Post by OZYMANDIAS on Apr 22, 2021 17:33:21 GMT -5
MEREDITH AGNAR
"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant." -Robert Louis Stevenson
Born in Reine to a loving family, Meredith’s childhood mirrored that of those other children in her village. Parents worked the seas for their trade, so that one day they can build a future for their offspring to continue. A world of abundance and comfort, salvaged from the seas themselves.
Her Father was a skilled and seasoned fisherman, heading up a fleet of trawlers off the icy shores of Norway. Her mother was a proficient baker, that would sell her wares each morning to hungry and salivating neighbours. Together they lived above their means, and bore two beautiful children into this world to share their passions.
An opportunity abroad came to the folks of Reine, an opportunity for those willing to take a leap of faith to build a better future for themselves. A greater world. Her Father insisted, her Mother obliged and at the tender age of four Meredith and her family travelled from the peaceful lands of Norway to the new horizons of America.
Old Harbour, a small yet growing fishing village off-land from Alaska proper. The catch was slowing down due to tougher weather conditions, and skilled fishermen were in short supply. Her Father had already proven his worth in Norway, and it didn’t take long for him to grow his brand once again in Alaska. As the seasons passed, his rank aboard the fleet grew until eventually he Captained his own vessel and crew.
The Agnars’ had found their place.
Meredith and her younger brother grew to know Alaska as home, and call the United States their country. Despite the reminders of their parents, of their folklore and heritage from Reine the children were sold on the land of opportunity. The pursuit of eternal happiness. The American dream.
This conflict in interest led Meredith down a different path to her brother, choosing to discover more of the arts and the ways of nature than to fish or bake. Her brother learned the ships and followed in his Father’s steps, but Meredith grew more curious in time. Poetry, music, astrology, the dark arts and the occult all captured her imagination… and her heart.
The arrival of another family from Reine cemented Meredith’s future. A long time friend of the Agnars, the Magnus’s came to follow in the same steps, the same pursuit. Due to a fierce tragedy in Reine, Meredith would cross paths with her future soulmate, unbeknownst to her - Baldur Magnusson.
After losing his Mother to a fierce fire, Baldur joined his Father in this new world. To Meredith she assumed them to be yet another fishing family, however Baldur brought a whole new pathway of adventure with him - wrestling. Already experienced in the professional world, he had resigned to caring for his family and home in Reine, but due to unfortunate events they decided to come to Alaska and be with their clan there.
Baldur and Meredith quickly became friends, and she encouraged him to pursue his true passions and not let the calling of the sea get to him. An avid fisherman, it was clear that Baldur’s heart lay elsewhere, and that was in battle. Forming a pact to aid him, she joined him as they ventured back to the world of professional wrestling, and stood alongside him during his reign.
To say she has led an unusual life is no exaggeration. Adversity and doubt have followed her throughout her life, but so too has success. She has surrounded herself with people who frown upon her actions and decisions, only for those same folks to retract their opinions in time. She has shined brightest, when balked in her shadows.
Meredith has carved her own path through life, her own destiny. She is iron willed and as cold as the sea, but inside her fire engulfs her. Her views and her ideals are not accepted nor preferred by all, but ultimately those that would shun her ultimately return to stand by her.
After the loss of her family, and the sands of time has blown by, Meredith finds herself alone as the mayor of Old Harbour. The people remained under her lead due to her family name originally, but now with her most recent promises and preachings they follow her for another reason.
She has never failed to honor her words.
She has never failed to honor her promises.
She has never failed her people.
She has vowed to bring Old Harbour out of the jaws of the sea and to stand tall above the waves, which is true. She has promised to grow and nurture their strengths and skills to bolster Old Harbour for the darker years to come, and honored her promise. And she has vowed to help usher in a new world order, a new purpose for those remaining to follow and adhere to.
And still, her people follow her lead.
She was an outsider once, but now she is their Priestess. She was misunderstood and doubted, but now there is clarity and devotion surrounding her. She has begun the rebellion of this old world, and her people now shed themselves of this plane as she does.
A new world is coming, a new power to rule over.
Meredith Agnar is just the beginning of the end.
THE VESSEL
“Keep rowing, keep rowing, we have far to travel still.” Meredith's voice carries over the length of the boat, loud and clear despite the sharp howling winds around her. “Your trials will not come without effort, but your struggle will not go unnoticed.” She stands up at the front of the wooden boat, yelling. “Show Him that you want to be here, show Him that you are eager to meet his gaze!”
A long wooden rowboat, enough to hold Meredith at the bow of the boat with roughly a dozen robed figures working the oars before her. All seated along the sides, they row in unison, a tandem effort to move the vessel further and further out to sea.
At the rear of the boat sits Ozymandias, his face concealed behind his dark mask, the only glimmer of life coming from the moonlight reflecting on his metallic pieces. The moon hangs high over them on this peaceful night, but the wind and seaspray still hampers their efforts.
“Progression through perseverance, is how we will honor Him. When he looks upon us as the creators of his new world, your aching muscles and tired minds will be worth it.” Her words of encouragement seem to be working, enough to keep the long wooden rowboat moving, steadily slicing through the waters and into the open sea. However for those on the oars this is becoming a taller task than expected.
Often there are times where Meredith will test her followers and make sure they are truly devoted to their new God. Whether this be rituals in the sea, gatherings upon the cliff edge, or voyages to the open ocean in the cold dark nights, whatever it takes to make sure the Children of Cthulhu are loyal to their cause.
“We are making great progress, my friend”, she says as she meanders to the end of the boat. She finds a spot on the edge of the raft and sits herself next to Ozymandias, eyeing him suspiciously. “You are tempered with me still? For giving up your seat?”
“I should be rowing this vessel, not sitting and waiting on the meager efforts of these… villagers.”
Meredith cocks her head back and laughs, a deep and droll laugh that seems out of place. “My friend, you do not need to prove your loyalty to me, or to our God. You have gone through enough trials. Besides, I need your strength for what is to come, not for where we are right now.”
It is true, while Ozymandias is no coward to physical effort his place now is not to row the boat but to rest up and reserve his energy. For the battle to come is mighty, and will truly test his skills and fortitude. A Butcher in name only, Ozymandias soon faces one of his greatest foes in single battle - the Tyrant. Their past meetings have not gone as planned for Ozymandias, due to trickery or cowardly fleeing by the so-called Tyrant.
But soon, Ozymandias will get everything he has dreamed of for many nights past. An empty ring, standing across from Shawn Warstein. No distractions, no interruptions, just pure and utter carnage. His nights have sent him to a dreamworld filled with blood and claret, as he spilled Warstein’s essence over and over.
Come ‘Public Execution’, he ends this fruitless game.
“These tests are growing tedious and mundane… you should just let me deal with the ilk.”
“Your version of testing them involves beating them to a pulp. We want them alive and ready to work, not weakened and fearful. Tonight is two-fold, to not only strengthen their mind but also their body. For any that find the task too much to bear… then you may take them.”
Ozymandias grunts, the sound coming through his mask like a metallic whistle. Meredith shoots him a sly smirk, but then turns her attention to the moon above.
“We are far from land, far from sanctuary. Out on the open sea, we are truly in control of our destiny. We control who lives, and who drowns. We control who returns home, and who stays. As we row forth, a simple question must be answered… whom of you will remain?”
Her words linger in the air, with nothing but the sounds of grunting and laborious rowing to break it up. The hooded figures have heard her, they have understood her, but none dare to answer.
“Nobody wishes to speak up? Well, savor your silence then for soon the time for answers will arise… fourteen have rowed to sea, but only twelve will return. For those that are chosen to remain, R’lyeh shall welcome you with open arms!”
It is not a first for Meredith to propose a ‘ritual sacrifice’, and Ozymandias has grown accustomed to the notion. Not only to cull the weak from the litter but also to appease the Gods of the Seas, and keep the monsters at peace… or at bay.
Meredith shoots him a sinister look before making her way back to the front of the boat and standing forward as she looks upon the moonlit water. Her black silken dress flows like smoke in the wind, and despite her gaunt and pale frame there is a fire inside her that lights her up. She weighs less than a sack of fish yet her words weigh as heavy as the world.
For the unnamed rowers on this boat, the weight of their world rests upon their shoulders.
