Post by OZYMANDIAS on Aug 11, 2021 21:54:02 GMT -5
A storm only grows when there is pressure applied. A force of nature swelling in torment, feeding off the energy around it. Ready to crack and split the sky open.
Feed the storm, raise the pressure… and see the lightning. Feel the thunder.
Do not tempt the God of Storms, for you might not be able to handle what they bring.
OLD HARBOUR
“My people, worry not. The bountiful harvest we have been enjoying does not end soon, and never if we can have our way. Old Harbour has never been so fruitful, our wares and produce are in high demand and our small town is bringing in more boats and traffic by sea than ever.”
Standing before a small gathering is Meredith, Mayor of Old Harbour and long-time ally to the protector of this town.
“Our cashcow has given us the head-start we needed, to usher us to great success. Repairs and mending the town was not cheap, but we have come out the other side of the battle stronger and more prosperous than ever. We must rely on our own crafts and offerings than to rly on the donations of our protector. We must find sustenance and support ourselves in our own craft, and not depend on the volunteered time of others.”
Stood upon a make shift stage of old lobster cages and plywood, Meredith stands a mere couple of feet above the crowd, but is grossly outnumbered. They gather before her underneath the roof and walls of an unused boat house, repurposed and redecorated to resemble a makeshift town hall.
From launching ships, to launching attacks.
“Our brother Baldur came to us in desperate times, looking for a new start. He was not meant to be our salvation, he was not supposed to be the hand to feed us all. But another hand to work the land and waters alongside us, to join us in our work to rebuild and recreate this beautiful village of Old Harbour.”
She pauses, looking around the room. Fishwives and sailors look at her with concerned expressions upon their furrowed brows, a look of worry unspoken about them.
“We have a booming fish trade, our produce is sought after upon the mainland, our flora and fauna are some of the best exports to grace the shores of Anchorage. As a community, our waters and our farms will feed us tenfold, and provide riches and greater rewards if we desire. But we must not forget our goal here.”
She stops, a moment lingering as heavy as rocks in the air.
“We must not forget our pledge to the Great Old One.”
A unanimous sigh groans up from the crowd, clearly unamused with talk of the sea monster she devotes her life to. A fishing village entirely, they can rally their support and worship when needed. But this is different.
The winds are changing and the sun sets lower and lower. The cold winters crush all hopes of a booming crop or a generous yield from the sea. Their only respite in these times… come from the Butcher.
“Do not mock or insult me with your moans, you have taken a pact to work towards the better future alongside me, working towards the new world as one. The great sunken city WILL arise, but until that day we must survive this mortal realm as mortals do. The crop yields will soon diminish, so we will focus our efforts ion our storehouses over the upcoming weeks.”
She crosses the small stage, her platform barely holding ever her minute frame.
“Our catch will be frozen and kept in the freezers at the harbour, should we need it. We will sell our freshest catch, and preserve the rest for the oncoming seasons.”
She steps forward, right to the edge of the lobster-cage stage.
“But have no doubts about it… the Butcher will only support us for so long. His position in our community is not forever, not one to be taken for granted. His help has brought us into a better standing within this world… it is up to us to turn that blessing into a bridge to the next world.”
The townsfolk before her look unimpressed, uninterested in all she has to say.
“Ozymandias is our protector. His contributions to the community pot have been unwarranted, but highly appreciated. We do not look a gift horse in the mouth, but rather we thank them for all they have offered us. He has given us wealth, but shown us much more.”
She points to a small stout fisherwomen.
“You, has Ozymandias not shown you how to mend and fix the hatches of your home? So that when the winds blow you can take mercy from the cold?”
She turns and points to a rugged farmer.
“Has Ozymandias not aided you in setting up traps, so to scare away the local wolves hungry for your sheep? Do you not still have your flock thanks to him?”
She turns and moves her finger around, stop[ping to point and make eye contact with all in the room one by one.
“The Butcher of Reine protected us when we needed it most. From the elements. From prosecution of the mainland authorities. And now he protects us from the sickness of the world, the weakness in the hearts and souls of those mortal fools around us falling in place.” She lifts her hands up, dramatically but for effect. “Without Ozymandias, we would be broken! He has mended us beyond repair, and brought us into a new light!”
She stops, her eyes closed for a moment as she catches her breath. She opens them slowly, focusing on a figure in the back of the room. One by one the townsfolk suddenly realize who this figure is, and they panic as they turn to look, their faces draining of blood.
Nobody is there.
