Post by OZYMANDIAS on Feb 10, 2021 21:04:15 GMT -5
INTERVIEW WITH THE BUTCHER
By Crystal Ward, for Project: Honor
Dear Diary,
Today I understood what fear truly meant. To not just be uncomfortable in my surroundings, but in my own skin. To stand across from a man that exudes sheer confidence, utter dominance of all those around him. Not aggressively, not even outwardly, just his presence alone filled me with dread.
Today, I got a chance to visit the small town of Old Harbour, and to get an exclusive interview with the ‘Butcher of Reine’, Ozymandias. His manager Meredith Agnar invited me and a single crewmember to attend a banquet they were hosting, and to get an inside look at how their world looks outside of the ring. Ahead of the Crowning, Project: Honor’s biggest pay-per-view to date, I was eager to find out what this superstar was thinking, what his vibe was regarding the absolutely massive WarGames match.
Next time, I’ll phone in my questions.
VOYAGE INTO THE DARK
Monday, February 8th. Just another Monday for anyone else, the slow and sluggish beginning to their work week. Some wake up and think immediately of coffee, maybe of work, maybe their moods are lifted at the prospect of a new week. Was that me? Absolutely not. This Monday was going to be unlike any other I had ever encountered.
Brian was to accompany me on this trip, he’s been a trusted member of the camera crew and oddly, he raised his hand when I asked who was interested. Either the guy lives for adventure, or he has a death wish. Either way, we were booked, packed and ready to jet. The flight to Anchorage was just the first leg of our journey, the standard coach flight filled with emails, B-grade movies and a nap if you have time. Normally I loathe travelling by air, but had I known this was to be the most luxurious part of our trip I would have relished it more.
Once back on solid ground we had to scramble to make our connecting flight. See, Old Harbour is not part of the mainland, it’s not part of any land it seems. Sitting on the south side of Kodiak island, the small fishing town is about as close as you can get to the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean. A fisherman's’ delight, or from what I hear in my whispers, an ideal place to worship a sea monster. Either way, we would soon judge for ourselves.
The second leg of this trip was a nightmare, a small propeller plane that barely fit twenty or so passengers was to be our carriage. We loaded into the back as best we could, no airport walkways or polite hostess on the way in… this was a walk across the runway, up a wooden ladder and into the plane. Bags, cameras, everything we needed to bring was carried on the plane ourselves. I found my seat, strapped in for dear life and watched the pilot pull the propellers to get them moving.
He hand-started this bird. If I had eaten a solid breakfast, now is the time I would be seeing it again. Or maybe that was presumptuous of me, as the flight across the islands and open sea to our destination was astonishingly worse. Bumping and rocking with every gust of wind, the sound of the engine drawing out all other senses, the uncertainty if we would ever make it to our destination. Other passengers looked comfortable, almost complacent with this situation, a flight they surely have taken many times. For me and Brian, this would be a once in a lifetime journey, if we got to live another day that is.
Landing into Old Harbour itself, it was like we had travelled backwards in time. The runway ran alongside a cliff edge, overlooking aggressively thrashing waters, ending in a shack no bigger than a shed. The airport could only be described as a kiosk, a tiny wooden shelter where you sit and pray your flight arrives to take you off this god-forsaken island. I’ve seen bus shelters more comfortable than this.
We left the plane and gathered our supplies quickly, making our way to the ‘valets stall’ as per Meredith’s instructions. She had instructed us to look out for our ‘ferryman’, which we imagined to be a kitsch slang for our driver. You can imagine the look of shock and despair on our faces when we were led to an actual boat, by an actual ferryman. Old Harbour has roads, they have infrastructure, but to set the tone Meredith wanted our arrival to be special it seems.
Vomiting overboard and crying for relief it seems.
Old Harbour itself was only a trek away from the landing strip, a short six mile drive. This ferryman was to take us along the coastline, to which we assumed would be a more scenic approach, perhaps a better way to understand the lifestyle of the Butcher we so eagerly anticipated. All answers to our confusion would have to wait, as our ferryman had other ideas. Turning his small fishing trawler towards the open sea, he surged forward at a quick pace, and left myself and Brian with no option but to watch the island slowly shrink behind us, as we set sail into uncharted waters.
Brian tried his best to communicate with the captain, to understand what this ferryman had in mind, but it was all in vain. Speaking in some guttural language, a foreign tongue neither of us understood, our level of communication resides at nods, smiles and the odd wink from the captain. Brian occupied his mind by getting his camera set up to record some footage for our clips later, but I had nothing but terror on my mind. My Monday had managed to beat all those other bad Mondays of my life.
After what felt like hours (Brian tells me it wasn’t that long), we finally began to turn our vessel back towards land and crawl forward. We didn’t understand then what the ferryman was thinking, bringing us so far out to sea only to turn us around again, but our answers were never to be heard. What we did hear however is the growling, rumbling groans for the open sea. Some say it's just the sound of the tides, dancing with the moon while others say it's the echoes of the underwater world singing to one another. To us, it sounded a lot more menacing.
Almost like our trawler was being followed, watched and prowled by an unknown beast. Brian joked about Godzilla, but I had worse thoughts on my mind. After all, the term ‘cultists’ has been used to describe Ozymandias and Meredith on occasion, and their fascination with the horrors of HP Lovecraft are widely known, especially their obsession with the famous deity ‘Cthulhu’.
Out here, on the open waters, with nothing but an endless black abyss surrounding us, I truly do believe there could be anything watching us. Pursuing us, waiting to devour us whole. There might be some reason for their madness after all, but I wasn’t ready to find out the hard way. After some ‘gentle’ insisting, the captain pushed hard on the throttle and brought us home at great speeds. The day had left us already, and night was above us. Nothing but bright lights from the moon and stars stayed as our companions, surging forward into the black empty darkness of this sea. Almost peaceful, almost tranquil.
As we approached the landmass once again, it looked different than in the bright light of the sun. The looming hills and cliffs of the shoreline now stood tall like monsters, shadows hidden from sight only to be revealed by flickers of moonlight through parting clouds. The sight before us was like nothing we had ever seen before, it feels like we were approaching another world. Small lights flickered to show us there were signs of life, but nothing else. No sounds, no people, no movement.
Stranger still was the temperature, we both expected a colder day as we flew to Alaska but both Brian and I felt the chill creep down our spines further and further as we approached the island. Out to sea we did not notice but as we now returned to the mainland, we felt it. The icy hand of death itself, grasping to us.
As we pulled into the harbour, Brian got to action first taking shots of the trawlers and vessels surrounding us, the long stone coastline quickly transforming into a small town, a touch larger than a village. The lights we saw from afar now began to find their place, from window sills of homes to lanterns on the streets. A cool, low hanging fog blanketed our arrival to further hit home about the icy temperatures. We felt larger chunks of ice clunk and bang against the hull of our boat, bizarrely getting worse the closer we got to land.
Old Harbour was a scene of jagged edges and misshapen shadows, of homes and buildings that appear to be picturesque by day, but hauntingly disfigured by night. The fog confirmed all suspicions of this place to us both… something was off about this place.
OLD HARBOUR
WarGames would be a spectacle in itself, a tumultuous clash between warring factions on an open battlefield. The best of one faction against the best of their opponents, nothing left behind but bodies and blood. Rumbles, royales and gauntlets get used so much in professional wrestling during our current times but this is something to be excited for.