WAR GAMES
Shawn and Blair turn their attention to Ozy. Blair runs at Ozy and jumps on his back. She wraps her arms around his face and tries to weaken him, but isn’t really doing much. Ozy runs backwards into the corner and slams her back-first into the turnbuckle. Shawn reaches in both of his boots for something and stares both Blair and Ozy down. He picks Blair up and does the exact same thing to her as he did to Indy; World Ender. It connects and Blair’s body just goes limp as if she can’t even move. Ozy goes for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Before Ozy can even get up, Shawn runs up behind him with two syringes and drives them into his neck. He injects the contents of it into Ozy and then steps back. Ozy, unfazed, gets back to his feet and stares Shawn down. He starts to charge at him, but before he can reach him, he collapses straight to the mat. Shawn kicks him a few times to make sure he’s down then hooks the leg for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
HOLLY PEREZ: OZYMANDIAS HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! SHAWN WARSTEIN IS THE WINNER OF THE PROVING GROUND SIDE!
As he sits in his own silence, the memory of the War Games saga flows through his mind over and over. A night where he should have set his name in stone as the ultimate threat on the Proving Grounds roster, stolen from him by a trickster and his chemical concoctions. Ozymandias has tasted defeat before but this was different… this was embarrassment.
Shawn Warstein is a true fighter, a true competitor. It would be foolish to think that there is any clear advantage based merely on physical size or weight. That the ominous presence of a giant in a metallic mask would bolster his chances any further than usual. That a legacy of domination in past federations will transpire to the same conclusion here.
Shawn Warstein is a fighter. He is a warrior. He is a tried and tested winner.
But he is no Tyrant.
He dictates to nobody, he commands nothing, he is owed nothing. To enter into battle with foes as dangerous or threatening as you are, and to dishonor them with cheating tactics and trickery… to vow to accomplish a monumental task only to seize the crown through immoral means… to stake your claim at Tyranny and have those who would look up to you spit on your name instead.
Shawn Warstein has held a torch for Ozymandias, and this is true of what is to come. Entering into the fight unprepared will result in a one-sided fight. Ozymandias could break Warstein’s spine in one motion, but it is ineffective if Warstein spikes his opponent with his lethal cocktail first. Ozymandias, a raging bull, vulnerable to the same poison darts.
Legacy have sealed their names in Project Honor as a formidable and unstoppable team. When paired together they are ruthless, tactful and conniving. But separated, they are weak. Separated they are easy pickings. Without his Raven to keep a watchful eye, Warstein is without his tricks.
Were it to be a clean victory, a fair fight then Ozymandias would relish this battle as a true test of might. He has done so with bigger and better foes, and accepted his defeat as a mark of respect. To lose in battle to the greater foe is a tougher bite to swallow, but it is a mark of growth and a purpose to continuously improve.
To face defeat when you do not even see your foe before you…
The sins of the past will soon be repaid. Shawn Warstein chose the wrong path when he spiked Ozymandias at War Games. When he fled from the arena at Proving Ground. When he sent forth his accomplice to distract and disarm his opponent at Public Execution.
There will be no doubt of what is to come.
The Tyranny will end, and Ozymandias will rip that crown in half. A true Tyrant needs no crown…
...only to make his victims kneel.
THE ROLLING TIDE
As time passes by the moon reaches its peak above the oceans, the stars and sky dance within its glow. The rowers have grown tired, and slowly but surely the raft moves from a steady pace to a slow drift. Meredith considers their position and allows the hooded figures a moment to pause.
“Gather your strength, for soon you must choose who will be the elected guests for R’lyeh.” She walks up and down the center of the boat, the followers making sure to keep their eyes and gaze diverted away from her as much as possible. Their heaving chests and laboured breathing only seems to make her pace move faster, further increasing their anxiety.
“Do none of you wish to offer yourselves up? Do none of you wish to honor the Great Dreamer and voyage to the Sunken City below? I am offering you a direct path to the eternal life beyond, and still you sit in silence?”
Again, nobody offers and nobody volunteers for the inevitable death that is sure to come. Just a dozen or so afraid and concerned passengers.
“Fine, then we will leave it up to Cthulhu’s chosen to elect his victims… Ozymandias, their lives are now yours.” The terrifying tone of her voice is enough to make each of the rowers spring to life and back away, as Ozymandias steps forward to greet them.
A gathering of hooded folks cower and balk away in fear as the Butcher prowls along the raft, each small step feeling like leaps to those awaiting their fate. Some mumble in protest, others cry out in terror for mercy, but it matters not. In a flash Ozymandias grand two of the nearest followers at random and flings them both overboard, watching as they crash into the icy cold water.
“The Warrior of Cthulhu has chosen his souls to sacrifice… but it looks like they refuse to accept this monumental gift.” In the water the robed figures struggle and thrash to stay afloat, but the purpose of the heavy woolen robes works it’s magic, filling with water and slowly pulling them down beneath the surface. “Ozymandias, see that they find their way to R’lyeh.”
Her words come across almost like a beautiful sentiment but in reality it is much more dire. Simply nodding, he sheds his overcoat and dives from the boat himself, headfirst into the dark abyss. His size and weight allows him to sink slowly, and as he does he grabs the heels of the two followers alongside him in the drink.
Slowly bur surely, all three begin to drift deeper beneath the surface, the faint glimmer of the moon disappearing and fading away, their hope at life growing to darkness….
The water is so cold, the pressure is crushing and deafening. The ice-like blanket covers every inch of his body, squeezing him and forcing the air from his lungs. Through the gaps and filter of his metallic mask, Ozymandias simply watches the bubbles rise, the last of his air rushing away from him.
Without air, he has nothing. Without light, he has nothing. Here he floats, lifeless, dead to the world, all matters of importance shifted into perspective.
The Tyrant means nothing right now. Legacy and their threats are impossible futile in this place and time. All that matters now is the one decision - life or death.
To sink and dream forever in R’lyeh, the sunken city of the Gods? Or to claw to life, to climb and rise back to the surface to take on the battles and worries of the world?
Right here, in this place, the city is calling. He slowly loosens his grip around the ankles of the other two followers in the water with him, their bodies now drifting lifelessly as his is. They are facing the same test, the same question of morality.
When faced with a foe, an adversary of true and utter might then only two choices we consider is stay and fight, or turn and flee. When we suffer pain and hardship again we ask ourselves to let it endure, or to find a solution to the agony. To anyone choosing the latter, or anyone that would remain and fight despite the outcome, we often place them on a certain pedestal.
Legend. Hero. Champion. Fighter.
But deep down the only word for these fools is - sadistic. Someone who wishes to suffer pain, or cause pain unto others. Someone who relishes suffering, even if they have full control over it. Someone who fights for survival, but desperately wants to know what death is like.
Shawn Warstein and Ozymandias are one and the same, in a certain perspective. Both are strong, both are courageous, but are ready to stand their ground and fight. But to what end, for victory? For honor? For tyranny?
Sadistic - pertaining to/ or characterized by sadism; deriving pleasure or sexual gratification from extreme cruelty.
Warstein and Ozymandias are sadists. That is what unites them, that is what drives them. Shawn fought valiantly for his win, but he did not take the accolade in his stride, he immediately turned it into a tool on which to try to control and manipulate those around him. To seize new power, to hold power over those below him, to fluff his own feathers despite how it affects others.
He seeks pain and suffering, but he relishes to deliver the same suffering tenfold back to his foes. He aligns himself with others who preach of their goodness, only to harbour inner feelings of violence and wrath. He forms a crown, a mantle on which to attach a visual image to the pain he delivers - kiss the crown, expect the whip.
Ozymandias is one and the same, however he does not hide behind a crown, or a lie. He lays out his truths - he does enjoy causing suffering to others, he does enjoy inflicting pain and hardship on his foes, and he does not need a symbol for you to fear. He will wear no crown, but his name will linger as the knife in your back. To speak his name is to remember what occurred, and that is what he desires most.
Sinking in this endless void of nothingness, he prepares himself for R’lyeh, and to find his place alongside the Great Old One in the Emerald City below. To die and be reborn as the true eternal warrior of Cthulhu, and raze the world upon the surface. He needs no crown, no moniker, only to break the false truths that have been spoken.
Warstein is no Tyrant, and his crown will be broken.
THE CALL
“My Child… I sense you are here once more.”
A voice, loud and booming, pulses from the depths. Unaware of up or down, the voice hits Ozymandias like a wall of air from all sides.
“Why do you return?”
Ozymandias has followed Meredith for years, as she has followed him. She has guided him correctly throughout his career in the ring, and he has honored her wishes behind the scenes in the pursuit of the Cult. But one aversion to the rulebook has left both minds confused.
Ozymandias began his drownings many years back, a discovery from a fishing accident that has become a ritual for him. Aiding his Father in his later years, during a rough stormy night a young Baldur worked fervently to cut loose a fishing net caught on subsurface ledge. As the storm thrashed their vessel, they needed to cut loose their catch for the day and make haste for the shore. His Father was aged and unable for the task so Baldur grabbed a knife and ran to the deck to cut the bindings.
