The Butcher & The Crown (Part One) - Supremacy 2024
Jan 20, 2024 20:55:45 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 5 more like this
Post by Hyperion on Jan 20, 2024 20:55:45 GMT -5
THE LEGACY OF BALDUR MAGNUSSON
Long before the moniker of ‘Ozymandias’ was bestowed upon him, Baldur Magnusson was born in Reine, Norway. The only son to Karl and Karolina Magus, a fishing family who built their trade along the shores. Fishing, trawling, crabbing, whatever spoils the sea could offer them in return for a humble living. Baldur spent his youth working alongside his father, learning his schooling on a fishing boat and gathering life experience from the stories told around the workers lunch table. He relished his time on the water, he adorned his bedroom with ropes and shells, stones and sand gathered from trips on the open waters. Baldur loved his life, loved the pace of work, and quickly grew into a man vastly seasoned on the docks. Much like his peers, and the men he admired.
A youth filled with hard work, hauling the daily catch, pulling in coarse water-logged ropes, and manning the various stations of the trawlers quickly turned Baldur into a man. Muscles exploding, his physique matched his will for life. He was growing, as much as his appetite for the sea. As the morning’s humid air hit his face, the salt foam splashing across his body, the creeping chill of the wind at his back… this was his heaven. The Norse haven of Valhalla could wait, for he was already at peace.
As the years rolled by, the waters grew sparse and barren. Overfishing, overpopulation, rising tides and warming waters forced their quarry to further, deeper waters. And with it their revenue and profits sunk also. Life in Reine grew tougher and tougher, evident by the quick departures of several families. One such family, close to the Magnus’ clan were the Agnars’ - Karl and Karolina. Along with their two younger children, they were the first family to take on a foreign contract, and agree to start working in the USA.
Seeing friends and family leave was painful, especially as Baldur was quite fond of the Agnars, and their daughter Meredith. They were close in age, attended school together, and had formed a close bond despite the tough world they were growing up in. A couple of years had gone by with Karl Agnar reaching out with a proposition, seeking a second captain for his ship in Alaska, and working for a dockhand that Baldur could take on too. The conversation was trivial, as the Magnus family already knew what must be done.
And so, the Magnus family departed Norway, for the south shores of Alaska. America… the land of opportunity. The Norse Gods look favorably on those who seek adventure and success, or so they told themselves. Either this is a blessing from Odin himself, or a trick by the mischievous Loki.
Only time would tell.
HURRICANE LOKE
Childhood friend of Baldur, the two kids were raised almost as siblings. Their parents were close, almost akin to family, and as such Meredith and Baldur shared everything. Stories, toys, secrets, adventure. Separating the two was tough for the families, but as the Gods smiled down upon them, it would be the case for them to reunite once again.
As the Magnus family departed their boat on the docks of Old Harbor, Baldur immediately felt at home. Picturesque docks greeted them, stone broken and weathered from endless storms. A beautiful village sat on the waters edge, wooden gangways leading into cobbled-stone streets haphazardly weaving through the small town. Painted in colors of blues, greens, grays, reds, the glossy eggshell coats seemed like something from a book. Baldur barely had a moment to absorb this new setting, from the village to the fields beyond, the cliffs overlooking the village, the stony beaches nearby…
“Baldur!”, she exclaimed, running towards him with open arms. Meredith and Baldur had only been apart for a couple of years, but in their youthful stage of life this felt like an eternity. She embraced him in a tight hug, her skinny frame clinging to his growing physique with more effort than expected. It took only a moment before he held her back, lifting her with ease and twirling around with his friend. Young-love, or love-lost friends, it mattered not. The two teenagers were reunited, and life in this new setting suddenly felt good.
Baldur quickly entered the working pool, allowing himself time for homeschooling with his mother Karolina, and time to work the docks with his father Karl and their would-be savior, Aron Agnar. Aron led a crew of fishing trawlers, clearly the most experienced man on the docks of Old Harbour. The Alaskans were nice people, hard working, doing their best but not a patch of two of Norway’s finest. The workers of Old Harbour were modern men, careful and precise, relying on their equipment and their waypaths.
Two Viking fishermen from Reine, with ancestry on longships was enough for them to step back and let others lead the way. Aron was teaching his younger son Frederick the ways of the water too, Baldur helping to teach his pseudo younger brother how to manage the ropes. It was long before the crew was surpassing previous records, bringing in more than had even been expected, and using their new-found profits to upgrade equipment, ships, ropes, better garbs and so forth. The men of Reine were truly a blessing to Old Harbor, and the people there recognized it.
Electing Aron Agnar as their new mayor, the family was sealed in the history books. The Agnars, the Magnus men, and Old Harbor was on the rise. Years would pass by and both Baldur and Meredith would grow. Leaving the comfort of their homeschooling days behind, both took on tasks that would help the village. Baldur worked the boats, the docks, and anything else required. Meredith, alongside her mother Karolina, helped establish local produce and began selling flowers, jewelry, baked goods, and anything else they could to neighboring towns and villages. Multiple revenue streams brough an abundance of income, opportunities, and even tourism to the town.
But things would not always be so bright. Working the boats as usual, Baldur was aiding Frederick with a tougher haul than usual, the winch struggling as it snagged on some rocks. Aron and Karl assisted, but being temporarily anchored normally doesn’t raise concern - today was different. Hurricane Loke (OOC: this is a real fact, you can look it up!) had ravaged the coastline of the Pacific ocean for days, and was thought to have been past the mark for Old Harbor. With their trawler tied in place, netting caught on something beneath the surface, the men could only watch in terror as the incoming storm grew closer and closer.