A giant battle, putting the mightiest warriors toe to toe. To not encroach on copyrights and discuss the superhero franchises, this will be a civil war to rock the sports entertainment world. And tonight we get to discuss that in depth with one of the forerunners, one of the favorites entering this fight. With only one appearance in the ring under his belt, his legacy and reputation comes from further afield, from stories and from rumours, and from the path of destruction he has carved.
Our small vessel slowly bobs and weaves between the moored fishing boats around us, and our destination becomes clear in an instant. The long stone pier, like an arm reaching out to meet us. Old Harbour is a modern settlement, or so we are led to believe. Airports, internet, hot running water on demand, heck even television if things are to be believed. Clearly the people of this town know Ozymandias, they know of what he does, of what his career entails. But before us now the town is dark against the backdrop of the sky, the only illumination coming from candles and lanterns. The streets themselves are barren, the town dormant.
How is it so dark already? So cold? How long were we at sea?
As our boat slows and eventually stops again, the captain mutters something else to us that neither me nor Brian understand. We know he is saying *something*, but what that is will always be a mystery. He grabs a rope and jumps from the boat onto the pier, pulling us closer by hand and tying up the vessel. I would never say the grimey, moss-laden stones of a fishing port pier looks good, but anything is better than the miserable ferry we just endured. Dry land, how I missed you!
We didn’t have a minute before our welcome party arrived, parading down the pier to meet us. We knew she was flashy, perhaps a little conceited in her ways even, but Meredith Agnar never fails to please. As he walks towards us, a smile on her pale white face, she is accompanied by two larger gentlemen holding torches.
Torches.
Like lanterns, not flashlights, but sticks on fire. We truly have gone back in time on this island. Brian hurriedly motions to get out his camera, and capture the scene as best he can, almost kicking over his gearbag back into the sea. Lucky for you, you get to experience the same sights we did;
As she walks towards the two Project: Honor reporters, Meredith holds her hands out towards them, palms to the skies. Whether this is a motion to take her hand, or to approach her is unknown but she pauses too far a distance for either to happen. On either side of her is what can only be described as a henchman, two large bulking individuals who both cover themselves in brown, leather coats. Both are as scruffy as one another, wild hair and bears sticking out, a dull look of utter boredom on their expressions.
“Welcome, welcome, to Old Harbour. We are so glad that you can come see our home, and where we retreat to escape the horrors of the outside world.” She says it in such a joyful and enthusiastic tone that the reporters have no option but to reply courteously too, a smile and nod in return. “We do apologize about the circumstances, it seems we have lost power to our small little town. A wild storm just rolled through our village, and decimated our power lines. I hope that you can make do with what we still have to work with.” She says it so matter of factly, but the village itself looks untouched, unperturbed. No power lines or poles are even to be seen anywhere.
Strange.
“No problem, thank you for having us.” Crystal is a pro, and will always approach a situation with joy and thanks. Regardless of how cosmically horrific it is. “Your ferryman here was just a joy, he took us on a lovely tour of the coastline, and even brought us out to sea to get some great shots of the island from afar.”
Meredith's expression changes, from happy to somewhat annoyed as she turns to stare at the ferryman. He says something to her in that same language, a jumbled mess of growls and hisses. Bizarrely, Meredith speaks back to him in the same language, albeit a much lower tone than his. Whatever is said between the two, the reporters have no idea, but the ferryman simply nods to them both and takes his leave rapidly down the pier.
“Now, come. You must both be famished from your trip. You are in luck, tonight we are hosting a banquet for our town. A remembrance if you will, celebrating the lives and legacies of those that came before. It should be quite the event.” There is no questioning her statement, she is telling them it will be good and they already know they cannot refuse. A couple of polite nods later and Meredith turns to walk them down the pier.
“I’m sorry, for this next part I do wish you can enjoy our village for yourselves, so I ask… no cameras.” She asks, but really she instructs. And if Brian was to ignore this, she has two other reasons to agree standing beside her, branding bats that are on fire. Brian accepts, and ends this transmission.
In true fashion, Meredith approached us both like we had predicted - cold, sinister intentions in her eyes and an aura of sheer terror about her. She had walked the halls of Project: Honor while Ozymandias tore apart the giant that is Pat the Postman, and while he fought she explored. Many reports came back of her being unnerving, unsettling. Almost ghostly.
And yet here we are, experiencing it for ourselves. She was polite, gentle almost but something else was hidden beneath her eyes. If Ozymandias wanted to inflict fear into the people he faced, sending Meredith out first was a great way to rattle their cage. We hadn’t even left the pier and already we were torn - jump back in the boat of horrors or walk with her into the unknown. We had nowhere to go but down from there.
WarGames was all that kept my mind on the task at hand, all that I wanted to ask about and report about. We came here for Ozymandias, not Meredith and not Old Harbour. We wanted an exclusive with the Butcher, and we were getting it. After the dust settles only one person will be left standing in that ring, and will be declared the new Tyrant of Project: Honor. If that is to become Ozymandias, then we want to get in there first.
The line-up of talent in that one match is phenomenal, the greatest stars in the wrestling world today will all meet within those ropes. On the Proving Ground side alone, Ozymandias needs to surpass the skill and tenacity of Emmanuelle and Indy Darling. Two future headliners in the making, Emmanuelle would be no new face to Ozymandias. He and her should have crossed paths in WrestleWorld, had their faiths been different. And Darling is always looking for a fight, a true indie breakout that wants to claim the head of a lion.
Alex Slayer, Blair Regent and Kagome Akaibara all have similar stakes in this fight - if they win they cement themselves in GOAT status, breaking all norms by toppling the balance of control in their inception. The very beginnings of their Project: Honor careers, a win in WarGames secures the bragging rights for eternity.
But I wanted to know what Ozymandias thought about the bigger threats, the other names spoken in tandem with him as ‘the biggest dogs in the yard’. Mark Hunter and Shawn Warstein, two vets that are more than capable of taking this match to the end of time. Neither come to the ring with nothing but victory on their minds, and that means no mercy for their opponents either. If Ozymandias thinks he can walk through the opposition, these two men will beg to differ.
Meredith was eerie as expected, but the setting of Old Harbour took the top prize for ‘Most Unsettling Experience Ever’. Both myself and Brian didn’t say a word, our eyes bulging at every movement, every action that happened before us. The pier was wet and slippery, flanked by growingly-aggressive waters on either side, and leading us was two husky men brandishing torches. We didn’t need to ask - something was very off about this place.
As she led us into the village itself, the fog continued with us, almost like it was as part of the village as the sounds and the smells. A true fishing village, our noses were filled with the odor of the day's fresh catch, and fishwives had left their stall outdoors which didn’t help the musk in the air. We were led on a smaller walking tour, as Meredith pointed out the various facilities available, from the post office to the ship merchants, to the florists and jewelers. It was hard to calculate the size of this village, it looked tiny from afar but now standing in the streets it felt like a busy urban city.
This place was not right.
I wanted to stop Meredith in her tracks, ask her where the Butcher is, when we can expect to begin our interview but I never built up the nerve. You try approaching that scene and tell me you still have your confidence to bark demands! After what felt like eternity, we finally turned back on ourselves and approached a large boatshed by the docks. The wooden structure looked dated, several years past it’s sell date and rotting profusely from the wet conditions around it. The windows were grimey, concealing anything inside and the roof looked like it was apart to peel away, a rotting tin roof barely nailed into place.