As the heavens opened above and the sea grew more enraged with their presence, Baldur fell prey to an accident, becoming entangled in the ropes himself. His choice was simple - struggle and fight with the enlarged netting and wait for the vessel to inevitably crash into the shallow ground. Or cut the ropes, and venture into the deep along with them, entangled and trapped.
Without hesitation, Baldur cut the ropes and was pulled overboard by the weight of the netting, saving the lives of all men onboard at the mere cost of his own. Much like now the water hit him like a wall of ice, rapidly squeezing the air from his lungs and forcing him to succumb to his own fate. Understanding this was the end, this was how his story would end, it made Baldur feel warmer inside, it filled him with… peace.
Without a struggle, without a fight, he allows himself to sink deeper into the depths, the fishing netting strapped to him like an anchor. But in this moment, in this time he forgot all his worries. He cleared his mind truly, and only thought about what mattered most.
Family.
They were here with him, as much as anywhere in time or space. Right now, in this thick dense void, he was happy.
As the years continued and the world changed, Ozymandias returned to the depths for this same ritual on his voyage for inner peace. His throat destroyed from countless drownings, the slated water tearing apart his insides. His skin raw and ruined from the aggressive nature of his ritual. His mind and soul forever altered, forever incapable of a normal life again.
It mattered little - Ozymandias was happiest when he was dying.
But as time passed, soon the voice began to call out.
“Father?”
The voice comes and goes as it pleases, choosing to acknowledge him or ignore him. To answer his questions or respond at all.
“Father… I have come for you.”
To Meredith, this voice was the guardian of the sea, the Great Old One. To Ozymandias, this voice was that of his Father, long since lost to the seas.
“Why do you return?”
The voice booms again, the same question. And as always, Ozymandias replies in kind.
“I come… to … honor my God.”
Silence.
The voice is gone, the only sound left is the heavy pounding of blood in his ears, his heart struggling with the water and the pressure. His vision is all but gone, the salted brine in his eyes causing him temporary blindness. All that remains is sound and touch, and neither work for him here.
“Father… please answer me!”
“You wish to honor your Gods?”
As the voice says the words, Ozymandias feels something grasping around his leg, pulling him forward. Then another around his torso, squeezing tightly.
“Honor them with your life.”
Another unseen object wrapping around his arms, one by one. Tentacles, grasping him, pulling him into the depths.
“I give my life… to you… Father.”
“Honor your Gods… with your life.”
Another set of something grasping him, around the chest and neck. This is it, this is the final descent, the voyage to the abyss. This is his descent into madness, the trip south to R’lyeh and the Emerald City below.
“Yes Father… soon we will be reunited…”
“Honor your Gods…”
He allows himself to go fully limp, drifting aimlessly, blindly into the void. The darkness and pressure not affecting his hearing, his touch, his consciousness. Much like the other followers, he has finally achieved what he always failed.
Death.
“Ozymandias… Ozymandias… Ozymandias!”
COWARD IN WOLF'S CLOTHING
“Your damn boy nearly cost us the ship!”
“If it wasn’t for my boy, this whole vessel would be underwater by now! He sacrificed his life for this fucking boat!”
Laying on the surface of the boat, coughing and spluttering, Baldur can only look on in exasperated breath as his Father argues with the ship's captain. We are back in his youth, back the scene of his first near-death experience, where the fishing net dragged him into a dark, deep watery Hell.
The Captain of this ship was known around town to be a true tyrant, a cruel and horrible bastard to any and all who work on his ships. Expecting the performance of a stallion but the pay of a pig, he has controlled and dominated the fishermen of his ship for as long as Baldur’s Father worked for him.
“Speak to me like that again, and I will have your job. You should be on your knees thanking me for giving you and your troublesome brat a job. We don’t need outsiders here, and we certainly don’t need them on our ship!”
Ever since the Magnusson’s left Reine for greener pastures, there has been animosity against them on the ships. Some call it simple racism but others see it more as a mark of terrorism. To control and dictate the lives of others based purely on their birthrights only. In such a small fishing town, that novelty is considered bullshit and thrown out.
At least, it is on most boats. Just not this one.
“I don’t need this job, there are plenty of other boats on the pier. But you should be thanking my son for what he did, you should be thanking US for helping save your fucking boat!”
The Captain takes a deep breath, as anger fills his face and he steps away… only to turn with a sharp right backhand hard enough to drop Baldur’s Father.
“You are your little cunt son are to leave my ship as soon as we dock. And I will make sure nobody in Old Harbour looks your way again. You can forget your job, forget your lives there… that is my village! You two can fuck off back to wherever shithole you came from!”
As the other crew hands watch on, there is a clear level of frustration in the air. On the one hand everyone is eager to back up the Magnusson's, after all the ship is not sunk due to Baldur's quick action. On the other, there isn’t a single fist not clenched on the boat watching the Captain. However none are strong enough to step up to him.
“You see, where I come from the Father is the head of the house, the family and the company.” Baldur is on his feet, shaken but moving. “The lineage acknowledges that the Father is the top of the table, and no matter how good or bad the sons are, the Father’s words are honored.”
The Captain turns around to see Baldur approaching, stumbling after his near-death experience but still staggering forward. Only a mid-20’s kid in his eyes, the Captain laughs.
“What, you are going to defend your Father’s honor? Ok little brat, come here so I can teach you the same lesson.”
Baldur approaches the Captain, a large and strong man in his own right. Despite his Father motioning to leave it off, Baldur moves forward.
“My Gods don’t allow disrespect in the family like this, lest you be fed to the wolves. To attack a man's Father is to attack his whole clan, and I don’t think you know how mighty this clan is.” Baldur staggers forward more, almost within reach of the Captain.
“Come on then little boy, I should have left you drown in that fucking sea.”
The Captain swings at Baldur, and despite his best effort Baldur takes it right on the chin and hits the deck. The Captain laughs loudly, but Baldur slowly makes his way back up.
“Where are your Gods now, you little fuck?"
The Captain swings again, connecting but not dropping Baldur. He goes for a third but Baldur ducks it and lunges with an uppercut to the guts. The brawl starts to garner some cheers and excitement from the crew's hands, and quickly it's clear all votes are on Baldur to win.
“MY Gods live on through me. In me.”
“Oh yeah? Little Christian boy with the power of Jesus fucking Christ!”
More exchanges occur and Baldur begins to lose the fight, easily knocked down as the Captain lands hard boots on him. The crew hands interject to pull the vicious Captain away but he fights them off, and grabs a nearby pipe.
“Get off me you fucking dogs! These Norwegian pricks are a curse on Old Harbour, and it is about time we showed them what we think of them.”
The Captain lunges with the pipe but Baldur drives him back with a hard shoulder, right against the edge of the ship. Fighting on the gunwale the two men wrestle but the Captain pushes Baldur off, swinging the pipe only for Baldur to catch it and take it from him. A quick swing back and the Captain is gushing blood from his head, a couple more swings and the Captain is down completely. Another four or five swings and the cheers from the crewmates quickly stop.
“My Gods are not like yours… we are Norsemen. We are Vikings. We honor only death.”
Baldur drops the bloodied pipe onto the deck, and it rolls away with the waves from the water.
“Baldur… what have you done?” His Father’s question is already answered, as the Captain lays motionless on the deck, his eyes lifeless as blood escapes his skull. Baldur turns around and looks around him.
“This man was a coward. A cretin. He terrorized us all, each and everyone of us. He slaved us, he starved us, he was a cruel tyrant over us. Would you not have done the same?”
Baldur’s Father gets to his feet and approaches his son, trying to quench his flame but Baldur pushes his back.
“Father, this is justice. This is right. This is what happens when pushed into a corner. We are not slaves, we are not pushovers. We are Vikings! We are all Vikings!”
He turns and faces the crewmates, and motions them to come forward.
“And this is our ship now… our ship. OUR ship.”
The crew mates slowly mouth the words ‘our ship’ over and over, and slowly they start to see the light. Acknowledgement and acceptance sinks in, as they approach the dead Captain on the deck. Baldur presses his forehead to that of his Fathers.
“Vikings never die, Father. We live on forever, like our Gods. Like Thor, Odin, Sif. We are eternal, or we are forgotten.”
The Father looks his son in the eye, and eventually nods in agreement. Baldur has fought off the tyrant sea captain, defeated the monarchy of his rule, and broken down the dictatorship. As the crew mates throw the body overboard, a feeling of relief and euphoria washes over Baldur.
From this day forward, no Tyrant will even hold power over his family again.
REVIVAL
As Ozymandias's body is grasped and pulled through the depths, his own words ring out to no reply.
“Father! Father, where are you!”
“Honor your Gods!”