The temperature dropped to near minus numbers, the cold black water thrashing viciously around the men, throwing them and everything not nailed down aside. In merely minutes, they were fighting for their lives, the wrath of the ocean showing it’s true power. Aron Agnar was first overboard, thrown viciously from the hull as the boat nearly capsized. His son Frederick was next, an enormous wave breaking the starboard side of the boat and letting the vast emptiness of the waters creep in. Streaming, nonsensical screaming filled the airs, commands and pleas from the last two men onboard, but the Gods did not hear them.
Baldur watched his Father remove his life vest, strapping it to Baldur, but as the sounds of rain and thunder boomed over them, the storm now engulfing their trawler, he did not hear what was said. Only his face, pale and strewn, terrified. Not for himself, but for his son. The loud groaning and creaking drowned out all thought as the winch tore itself from the bow of the boat, and Baldur could only watch in horror as the small fishing vessel tore itself in half under the fury of the ocean.
He felt the cold embrace of the waters, the black void of the Pacific sea, he felt his lungs fill up like icy tentacles clawing their way into his body, and then there was nothing. No sound. No screams. No thunder. No light.
Nothing. Everything was black, cold and merciless.
MEREDITH AGNAR
“Baldur! Baldur!!”. Her words bounced off him like an echo in a cave. He could hear it, almost feel her screaming his name, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it was meant for him. As Meredith and her mother sprinted along the coast, Baldur couldn’t comprehend what had happened. He lay face down on the sand, unsure if he was alive or dead. Sand filled his mouth, his lips cracked and bleeding from the cold waters. His hands stinging from holding onto the vessel, ropes ripping his flesh and splintered wood piercing his skin.
But he still felt numb. These sensations, they did not feel like his. This pain, it felt like it belonged to another. As the women of the Agnar house tended to him, screaming for help and calling all locals available to assist, Baldur still didn’t feel a thing. He was cold, he was tired, but something else. He was lifeless. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t help himself, could help his Father, couldn’t help anyone.
Days passed by, Baldur sat in front of an open fire with his weeping mother alongside him. Not a word left his lips, his mother pacing and grieving enough for him to contend with. Many lives were long that night, not just his father, not just the Agnar boys. The village had a dark cloud over it, with Hurricane Loke having won its fight. He wanted to laugh, thinking of the cruel Loki and his ways. But nothing mattered, nothing helped.
Karolina Agnar could not take the loss of her husband and son. She was a broken woman, and no consoling her would help. Within a week, she had given herself to the same ocean that took her family, desperately seeking to be back with her boys. Meredith found the note, claiming that when she was ready she too should join her family in the sea.
Many others took their loss differently. Some left Old Harbor completely. Some buried their grief with drink and anger. Some followed the lost lives, deciding a trip to the watery depths would be better than a life of loss and misery. Old Harbor was dealt a blow, but for Meredith Agnar, she had lost everything.
Baldur had decided to walk the docks, something of a ritual for him now with each passing night. The routine of his daily chores on the docks, the life he loved amongst the boats, the cold air and salty crisp edge to the weather… it normally made him feel alive. But now, it just felt like nothing. He was still numb, and cold to the world. In a daze he walked along, hands in the pockets of his sheeps-wool jacket as the wind whipped at his hair.
And that’s when he heard it. A splash in the water, a very unique and identifiable splash. His head turned towards the end of the pier, but in the night sky he saw nothing. Something inside him urged him to investigate however, and as he drew closer and closer to the pier end, he found himself breaking from a run into a sprint. Feeling something inside him, he disrobed as he ran, tossing aside his jacket, kicking off his boots, his gloves and hat shedded as he moved. As he neared the end of the pier, it took only a moment for his to make his decision and ive into the waters below.
He found her floating there before him, unconscious, moving gracefully in the waters current. The moon lit the surface of the waters so well, he could make out her figure and her features almost to clearly. Her pale white skin, her flowing black hair, her silken black dress moving effortlessly around her. Her eyes were closed, her lungs filled with nothing but cold, night waters. But it was as if she was calling to him. It was as if she needed him… and he needed her.
Baldur dragged Meredith from the waters and with all his knowledge, he did his very best to revive her. It took a while longer than he hoped, but eventually she awoke before him, spitting out the salted poison within her lungs, coughing and clawing at air to bring her back to life. Baldur held her upright in his arms, kneeling beside her with his eyes trained on hers. She took a moment or two to accept the situation, to understand what had happened.
And then she kissed him.
THE INN AT OLD HARBOR
“...thanks for the history lesson, but what has this got to do with anything?” The spectacle-adorned man leaned over the railing next to him, eyeing up the waters below. “I mean, it’s good to know this stuff, but I don’t really plan on doing much sightseeing or tourism on this trip.”
Standing onboard a modern ferry, the man awaits an answer from the phone to his ear. Wearing a warm jacket, woolen hat and gloves, he looks like someone about to voyage to the Arctic, not to a peaceful fishing village in early winter.
“...gotcha, OK well I guess that is handy information to have on hand. Either way, I plan on stopping by my room and dropping my bags, finding a stool by the bar and someone to pour me a hot drink, and maybe a bite to eat if this place has anything good. I’ll leave the history and sights of Old Harbor for the fun-seekers and tourists.”
As the ferry crosses a bend in rocks, Old Harbor becomes visible in the distance. Clear skies and sun shining mean nothing to the Alaskan waterfront, as chilling winds still howl and blow around the man on the deck of the ferry. He quickly wraps up his phone call, and puts his hands back into his pockets, watching carefully as the ferry creeps towards the Hallmark village.