“I hope you enjoyed learning more about our home, and how me and Ozymandias spend our time. As mayor of this village I couldn’t be prouder of my people and what we have built here. So let us celebrate and rejoice tonight, as we remember those waiting for us in R’lyeh.”
She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly that neither me nor Brian acknowledged it at the time. “R’lyeh”. The people she was celebrating, she believed them to be in the infamous sunken city of Cthulhu. We were already walking into this decrepit boatshed before the reality hit me - this wasn’t to celebrate the town or the fisherfolks. We were being led into a cultist meeting.
I politely reminded Meredith why we were there, and she put me at ease, softly telling me Ozymandias will be there soon. She guided us to the far end of a long wooden table, and instructed us to take a seat on the shared bench. The inside of the shed was a lot less menacing than the outside, with candles dotted around the building, and some kind of stage set up at the opposite end. Stage, or altar, that was to be determined.
“Friends, your voyage has been long and your bodies must be weak, but soon we shall feed you, water you and give you all you desire. Food will arrive momentarily, and I will have your sleeping quarters prepared.”
Sleeping quarters, that was when we first realized it. We would not be going home tonight as planned, we would not be catching a flight back to Anchorage as expected, or staying in our nice separate rooms at the Marriott, all on Project: Honor’s dime. No, we would be staying in Old Harbour, so how long nobody knows.
THE BANQUET
Meredith motioned for us to remain seated where we were, her two henchmen gathering our belongings and removing them. She told Brian he would be allowed to take a clip again soon, so his camera could stay. But where and when that would be was still up in the air. No sooner had the henchmen left than more folks started to stream into the hall, both young and old. Wearing older, soiled clothing, fishing rags or simple overcoats they came and went as forgettable as the last. Each brought in a candle, a chair, a bench, a chalice. Something in each person's hands, something to populate the room.
Within minutes the boatshed actually resembled something akin to a proper function hall, with lights coming from the candles or torches mounted to the walls, and more and more people entering to add life to the setting. It made the place somewhat feel normal, as if we were going to be ok. Going to be safe.
And then he arrived, walking in like a military leader, people jumping to get out of his path. He checked the stage area for a moment, looking around the room at what was happening around us and finally he set eyes on us. I will forever thank the Gods I chose to be a wrestling reporter and not a competitor, as the very sight of him in the flesh immediately made me want to heave in terror. Brian said nothing, the blood draining from his face speaking volumes.
He remained by the stage, watching us but not approaching. Eyeing us, but staying away. Time felt like it stopped, that we were trapped forever in his penance stare. The Butcher, a veritable giant, a monster amongst men, eyeing us up like we would be his dinner tonight. WarGames was approaching, and I wondered if there would be enough time for me to contact everyone, to warn them of the mane they are about to meet. To pray for them, that Ozymandias doesn’t rip their very soul apart.
As the villages begin to wrap up, the hall itself looks almost homely, nicely lit up and much warmer than before. The flickering candles add an almost soothing vibe to the room, and as people take their seats and remove their jackets, coats, wraps they start to resemble normal people. Our worries and apprehension lifts, especially as Ozymandias leaves the room too. This might turn out to be an OK night!
...Oh, how wrong we could be.
The sound of a blowing horn rattled us both, taking us by complete surprise. Meredith told Brian she would give him a signal for when he could begin his camera again, and we both took this as that sign. We didn't catch much on camera, but here is a glimpse into what actually happens in ‘Old Harbour’ ;
As the sound of the horn blows, a number of hooded figures walk through the doorway of the hall, making their way to the staged area. They don’t mount the stage, but merely stand in a row before it. Each person ranges in height and size, but they are all matched by their uniform - a long brown leather shawl with a hood pulled up on top. It is hard to make out their faces, even slightly, so it appears they are wearing black masks to cover their appearance. There are a total of twelve that stand by the stage, and another blast of the horn gets them chanting.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
Repeated over and over through low mumbled chants, the hooded figures keep saying the unknown words. Cycle after cycle, they persist and some of the nearby villages begin to join in too. The words make no sense to the two reporters, but the camera zooms in to try to catch the face of a hooded preacher, and doesn’t pick up anything. As quickly as they began they abruptly stop, the twelve figures bending to take a knee now.
From outside enters Meredith, her appearance a little improved on what they saw of her earlier. Her dress had changed, from a loose flowing silken dress to a more demure, prim gown. Her hair has been pulled back, tied up behind her head so her gaunt cheeks and features are largely on show now. The room is dimly lit and hard to see, but her skin seems to glow white in this darkness. She makes her way on stage, all eyes on her. Except our cameraman.
As he turns to the entrance, Ozymandias is last to enter, closing the door behind him. Unnervingly, he pulls down a wooden latch, bolting the door shut from the inside it seems. He joins Meredith on stage, standing behind her and not beside her.
“My children… my friends, my neighbours, my family… tonight we gather for a very special occasion, a very special feast. We keep the annual tradition alive of honoring and remembering those that are no longer with us, those that have taken their leave of Old Harbour, and now reside in R’lyeh… we think of the loved ones waiting for us in the Sunken City, we picture their faces, their smiles… we hear their voices, their laughter… we see them, finally at home, finally where they belong. In R’lyeh”.
She pauses for a moment, to give everyone a chance to digest her words.
“Old Harbour has endured storms, cruel weather and crueler people. Attacks on our village have scarred our lands, and our minds. We have let this world battle us to submission, from the sea, the air and the violence of human nature. We have spread our word on the winds, only to have it return to us sharply and swiftly. The world it seems forsakes Old Harbour, and denounces the Great Old One as their true God.”
Brian gets a good shot on the camera, zooming into Meredith. Her eyes seem to roll back in her head as she speaks, her head tilted back as if she is speaking to the sky above.
“A war looms on the horizon, for all of us. Our champion, Ozymandias, fights for our sanctuary, for our salvation. He funds our growth, he leads our progression, but he cannot do this alone. We must all stand with him, stand with one another, as we fight ever still for R’lyeh.”
She raises her hands, almost doing a ritual but withholds her words. Finally she lowers them again, and opens her eyes slowly.
“Another cycle of the sun comes, and another year of hardship sinks behind us. We have all lost something this past year, something of ourselves or our worlds… no matter how big, how small, how insignificant you feel it may be, we must now take this time to remember what is lost… and think about what might be. R’lyeh grows stronger with each life we deliver, and with each soul fighting to raise it from the depths.”
She takes a step forward, so that she is right at the front of the stage. The camera zooms all the way in to catch every word she says.
“Today, they are our loved ones, our lost friends and family. But when R’lyeh rises from the depths, and the Great Dreamer razes this world, they will welcome us to the emerald city with arms open! Our fight on the surface is matched by those in the depths, and we must bolster their efforts. We have spread our word to the neighbouring towns and villages, to ask them for their aid… those that agree join us in our efforts. Those that do not… more sacrifices for the Great Dreamer!”
She cheers loudly, but her voice comes across as sinister rather than excited.
“Old Harbour remembers the dead today, and as we sent more souls to R’lyeh, to feed the army of the depths… we must look to our future. The New World will rise soon, and you will all join us in eternal life… Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
She begins to preach the chant once again, and this time it is taken up not only by her robed followers but also by several of the congregation. In fact most of the people on camera are now chanting, some standing up at their seats to chant louder, harder. The two reporters capture as much of this scene as they can, but ultimately their footage is cut short, as the henchmen from earlier reappear, and relieve Brian of his camera.