The reality of what is happening quickly sets in, as light begins to pour back into his eyes. His body is limp but his mind is fighting. He feels himself being moved around, a numb dumbed vessel of nothingness as the voices and babble around him begin to become clearer.
“Ozymandias! Ozymandias! Come back to us!”
The dull faint sound of a thud is heard, but from where is unknown. Another follows, and another but this one with feeling. He feels the thud, feels the beating of the sound on his body. More come, more thuds when finally;
“Ozymandias!”
He springs back to life, rolling to his side and coughing and spluttering the sea water from his lungs. His vision faded, he barely acknowledges his mask laying on the rowboat floor beside him, as he coughs and empties his lungs of the water. Alongside him he spies two others getting the same treatment, the two sacrifices he began the ritual with. The other followers jumped in after them, to save them.
Meredith saved them all.
He rolls onto his back, breathing in deeply the cold air of the night, sharp cold fingers snaking their way into his lungs. His vision slowly returns, albeit blurred from the bulging of his eyeballs during his near-death drowning.
“You were only supposed to scare them, make them see the peace and calm that can come from death.” Meredith appears in his vision, looking down at him with a furrowed brow. “One of these days you’ll end up drowning for real… sometimes I have to think that is your intention.”
Ozymandias lays there drawing in breath, one by one but fails to get any words out. Meredith sees he is trying to say something so she leans closer. As with all drownings his voice suffers the most, and without his mask to aid him he sounds like a heavy smoker as his voice and throat mangle the words. Nonetheless he manages to say one thing;
“Honor your Gods”.
Meredith looks down on him, confused, but the effort is too much as Ozymandias simply passed out on the boat deck.
As minutes become hours, the rowboat is back in motion as the passengers propel the vessel back to safety. For Meredith this night was a failure, a test to see if her chosen were willing to sacrifice themselves to the Great Old One. With nobody offering themselves, the plan was for Ozymandias to select two and show the others just how easily their decisions could be made.
But for the two followers that almost drowned, their perspective on life is forever changed. And as for Ozymandias, he has simply repeated the same phrases over and over…
“Honor your Gods.”
The moon guides the passengers back towards land, towards Old Harbour. Ozymandias remains still, his mind forever altered from the events.
“What does that mean, Ozymandias? “Honor your Gods?” Did he speak with you, did you hear the voice from the depths?” She presses for information but doesn’t receive any back, just a blank slate. Ozymandias’ eyes wander from the surface of the water to the skies above, as he mutters the phrase over and over. And over.
A short while that feels like an eternity later, the rowboat washes ashore and the passengers can finally feel solid ground beneath their feet once more. Meredith hops out and helps to drag the boat ashore with the aid of Ozymandias, and she turns to gather her followers.
“What we have learned tonight is that the ocean is almighty, and only we are able to survive against its might when united. The weak amongst us would have perished, but for two of you tonight you have learned of death, and what eternal life could mean for us all. Take this lesson with you, dream upon the cold depths you felt as you saved your fellow people from the water. And as always… praise Cthulhu.”
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn", they all chant in unison. With the mantra said, they bow and take their leave of the boat and the shore. Only Meredith and Ozymandias remain, and the Butcher allows himself a moment to collapse and sit on the stony shore.
“What does it mean, Ozymandias? “Honor your Gods”, you must tell me. Did you speak with Him, or did you speak with others perhaps?”
“No”, he says. His voice is gravelly and agony for him to speak, but he continues. “The voice was not of the deep”.
“Then where? Who did you speak to?”
He looks at her, delayed eye contact before looking to the sky above.
“Up there”, he says, swallowing hard. “I think I spoke with my Father… the Allfather.”
She looks at him confused, unsure of what he is saying.
“The Gods of Norse.”
Meredith takes a moment to register what he just said, but as soon as it hits her eyes widen and her demeanor changes completely.
“I see.” She pulls back from him and turns her back on him, looking out to the sea. “You told me you had forsaken all Gods, so that you could join me in my pilgrimage.” He says nothing, just drawing long and harsh-sounding breaths through his mask. “This will not appease the Great Old One.”
Ozymandias doesn’t respond, only sitting on the wet shore, his arms resting on his knees as he breathes heavily, clearing the remaining vapor from his lungs.
“Then I must ask you… where do your loyalties lie?” Her voice is stern, sharp and very to-the-point. “Which God do you hear, and which Gods to you follow.”
“I don’t know... I don’t know anything right now.” He forces himself onto the balls of his feet and into a standing position, walking towards the water with aching bones it seems. “All I know is my direction is clear… honor my Gods. Whether they reside in the halls of Valhalla, or in the sunken city of R’lyeh, they ask the same of me. They expect the same of me.”
“...and that is?”
“To honor them, the only way I truly know how.” He bends down and scoops up some small round stones, tossing them into the sea one by one. “To honor them through trials, through the fire, through carnage, blood and chaos.”
Ozymandias turns to Meredith with a look in his eye she has not seen in a long long time… he is lost.
“My future is uncertain, our goals unchanged. But regardless of what occurs, we need to continue together. We need to strive for greatness, side by side. I cannot fight this war alone… and neither can you. Size and brawn aside, you are still but a man… not a warrior eternal yet.”
He tries to speak but gargles, spitting up some residual sea water again it seems. He lifts his mask to splutter it out, once more drawing a painful deep breath.
“Warstein is all that matters now. He is the first step. He is the first trial.”
Meredith walks towards her friend, the moonlight casting a pale glow from her milk-white skin. Her form is gaunt, her uncovered skin looks icy to the touch but her eyes are live like an inferno.
“Together we can discover your path. Together we can discover your true God. But regardless, our goal must remain unchanged… we need to cull the weakness from this world. The sick and the frail, the lost and the hopeless. This world is dying… it needs us to cleanse it.”
She turns to the ocean before her, wide and enormous as it stretches into the night sky.
“Whether that means we drown it, or let loose the fangs of Fenrir on these people.”
Ozymandias simply nods, and leans forward to her so they can touch their brows against one another.
“Legacy will fall, as they must. As they should. This will be the first rite of passage. Our attention can turn to past threats and looming hazards in our future, but for now… Warstein must fall. His tyranny must end.”
They pull apart, and Meredith sees Ozymandias before her, his eyes inquisitive.
“I will handle Raven… I have a solution for the winged rat.” Her expression turns from a concerned look to a mischievous smirk. “What better way to fight fire… than with fire.” She smiles again, and someone Ozymandias understands what this means.
“I will beat him. I must beat him.”
“Good… Warstein is a false idol to these people. These seeking Honor, must learn that he who wears the crown is not the almighty… he who breaks the crown holds the true power.”
"Warstein will fall… all men must fall.”
“All men must fall.”
Once more they press their brows together, but only until Ozymandias pulls away first. Their hands have been entwined throughout, but slowly he slips free from her hand and begins to make his way home along the shore. Meredith remains behind, dawdling on the discussion.
“Your Gods are gone, Baldur… your place is by my side, in R’lyeh. Once this battle is past, we will remind you.” She turns to face the sea, alone now and out of earshot of everyone. “You will stay by my side… or drown with my God.”
A slight smirk crosses her face.
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”.
KING OF KINGS
To stand tall over your empire, dominant and powerful. The almighty ruler of your lands and your people, this is a rare and unknown feeling amongst man. Few have garnered such admiration, such fear, such loyalty that they hold the whip and all cry out for it’s lash.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
Domination through conquest, no foe stood against his wrath. No man dared oppose his might. He conquered with ease and his name travelled far and wide, like a sharp blade to cut through all bravado and defiance.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
As his domain grew and his reach expanded, more would-be challengers dared to oppose him, dared to test his mettle. They clashed with his armies, collapsed his battalions and decimated his people. But still, he prevailed, undefeated and unstoppable.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
Tyrants appeared across his horizon, challengers to his throne like hungry dogs. Barking and gnawing at his heels, eager to watch him fall so that they could take everything from him, so that they could take possession of his entire dominion. His legacy. They too fell.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
None could beat him, none could defeat him. None could stand up against his might, and leave triumphant. His rule was the greatest threat to the world, and the great achievement of any mortal man. Nothing could dare to stand against him or defeat him… nothing, but the sands of time.
The only thing in life we cannot fight against, the only thing we cannot prevail against… is death itself. The greatest ruler of all time, the most prestigious war captain and militant leader. His only defeat was to life itself.
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
But ultimately, his name is the greatest symbol of our time. Nothing lasts forever, nothing is eternal, this world is weak and forever dying. Where a tree falls to decay, another grows in its place… and so the cycle continues.
This world is futile.
A new world will soon rise, a world of eternal glory. This is just the beginning of the end. The Kings. The Tyrants. The Mothers. The Wolves, Ravens and the Outcasts. It matters not.