Moments later the ferry has landed, and alongside several foot-passengers the man begins to depart. Wheeling a single carry-on suitcase behind him, he disembarks from the ferry and finds himself on the famous docks of Old Harbor. Clean lines on newly chiseled stone adorn the docks, with beautiful casted iron lamps hanging above. The passengers accompanying him are mixed between locals, tourists, and folks awaiting their next connection. Old Harbor seems to be a buzzing, thriving community now, a far cry from the stories and tales he just heard on his phone call. 2024 is a new time it seems.
He nears the end of the pier when he spies her ahead of him, the woman he is scheduled to meet with - Meredith Agnar.
Manager and partner to Ozymandias, and by all accounts a big persona in this little village. She stands before him wearing very little in contrast to the weather around them. Catching Old Harbor on a good day admittedly, but still with temperatures close to negative and brisk winds, she seems unphased by the elements. Her pale skin glows in the sunshine, her hair a dark black in contrast to her body. She looks corpse-like from a distance, skinny and gaunt, wearing next to nothing as her silken dress flows behind her like wisps of smoke.
“Hello, Reiss, welcome to Old Harbor.” She greets him with a smile, but her eyes remain dead, unchanged. Reiss Smith-Rowe nods, still a little too far out to speak without yelling. As he draws closer he sees more of her, her eyes dead and hollow looking from afar, yet alight with fire as he stands before her. Her body unphased by the weather, her skin as pale as snow and yet she extends him a hand to shake, warm to the touch. “I trust your journey here was good?”
“Yeah, couple of flights and a quick ferry, nothing too bad really… Nice little village you have here. I saw pictures of it online, but to see it in person, it looks great. Like something from a postcard.”
She smiles, accepting the kind words from the SCCW reporter. “Thank you, it has taken a lot of work to get to this point. Once upon a time this village was very different, no ferries and no tourists. Just fishermen, their wives, and some farmers that like the sea a bit too much.” She smiles at him again, one of those sinister-yet-welcoming looks. Not sure what to do, Reiss just smiles back.
“So, we have a room ready for you at the Inn. We’ll get you set up there, and whenever your ready you can come see the sights and sounds of Old Harbor.” She takes his case from him, signaling to an unnoticed man nearby to come grab the case, and suddenly he is gone.
“Er, I need that case, it has my things, and my laptop, and…”, but the man is already gone. A concierge of sorts, Reiss tries his best not to dwell on things. “So… you’ve lived here a long time?”
She smiles, and without responding begins to lead him on a walk towards the village. The pier stretches out into the Pacific ocean like a spear, with the town built alongside the coastline. Stone-laden beaches and wooden docks separate sea from land, but the gap is not much. Reiss can’t help but think that one big storm, and this entire village would be underwater…
“I have lived here all of my life. I travelled here with my family many years ago, and I have remained here long after they have gone. My father was once mayor of this town, and now I hold that title instead of him.” She doesn't turn or face Reiss while they walk, her eye remaining trained ahead. Her hands clasp together, allowing her black dress to flow freely behind them. As the winds grow sharper, Reiss winces at the cold - but Meredith seems to relish it.
“Mayor, huh? Must be a tough gig. Good thing this town seems small enough. Fishing, flowers, farms… not a lot else going on here?” She turns to face him, their eyes contacting for just a moment. But in that one moment, Reiss knows he is asking too much, pressing too far already. Something about Meredith’s energy is making him feel like he is there for a different agenda, a different purpose. When Aleister Mayfield first gave the order, Reiss was hesitant. Now… he's full on regretful.
“We keep busy. The Inn, where you will be staying, is wonderful. A roaring fireplace, lots of great food, and all the mead and wine you can stomach. I’m sure you’ll find your stay most pleasant.” As they walk along the village edge, Reiss spies something hanging on the wall of a nearby home. An effigy of sorts, hard to make out but enough to catch his eye. He tries to understand it, study it but he doesn’t fully know what he is looking at.
The effigy depicts an octopus, maybe a squid. But as they walk past it, it seems that the wood-carved symbol also has wings. Liked a winged cephalopod… he doesn’t quite get another chance to review it before they turn a corner. “Will Ozymandias be joining us at the Inn?” His words seem to fall deaf upon her ears, without her acknowledging his question. “Just, I’m here to get his thoughts and feelings towards the match at Supremacy, and I was thinking if we do that today, then tomorrow I could…”. She still ignores him, her eyes pointed ahead, her mouth sealed bar a slight curled smile on her lips. A little frustrated with her body language, he chooses to remain quiet for the rest of the walk.
“Welcome to the Inn, I will make sure you are seen to your room, and we will come find you later for your interview. Should you require anything at all, do not fear to ask.” Standing outside what can only be described as a cabin/ boathouse hybrid, Reiss looks at the building with a mixed bag of awe and contempt. The smoke billowing from the chimney and the warm lighting coming from the windows give a very welcoming vibe, especially as the sun is fading and the night sky is closing in on them. But the clear age of the building, and how it is located on the corner of town, away from other residents and stores, and markets… it feels out of place. Like it was purposely put here to keep people away from the townspeople?
“Sure, that sounds lovely. Thank you. So, for the interview, will you be attending, or just Ozymandias and myself…?”. She gives him one last half-smile, nods her head slightly and takes her leave of the SCCW reporter. Bewildered, he can’t do much more than watch her walk away, before accepting his faith and making his way into the inn by himself.
THE BUTCHER
“...what kind of reds do you have?” Reiss asks the barman, a rough and haggard looking ex-fisherman, not shackled to working a bartop in a makeshift inn. To be truthful, the inn is a lot warmer and welcoming inside, a strong contrast to the first impression from the street side view. “Cab Sav? Merlot? Pinot Noir...?” He asks again, getting a blank and emotionless stare back from the season server.
“We have red and white wine, beer and mead, and anything you want from the shelves behind me.” Seeing this isn’t going to be a swanky stay at the Hilton, Reiss orders his glass of red wine and rolls the dice on what comes out. Sat at the bar in between a couple of locals, the inn is quite lively and homely.