“You all know what Ozymandias has done for us, yet you ask for more? I feign a suggestion he stands amongst us yet you panic, concerned your greed will reward you with a punishment most fitting. Today your gluttony is excused, but the next time you bring these topics up to me… the Butcher will be in attendance.”
She looks around the room, somewhat annoyed before waving her hand to dismiss the congregation. Like scared pigs, they bind together as they exit through a small doorway, determined to leave Meredith’s presence as quickly as possible.
Before she changes her mind, and summons the Butcher to answer their pleas.
THE VOID
To break a mans arm is to leave him defenseless, incapable of his own safety. To break both a man's arms, is to render him as nothing more than lamb to the slaughter. Incapacitated and without a fight, he becomes nothing more than prey.
To drown a man, is to watch him flail and suffer under the weight of his own lungs. To see his bare necessities become his downfall, his mindless actions now killing him slowly. Breathing, an automatic function, now slowly filling his lungs in agonizing stabs. drown a man, is to watch him flail and suffer under the weight of his own lungs. To see his bare necessities become his downfall, his mindless actions now killing him slowly. Breathing, an automatic function, now slowly filling his lungs in agonizing stabs.
To break a man entirely, is to remove all essence of him being a man. A lungful of water to stop their breath. A removal of limbs to cease their attack. A fracture of the spine, to pause any and all aggression.
These are the thoughts of a trained warrior. A tried and tested victor.
As I float here unperturbed by sound, sight or smell, all I know is this… I am truly defenseless, but only by my own choosing. Floating in this sea, my eyes ignite in salted brimstone scalding my corneas and eyelids. The sharp cold water coarse as sand against my soft eyes.
My lungs, swollen and in fierce agony, slowly lose their battle to fight on. All oxygen escaping, all support systems in overload. Like an alarm that you cannot see, cannot hear. You can only feel it, the alarm rings to warn you… death is close.
My arms, weak. My back, stiff. My body, breaking under the raw pressure of the vast ocean above and around me. I slowly sink here into the darkness, a void of worth, of care, of emotion. Down here there is nothing. I am nothing. The world is nothing.
This is peace.
BOOM
The sound breaks, alerting me as it always does, that my time is coming. It is time to make my decision, and decide my faith. To many men before me, and many after this is the moment they panic the most. Bodily functions shutting down means only one thing… you drown. You die. You cease existing in this cruel, mortal shell.
But to me, that sound means something more.
BOOM
From the depths it catches me, a void dark place suddenly alive with the sound of low rumbles, groaning aches of a millennia waking up before me. A colossus eager for his meal, ready for a fight on the surface. He hears me calling him, and he awaits my arrival.
But I do not deserve an audience with the Great Dreamer. Not yet.
BOOM
The Gates of R’lyeh creak open and I hear it, blind by the darkness and deaf to all but my slowly failing beating heart. They welcome me, accepting me, patiently standing for my arrival to the world of the dead. But not yet.
It is not my time, for I have much left to prove. The boy Baldur, broken and dead countless times. All that remains is the scarred, hollow cask of a man with nothing to lose, and a new world to live for. R’lyeh wants a warrior… they will soon get the great Ozymandias.
BOOM
Like an explosion, a bright flash of emerald lights up the sea before me. Dark figures and shapes surround me, invisible in the darkness. Death is close, within reach, but I am not here to fight. My fight remains on the surface, amongst the living. They do not pull me to their deep hell… they want more from me.
BOOM
The emerald glows once more, the figures now closer than ever, tentacled and webbed in silhouette. They want me to fight, they want me to earn my grave. Names flash through my mind, but only two linger right now.
BOOM
Will Riley… frail, foolish and futile. A promising athlete, a mediocre sacrifice. His efforts will be in vain against the Butcher, his efforts will fall against the Champion. His fight will be one of note, but not for his participation.
His demise will set his legacy, and his failure will be his greatest acknowledgment. A goat fed to the beast of the forest, he is nothing more than a meal for a king.
Will Riley… the deep will take you with ease.
BOOM
Another explosion of emerald, and the figures have arrived. Toothed, fanged and webbed beast of the deep rise from the emerald city, surrounding me with vicious intent. My heartbeat vanishes, failure or collapse perhaps? All that remains is the beating heart of another… rumbling for below, bellowing with each THUD, THUD, THUD… my heart belongs to Him.
BOOM
Mark Kelly… promising, prospective, perishable. Enjoyed by the mindless ilk of the fans, a showboating performer that found a brief moment of joy when standing amongst greater names of Project Honor. A shining star, extinguished by a gust of wind.
His career brought joy to the mind of Indy Darling, a new prospect to fight the greats of Proving Ground, only to find his slaughter at the hands of the Butcher.