I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing, what I was hearing. Meredith gathered the village to remember the dead, not entirely to remember them but to long to be with them almost. To wish to join them, and pray that others could join them too… is this true? Do they actually sacrifice people to the ocean?
My confusion and concerns ended as the henchmen arrived and confiscated the camera. We could have argued, but to what gain. We were outnumbered and completely out of our element. We had to settle for what was captured and be content with the footage we had. After all, what we’ve seen here will linger in our minds forever!
This brings about the question however… if Meredith and Ozymandias truly are sacrificing people to the ocean, if they are actually culling these lands of the living… What is Ozymandias capable of that we don’t know? His moniker of the Butcher has several source stories, but all revolve around the same bloodied tale. And now with this revelation…
What is really in store for the WarGames?
Fallout have only just formed their team, the brand just about getting it’s legs underneath them. Kayla Richards and Kallie Reznik are two ferocious femme fatales that are hopeful to use this match as platform to skyrocket them to stardom, but things might not occur as planned. Kasey Winterborn and Julius Fairweather have both caused waves in the company and helping to launch the Fallout brand is sure to propel them to greater heights, but again I worry for either of them should they have to stand against Ozymandias, this… monster that stands before us.
The chanting of the congregation aside, the air is tense and both myself and Brian are massively out of our depth. Ozymandias is across the hall, not even paying us heed and already we are terrified. I could only imagine the feeling of dread that would fill the stomach of Victoria Strader or Bruce McLeod should they be left standing with him. The Butcher has shown absolutely no regard for his opponents in the past, with horror stories from WrestleWorld filling up our consciousness before we even agreed to come to this island.
Fallout does have their saving grace in the forms of James Long and Pyro. Long has encountered the Butcher in the past, from clashing in the XHF to WrestleWorld, Maverick is the only one in this match that has fought the beast and walked away unscathed. He will have an advantage on his side in this gauntlet, however he has other demons to contend with. Pyro has made it known he is as sick and sadistic as they come, and won’t hesitate to test Ozymandias on his butchering skills. Pyro might be the one opponent to put Ozymandias into a tough spot, or he could be the last name on the Butchers hitlist. Only time will tell.
As the chanting ended, the banquet portion of the night's congregation began. The doors opened and food and drinks began to pour into the room. The hall was adorned by three long tables, all which received a generous bounty of food and drinks, from fish dishes to assorted vegetable courses. If our stomachs were not already turned due to the fear, this food did it for us. The smell of fish, soured and spiced to flavours indescribable. We took one glance and politely refused, however in the halls of Cthulhu that will not be permitted it seems.
Not to upset our hosts, nor draw the wrath of the Butcher we decided to get involved and started picking and nibbling where and how we could. The room quickly turned into a frenzy, as people clawed over each other for the food and grabbed, scratched and clawed for anything they could reach. It was like in an instant they morphed from normal village goers to feral animals. We got what we needed, and took a step back, deciding it was time for us to call it a night. That would not be what Meredith had in mind however.
The air in the room was already cold, as the shed sat on the cusp of the ocean but as Meredith approached it seemed to drop by a degree per step. Her gaze upon both unsettled us, but even more daunting was Ozymandias approaching alongside her. The pair made their way to our area, and we both struggled to not vomit from intimidation.
“How was the food?” she asked us, polite as any good host. We had nothing but smiles and nods in return, unsure anymore of what to even say! “I hope you got some good footage earlier… unfortunately we don’t permit anyone to record what takes place in our halls, so your camera will remain here with us now.” She says it so assuredly that Brian doesn’t even know how to respond.
Finally, Ozymandias steps forward. This was it, this was the moment we travelled all this way for. An interview with the monster himself… and it never happened. Ozymandias took one look at us both, turned to Meredith to whisper something into her ear, and took his leave of the hall entirely. We travelled all this way to interview him, and he turned his back on us in an instant.
“I understand why you came here, and that Ozymandias is to be your topic of discussion, however I fear it is not wise to interrupt him during his preparation stages. The fight before him is large, and he needs to focus. I would not wish him derailed with the discussion of opponents, of opportunities, of strengths and weakness of his competition.” She gave us a smile that made us both shiver, her rare super power it seems. The ability to creep every one out in a moment.
“WarGames, as you call it… this will not be a first for Ozymandias. He has faced trials like this in the past, and won. He has faced lesser competition, and lost. It is hard to determine his chances in this match, so we do not dwell on that. Instead I can provide some insight to the chances of his opposition, if you like?”
Dang, no dice with the Butcher but at least Meredith would be able to provide some insight. With nothing else on the table we reluctantly agreed, and Brian produced a flier for the match. Meredith politely took it from him, and studied the faces before her.
“Quite the plethora of fame-starved names here. Some are held in much higher regard around the halls of Project: Honor, that is clear. Others are a fleeting memory, nothing but fodder for a match like this. Tell me this… of these names, these soulless faces, who do you think Ozymandias should worry most about?”
The interview had turned around on us fully, we were not being grilled. I have seen too many things happen in Project: Honor to know it is not a betting game, so I decided to let my camera man field that answer. He didn’t get a word out before Meredith silenced him fully, and grabbed a nearby candle. She held the candle up to the flier, to take a better look it seemed… before slowly touching the candle to the flier, burning away various parts.
We came to Old Harbour not expecting anything in particular, but being apprehensive regardless. We knew there would be some unpredictable events, and some prowess on show by Ozymandias. We did NOT expect to witness a cult rally, to be force fed a fish bequest, and now this…
Brian took the flier back from Meredith and inspected it… all the competitors faces had been burned away, a hole in each spot.
“WarGames will only be one of many trials for Ozymandias. He does not fight to win, or fight for accolades. He fights to destroy those that seek false futures. He fights to open their eyes to their true destiny. These people all wish to earn golden belts, to claim the moniker of tyranny amongst the roster, to walk away with a paycheck and a moment in the sun… when R’lyeh rises from the depths of the ocean, these faces and names will mean nothing then, as they mean nothing now.”
Meredith was truly an ice-cold witch, but today she proved it even more. We were so entranced by her words and her sadistic speech we didn’t notice the room around us growing emptier, as people began to retire to their homes, to their dwellings, perhaps to return to the ocean like the fish people of the deep they might as well be! Without the gathering, the lights of the candles and the warmth of their presence the hall rapidly became cold again. Almost like we woke up from a dream only to fall back into a nightmare.
The walls were wet, as the ocean crept in. The air was thick with the smell of mold, and all of a sudden it felt like a veil had been lifted, and we were rapidly becoming aware of our surroundings. No interview, no appetite and no desire to remain, Meredith politely led us to a nearby home where we would be staying until our departure in the morning.
The interview, the meeting with the Butcher… it would have to wait.
Our voyage to Old Harbour had not been one we had expected to be of great merit, but to our surprise we learned more of the Butcher and his manager than we ever cared to realize before… and we wished to never ever set foot back on those lands again.
They say the worst monsters are those unseen, behind closed doors or hidden in the shadows. In Old Harbour, we saw monsters. We saw what dwells beneath the depths, we saw the horrors of the unknown. Meredith Agnar is a merchant of death, and her champion is the deliverer.
For all involved in the WarGames match, I simply say this… write your wills, say your goodbyes and pray the Butcher doesn’t get his hands on you.