A live musician is playing music in the far corner, alternating between playing a piano to a violin, and even a harp when Reiss first arrives downstairs from his room. If you can call it a room, a detached-box off of the makeshift cabin surrounding him. Bed, shower and bathroom, all he needs really. He turns on his stool to observe the room, the main hall of the inn quite full much to his surprise.
The general atmosphere of the crowd is cheerful, a splash of tourists and traders sprinkled amongst locals of Old Harbor. Fishermen in their wading gear, florists and bakers still in their aprons, all finding a spot to sit, eat bread, sip mead and enjoy the many fireplaces dotted around the edges of the room. It feels quite warm in here, and quite enjoyable, much to Reiss’ chagrin.
“Thank you”, he says as his wine is served. Unknown brand, unknown blend, served in a glass ale mug. Still, wine music and open fireplaces - just the evening he had hoped for. “Quite a lively spot, this is”, he says to a local sitting on the stool next to him, “Do the locals come here regularly? It seems very popular.”
The man on the stool next to him tried to ignore Reiss, but upon seeing the drink before him on the counter the local is intrigued. “Only bar in town, no choice otherwise.” Reiss nods, understanding the stupidity of his question now. “Y’hear on business?”, the local asks. A portly ginger fellow, red blushed cheeks and a waistline that doesn’t come from food. This is clearly his go-to spot, and judging from the several empty pints of ale before him, this is his favorite pastime.
“Yes, here with work.” Reiss omits the rest of the details, not sure how to progress the conversation. Does he tell him he works for a wrestling company out of ‘Sin City’, Las Vegas? Does he mention he’s here to interview the Sin City Championship Wrestling representative for Supremacy? Would this man even know what Supremacy, or the Xtreme Hardcore Federation even means?
“Y’here for the Butcher, right?” The words catch him off guard, Reiss quickly thinking he means to trade goods. “Our boy Baldur, big news out there on the mainland. I’ve seen yer kind round here before, ‘journalists’, prodding and asking the lad questions about shite he cares little about.”
“The Butcher? Ah, yes, Ozymandias… do you know about him? And the work he does?”
The local chugs his pint of ale, and motions for a refill all in one fell swoop. It’s a blonde man on the other side of Reiss that answers his question. “Baldur is a big name in this town. Grew up here since his teens, his family and others helped build Old Harbor into what it is today. A local legend, you might say.” The blonde man is turned facing outwards, into the inn’s main hall. The ginger facing the bar, the blonde facing out, Reiss is stuck in the middle not knowing who to speak with.
“Don’t mind Bill, old as the hill and rough as the seas, but he’s good. Known Baldur and his family since they arrived here years ago. Worked the boats with Baldur's father, him and the Agnars.” The blonde motions to the ginger, Bill, with a slight wink. “What’s it you’re here to do? Interview Baldur, ask him what he and Meredith have been up to? Prying into things you know nothing about?"
“None o’ yer business that. Poking noses around Old Harbor.” The ginger fat man clearly not enjoying the company of strangers, Reiss grabs his mug of wine and tries to move the conversation to the talkative blonde.
“Ozyman-... Baldur, has a big match coming up. I represent the company he’s signed to but he’s wrestling in a bigger tournament, so I wanted to learn more about that. His thoughts, his feelings, his intentions. All good press, and all good marketing… for Baldur. And I suppose, for this village too.”
The ginger man gets his fresh drink, gives a mini snort/ chuckle to Reiss before taking his first sip. “Old Harbor don’t need no more press. We have our own thing goin’ here, we’re happy being by ourselves. Whatever Baldur has before him, the man will do fine. You’ve seen the lad, seen him up close… wouldn’t count on anyone else t’get the job done.”
Reiss awaits the man to continue, feeling there is more coming, but when he gets nothing he turns to the blonde local. “The Butcher watches over Old Harbor.”
The ginger man throws out those last words, leaving Reiss a little perplexed. About to ask, the blonde man answers him in advance. “We call Baldur the Butcher round here. Your name for him, ‘Ozymandias’, we don’t really use that. That’s your stage name for him, his little nickname. To us he’s Baldur, the Butcher.”
“How did he get those names? Butcher, or Ozymandias? If everyone in the town calls him by his real name.” The ginger man keeps his eyes facing inwards to the bar, while the blonde faces outwards. Not getting eye contact off either, Reiss feels a mixed bag of emotions within him. Annoyance, frustration, impatience, but also thankful and relieved these men are passively answering his questions.
“Meredith gave him the latter, Ozymandias. Our mayor. You can grill her on the reasons for it, but she says it gives his purpose a higher meaning. It’s not so much of a name as it is a title. Ozymandias, ‘King of Kings’. The two of them have a bond unlike anything else, and for the work they do together… It's a fitting name. A good name that He will recognize.”
Reiss makes mental notes of everything being said, to document in his reports later. But the firm mention of a ‘He’ perplexes him. “He? Who is He?”
“He. The Father… the Great Old One.” The ginger man speaks into his mug, not once looking at Reiss or turning his body to face him. He doesn’t repeat himself, and doesn't help Reiss to understand either. "Watches over the seas, the boats, the docks and shores."
“Great Old One? Like a fisherman God? Sorry I'm probably being ignorant... Is this a religious thing?” The ginger man, not growing annoyed with Reiss, begins to chug his drink to an early finish. “My apologies, I’m not as up to date on things. Not sure if you mean God, or something to do with fishing, or even Vikings? I know Ozymand-... Baldur, is of Viking descent.”
