along the path.
Ozymandias jumps out first, the truck being elevated higher poses issues so he aids Meredith down to the floor.
“Proving Ground.”
He looks at her, confused in her statement.
“The show is called Proving Ground. They plan to pit their best fighters against one another, until one is left victorious over all the others. This is their proving ground.”
He ponders the name for a moment, before asking, “I assume you have an opponent in mind?” Her face turns pale, even in the darkness of the night and lower light, it is apparent.
“They have chosen one for you… a foe I would not have expected. He is… special.” Ozymandias motions with his hand to move her along, waiting for the good news. “Seven feet tall... nearly five hundred pounds in weight… his passion is in wrestling, in fighting to be the very best.” Ozymandias just nods in glee, already anticipating the battle ahead of him. He nods and turns to take his leave.
“...and he is a mailman.” Her words trail off as she says them, causing Ozymandias to turn around in confusion. “...a Postman, actually…” Not sure what to do with this, he nods again and takes his leave, walking back towards his home. Meredith waits for the followers to exit the vehicle, calling them round for a huddle before her night is over.
PROVING GROUND
As he does every morning, Ozymandias returns to his home following a brisk morning run. Regardless of weather, he savours the salted air and the cold, brisk snap of the low temperatures that the Alaskan seafront brings. He sharpens his tools with exercise, being his mind and his body. He focuses his attention, into his strength and his stamina. And now, he faces a new challenge, a new horizon to venture towards.
Throughout his years Ozymandias has travelled for his sport, fought in countries and places he never expected to see. A small boy from Reine, he did not expect to see most of Norway, let alone a large section of this world. But now his career has taken him on many voyages, and he is only warming up. Leaving one island behind, he is setting forward to take on another challenge.
As he arrives at his home he enters through the rear door, making his way through his mud room and removing his boots. His kitchen is poised and ready for him to heat up some water and fry some kippers. Most days he works the docks, tending to the ships in the bay, aiding the fisher folk where needed. Often he finds himself on the open waters, a seasoned fisher himself with a craft and a gift.
As he boils the water for his tea, he heats his pan on the stove and makes his way to the front of his home. A small cabin, half log and half stone, very humble and meek for a man of his wealth, status and notoriety. But here in Old Harbour, Ozymandias is just another villager. He is a friend that you can ask a favour of. He is a neighbour you can borrow supplies from. He is a guide and mentor, to the younger generation looking to learn the craft of the seas. To those who see him each day, welcome him and salute him, he is nothing unusual, nothing different than they.
To those who follow the Call, the unspoken connection with the sea, he is the Warrior. He is untouchable, a hulking beast of unrelenting power and merciless violence. He walks these village paths and accepts warm welcomes, returning the waves. He plays with children in the streets, helps fishwives in the market, water the flowers outside the florists stalls. He has helped build and fun this town, and they prosper for it. So when he returns home with blood-soaked clothing, nobody questions it.
When he returns for a pilgrimage, where the followers are robed and hooded, nobody asks why. What business they tend to outside of normal hours, is up to them. This village thrives because of Meredith and Ozymandias, they are it’s children. And should the sea rise to swallow them whole, they can sleep comfortably knowing their protectors are always on watch.
The Priestess and the Butcher.
Ozymandias steps outside to the front of his home, holding his tea cup in one hand. With the other he unclasps the mask upon his face, and removes the cold, sharp metallic guise. His face is worn, scarred and tattered from years of brawling, fighting his foes and fighting the elements. His skin is pocked, damaged from wear and tear. His lips, cracking and bleeding, dried out entirely from the salted air. His throat, raw, uncomfortable to speak, from his spiritual and physical offerings to the Sunken God.
His drownings.
Ozymandias takes another sip from his tea, and observes the ongoing of the villages around him. The sun has just risen yet there is life and motion within the town. As people pass by, some acknowledge his presence, some do not spot him entirely, but none pay any attention to his exposed face, or the scarred remnants that once were. In Old Harbour, he is home, and as such he is treated that way. He guzzles the last of his cup and reaffixes his mask.
‘SNAP’
The sound of a nearby mailbox shutting, his eyes wander across the street to the mailman delivering letters. Going about his business, casual and friendly. The messenger turns to spy Ozymandias watching him and gives him a courteous wave, which is met with stone cold silence.
"Hello there, beautiful morning no?" The mailman's jolly attitude is met with a fierce silence. No emotion from the Butcher.
The postman is not safe, and he knows this.
Turning on his heels, he quickly moves his rounds to another street, as far and away from the home of Ozymandias as he can. With the threat of the postman gone, Ozymandias retreats into his home, a humble man in humble surroundings. A far cry from the Warrior who crushed a man's windpipe the night previous, a fighter who thrives in blood-soaked battle, a monster who wields a cleaver and fist against the world.
Ozymandias is looking forward to this new Proving Ground.