From me, Crystal Ward, this has been a Project: Honor exclusive.
By Crystal Ward, for Project: Honor
Dear Diary,
Today I understood what fear truly meant. To not just be uncomfortable in my surroundings, but in my own skin. To stand across from a man that exudes sheer confidence, utter dominance of all those around him. Not aggressively, not even outwardly, just his presence alone filled me with dread.
Today, I got a chance to visit the small town of Old Harbour, and to get an exclusive interview with the ‘Butcher of Reine’, Ozymandias. His manager Meredith Agnar invited me and a single crewmember to attend a banquet they were hosting, and to get an inside look at how their world looks outside of the ring. Ahead of the Crowning, Project: Honor’s biggest pay-per-view to date, I was eager to find out what this superstar was thinking, what his vibe was regarding the absolutely massive WarGames match.
Next time, I’ll phone in my questions.
VOYAGE INTO THE DARK
Monday, February 8th. Just another Monday for anyone else, the slow and sluggish beginning to their work week. Some wake up and think immediately of coffee, maybe of work, maybe their moods are lifted at the prospect of a new week. Was that me? Absolutely not. This Monday was going to be unlike any other I had ever encountered.
Brian was to accompany me on this trip, he’s been a trusted member of the camera crew and oddly, he raised his hand when I asked who was interested. Either the guy lives for adventure, or he has a death wish. Either way, we were booked, packed and ready to jet. The flight to Anchorage was just the first leg of our journey, the standard coach flight filled with emails, B-grade movies and a nap if you have time. Normally I loathe travelling by air, but had I known this was to be the most luxurious part of our trip I would have relished it more.
Once back on solid ground we had to scramble to make our connecting flight. See, Old Harbour is not part of the mainland, it’s not part of any land it seems. Sitting on the south side of Kodiak island, the small fishing town is about as close as you can get to the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean. A fisherman's’ delight, or from what I hear in my whispers, an ideal place to worship a sea monster. Either way, we would soon judge for ourselves.
The second leg of this trip was a nightmare, a small propeller plane that barely fit twenty or so passengers was to be our carriage. We loaded into the back as best we could, no airport walkways or polite hostess on the way in… this was a walk across the runway, up a wooden ladder and into the plane. Bags, cameras, everything we needed to bring was carried on the plane ourselves. I found my seat, strapped in for dear life and watched the pilot pull the propellers to get them moving.
He hand-started this bird. If I had eaten a solid breakfast, now is the time I would be seeing it again. Or maybe that was presumptuous of me, as the flight across the islands and open sea to our destination was astonishingly worse. Bumping and rocking with every gust of wind, the sound of the engine drawing out all other senses, the uncertainty if we would ever make it to our destination. Other passengers looked comfortable, almost complacent with this situation, a flight they surely have taken many times. For me and Brian, this would be a once in a lifetime journey, if we got to live another day that is.
Landing into Old Harbour itself, it was like we had travelled backwards in time. The runway ran alongside a cliff edge, overlooking aggressively thrashing waters, ending in a shack no bigger than a shed. The airport could only be described as a kiosk, a tiny wooden shelter where you sit and pray your flight arrives to take you off this god-forsaken island. I’ve seen bus shelters more comfortable than this.
We left the plane and gathered our supplies quickly, making our way to the ‘valets stall’ as per Meredith’s instructions. She had instructed us to look out for our ‘ferryman’, which we imagined to be a kitsch slang for our driver. You can imagine the look of shock and despair on our faces when we were led to an actual boat, by an actual ferryman. Old Harbour has roads, they have infrastructure, but to set the tone Meredith wanted our arrival to be special it seems.
Vomiting overboard and crying for relief it seems.
Old Harbour itself was only a trek away from the landing strip, a short six mile drive. This ferryman was to take us along the coastline, to which we assumed would be a more scenic approach, perhaps a better way to understand the lifestyle of the Butcher we so eagerly anticipated. All answers to our confusion would have to wait, as our ferryman had other ideas. Turning his small fishing trawler towards the open sea, he surged forward at a quick pace, and left myself and Brian with no option but to watch the island slowly shrink behind us, as we set sail into uncharted waters.
Brian tried his best to communicate with the captain, to understand what this ferryman had in mind, but it was all in vain. Speaking in some guttural language, a foreign tongue neither of us understood, our level of communication resides at nods, smiles and the odd wink from the captain. Brian occupied his mind by getting his camera set up to record some footage for our clips later, but I had nothing but terror on my mind. My Monday had managed to beat all those other bad Mondays of my life.
After what felt like hours (Brian tells me it wasn’t that long), we finally began to turn our vessel back towards land and crawl forward. We didn’t understand then what the ferryman was thinking, bringing us so far out to sea only to turn us around again, but our answers were never to be heard. What we did hear however is the growling, rumbling groans for the open sea. Some say it's just the sound of the tides, dancing with the moon while others say it's the echoes of the underwater world singing to one another. To us, it sounded a lot more menacing.
Almost like our trawler was being followed, watched and prowled by an unknown beast. Brian joked about Godzilla, but I had worse thoughts on my mind. After all, the term ‘cultists’ has been used to describe Ozymandias and Meredith on occasion, and their fascination with the horrors of HP Lovecraft are widely known, especially their obsession with the famous deity ‘Cthulhu’.
Out here, on the open waters, with nothing but an endless black abyss surrounding us, I truly do believe there could be anything watching us. Pursuing us, waiting to devour us whole. There might be some reason for their madness after all, but I wasn’t ready to find out the hard way. After some ‘gentle’ insisting, the captain pushed hard on the throttle and brought us home at great speeds. The day had left us already, and night was above us. Nothing but bright lights from the moon and stars stayed as our companions, surging forward into the black empty darkness of this sea. Almost peaceful, almost tranquil.
As we approached the landmass once again, it looked different than in the bright light of the sun. The looming hills and cliffs of the shoreline now stood tall like monsters, shadows hidden from sight only to be revealed by flickers of moonlight through parting clouds. The sight before us was like nothing we had ever seen before, it feels like we were approaching another world. Small lights flickered to show us there were signs of life, but nothing else. No sounds, no people, no movement.
Stranger still was the temperature, we both expected a colder day as we flew to Alaska but both Brian and I felt the chill creep down our spines further and further as we approached the island. Out to sea we did not notice but as we now returned to the mainland, we felt it. The icy hand of death itself, grasping to us.
As we pulled into the harbour, Brian got to action first taking shots of the trawlers and vessels surrounding us, the long stone coastline quickly transforming into a small town, a touch larger than a village. The lights we saw from afar now began to find their place, from window sills of homes to lanterns on the streets. A cool, low hanging fog blanketed our arrival to further hit home about the icy temperatures. We felt larger chunks of ice clunk and bang against the hull of our boat, bizarrely getting worse the closer we got to land.
Old Harbour was a scene of jagged edges and misshapen shadows, of homes and buildings that appear to be picturesque by day, but hauntingly disfigured by night. The fog confirmed all suspicions of this place to us both… something was off about this place.
OLD HARBOUR
WarGames would be a spectacle in itself, a tumultuous clash between warring factions on an open battlefield. The best of one faction against the best of their opponents, nothing left behind but bodies and blood. Rumbles, royales and gauntlets get used so much in professional wrestling during our current times but this is something to be excited for.