Nothing from either man, leaving Reiss in the middle of two cold shoulders. He looks around the room, trying to forget what has been said and he notices something out of the corner of his eye, something from earlier. The same effigy, a squid or octopus with wings, something so unusual and strange, yet eerie and creepy. This time it's a carved wooden pillar, with the effigy at the top, and something like crisscrossed hatchets or cleavers beneath it.
“So… the Butcher. I’m sure you have a better story for that, other than Baldur worked in a local meat merchants as a kid.” Reiss turns to face the blonde man, his face and demeanor somewhat warmer and more approachable. The blonde sips his own mug of ale, before answering.
“We had a spot of trouble a few years back, some ruffians came into town with bad intentions on their minds. Kicking up stones and causing all kinds of ruckus. They got into it with a few locals, Baldur stepped in to talk them down, and things got worse from there.” The blonde man pauses his story, takes a sip of his drink and gathers himself. Feeling Reiss standing next to him, burning a hole into the side of his face, the man continues, gingerly.
“They gave the town a warning, asking for all sorts. Money, crops, respect, usual little pissant things. Baldur told them where they could go with their requests. Anyway, that night came and while people were sleeping the gang came back. Snuck into town, hand torches and other things with them and started throwing them around. You see the homes on your way in? With the wooden roofs? Back then it was all thatch, all stray and hay and whatnot. Easy to catch a flame.”
The man stops his story, letting Reiss put two and two together. “So they tried to ransack the village? Set buildings on fire? What happened then, cops came and stopped them? Or did the people fight back…?”
The blonde takes one last sip, turning around fully to place his empty mug on the bar. He spins back around but this time stopping to make direct eye contact with Reiss for the first time.
“They burned it down. Old Harbor. Homes with people inside. Barns with cattle and livestock. Ships and boats in the bay. They tried to send a message, to scare everyone. But they picked the wrong town. One of the houses was Baldur’s, with him and his mother asleep inside.” The man stops, once again letting the story sink in for the SCCW reporter.
“...Jesus, well we know Baldur made it out. What about his mother?” The blonde man turns his seat back to face the musician, and the fireplaces of the hall. His demeanor returns to a semi-smirk, somewhat joy on his face listening to the music. Reiss is left absent, a void in his story.
“Baldur carried his mother out of the house, laid her to rest on the docks. Said his goodbyes and went back side.” The ginger man speaks, not to Reiss but seemingly to open air, to the barman, to anyone with earshot. “Baldur emerged from his burning home, singed and blacked from smoke… two kitchen cleavers in his hands. He found that gang, he found every last one of them, and he gave them everything they wanted. He gave them all they took from him, and Old Harbor.”
The ginger man chugs his drink, and stands up. Alarmingly taller and broader than Reiss first expected, the man towers over Reiss, his large beer belly and long ginger beard almost pushing Reiss over his own chair. “When he came back to the village, there wasn’t a patch of him unmarked. Whether it was smoke, fire of blood… the Butcher stood there, before us all. He washed his hands in the ocean, washed the blood from his face, and by the time he came back to dry land he was a new man. Our protector. Our watcher. Those acts, he did for us, will be rewarded when the Great Dreamer awakens.”
Reiss is blown away by the story, a little taken aback to hear of the barbaric and brutal actions taken by his Supremacy rep. The final statement doesn’t fully sink in, not until the ginger man has already taken his leave and walked away. “...what was that about a Dreamer?”
“So, Baldur has a fight coming up does he?” The blonde man quickly shifts the topic so quickly, and without warning that it leaves Reiss somewhat speechless. Trying to comprehend all he just heard about Ozymandias, his horrific past, and what gave him his nickname. “Y’hear me? Who’s he up against this time?”
Reiss gathers himself, sits back on his chair, and sucks back his entire glass of red wine. The bartender arrives to refill his glass, pouring the crimson liquid from an unlabeled green glass bottle.
”Uh… sorry, what did you ask me again?” He looks around the room, suddenly feeling like people are staring at him, but he takes no notice of anyone in particular. Digesting words for a moment, he understands what was asked of him. “Um, sorry… Supremacy, a big tournament coming up at the end of the month. Ozymandias represents his company, SCCW, and there are others involved in the match too.”
“Like a big rumble then? I’ve seen one of them, seen some of his fights in the past. You're not the first reporter to come to Old Harbor trying to figure out our Baldur. But at least it’s good to learn a bit more about what he does for work. Him and Meredith take off for weeks at a time, coming back with big ideas for the community, big ambitions for the Cult, and usually with wads of cash to reinvest into Old Harbor. I’m just happy we get to understand a bit more about what he does.”
“Yeah, he makes good money with us and from what I understand he was very successful in past promotions too… hang on, did you say Cult? What Cult?”
“Cult, church, religion, call it how you like. This fight, coming up, who’s he facing? I always loved the characters from those shows, guys wearing snakes around their necks or guys dressed like undead corpses. Wacky stuff.”
Reiss pauses, trying to see if the man is being sincere or sinister. “Can you explain what you meant when you said Cult?”
The blonde man turns to face Reiss, still somewhat smirking but his eyes feel black and empty, almost nothing behind them. “Tell me… who’s he fighting in this big match coming up?” His expression remains cheerful, but looking into his eyes, Reiss feels a cold shiver rising up his spine. Like he is speaking to a ghost, a man possessed. Suddenly the man before him doesn’t feel so warm and welcoming, all from one glance of those dead, hollow eyes.
“Uh… lots of guys and gals. Reps from other wrestling federations, all good guys and top of their games.” The blonde continues to hold eye contact, his smirk leaving his mouth and now just a deathly, cold expression remains. Reiss cannot break eye contact, almost like he is transfixed.