Mark Kelly… your grave lies down, under the sea.
BOOM
The heartbeat, kicking harder than ever before. The enormous thud shaking loose the silt and soil from the bottom of the ocean, shockwaves with each beat.
BOOM
Another pump of the heart, another explosion of bright green emerald light. All around me the scaled monsters come closer, their fishy hands grasping at me, clawing at me. Ready to draw me deep into R’lyeh.
BOOM
They hiss and screech into my ear, struggling to pull me deeper. They want to deliver me to the Great Old One, but it is not my time. There is more fight left in me, many more souls left to set sail. They fight me, urging me to sink deeper, but I resist. My time will come, but it is not today.
BOOM
The city shines below me, R’lyeh. The sunken city of the Gods. The beats of Old resides within, and his lost deep ones force me lower. But it is not my time, it is not my fight. I have much left to prove. They claw and press, but I resist still.
Ozymandias, a forgotten name in the sand… yet my story is not written.
BOOM
The light flashes, weaker. The city vanishing, the deep ones retreating in defeat. The lingering glow of the city catches my eye for one last time…
BOOM
The heartbeat returns, but not of the Great Old One. This is the beating heart of the Butcher… mine. Kicking back to life, the final bubbles of life escape my lungs and I realize where I am. Cold, floating in a void of space and time, peaceful in death but premature to my time.
I look up above me, to see a glimmer of light, a sparkle of hope.
BOOM
My heart beats to remind me… this is not our day. Today we swim, today we fight. Today, we live.
I swim towards the light, urging my exhausted limbs into action, fighting the pressure around me as it desires to pull me deeper. But I persist, and I fight.
Rising, slowly, inch by inch....
BOOM
My climb ends as I break the surface, my head exploding back into the world of the living. The air lashes at my skin immediately, angry that I have returned. Furious I have once again beaten the world of the living, and the world of the dead. I have emerged from the depths, victorious in my fight against the deep ones, ready to brawl with the warriors of the surface.
Ozymandias, a man between realms. A Warrior, immortal in conflict. Champion, defiant against all odds.
I draw in cold, sharp breaths as my lungs evacuate the final drops of the arctic waters. The strong taste of salt numbs my senses, but slowly I come into the world. Slowly I remember where I am, who I am.
And all that lingers in my mind is two names.
Will Riley… Mark Kelly…
The Butcher knows you. The Butcher sees you.
The Butcher… is ready.
Feed the storm, raise the pressure… and see the lightning. Feel the thunder.
Do not tempt the God of Storms, for you might not be able to handle what they bring.
OLD HARBOUR
“My people, worry not. The bountiful harvest we have been enjoying does not end soon, and never if we can have our way. Old Harbour has never been so fruitful, our wares and produce are in high demand and our small town is bringing in more boats and traffic by sea than ever.”
Standing before a small gathering is Meredith, Mayor of Old Harbour and long-time ally to the protector of this town.
“Our cashcow has given us the head-start we needed, to usher us to great success. Repairs and mending the town was not cheap, but we have come out the other side of the battle stronger and more prosperous than ever. We must rely on our own crafts and offerings than to rly on the donations of our protector. We must find sustenance and support ourselves in our own craft, and not depend on the volunteered time of others.”
Stood upon a make shift stage of old lobster cages and plywood, Meredith stands a mere couple of feet above the crowd, but is grossly outnumbered. They gather before her underneath the roof and walls of an unused boat house, repurposed and redecorated to resemble a makeshift town hall.
From launching ships, to launching attacks.
“Our brother Baldur came to us in desperate times, looking for a new start. He was not meant to be our salvation, he was not supposed to be the hand to feed us all. But another hand to work the land and waters alongside us, to join us in our work to rebuild and recreate this beautiful village of Old Harbour.”
She pauses, looking around the room. Fishwives and sailors look at her with concerned expressions upon their furrowed brows, a look of worry unspoken about them.
“We have a booming fish trade, our produce is sought after upon the mainland, our flora and fauna are some of the best exports to grace the shores of Anchorage. As a community, our waters and our farms will feed us tenfold, and provide riches and greater rewards if we desire. But we must not forget our goal here.”
She stops, a moment lingering as heavy as rocks in the air.
“We must not forget our pledge to the Great Old One.”
A unanimous sigh groans up from the crowd, clearly unamused with talk of the sea monster she devotes her life to. A fishing village entirely, they can rally their support and worship when needed. But this is different.
The winds are changing and the sun sets lower and lower. The cold winters crush all hopes of a booming crop or a generous yield from the sea. Their only respite in these times… come from the Butcher.