A giant battle, putting the mightiest warriors toe to toe. To not encroach on copyrights and discuss the superhero franchises, this will be a civil war to rock the sports entertainment world. And tonight we get to discuss that in depth with one of the forerunners, one of the favorites entering this fight. With only one appearance in the ring under his belt, his legacy and reputation comes from further afield, from stories and from rumours, and from the path of destruction he has carved.
Our small vessel slowly bobs and weaves between the moored fishing boats around us, and our destination becomes clear in an instant. The long stone pier, like an arm reaching out to meet us. Old Harbour is a modern settlement, or so we are led to believe. Airports, internet, hot running water on demand, heck even television if things are to be believed. Clearly the people of this town know Ozymandias, they know of what he does, of what his career entails. But before us now the town is dark against the backdrop of the sky, the only illumination coming from candles and lanterns. The streets themselves are barren, the town dormant.
How is it so dark already? So cold? How long were we at sea?
As our boat slows and eventually stops again, the captain mutters something else to us that neither me nor Brian understand. We know he is saying *something*, but what that is will always be a mystery. He grabs a rope and jumps from the boat onto the pier, pulling us closer by hand and tying up the vessel. I would never say the grimey, moss-laden stones of a fishing port pier looks good, but anything is better than the miserable ferry we just endured. Dry land, how I missed you!
We didn’t have a minute before our welcome party arrived, parading down the pier to meet us. We knew she was flashy, perhaps a little conceited in her ways even, but Meredith Agnar never fails to please. As he walks towards us, a smile on her pale white face, she is accompanied by two larger gentlemen holding torches.
Torches.
Like lanterns, not flashlights, but sticks on fire. We truly have gone back in time on this island. Brian hurriedly motions to get out his camera, and capture the scene as best he can, almost kicking over his gearbag back into the sea. Lucky for you, you get to experience the same sights we did;
As she walks towards the two Project: Honor reporters, Meredith holds her hands out towards them, palms to the skies. Whether this is a motion to take her hand, or to approach her is unknown but she pauses too far a distance for either to happen. On either side of her is what can only be described as a henchman, two large bulking individuals who both cover themselves in brown, leather coats. Both are as scruffy as one another, wild hair and bears sticking out, a dull look of utter boredom on their expressions.
“Welcome, welcome, to Old Harbour. We are so glad that you can come see our home, and where we retreat to escape the horrors of the outside world.” She says it in such a joyful and enthusiastic tone that the reporters have no option but to reply courteously too, a smile and nod in return. “We do apologize about the circumstances, it seems we have lost power to our small little town. A wild storm just rolled through our village, and decimated our power lines. I hope that you can make do with what we still have to work with.” She says it so matter of factly, but the village itself looks untouched, unperturbed. No power lines or poles are even to be seen anywhere.
Strange.
“No problem, thank you for having us.” Crystal is a pro, and will always approach a situation with joy and thanks. Regardless of how cosmically horrific it is. “Your ferryman here was just a joy, he took us on a lovely tour of the coastline, and even brought us out to sea to get some great shots of the island from afar.”
Meredith's expression changes, from happy to somewhat annoyed as she turns to stare at the ferryman. He says something to her in that same language, a jumbled mess of growls and hisses. Bizarrely, Meredith speaks back to him in the same language, albeit a much lower tone than his. Whatever is said between the two, the reporters have no idea, but the ferryman simply nods to them both and takes his leave rapidly down the pier.
“Now, come. You must both be famished from your trip. You are in luck, tonight we are hosting a banquet for our town. A remembrance if you will, celebrating the lives and legacies of those that came before. It should be quite the event.” There is no questioning her statement, she is telling them it will be good and they already know they cannot refuse. A couple of polite nods later and Meredith turns to walk them down the pier.
“I’m sorry, for this next part I do wish you can enjoy our village for yourselves, so I ask… no cameras.” She asks, but really she instructs. And if Brian was to ignore this, she has two other reasons to agree standing beside her, branding bats that are on fire. Brian accepts, and ends this transmission.
In true fashion, Meredith approached us both like we had predicted - cold, sinister intentions in her eyes and an aura of sheer terror about her. She had walked the halls of Project: Honor while Ozymandias tore apart the giant that is Pat the Postman, and while he fought she explored. Many reports came back of her being unnerving, unsettling. Almost ghostly.
And yet here we are, experiencing it for ourselves. She was polite, gentle almost but something else was hidden beneath her eyes. If Ozymandias wanted to inflict fear into the people he faced, sending Meredith out first was a great way to rattle their cage. We hadn’t even left the pier and already we were torn - jump back in the boat of horrors or walk with her into the unknown. We had nowhere to go but down from there.
WarGames was all that kept my mind on the task at hand, all that I wanted to ask about and report about. We came here for Ozymandias, not Meredith and not Old Harbour. We wanted an exclusive with the Butcher, and we were getting it. After the dust settles only one person will be left standing in that ring, and will be declared the new Tyrant of Project: Honor. If that is to become Ozymandias, then we want to get in there first.
The line-up of talent in that one match is phenomenal, the greatest stars in the wrestling world today will all meet within those ropes. On the Proving Ground side alone, Ozymandias needs to surpass the skill and tenacity of Emmanuelle and Indy Darling. Two future headliners in the making, Emmanuelle would be no new face to Ozymandias. He and her should have crossed paths in WrestleWorld, had their faiths been different. And Darling is always looking for a fight, a true indie breakout that wants to claim the head of a lion.
Alex Slayer, Blair Regent and Kagome Akaibara all have similar stakes in this fight - if they win they cement themselves in GOAT status, breaking all norms by toppling the balance of control in their inception. The very beginnings of their Project: Honor careers, a win in WarGames secures the bragging rights for eternity.
But I wanted to know what Ozymandias thought about the bigger threats, the other names spoken in tandem with him as ‘the biggest dogs in the yard’. Mark Hunter and Shawn Warstein, two vets that are more than capable of taking this match to the end of time. Neither come to the ring with nothing but victory on their minds, and that means no mercy for their opponents either. If Ozymandias thinks he can walk through the opposition, these two men will beg to differ.
Meredith was eerie as expected, but the setting of Old Harbour took the top prize for ‘Most Unsettling Experience Ever’. Both myself and Brian didn’t say a word, our eyes bulging at every movement, every action that happened before us. The pier was wet and slippery, flanked by growingly-aggressive waters on either side, and leading us was two husky men brandishing torches. We didn’t need to ask - something was very off about this place.
As she led us into the village itself, the fog continued with us, almost like it was as part of the village as the sounds and the smells. A true fishing village, our noses were filled with the odor of the day's fresh catch, and fishwives had left their stall outdoors which didn’t help the musk in the air. We were led on a smaller walking tour, as Meredith pointed out the various facilities available, from the post office to the ship merchants, to the florists and jewelers. It was hard to calculate the size of this village, it looked tiny from afar but now standing in the streets it felt like a busy urban city.
This place was not right.
I wanted to stop Meredith in her tracks, ask her where the Butcher is, when we can expect to begin our interview but I never built up the nerve. You try approaching that scene and tell me you still have your confidence to bark demands! After what felt like eternity, we finally turned back on ourselves and approached a large boatshed by the docks. The wooden structure looked dated, several years past it’s sell date and rotting profusely from the wet conditions around it. The windows were grimey, concealing anything inside and the roof looked like it was apart to peel away, a rotting tin roof barely nailed into place.