“...the bigger names are James Raymond and Mistress Discipline, two pretty seasoned stars in the XHF. Former president, Curtis Kanyon, is in there too alongside Psychotic Goth, and some other names you might not have heard of… um, Kilroy Evans, Von Grapple, a furry robot and a female mathematician.”
The blonde man still continues to stare at Reiss, truly unnerving him and making him feel very uncomfortable. A moment of tense silence rises between them, before the blonde man rapidly changes his demeanor back to friendly, and shoots Reiss a warm smile. “Well, that certainly sounds like a mixed bag of stars! Hopefully we get to watch it here, although the connection to satellite TV is spotty at best. Still… here’s to our guy Baldur going the distance!”
He raises his glass of ale to Reiss, insisting on them cheers’ing. Reiss obliges, purely intimidated now by this strange local. Out of the corner of his eye he spies some other folks looking their way, whispering, side glances and covert conversations. The blonde man chugs his drink, going until completion and holds Reiss’ glass at a tilt so that he has no choice but to follow suit.
“To good health, good success, and a bloody good match for Baldur.” The blonde man stands up, gives Reiss one last smile and pats him on the shoulder. “Nice meeting you friend, I must take my leave but you should stick around a while, Old Harbor really grows on you. The longer you stay here, the harder it is for you to leave.”
He laughs, prompting Reiss to chuckle awkwardly in response. The blonde man is about to take his leave, grabbing his coat from the stool he was sitting on and throwing it on. Before he fully goes, he turns to face Reiss once more, still semi-smirking, before leaning in to whisper.
“If you really want your story, go down to the docks when the moon is at its highest.” Reiss, perplexed and figuratively terrified, doesn’t understand what the man means by this, and is too frozen now to ask. “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
The blonde man pulls away from Reiss’ ear, gives him one last pat on the arm and takes his leave. Unsure of what he just heard, what to make of this situation with the blonde man, or even why the locals are all looking his way, Reiss decides he’s seen enough of the Inn at Old Harbor for now.
He drops a $20 on the bartop, grabs his coat and calls it a night.
THE CALL
To call it a peaceful sleep would be a hysterical joke, as Reiss Smith-Rowe has not gotten so much as a wink. The bedsheets, made from some form of straw-like cotton, chafe and irritate his skin while the mattress appears to be a very old, outdated spring surface. Hearing the sound of the metal coils ‘spring’ as he moves, he is finding the whole situation unbearable. Not to mention the room has just stopped spinning, as those two quick glasses of wine at the bar hit him like a wall of bricks.
Was he drugged? Was he given something else? All these questions flow through his mind, worrying him and making him more paranoid the more he ponders his night. Words like Cult, Great Dreamer, Butcher… all standing out. His purpose to come to Old Harbor is to find out what he could about Ozymandias, and spend his first day here deciphering just who that man is.
Day two can include thoughts on Supremacy, the Annihilation Complex insanity and how that will play out with the crazy eight inside, not to mention the other unfortunate souls entering into that arena alongside Ozymandias. But today, part one of his journey was only meant to focus on the SCCW rep, and he has heard enough to last him a lifetime.
Sitting upright, legs dangling from the edge of his bed, he can’t help but wonder if something darker or more sinister is happening in this town. Those effigies, those weird markings on people's homes, the way the town seems to breathe and more in tandem, not to mention the very strange nature of the locals at the bar, and even Meredith herself as she walked him to the Inn.
His thoughts and confused paranoia are quickly broken, as the sound of creaking floorboards outside his door alarms him. He hears the wooden floor of the cabin/ inn creaking here and there, but this sounded too close. Too real, like someone is at his door, breathing on him, ready to enter and pounce…
*splash*
Barely audible, and from far away, but distinct enough to know what it is. The sound of something hitting the water along the shore, with enough effort to send sound waves all the way to his room. Reiss can sit on his bed, waiting and worrying for the monster at his door to break in, or he can push open the blinds of his window and peer outside. He chose the latter.
The first, unmistakable thing he notices as he draws his curtains aside and unfolds the wooden outside slats is the moon - bright, full, sitting at the highest point in the sky. The village looms before him, the bright and vivid colors of the eggshell-painted doors and windows not lost to a palette of blacks, white and grays. Even the smoke billowing from the chimneys looks bright in this moonlight.
From his vantage point on the third floor, he can surmise the entirety of the village before him, and the docks further before him. The waterline ebbs and flows along the shore, the tide coming hither and forth in a beautiful rhythm beneath the milky lunar light. But the clearest, most eye-catching sight on the entire horizon… the torches.
He spies it briefly, but just enough to see what it was and make it out - torches, alight with fire, held high by people. He could not see their faces, their attire, their purpose, but far in the distance he spotted them. Villagers, possibly more ruffians from the Butcher story earlier, leaving the docks towards the village, holding high torches ablaze.
He rubs his eyes, wondering if this is sleep deprivation or drowsiness from the stiff red wine earlier, possibly a mixture of both alongside his paranoia from the looming invader outside his door… but again, he spies it. Through gaps in the village roofs and buildings, he sees the entourage walking through the village. A dozen or so people carrying torches, walking in a parade back through the buildings. Their purpose and their intention are lost to the imagination, but something else catches Reiss’ eye - a woman. Standing by the docks, barely caught in the moonlight.
It is unmistakable, her black flowing dress wisping behind her like loose smoke. Her pale skin, glowing in the night light. He posture, facing towards the same pier the torch-carrying posse just left. And, for all disbelief, he sees her… and she sees him. An entire village away, a whole town and many homes between them, but Reiss is convinced of it.
She sees him. She sees his eyes. He sees her, sees her face. For a moment he feels like he is standing on that dock with her, or her in this room with him. Surreal, strange, terrifying, but entirely captivating. She turns and begins to walk out the pier, towards the docks and out of sight. Something within him screams 'NO, go back to bed, go back to sleep, do not investigate’, but as he slides on his boots and overcoat it’s obvious Reiss is already on autopilot. Possessed by curiosity, obsessed in utter dread and fascination.