“Do not mock or insult me with your moans, you have taken a pact to work towards the better future alongside me, working towards the new world as one. The great sunken city WILL arise, but until that day we must survive this mortal realm as mortals do. The crop yields will soon diminish, so we will focus our efforts ion our storehouses over the upcoming weeks.”
She crosses the small stage, her platform barely holding ever her minute frame.
“Our catch will be frozen and kept in the freezers at the harbour, should we need it. We will sell our freshest catch, and preserve the rest for the oncoming seasons.”
She steps forward, right to the edge of the lobster-cage stage.
“But have no doubts about it… the Butcher will only support us for so long. His position in our community is not forever, not one to be taken for granted. His help has brought us into a better standing within this world… it is up to us to turn that blessing into a bridge to the next world.”
The townsfolk before her look unimpressed, uninterested in all she has to say.
“Ozymandias is our protector. His contributions to the community pot have been unwarranted, but highly appreciated. We do not look a gift horse in the mouth, but rather we thank them for all they have offered us. He has given us wealth, but shown us much more.”
She points to a small stout fisherwomen.
“You, has Ozymandias not shown you how to mend and fix the hatches of your home? So that when the winds blow you can take mercy from the cold?”
She turns and points to a rugged farmer.
“Has Ozymandias not aided you in setting up traps, so to scare away the local wolves hungry for your sheep? Do you not still have your flock thanks to him?”
She turns and moves her finger around, stop[ping to point and make eye contact with all in the room one by one.
“The Butcher of Reine protected us when we needed it most. From the elements. From prosecution of the mainland authorities. And now he protects us from the sickness of the world, the weakness in the hearts and souls of those mortal fools around us falling in place.” She lifts her hands up, dramatically but for effect. “Without Ozymandias, we would be broken! He has mended us beyond repair, and brought us into a new light!”
She stops, her eyes closed for a moment as she catches her breath. She opens them slowly, focusing on a figure in the back of the room. One by one the townsfolk suddenly realize who this figure is, and they panic as they turn to look, their faces draining of blood.
Nobody is there.
“You all know what Ozymandias has done for us, yet you ask for more? I feign a suggestion he stands amongst us yet you panic, concerned your greed will reward you with a punishment most fitting. Today your gluttony is excused, but the next time you bring these topics up to me… the Butcher will be in attendance.”
She looks around the room, somewhat annoyed before waving her hand to dismiss the congregation. Like scared pigs, they bind together as they exit through a small doorway, determined to leave Meredith’s presence as quickly as possible.
Before she changes her mind, and summons the Butcher to answer their pleas.
THE VOID
To break a mans arm is to leave him defenseless, incapable of his own safety. To break both a man's arms, is to render him as nothing more than lamb to the slaughter. Incapacitated and without a fight, he becomes nothing more than prey.
To drown a man, is to watch him flail and suffer under the weight of his own lungs. To see his bare necessities become his downfall, his mindless actions now killing him slowly. Breathing, an automatic function, now slowly filling his lungs in agonizing stabs. drown a man, is to watch him flail and suffer under the weight of his own lungs. To see his bare necessities become his downfall, his mindless actions now killing him slowly. Breathing, an automatic function, now slowly filling his lungs in agonizing stabs.
To break a man entirely, is to remove all essence of him being a man. A lungful of water to stop their breath. A removal of limbs to cease their attack. A fracture of the spine, to pause any and all aggression.
These are the thoughts of a trained warrior. A tried and tested victor.
As I float here unperturbed by sound, sight or smell, all I know is this… I am truly defenseless, but only by my own choosing. Floating in this sea, my eyes ignite in salted brimstone scalding my corneas and eyelids. The sharp cold water coarse as sand against my soft eyes.
My lungs, swollen and in fierce agony, slowly lose their battle to fight on. All oxygen escaping, all support systems in overload. Like an alarm that you cannot see, cannot hear. You can only feel it, the alarm rings to warn you… death is close.
My arms, weak. My back, stiff. My body, breaking under the raw pressure of the vast ocean above and around me. I slowly sink here into the darkness, a void of worth, of care, of emotion. Down here there is nothing. I am nothing. The world is nothing.
This is peace.
BOOM
The sound breaks, alerting me as it always does, that my time is coming. It is time to make my decision, and decide my faith. To many men before me, and many after this is the moment they panic the most. Bodily functions shutting down means only one thing… you drown. You die. You cease existing in this cruel, mortal shell.
But to me, that sound means something more.
BOOM
From the depths it catches me, a void dark place suddenly alive with the sound of low rumbles, groaning aches of a millennia waking up before me. A colossus eager for his meal, ready for a fight on the surface. He hears me calling him, and he awaits my arrival.