ALL MEN MUST FALL
"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant." -Robert Louis Stevenson
Born in Reine to a loving family, Meredith’s childhood mirrored that of those other children in her village. Parents worked the seas for their trade, so that one day they can build a future for their offspring to continue. A world of abundance and comfort, salvaged from the seas themselves.
Her Father was a skilled and seasoned fisherman, heading up a fleet of trawlers off the icy shores of Norway. Her mother was a proficient baker, that would sell her wares each morning to hungry and salivating neighbours. Together they lived above their means, and bore two beautiful children into this world to share their passions.
An opportunity abroad came to the folks of Reine, an opportunity for those willing to take a leap of faith to build a better future for themselves. A greater world. Her Father insisted, her Mother obliged and at the tender age of four Meredith and her family travelled from the peaceful lands of Norway to the new horizons of America.
Old Harbour, a small yet growing fishing village off-land from Alaska proper. The catch was slowing down due to tougher weather conditions, and skilled fishermen were in short supply. Her Father had already proven his worth in Norway, and it didn’t take long for him to grow his brand once again in Alaska. As the seasons passed, his rank aboard the fleet grew until eventually he Captained his own vessel and crew.
The Agnars’ had found their place.
Meredith and her younger brother grew to know Alaska as home, and call the United States their country. Despite the reminders of their parents, of their folklore and heritage from Reine the children were sold on the land of opportunity. The pursuit of eternal happiness. The American dream.
This conflict in interest led Meredith down a different path to her brother, choosing to discover more of the arts and the ways of nature than to fish or bake. Her brother learned the ships and followed in his Father’s steps, but Meredith grew more curious in time. Poetry, music, astrology, the dark arts and the occult all captured her imagination… and her heart.
The arrival of another family from Reine cemented Meredith’s future. A long time friend of the Agnars, the Magnus’s came to follow in the same steps, the same pursuit. Due to a fierce tragedy in Reine, Meredith would cross paths with her future soulmate, unbeknownst to her - Baldur Magnusson.
After losing his Mother to a fierce fire, Baldur joined his Father in this new world. To Meredith she assumed them to be yet another fishing family, however Baldur brought a whole new pathway of adventure with him - wrestling. Already experienced in the professional world, he had resigned to caring for his family and home in Reine, but due to unfortunate events they decided to come to Alaska and be with their clan there.
Baldur and Meredith quickly became friends, and she encouraged him to pursue his true passions and not let the calling of the sea get to him. An avid fisherman, it was clear that Baldur’s heart lay elsewhere, and that was in battle. Forming a pact to aid him, she joined him as they ventured back to the world of professional wrestling, and stood alongside him during his reign.
To say she has led an unusual life is no exaggeration. Adversity and doubt have followed her throughout her life, but so too has success. She has surrounded herself with people who frown upon her actions and decisions, only for those same folks to retract their opinions in time. She has shined brightest, when balked in her shadows.
Meredith has carved her own path through life, her own destiny. She is iron willed and as cold as the sea, but inside her fire engulfs her. Her views and her ideals are not accepted nor preferred by all, but ultimately those that would shun her ultimately return to stand by her.
After the loss of her family, and the sands of time has blown by, Meredith finds herself alone as the mayor of Old Harbour. The people remained under her lead due to her family name originally, but now with her most recent promises and preachings they follow her for another reason.
She has never failed to honor her words.
She has never failed to honor her promises.
She has never failed her people.
She has vowed to bring Old Harbour out of the jaws of the sea and to stand tall above the waves, which is true. She has promised to grow and nurture their strengths and skills to bolster Old Harbour for the darker years to come, and honored her promise. And she has vowed to help usher in a new world order, a new purpose for those remaining to follow and adhere to.
And still, her people follow her lead.
She was an outsider once, but now she is their Priestess. She was misunderstood and doubted, but now there is clarity and devotion surrounding her. She has begun the rebellion of this old world, and her people now shed themselves of this plane as she does.
A new world is coming, a new power to rule over.
Meredith Agnar is just the beginning of the end.
THE VESSEL
“Keep rowing, keep rowing, we have far to travel still.” Meredith's voice carries over the length of the boat, loud and clear despite the sharp howling winds around her. “Your trials will not come without effort, but your struggle will not go unnoticed.” She stands up at the front of the wooden boat, yelling. “Show Him that you want to be here, show Him that you are eager to meet his gaze!”
A long wooden rowboat, enough to hold Meredith at the bow of the boat with roughly a dozen robed figures working the oars before her. All seated along the sides, they row in unison, a tandem effort to move the vessel further and further out to sea.
At the rear of the boat sits Ozymandias, his face concealed behind his dark mask, the only glimmer of life coming from the moonlight reflecting on his metallic pieces. The moon hangs high over them on this peaceful night, but the wind and seaspray still hampers their efforts.
“Progression through perseverance, is how we will honor Him. When he looks upon us as the creators of his new world, your aching muscles and tired minds will be worth it.” Her words of encouragement seem to be working, enough to keep the long wooden rowboat moving, steadily slicing through the waters and into the open sea. However for those on the oars this is becoming a taller task than expected.
Often there are times where Meredith will test her followers and make sure they are truly devoted to their new God. Whether this be rituals in the sea, gatherings upon the cliff edge, or voyages to the open ocean in the cold dark nights, whatever it takes to make sure the Children of Cthulhu are loyal to their cause.
“We are making great progress, my friend”, she says as she meanders to the end of the boat. She finds a spot on the edge of the raft and sits herself next to Ozymandias, eyeing him suspiciously. “You are tempered with me still? For giving up your seat?”
“I should be rowing this vessel, not sitting and waiting on the meager efforts of these… villagers.”
Meredith cocks her head back and laughs, a deep and droll laugh that seems out of place. “My friend, you do not need to prove your loyalty to me, or to our God. You have gone through enough trials. Besides, I need your strength for what is to come, not for where we are right now.”
It is true, while Ozymandias is no coward to physical effort his place now is not to row the boat but to rest up and reserve his energy. For the battle to come is mighty, and will truly test his skills and fortitude. A Butcher in name only, Ozymandias soon faces one of his greatest foes in single battle - the Tyrant. Their past meetings have not gone as planned for Ozymandias, due to trickery or cowardly fleeing by the so-called Tyrant.
But soon, Ozymandias will get everything he has dreamed of for many nights past. An empty ring, standing across from Shawn Warstein. No distractions, no interruptions, just pure and utter carnage. His nights have sent him to a dreamworld filled with blood and claret, as he spilled Warstein’s essence over and over.
Come ‘Public Execution’, he ends this fruitless game.
“These tests are growing tedious and mundane… you should just let me deal with the ilk.”
“Your version of testing them involves beating them to a pulp. We want them alive and ready to work, not weakened and fearful. Tonight is two-fold, to not only strengthen their mind but also their body. For any that find the task too much to bear… then you may take them.”
Ozymandias grunts, the sound coming through his mask like a metallic whistle. Meredith shoots him a sly smirk, but then turns her attention to the moon above.
“We are far from land, far from sanctuary. Out on the open sea, we are truly in control of our destiny. We control who lives, and who drowns. We control who returns home, and who stays. As we row forth, a simple question must be answered… whom of you will remain?”
Her words linger in the air, with nothing but the sounds of grunting and laborious rowing to break it up. The hooded figures have heard her, they have understood her, but none dare to answer.
“Nobody wishes to speak up? Well, savor your silence then for soon the time for answers will arise… fourteen have rowed to sea, but only twelve will return. For those that are chosen to remain, R’lyeh shall welcome you with open arms!”
It is not a first for Meredith to propose a ‘ritual sacrifice’, and Ozymandias has grown accustomed to the notion. Not only to cull the weak from the litter but also to appease the Gods of the Seas, and keep the monsters at peace… or at bay.
Meredith shoots him a sinister look before making her way back to the front of the boat and standing forward as she looks upon the moonlit water. Her black silken dress flows like smoke in the wind, and despite her gaunt and pale frame there is a fire inside her that lights her up. She weighs less than a sack of fish yet her words weigh as heavy as the world.
For the unnamed rowers on this boat, the weight of their world rests upon their shoulders.
WAR GAMES
Shawn and Blair turn their attention to Ozy. Blair runs at Ozy and jumps on his back. She wraps her arms around his face and tries to weaken him, but isn’t really doing much. Ozy runs backwards into the corner and slams her back-first into the turnbuckle. Shawn reaches in both of his boots for something and stares both Blair and Ozy down. He picks Blair up and does the exact same thing to her as he did to Indy; World Ender. It connects and Blair’s body just goes limp as if she can’t even move. Ozy goes for the cover!