His first challenge is swinging open his bedroom door, ready to face the demons outside of which there are none. Bounding down the many staircases and hallways of the cabins, alarmingly larger inside than it looks from outside, he finally makes his way past the night reception and into the icy, cold night air of Old Harbour. Alaskan winter has set in, temperatures are below freezing and the wind howls around him, yet right now Reiss feels alive. He feels comforted, consumed with curiosity.
Chasing the direction of the splash, and the pier where he spied Meredith, Reiss progresses from a brisk walk to a slight job, almost into a full sprint by the time he arrives. Clearing the coastline along the pier is easy, the soothing sounds of the wind at his back and the tides to his side keeping his footing in rhythm. But as he nears the docks, knowing that he has no idea what he is about to face… he quickly stiffens up and falls back into a walk.
“What the heck am I doing…” he mutters to himself, now frantically looking around him to make sure he is not being pursued, watched, or that there is any hidden danger lurking. He has walked the halls of SCCW for a long time, spying behind the scenes at rockers like Justice and Galloway, seeing strange acts from Eichi or Richard Energy. Hell, he’s even dabbled with Vincent Draven, a literal vampire in the flesh.
But something about this setting, this little fishing village, and the undeniable feeling of impending doom has his stomach in knots. As he reaches the end of the boardwalk, where the docks begin and a long, straight pier juts out into the ocean, he draws a deep, long, cold breath. This is where he saw Meredith, liege and advisor to Ozymandias. That means the man himself could be looming out of sight, and after hearing the brutal story of how he earned his ‘Butcher’ nickname… Reiss didn’t want to face any music tonight.
Looking around, it doesn’t take longer before he sees her yet again. At the end of the pier, her black dress flowing in the wind like smoking from a billowing fire. Black lace and silk, as if gravity didn’t exist, as if she were underwater… flowing around her, like a shroud of smoke. He does not know why, every step feels like walking on icy hot coals, but Reiss begins to walk down the pier towards her.
Crying, sounds of sobbing or weeping, first greet him as he approaches. Meredith remains with her back to him, no visible sign of the giant Ozymandias to be found, and nothing but ocean all around her. Reiss Smith-Rowe feels a little more at ease as he approaches the lone woman, his stomach still jumping in circles but yet he remains steady.
“M-Meridith? Can you hear me? It’s-it’s Reiss… from the wrestling.” His mind fails him as gibberish pours out, not making sense but trying to alert her to his imminent approach. Her sobbing continues, wailing into the night in a most peaceful, eerie way. “I’m behind you…come-coming up behind you now, y’hear? Don’t do anything sudden…”. The pier, ocean all around, no witnesses or others in sight, a woman crying and broken in the night. Reiss suddenly gets a heart pit in his stomach, hoping she is not committed to jumping in.
As she approaches, she remains vigilant, staring at the waters before him. He chooses to walk next to her, standing in parallel as they both stare out into the waters before them. She remains stoic, staring ahead, tears streaming down her face… but not tears of pain, or suffering it would seem. She reaches over and grabs his hand, shockingly firm for such a small framed woman, her hands cold as ice on first touch - but alarmingly warm once her fingers clash around his.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”, she asks, staring into the void. The black abyss before them, endless dark waters and thrashing tides, cold salted foam flying from end. Bottomless death. “I love it here, I find it so… peaceful. So warm. So full of life.” She looks at Reiss, a quick glance but enough for him to lower his guard, knowing she is not mourning but somewhat content.
“All OK with you, Meredith? Here, take my coat, it's freezing out here. Let’s get you back inside-”, but she stops him, a very small gesture but enough to let him know not to worry. He notices a long rope by her feet, slowly moving into the ocean and continuing to get sucked into the deep waters before them. Slowly it inches further and further into the water, no idea what is connected to the far end.
“This is where you can hear them best. Hear them calling, reaching out for you, calling you to join them.”
“...who? Who do you hear calling?”
She smiles. “The drowned ones. Those in the deep. Those who now slumber in R'lyeh with the Great Dreamer.” She turns to the waters, watching the rope slow down in movement, watching as it begins to stop. “I once thought the sea took my family from me, I once thought the depths were cruel and unforgiving, but quickly I grew to understand… they were not taken from me, they were chosen. They were the first to be invited, my family. The first of the new dwellers in the deep.”
Reiss begins to feel that same sickly stone in his stomach, much like hearing the two fishermen in the bar earlier. Talks of Cults, effigies, talks of some Great Old One… “What is R'lyeh?” he asks, knowing he will not like the answer.
She bends down to grab the rope, stopping it from being consumed by the ocean entirely. “The Emerald City of our Father… where our friends and loved ones can be born, anew.” She answers casually before she begins pulling on the rope, dragging whatever is at the other end back to the surface with relative ease. “That which is not dead, may eternal lie…”, she says with a smile on her pale face. She glows in the moonlight, milky and marble shining skin in the moon pale light. She continues to draw the rope in, effortlessly.
“I-I… I guess, I don’t understand… I don’t know what all this means.” Reiss is struggling to gather his thoughts, understand what Meredith is trying to explain, when his mind completely empties. His body, his being, everything goes blank as he sees what Meredith is pulling out from the waters beneath them, from the depths.
“You don’t need to understand, once you hear the Call… all will make sense. He calls to us, He invites us to join him. And when the time comes, He will reclaim this world with the people of R’lyeh as his chosen successors. You will see… one day, you will all see.”