But I do not deserve an audience with the Great Dreamer. Not yet.
BOOM
The Gates of R’lyeh creak open and I hear it, blind by the darkness and deaf to all but my slowly failing beating heart. They welcome me, accepting me, patiently standing for my arrival to the world of the dead. But not yet.
It is not my time, for I have much left to prove. The boy Baldur, broken and dead countless times. All that remains is the scarred, hollow cask of a man with nothing to lose, and a new world to live for. R’lyeh wants a warrior… they will soon get the great Ozymandias.
BOOM
Like an explosion, a bright flash of emerald lights up the sea before me. Dark figures and shapes surround me, invisible in the darkness. Death is close, within reach, but I am not here to fight. My fight remains on the surface, amongst the living. They do not pull me to their deep hell… they want more from me.
BOOM
The emerald glows once more, the figures now closer than ever, tentacled and webbed in silhouette. They want me to fight, they want me to earn my grave. Names flash through my mind, but only two linger right now.
BOOM
Will Riley… frail, foolish and futile. A promising athlete, a mediocre sacrifice. His efforts will be in vain against the Butcher, his efforts will fall against the Champion. His fight will be one of note, but not for his participation.
His demise will set his legacy, and his failure will be his greatest acknowledgment. A goat fed to the beast of the forest, he is nothing more than a meal for a king.
Will Riley… the deep will take you with ease.
BOOM
Another explosion of emerald, and the figures have arrived. Toothed, fanged and webbed beast of the deep rise from the emerald city, surrounding me with vicious intent. My heartbeat vanishes, failure or collapse perhaps? All that remains is the beating heart of another… rumbling for below, bellowing with each THUD, THUD, THUD… my heart belongs to Him.
BOOM
Mark Kelly… promising, prospective, perishable. Enjoyed by the mindless ilk of the fans, a showboating performer that found a brief moment of joy when standing amongst greater names of Project Honor. A shining star, extinguished by a gust of wind.
His career brought joy to the mind of Indy Darling, a new prospect to fight the greats of Proving Ground, only to find his slaughter at the hands of the Butcher.
Mark Kelly… your grave lies down, under the sea.
BOOM
The heartbeat, kicking harder than ever before. The enormous thud shaking loose the silt and soil from the bottom of the ocean, shockwaves with each beat.
BOOM
Another pump of the heart, another explosion of bright green emerald light. All around me the scaled monsters come closer, their fishy hands grasping at me, clawing at me. Ready to draw me deep into R’lyeh.
BOOM
They hiss and screech into my ear, struggling to pull me deeper. They want to deliver me to the Great Old One, but it is not my time. There is more fight left in me, many more souls left to set sail. They fight me, urging me to sink deeper, but I resist. My time will come, but it is not today.
BOOM
The city shines below me, R’lyeh. The sunken city of the Gods. The beats of Old resides within, and his lost deep ones force me lower. But it is not my time, it is not my fight. I have much left to prove. They claw and press, but I resist still.
Ozymandias, a forgotten name in the sand… yet my story is not written.
BOOM
The light flashes, weaker. The city vanishing, the deep ones retreating in defeat. The lingering glow of the city catches my eye for one last time…
BOOM
The heartbeat returns, but not of the Great Old One. This is the beating heart of the Butcher… mine. Kicking back to life, the final bubbles of life escape my lungs and I realize where I am. Cold, floating in a void of space and time, peaceful in death but premature to my time.
I look up above me, to see a glimmer of light, a sparkle of hope.
BOOM
My heart beats to remind me… this is not our day. Today we swim, today we fight. Today, we live.
I swim towards the light, urging my exhausted limbs into action, fighting the pressure around me as it desires to pull me deeper. But I persist, and I fight.
Rising, slowly, inch by inch....
BOOM
My climb ends as I break the surface, my head exploding back into the world of the living. The air lashes at my skin immediately, angry that I have returned. Furious I have once again beaten the world of the living, and the world of the dead. I have emerged from the depths, victorious in my fight against the deep ones, ready to brawl with the warriors of the surface.
Ozymandias, a man between realms. A Warrior, immortal in conflict. Champion, defiant against all odds.
I draw in cold, sharp breaths as my lungs evacuate the final drops of the arctic waters. The strong taste of salt numbs my senses, but slowly I come into the world. Slowly I remember where I am, who I am.
And all that lingers in my mind is two names.
Will Riley… Mark Kelly…
The Butcher knows you. The Butcher sees you.
The Butcher… is ready.