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
Before Ozy can even get up, Shawn runs up behind him with two syringes and drives them into his neck. He injects the contents of it into Ozy and then steps back. Ozy, unfazed, gets back to his feet and stares Shawn down. He starts to charge at him, but before he can reach him, he collapses straight to the mat. Shawn kicks him a few times to make sure he’s down then hooks the leg for the cover.
ONE!
TWO!
THREE!
HOLLY PEREZ: OZYMANDIAS HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! SHAWN WARSTEIN IS THE WINNER OF THE PROVING GROUND SIDE!
As he sits in his own silence, the memory of the War Games saga flows through his mind over and over. A night where he should have set his name in stone as the ultimate threat on the Proving Grounds roster, stolen from him by a trickster and his chemical concoctions. Ozymandias has tasted defeat before but this was different… this was embarrassment.
Shawn Warstein is a true fighter, a true competitor. It would be foolish to think that there is any clear advantage based merely on physical size or weight. That the ominous presence of a giant in a metallic mask would bolster his chances any further than usual. That a legacy of domination in past federations will transpire to the same conclusion here.
Shawn Warstein is a fighter. He is a warrior. He is a tried and tested winner.
But he is no Tyrant.
He dictates to nobody, he commands nothing, he is owed nothing. To enter into battle with foes as dangerous or threatening as you are, and to dishonor them with cheating tactics and trickery… to vow to accomplish a monumental task only to seize the crown through immoral means… to stake your claim at Tyranny and have those who would look up to you spit on your name instead.
Shawn Warstein has held a torch for Ozymandias, and this is true of what is to come. Entering into the fight unprepared will result in a one-sided fight. Ozymandias could break Warstein’s spine in one motion, but it is ineffective if Warstein spikes his opponent with his lethal cocktail first. Ozymandias, a raging bull, vulnerable to the same poison darts.
Legacy have sealed their names in Project Honor as a formidable and unstoppable team. When paired together they are ruthless, tactful and conniving. But separated, they are weak. Separated they are easy pickings. Without his Raven to keep a watchful eye, Warstein is without his tricks.
Were it to be a clean victory, a fair fight then Ozymandias would relish this battle as a true test of might. He has done so with bigger and better foes, and accepted his defeat as a mark of respect. To lose in battle to the greater foe is a tougher bite to swallow, but it is a mark of growth and a purpose to continuously improve.
To face defeat when you do not even see your foe before you…
The sins of the past will soon be repaid. Shawn Warstein chose the wrong path when he spiked Ozymandias at War Games. When he fled from the arena at Proving Ground. When he sent forth his accomplice to distract and disarm his opponent at Public Execution.
There will be no doubt of what is to come.
The Tyranny will end, and Ozymandias will rip that crown in half. A true Tyrant needs no crown…
...only to make his victims kneel.
THE ROLLING TIDE
As time passes by the moon reaches its peak above the oceans, the stars and sky dance within its glow. The rowers have grown tired, and slowly but surely the raft moves from a steady pace to a slow drift. Meredith considers their position and allows the hooded figures a moment to pause.
“Gather your strength, for soon you must choose who will be the elected guests for R’lyeh.” She walks up and down the center of the boat, the followers making sure to keep their eyes and gaze diverted away from her as much as possible. Their heaving chests and laboured breathing only seems to make her pace move faster, further increasing their anxiety.
“Do none of you wish to offer yourselves up? Do none of you wish to honor the Great Dreamer and voyage to the Sunken City below? I am offering you a direct path to the eternal life beyond, and still you sit in silence?”
Again, nobody offers and nobody volunteers for the inevitable death that is sure to come. Just a dozen or so afraid and concerned passengers.
“Fine, then we will leave it up to Cthulhu’s chosen to elect his victims… Ozymandias, their lives are now yours.” The terrifying tone of her voice is enough to make each of the rowers spring to life and back away, as Ozymandias steps forward to greet them.
A gathering of hooded folks cower and balk away in fear as the Butcher prowls along the raft, each small step feeling like leaps to those awaiting their fate. Some mumble in protest, others cry out in terror for mercy, but it matters not. In a flash Ozymandias grand two of the nearest followers at random and flings them both overboard, watching as they crash into the icy cold water.
“The Warrior of Cthulhu has chosen his souls to sacrifice… but it looks like they refuse to accept this monumental gift.” In the water the robed figures struggle and thrash to stay afloat, but the purpose of the heavy woolen robes works it’s magic, filling with water and slowly pulling them down beneath the surface. “Ozymandias, see that they find their way to R’lyeh.”
Her words come across almost like a beautiful sentiment but in reality it is much more dire. Simply nodding, he sheds his overcoat and dives from the boat himself, headfirst into the dark abyss. His size and weight allows him to sink slowly, and as he does he grabs the heels of the two followers alongside him in the drink.
Slowly bur surely, all three begin to drift deeper beneath the surface, the faint glimmer of the moon disappearing and fading away, their hope at life growing to darkness….
The water is so cold, the pressure is crushing and deafening. The ice-like blanket covers every inch of his body, squeezing him and forcing the air from his lungs. Through the gaps and filter of his metallic mask, Ozymandias simply watches the bubbles rise, the last of his air rushing away from him.
Without air, he has nothing. Without light, he has nothing. Here he floats, lifeless, dead to the world, all matters of importance shifted into perspective.
The Tyrant means nothing right now. Legacy and their threats are impossible futile in this place and time. All that matters now is the one decision - life or death.
To sink and dream forever in R’lyeh, the sunken city of the Gods? Or to claw to life, to climb and rise back to the surface to take on the battles and worries of the world?
Right here, in this place, the city is calling. He slowly loosens his grip around the ankles of the other two followers in the water with him, their bodies now drifting lifelessly as his is. They are facing the same test, the same question of morality.
When faced with a foe, an adversary of true and utter might then only two choices we consider is stay and fight, or turn and flee. When we suffer pain and hardship again we ask ourselves to let it endure, or to find a solution to the agony. To anyone choosing the latter, or anyone that would remain and fight despite the outcome, we often place them on a certain pedestal.
Legend. Hero. Champion. Fighter.
But deep down the only word for these fools is - sadistic. Someone who wishes to suffer pain, or cause pain unto others. Someone who relishes suffering, even if they have full control over it. Someone who fights for survival, but desperately wants to know what death is like.
Shawn Warstein and Ozymandias are one and the same, in a certain perspective. Both are strong, both are courageous, but are ready to stand their ground and fight. But to what end, for victory? For honor? For tyranny?
Sadistic - pertaining to/ or characterized by sadism; deriving pleasure or sexual gratification from extreme cruelty.
Warstein and Ozymandias are sadists. That is what unites them, that is what drives them. Shawn fought valiantly for his win, but he did not take the accolade in his stride, he immediately turned it into a tool on which to try to control and manipulate those around him. To seize new power, to hold power over those below him, to fluff his own feathers despite how it affects others.
He seeks pain and suffering, but he relishes to deliver the same suffering tenfold back to his foes. He aligns himself with others who preach of their goodness, only to harbour inner feelings of violence and wrath. He forms a crown, a mantle on which to attach a visual image to the pain he delivers - kiss the crown, expect the whip.
Ozymandias is one and the same, however he does not hide behind a crown, or a lie. He lays out his truths - he does enjoy causing suffering to others, he does enjoy inflicting pain and hardship on his foes, and he does not need a symbol for you to fear. He will wear no crown, but his name will linger as the knife in your back. To speak his name is to remember what occurred, and that is what he desires most.
Sinking in this endless void of nothingness, he prepares himself for R’lyeh, and to find his place alongside the Great Old One in the Emerald City below. To die and be reborn as the true eternal warrior of Cthulhu, and raze the world upon the surface. He needs no crown, no moniker, only to break the false truths that have been spoken.
Warstein is no Tyrant, and his crown will be broken.
THE CALL
“My Child… I sense you are here once more.”
A voice, loud and booming, pulses from the depths. Unaware of up or down, the voice hits Ozymandias like a wall of air from all sides.
“Why do you return?”
Ozymandias has followed Meredith for years, as she has followed him. She has guided him correctly throughout his career in the ring, and he has honored her wishes behind the scenes in the pursuit of the Cult. But one aversion to the rulebook has left both minds confused.
Ozymandias began his drownings many years back, a discovery from a fishing accident that has become a ritual for him. Aiding his Father in his later years, during a rough stormy night a young Baldur worked fervently to cut loose a fishing net caught on subsurface ledge. As the storm thrashed their vessel, they needed to cut loose their catch for the day and make haste for the shore. His Father was aged and unable for the task so Baldur grabbed a knife and ran to the deck to cut the bindings.