“I hope you enjoyed learning more about our home, and how me and Ozymandias spend our time. As mayor of this village I couldn’t be prouder of my people and what we have built here. So let us celebrate and rejoice tonight, as we remember those waiting for us in R’lyeh.”
She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly that neither me nor Brian acknowledged it at the time. “R’lyeh”. The people she was celebrating, she believed them to be in the infamous sunken city of Cthulhu. We were already walking into this decrepit boatshed before the reality hit me - this wasn’t to celebrate the town or the fisherfolks. We were being led into a cultist meeting.
I politely reminded Meredith why we were there, and she put me at ease, softly telling me Ozymandias will be there soon. She guided us to the far end of a long wooden table, and instructed us to take a seat on the shared bench. The inside of the shed was a lot less menacing than the outside, with candles dotted around the building, and some kind of stage set up at the opposite end. Stage, or altar, that was to be determined.
“Friends, your voyage has been long and your bodies must be weak, but soon we shall feed you, water you and give you all you desire. Food will arrive momentarily, and I will have your sleeping quarters prepared.”
Sleeping quarters, that was when we first realized it. We would not be going home tonight as planned, we would not be catching a flight back to Anchorage as expected, or staying in our nice separate rooms at the Marriott, all on Project: Honor’s dime. No, we would be staying in Old Harbour, so how long nobody knows.
THE BANQUET
Meredith motioned for us to remain seated where we were, her two henchmen gathering our belongings and removing them. She told Brian he would be allowed to take a clip again soon, so his camera could stay. But where and when that would be was still up in the air. No sooner had the henchmen left than more folks started to stream into the hall, both young and old. Wearing older, soiled clothing, fishing rags or simple overcoats they came and went as forgettable as the last. Each brought in a candle, a chair, a bench, a chalice. Something in each person's hands, something to populate the room.
Within minutes the boatshed actually resembled something akin to a proper function hall, with lights coming from the candles or torches mounted to the walls, and more and more people entering to add life to the setting. It made the place somewhat feel normal, as if we were going to be ok. Going to be safe.
And then he arrived, walking in like a military leader, people jumping to get out of his path. He checked the stage area for a moment, looking around the room at what was happening around us and finally he set eyes on us. I will forever thank the Gods I chose to be a wrestling reporter and not a competitor, as the very sight of him in the flesh immediately made me want to heave in terror. Brian said nothing, the blood draining from his face speaking volumes.
He remained by the stage, watching us but not approaching. Eyeing us, but staying away. Time felt like it stopped, that we were trapped forever in his penance stare. The Butcher, a veritable giant, a monster amongst men, eyeing us up like we would be his dinner tonight. WarGames was approaching, and I wondered if there would be enough time for me to contact everyone, to warn them of the mane they are about to meet. To pray for them, that Ozymandias doesn’t rip their very soul apart.
As the villages begin to wrap up, the hall itself looks almost homely, nicely lit up and much warmer than before. The flickering candles add an almost soothing vibe to the room, and as people take their seats and remove their jackets, coats, wraps they start to resemble normal people. Our worries and apprehension lifts, especially as Ozymandias leaves the room too. This might turn out to be an OK night!
...Oh, how wrong we could be.
The sound of a blowing horn rattled us both, taking us by complete surprise. Meredith told Brian she would give him a signal for when he could begin his camera again, and we both took this as that sign. We didn't catch much on camera, but here is a glimpse into what actually happens in ‘Old Harbour’ ;
As the sound of the horn blows, a number of hooded figures walk through the doorway of the hall, making their way to the staged area. They don’t mount the stage, but merely stand in a row before it. Each person ranges in height and size, but they are all matched by their uniform - a long brown leather shawl with a hood pulled up on top. It is hard to make out their faces, even slightly, so it appears they are wearing black masks to cover their appearance. There are a total of twelve that stand by the stage, and another blast of the horn gets them chanting.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
Repeated over and over through low mumbled chants, the hooded figures keep saying the unknown words. Cycle after cycle, they persist and some of the nearby villages begin to join in too. The words make no sense to the two reporters, but the camera zooms in to try to catch the face of a hooded preacher, and doesn’t pick up anything. As quickly as they began they abruptly stop, the twelve figures bending to take a knee now.
From outside enters Meredith, her appearance a little improved on what they saw of her earlier. Her dress had changed, from a loose flowing silken dress to a more demure, prim gown. Her hair has been pulled back, tied up behind her head so her gaunt cheeks and features are largely on show now. The room is dimly lit and hard to see, but her skin seems to glow white in this darkness. She makes her way on stage, all eyes on her. Except our cameraman.
As he turns to the entrance, Ozymandias is last to enter, closing the door behind him. Unnervingly, he pulls down a wooden latch, bolting the door shut from the inside it seems. He joins Meredith on stage, standing behind her and not beside her.
“My children… my friends, my neighbours, my family… tonight we gather for a very special occasion, a very special feast. We keep the annual tradition alive of honoring and remembering those that are no longer with us, those that have taken their leave of Old Harbour, and now reside in R’lyeh… we think of the loved ones waiting for us in the Sunken City, we picture their faces, their smiles… we hear their voices, their laughter… we see them, finally at home, finally where they belong. In R’lyeh”.
She pauses for a moment, to give everyone a chance to digest her words.
“Old Harbour has endured storms, cruel weather and crueler people. Attacks on our village have scarred our lands, and our minds. We have let this world battle us to submission, from the sea, the air and the violence of human nature. We have spread our word on the winds, only to have it return to us sharply and swiftly. The world it seems forsakes Old Harbour, and denounces the Great Old One as their true God.”
Brian gets a good shot on the camera, zooming into Meredith. Her eyes seem to roll back in her head as she speaks, her head tilted back as if she is speaking to the sky above.
“A war looms on the horizon, for all of us. Our champion, Ozymandias, fights for our sanctuary, for our salvation. He funds our growth, he leads our progression, but he cannot do this alone. We must all stand with him, stand with one another, as we fight ever still for R’lyeh.”
She raises her hands, almost doing a ritual but withholds her words. Finally she lowers them again, and opens her eyes slowly.
“Another cycle of the sun comes, and another year of hardship sinks behind us. We have all lost something this past year, something of ourselves or our worlds… no matter how big, how small, how insignificant you feel it may be, we must now take this time to remember what is lost… and think about what might be. R’lyeh grows stronger with each life we deliver, and with each soul fighting to raise it from the depths.”
She takes a step forward, so that she is right at the front of the stage. The camera zooms all the way in to catch every word she says.
“Today, they are our loved ones, our lost friends and family. But when R’lyeh rises from the depths, and the Great Dreamer razes this world, they will welcome us to the emerald city with arms open! Our fight on the surface is matched by those in the depths, and we must bolster their efforts. We have spread our word to the neighbouring towns and villages, to ask them for their aid… those that agree join us in our efforts. Those that do not… more sacrifices for the Great Dreamer!”
She cheers loudly, but her voice comes across as sinister rather than excited.
“Old Harbour remembers the dead today, and as we sent more souls to R’lyeh, to feed the army of the depths… we must look to our future. The New World will rise soon, and you will all join us in eternal life… Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
She begins to preach the chant once again, and this time it is taken up not only by her robed followers but also by several of the congregation. In fact most of the people on camera are now chanting, some standing up at their seats to chant louder, harder. The two reporters capture as much of this scene as they can, but ultimately their footage is cut short, as the henchmen from earlier reappear, and relieve Brian of his camera.
I didn’t want to believe what I was seeing, what I was hearing. Meredith gathered the village to remember the dead, not entirely to remember them but to long to be with them almost. To wish to join them, and pray that others could join them too… is this true? Do they actually sacrifice people to the ocean?
My confusion and concerns ended as the henchmen arrived and confiscated the camera. We could have argued, but to what gain. We were outnumbered and completely out of our element. We had to settle for what was captured and be content with the footage we had. After all, what we’ve seen here will linger in our minds forever!
This brings about the question however… if Meredith and Ozymandias truly are sacrificing people to the ocean, if they are actually culling these lands of the living… What is Ozymandias capable of that we don’t know? His moniker of the Butcher has several source stories, but all revolve around the same bloodied tale. And now with this revelation…
What is really in store for the WarGames?
Fallout have only just formed their team, the brand just about getting it’s legs underneath them. Kayla Richards and Kallie Reznik are two ferocious femme fatales that are hopeful to use this match as platform to skyrocket them to stardom, but things might not occur as planned. Kasey Winterborn and Julius Fairweather have both caused waves in the company and helping to launch the Fallout brand is sure to propel them to greater heights, but again I worry for either of them should they have to stand against Ozymandias, this… monster that stands before us.
The chanting of the congregation aside, the air is tense and both myself and Brian are massively out of our depth. Ozymandias is across the hall, not even paying us heed and already we are terrified. I could only imagine the feeling of dread that would fill the stomach of Victoria Strader or Bruce McLeod should they be left standing with him. The Butcher has shown absolutely no regard for his opponents in the past, with horror stories from WrestleWorld filling up our consciousness before we even agreed to come to this island.
Fallout does have their saving grace in the forms of James Long and Pyro. Long has encountered the Butcher in the past, from clashing in the XHF to WrestleWorld, Maverick is the only one in this match that has fought the beast and walked away unscathed. He will have an advantage on his side in this gauntlet, however he has other demons to contend with. Pyro has made it known he is as sick and sadistic as they come, and won’t hesitate to test Ozymandias on his butchering skills. Pyro might be the one opponent to put Ozymandias into a tough spot, or he could be the last name on the Butchers hitlist. Only time will tell.
As the chanting ended, the banquet portion of the night's congregation began. The doors opened and food and drinks began to pour into the room. The hall was adorned by three long tables, all which received a generous bounty of food and drinks, from fish dishes to assorted vegetable courses. If our stomachs were not already turned due to the fear, this food did it for us. The smell of fish, soured and spiced to flavours indescribable. We took one glance and politely refused, however in the halls of Cthulhu that will not be permitted it seems.
Not to upset our hosts, nor draw the wrath of the Butcher we decided to get involved and started picking and nibbling where and how we could. The room quickly turned into a frenzy, as people clawed over each other for the food and grabbed, scratched and clawed for anything they could reach. It was like in an instant they morphed from normal village goers to feral animals. We got what we needed, and took a step back, deciding it was time for us to call it a night. That would not be what Meredith had in mind however.
The air in the room was already cold, as the shed sat on the cusp of the ocean but as Meredith approached it seemed to drop by a degree per step. Her gaze upon both unsettled us, but even more daunting was Ozymandias approaching alongside her. The pair made their way to our area, and we both struggled to not vomit from intimidation.
“How was the food?” she asked us, polite as any good host. We had nothing but smiles and nods in return, unsure anymore of what to even say! “I hope you got some good footage earlier… unfortunately we don’t permit anyone to record what takes place in our halls, so your camera will remain here with us now.” She says it so assuredly that Brian doesn’t even know how to respond.
Finally, Ozymandias steps forward. This was it, this was the moment we travelled all this way for. An interview with the monster himself… and it never happened. Ozymandias took one look at us both, turned to Meredith to whisper something into her ear, and took his leave of the hall entirely. We travelled all this way to interview him, and he turned his back on us in an instant.
“I understand why you came here, and that Ozymandias is to be your topic of discussion, however I fear it is not wise to interrupt him during his preparation stages. The fight before him is large, and he needs to focus. I would not wish him derailed with the discussion of opponents, of opportunities, of strengths and weakness of his competition.” She gave us a smile that made us both shiver, her rare super power it seems. The ability to creep every one out in a moment.
“WarGames, as you call it… this will not be a first for Ozymandias. He has faced trials like this in the past, and won. He has faced lesser competition, and lost. It is hard to determine his chances in this match, so we do not dwell on that. Instead I can provide some insight to the chances of his opposition, if you like?”
Dang, no dice with the Butcher but at least Meredith would be able to provide some insight. With nothing else on the table we reluctantly agreed, and Brian produced a flier for the match. Meredith politely took it from him, and studied the faces before her.
“Quite the plethora of fame-starved names here. Some are held in much higher regard around the halls of Project: Honor, that is clear. Others are a fleeting memory, nothing but fodder for a match like this. Tell me this… of these names, these soulless faces, who do you think Ozymandias should worry most about?”
The interview had turned around on us fully, we were not being grilled. I have seen too many things happen in Project: Honor to know it is not a betting game, so I decided to let my camera man field that answer. He didn’t get a word out before Meredith silenced him fully, and grabbed a nearby candle. She held the candle up to the flier, to take a better look it seemed… before slowly touching the candle to the flier, burning away various parts.
We came to Old Harbour not expecting anything in particular, but being apprehensive regardless. We knew there would be some unpredictable events, and some prowess on show by Ozymandias. We did NOT expect to witness a cult rally, to be force fed a fish bequest, and now this…
Brian took the flier back from Meredith and inspected it… all the competitors faces had been burned away, a hole in each spot.
“WarGames will only be one of many trials for Ozymandias. He does not fight to win, or fight for accolades. He fights to destroy those that seek false futures. He fights to open their eyes to their true destiny. These people all wish to earn golden belts, to claim the moniker of tyranny amongst the roster, to walk away with a paycheck and a moment in the sun… when R’lyeh rises from the depths of the ocean, these faces and names will mean nothing then, as they mean nothing now.”
Meredith was truly an ice-cold witch, but today she proved it even more. We were so entranced by her words and her sadistic speech we didn’t notice the room around us growing emptier, as people began to retire to their homes, to their dwellings, perhaps to return to the ocean like the fish people of the deep they might as well be! Without the gathering, the lights of the candles and the warmth of their presence the hall rapidly became cold again. Almost like we woke up from a dream only to fall back into a nightmare.
The walls were wet, as the ocean crept in. The air was thick with the smell of mold, and all of a sudden it felt like a veil had been lifted, and we were rapidly becoming aware of our surroundings. No interview, no appetite and no desire to remain, Meredith politely led us to a nearby home where we would be staying until our departure in the morning.
The interview, the meeting with the Butcher… it would have to wait.
Our voyage to Old Harbour had not been one we had expected to be of great merit, but to our surprise we learned more of the Butcher and his manager than we ever cared to realize before… and we wished to never ever set foot back on those lands again.
They say the worst monsters are those unseen, behind closed doors or hidden in the shadows. In Old Harbour, we saw monsters. We saw what dwells beneath the depths, we saw the horrors of the unknown. Meredith Agnar is a merchant of death, and her champion is the deliverer.
For all involved in the WarGames match, I simply say this… write your wills, say your goodbyes and pray the Butcher doesn’t get his hands on you.
From me, Crystal Ward, this has been a Project: Honor exclusive.