As the heavens opened above and the sea grew more enraged with their presence, Baldur fell prey to an accident, becoming entangled in the ropes himself. His choice was simple - struggle and fight with the enlarged netting and wait for the vessel to inevitably crash into the shallow ground. Or cut the ropes, and venture into the deep along with them, entangled and trapped.
Without hesitation, Baldur cut the ropes and was pulled overboard by the weight of the netting, saving the lives of all men onboard at the mere cost of his own. Much like now the water hit him like a wall of ice, rapidly squeezing the air from his lungs and forcing him to succumb to his own fate. Understanding this was the end, this was how his story would end, it made Baldur feel warmer inside, it filled him with… peace.
Without a struggle, without a fight, he allows himself to sink deeper into the depths, the fishing netting strapped to him like an anchor. But in this moment, in this time he forgot all his worries. He cleared his mind truly, and only thought about what mattered most.
Family.
They were here with him, as much as anywhere in time or space. Right now, in this thick dense void, he was happy.
As the years continued and the world changed, Ozymandias returned to the depths for this same ritual on his voyage for inner peace. His throat destroyed from countless drownings, the slated water tearing apart his insides. His skin raw and ruined from the aggressive nature of his ritual. His mind and soul forever altered, forever incapable of a normal life again.
It mattered little - Ozymandias was happiest when he was dying.
But as time passed, soon the voice began to call out.
“Father?”
The voice comes and goes as it pleases, choosing to acknowledge him or ignore him. To answer his questions or respond at all.
“Father… I have come for you.”
To Meredith, this voice was the guardian of the sea, the Great Old One. To Ozymandias, this voice was that of his Father, long since lost to the seas.
“Why do you return?”
The voice booms again, the same question. And as always, Ozymandias replies in kind.
“I come… to … honor my God.”
Silence.
The voice is gone, the only sound left is the heavy pounding of blood in his ears, his heart struggling with the water and the pressure. His vision is all but gone, the salted brine in his eyes causing him temporary blindness. All that remains is sound and touch, and neither work for him here.
“Father… please answer me!”
“You wish to honor your Gods?”
As the voice says the words, Ozymandias feels something grasping around his leg, pulling him forward. Then another around his torso, squeezing tightly.
“Honor them with your life.”
Another unseen object wrapping around his arms, one by one. Tentacles, grasping him, pulling him into the depths.
“I give my life… to you… Father.”
“Honor your Gods… with your life.”
Another set of something grasping him, around the chest and neck. This is it, this is the final descent, the voyage to the abyss. This is his descent into madness, the trip south to R’lyeh and the Emerald City below.
“Yes Father… soon we will be reunited…”
“Honor your Gods…”
He allows himself to go fully limp, drifting aimlessly, blindly into the void. The darkness and pressure not affecting his hearing, his touch, his consciousness. Much like the other followers, he has finally achieved what he always failed.
Death.
“Ozymandias… Ozymandias… Ozymandias!”
COWARD IN WOLF'S CLOTHING
“Your damn boy nearly cost us the ship!”
“If it wasn’t for my boy, this whole vessel would be underwater by now! He sacrificed his life for this fucking boat!”
Laying on the surface of the boat, coughing and spluttering, Baldur can only look on in exasperated breath as his Father argues with the ship's captain. We are back in his youth, back the scene of his first near-death experience, where the fishing net dragged him into a dark, deep watery Hell.
The Captain of this ship was known around town to be a true tyrant, a cruel and horrible bastard to any and all who work on his ships. Expecting the performance of a stallion but the pay of a pig, he has controlled and dominated the fishermen of his ship for as long as Baldur’s Father worked for him.
“Speak to me like that again, and I will have your job. You should be on your knees thanking me for giving you and your troublesome brat a job. We don’t need outsiders here, and we certainly don’t need them on our ship!”
Ever since the Magnusson’s left Reine for greener pastures, there has been animosity against them on the ships. Some call it simple racism but others see it more as a mark of terrorism. To control and dictate the lives of others based purely on their birthrights only. In such a small fishing town, that novelty is considered bullshit and thrown out.
At least, it is on most boats. Just not this one.
“I don’t need this job, there are plenty of other boats on the pier. But you should be thanking my son for what he did, you should be thanking US for helping save your fucking boat!”
The Captain takes a deep breath, as anger fills his face and he steps away… only to turn with a sharp right backhand hard enough to drop Baldur’s Father.
“You are your little cunt son are to leave my ship as soon as we dock. And I will make sure nobody in Old Harbour looks your way again. You can forget your job, forget your lives there… that is my village! You two can fuck off back to wherever shithole you came from!”
As the other crew hands watch on, there is a clear level of frustration in the air. On the one hand everyone is eager to back up the Magnusson's, after all the ship is not sunk due to Baldur's quick action. On the other, there isn’t a single fist not clenched on the boat watching the Captain. However none are strong enough to step up to him.
“You see, where I come from the Father is the head of the house, the family and the company.” Baldur is on his feet, shaken but moving. “The lineage acknowledges that the Father is the top of the table, and no matter how good or bad the sons are, the Father’s words are honored.”
The Captain turns around to see Baldur approaching, stumbling after his near-death experience but still staggering forward. Only a mid-20’s kid in his eyes, the Captain laughs.
“What, you are going to defend your Father’s honor? Ok little brat, come here so I can teach you the same lesson.”
Baldur approaches the Captain, a large and strong man in his own right. Despite his Father motioning to leave it off, Baldur moves forward.
“My Gods don’t allow disrespect in the family like this, lest you be fed to the wolves. To attack a man's Father is to attack his whole clan, and I don’t think you know how mighty this clan is.” Baldur staggers forward more, almost within reach of the Captain.
“Come on then little boy, I should have left you drown in that fucking sea.”
The Captain swings at Baldur, and despite his best effort Baldur takes it right on the chin and hits the deck. The Captain laughs loudly, but Baldur slowly makes his way back up.
“Where are your Gods now, you little fuck?"
The Captain swings again, connecting but not dropping Baldur. He goes for a third but Baldur ducks it and lunges with an uppercut to the guts. The brawl starts to garner some cheers and excitement from the crew's hands, and quickly it's clear all votes are on Baldur to win.
“MY Gods live on through me. In me.”
“Oh yeah? Little Christian boy with the power of Jesus fucking Christ!”
More exchanges occur and Baldur begins to lose the fight, easily knocked down as the Captain lands hard boots on him. The crew hands interject to pull the vicious Captain away but he fights them off, and grabs a nearby pipe.
“Get off me you fucking dogs! These Norwegian pricks are a curse on Old Harbour, and it is about time we showed them what we think of them.”
The Captain lunges with the pipe but Baldur drives him back with a hard shoulder, right against the edge of the ship. Fighting on the gunwale the two men wrestle but the Captain pushes Baldur off, swinging the pipe only for Baldur to catch it and take it from him. A quick swing back and the Captain is gushing blood from his head, a couple more swings and the Captain is down completely. Another four or five swings and the cheers from the crewmates quickly stop.
“My Gods are not like yours… we are Norsemen. We are Vikings. We honor only death.”
Baldur drops the bloodied pipe onto the deck, and it rolls away with the waves from the water.
“Baldur… what have you done?” His Father’s question is already answered, as the Captain lays motionless on the deck, his eyes lifeless as blood escapes his skull. Baldur turns around and looks around him.
“This man was a coward. A cretin. He terrorized us all, each and everyone of us. He slaved us, he starved us, he was a cruel tyrant over us. Would you not have done the same?”
Baldur’s Father gets to his feet and approaches his son, trying to quench his flame but Baldur pushes his back.
“Father, this is justice. This is right. This is what happens when pushed into a corner. We are not slaves, we are not pushovers. We are Vikings! We are all Vikings!”
He turns and faces the crewmates, and motions them to come forward.
“And this is our ship now… our ship. OUR ship.”
The crew mates slowly mouth the words ‘our ship’ over and over, and slowly they start to see the light. Acknowledgement and acceptance sinks in, as they approach the dead Captain on the deck. Baldur presses his forehead to that of his Fathers.
“Vikings never die, Father. We live on forever, like our Gods. Like Thor, Odin, Sif. We are eternal, or we are forgotten.”
The Father looks his son in the eye, and eventually nods in agreement. Baldur has fought off the tyrant sea captain, defeated the monarchy of his rule, and broken down the dictatorship. As the crew mates throw the body overboard, a feeling of relief and euphoria washes over Baldur.
From this day forward, no Tyrant will even hold power over his family again.
REVIVAL
As Ozymandias's body is grasped and pulled through the depths, his own words ring out to no reply.
“Father! Father, where are you!”
“Honor your Gods!”
The reality of what is happening quickly sets in, as light begins to pour back into his eyes. His body is limp but his mind is fighting. He feels himself being moved around, a numb dumbed vessel of nothingness as the voices and babble around him begin to become clearer.
“Ozymandias! Ozymandias! Come back to us!”
The dull faint sound of a thud is heard, but from where is unknown. Another follows, and another but this one with feeling. He feels the thud, feels the beating of the sound on his body. More come, more thuds when finally;
“Ozymandias!”
He springs back to life, rolling to his side and coughing and spluttering the sea water from his lungs. His vision faded, he barely acknowledges his mask laying on the rowboat floor beside him, as he coughs and empties his lungs of the water. Alongside him he spies two others getting the same treatment, the two sacrifices he began the ritual with. The other followers jumped in after them, to save them.
Meredith saved them all.
He rolls onto his back, breathing in deeply the cold air of the night, sharp cold fingers snaking their way into his lungs. His vision slowly returns, albeit blurred from the bulging of his eyeballs during his near-death drowning.
“You were only supposed to scare them, make them see the peace and calm that can come from death.” Meredith appears in his vision, looking down at him with a furrowed brow. “One of these days you’ll end up drowning for real… sometimes I have to think that is your intention.”
Ozymandias lays there drawing in breath, one by one but fails to get any words out. Meredith sees he is trying to say something so she leans closer. As with all drownings his voice suffers the most, and without his mask to aid him he sounds like a heavy smoker as his voice and throat mangle the words. Nonetheless he manages to say one thing;
“Honor your Gods”.
Meredith looks down on him, confused, but the effort is too much as Ozymandias simply passed out on the boat deck.
As minutes become hours, the rowboat is back in motion as the passengers propel the vessel back to safety. For Meredith this night was a failure, a test to see if her chosen were willing to sacrifice themselves to the Great Old One. With nobody offering themselves, the plan was for Ozymandias to select two and show the others just how easily their decisions could be made.
But for the two followers that almost drowned, their perspective on life is forever changed. And as for Ozymandias, he has simply repeated the same phrases over and over…
“Honor your Gods.”
The moon guides the passengers back towards land, towards Old Harbour. Ozymandias remains still, his mind forever altered from the events.
“What does that mean, Ozymandias? “Honor your Gods?” Did he speak with you, did you hear the voice from the depths?” She presses for information but doesn’t receive any back, just a blank slate. Ozymandias’ eyes wander from the surface of the water to the skies above, as he mutters the phrase over and over. And over.
A short while that feels like an eternity later, the rowboat washes ashore and the passengers can finally feel solid ground beneath their feet once more. Meredith hops out and helps to drag the boat ashore with the aid of Ozymandias, and she turns to gather her followers.
“What we have learned tonight is that the ocean is almighty, and only we are able to survive against its might when united. The weak amongst us would have perished, but for two of you tonight you have learned of death, and what eternal life could mean for us all. Take this lesson with you, dream upon the cold depths you felt as you saved your fellow people from the water. And as always… praise Cthulhu.”
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn", they all chant in unison. With the mantra said, they bow and take their leave of the boat and the shore. Only Meredith and Ozymandias remain, and the Butcher allows himself a moment to collapse and sit on the stony shore.
“What does it mean, Ozymandias? “Honor your Gods”, you must tell me. Did you speak with Him, or did you speak with others perhaps?”
“No”, he says. His voice is gravelly and agony for him to speak, but he continues. “The voice was not of the deep”.
“Then where? Who did you speak to?”
He looks at her, delayed eye contact before looking to the sky above.
“Up there”, he says, swallowing hard. “I think I spoke with my Father… the Allfather.”
She looks at him confused, unsure of what he is saying.
“The Gods of Norse.”
Meredith takes a moment to register what he just said, but as soon as it hits her eyes widen and her demeanor changes completely.
“I see.” She pulls back from him and turns her back on him, looking out to the sea. “You told me you had forsaken all Gods, so that you could join me in my pilgrimage.” He says nothing, just drawing long and harsh-sounding breaths through his mask. “This will not appease the Great Old One.”
Ozymandias doesn’t respond, only sitting on the wet shore, his arms resting on his knees as he breathes heavily, clearing the remaining vapor from his lungs.
“Then I must ask you… where do your loyalties lie?” Her voice is stern, sharp and very to-the-point. “Which God do you hear, and which Gods to you follow.”
“I don’t know... I don’t know anything right now.” He forces himself onto the balls of his feet and into a standing position, walking towards the water with aching bones it seems. “All I know is my direction is clear… honor my Gods. Whether they reside in the halls of Valhalla, or in the sunken city of R’lyeh, they ask the same of me. They expect the same of me.”
“...and that is?”
“To honor them, the only way I truly know how.” He bends down and scoops up some small round stones, tossing them into the sea one by one. “To honor them through trials, through the fire, through carnage, blood and chaos.”
Ozymandias turns to Meredith with a look in his eye she has not seen in a long long time… he is lost.
“My future is uncertain, our goals unchanged. But regardless of what occurs, we need to continue together. We need to strive for greatness, side by side. I cannot fight this war alone… and neither can you. Size and brawn aside, you are still but a man… not a warrior eternal yet.”
He tries to speak but gargles, spitting up some residual sea water again it seems. He lifts his mask to splutter it out, once more drawing a painful deep breath.
“Warstein is all that matters now. He is the first step. He is the first trial.”
Meredith walks towards her friend, the moonlight casting a pale glow from her milk-white skin. Her form is gaunt, her uncovered skin looks icy to the touch but her eyes are live like an inferno.
“Together we can discover your path. Together we can discover your true God. But regardless, our goal must remain unchanged… we need to cull the weakness from this world. The sick and the frail, the lost and the hopeless. This world is dying… it needs us to cleanse it.”
She turns to the ocean before her, wide and enormous as it stretches into the night sky.
“Whether that means we drown it, or let loose the fangs of Fenrir on these people.”
Ozymandias simply nods, and leans forward to her so they can touch their brows against one another.
“Legacy will fall, as they must. As they should. This will be the first rite of passage. Our attention can turn to past threats and looming hazards in our future, but for now… Warstein must fall. His tyranny must end.”
They pull apart, and Meredith sees Ozymandias before her, his eyes inquisitive.
“I will handle Raven… I have a solution for the winged rat.” Her expression turns from a concerned look to a mischievous smirk. “What better way to fight fire… than with fire.” She smiles again, and someone Ozymandias understands what this means.
“I will beat him. I must beat him.”
“Good… Warstein is a false idol to these people. These seeking Honor, must learn that he who wears the crown is not the almighty… he who breaks the crown holds the true power.”
"Warstein will fall… all men must fall.”
“All men must fall.”
Once more they press their brows together, but only until Ozymandias pulls away first. Their hands have been entwined throughout, but slowly he slips free from her hand and begins to make his way home along the shore. Meredith remains behind, dawdling on the discussion.
“Your Gods are gone, Baldur… your place is by my side, in R’lyeh. Once this battle is past, we will remind you.” She turns to face the sea, alone now and out of earshot of everyone. “You will stay by my side… or drown with my God.”
A slight smirk crosses her face.
"Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”.
KING OF KINGS
To stand tall over your empire, dominant and powerful. The almighty ruler of your lands and your people, this is a rare and unknown feeling amongst man. Few have garnered such admiration, such fear, such loyalty that they hold the whip and all cry out for it’s lash.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
Domination through conquest, no foe stood against his wrath. No man dared oppose his might. He conquered with ease and his name travelled far and wide, like a sharp blade to cut through all bravado and defiance.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
As his domain grew and his reach expanded, more would-be challengers dared to oppose him, dared to test his mettle. They clashed with his armies, collapsed his battalions and decimated his people. But still, he prevailed, undefeated and unstoppable.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
Tyrants appeared across his horizon, challengers to his throne like hungry dogs. Barking and gnawing at his heels, eager to watch him fall so that they could take everything from him, so that they could take possession of his entire dominion. His legacy. They too fell.
Ozymandias, the King of Kings.
None could beat him, none could defeat him. None could stand up against his might, and leave triumphant. His rule was the greatest threat to the world, and the great achievement of any mortal man. Nothing could dare to stand against him or defeat him… nothing, but the sands of time.
The only thing in life we cannot fight against, the only thing we cannot prevail against… is death itself. The greatest ruler of all time, the most prestigious war captain and militant leader. His only defeat was to life itself.
“My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
But ultimately, his name is the greatest symbol of our time. Nothing lasts forever, nothing is eternal, this world is weak and forever dying. Where a tree falls to decay, another grows in its place… and so the cycle continues.
This world is futile.
A new world will soon rise, a world of eternal glory. This is just the beginning of the end. The Kings. The Tyrants. The Mothers. The Wolves, Ravens and the Outcasts. It matters not.
ALL MEN MUST FALL