Reiss can only stare in horror as Meredith pulls a body from the waters without any apparent struggle, hoisting a very large and vast person from the surface. Alongside the pier is a ramp leading to the waters below, which she navigates to join the corpse. Pulling it from the water, Reiss is filled with nausea but also bewilderment at Meredith's immense strength, but regardless of his ill-feelings withholds his composure. Meredith turns the man's head around and begins to kiss it. One after the other, she kisses this deceased person, or so it seems. A few more embraces, and the corpse comes to life, coughing and spluttering water, gasping and clawing to life.
Meredith leaves the man be on the ramp, and returns to the pier top alongside Reiss. “You will understand, one day. Stay with us a while, here in Old Harbor. We will show you our ways. Your squabbles in Las Vegas, your career with the XHF… meaningless, in comparison to the eternal life you may have with us, here.”
He looks at the man, the light bouncing off him. As the man moves, Reiss noticed his size, his girth. The man is a giant, and Reiss is even more baffled with how Meredith dragged him from the depths, her frame holding maybe eight pounds in weight yet hauled this three hundred-odd person from below.
“The chosen few remain at the depths, the deep ones initiating them. Those that do not make it ro R’lyeh, join his corpse armies. And us, Ozymandias and I, we spread the good word of the Great Elder. We bring light to the world, so that before the reckoning comes, those who oppose us might decide to join us.”
Reiss watches the man get to his feet, walk up the ramp and stand next to Meredith. His face, extremely rough and gnarred, his lips cracked and sore, bleeding. His mouth and face, dried and torn, scratched badly. His eyes, black and hollow much like others in the village. Reiss knows the man, yet has never seen him without his mask.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
He speaks, his voice extremely coarse and agitated. His lungs still gargling from salt water, lucky to be alive in Reiss’ eyes. Soaked wet, moon shining on him, with a slight drizzle of rain fall, the man’s presence is utterly terrifying. Meredith hands something to him, which he begins to affix to his face. Only then with his mask intact and in place, Reiss begins to tremble. Only then, does Reiss truly feel fear.
Reiss can barely breathe, his heart racing, as he stares into the eyes of Ozymandias.
“The nightly drowning was a success, I hope? Did you speak with Him?”
Ozymandias keeps his eyes trained on Reiss, before turning to Meredith to nod. He reaches out, rubs her shoulder so slightly, which she seems to cherish and relish. With that, Ozymandias turns and takes his leave, walking down the pier to leave the two alone.
“Other federations have housed Baldur, and misunderstood him. His career has had him holding titles and championships, claiming him to be a Viking warrior and a burly American Hero. But truly, Baldur has found his home here. This is where he belongs, this is who he truly is.” She sees Reiss is still shaking, his eyes still watching the giant Ozymandias walking away.
“He speaks with the Great Cthulhu, drowning himself to the edge of life, so that death's embrace opens the door to R’lyeh. Only by dying, can you truly reflect on life. Would you too like to speak to Him?”
Reiss, instantly about to desecrate his pants, clenches and backs up from Meredith, almost falling from the pier.
“No… perhaps it is too soon for you. Today, you learn of Old Harbor, of Ozymandias, and of the Call. Tomorrow, we speak on Supremacy, the competition, and what the opposition must face. They do not enter a cage against a man, as you have seen. And he does not fight for gold, or glory. Supremacy… it brings power. It brings influence. It brings wealth. All things we require to grow our following, and strengthen our family. Our Cult.”
Reiss, frozen in place, tries to speak but his words fail him.
“Come, Reiss Smith-Rowe, today is over. Let us rest, give thanks to the deep, and tomorrow we shall speak on matters to come. Supremacy awaits…and so does He. The Father.” She gestures for his hand, which he slowly raises to meet her. Once she grapes him, she begins to lead him back along to the pier, back towards the village, more questions left unanswered in his blank, empty mind now.
“...and with strange aeons, even death may die…”
TO BE CONTINUED
IN PART TWO
Long before the moniker of ‘Ozymandias’ was bestowed upon him, Baldur Magnusson was born in Reine, Norway. The only son to Karl and Karolina Magus, a fishing family who built their trade along the shores. Fishing, trawling, crabbing, whatever spoils the sea could offer them in return for a humble living. Baldur spent his youth working alongside his father, learning his schooling on a fishing boat and gathering life experience from the stories told around the workers lunch table. He relished his time on the water, he adorned his bedroom with ropes and shells, stones and sand gathered from trips on the open waters. Baldur loved his life, loved the pace of work, and quickly grew into a man vastly seasoned on the docks. Much like his peers, and the men he admired.
A youth filled with hard work, hauling the daily catch, pulling in coarse water-logged ropes, and manning the various stations of the trawlers quickly turned Baldur into a man. Muscles exploding, his physique matched his will for life. He was growing, as much as his appetite for the sea. As the morning’s humid air hit his face, the salt foam splashing across his body, the creeping chill of the wind at his back… this was his heaven. The Norse haven of Valhalla could wait, for he was already at peace.
As the years rolled by, the waters grew sparse and barren. Overfishing, overpopulation, rising tides and warming waters forced their quarry to further, deeper waters. And with it their revenue and profits sunk also. Life in Reine grew tougher and tougher, evident by the quick departures of several families. One such family, close to the Magnus’ clan were the Agnars’ - Karl and Karolina. Along with their two younger children, they were the first family to take on a foreign contract, and agree to start working in the USA.
Seeing friends and family leave was painful, especially as Baldur was quite fond of the Agnars, and their daughter Meredith. They were close in age, attended school together, and had formed a close bond despite the tough world they were growing up in. A couple of years had gone by with Karl Agnar reaching out with a proposition, seeking a second captain for his ship in Alaska, and working for a dockhand that Baldur could take on too. The conversation was trivial, as the Magnus family already knew what must be done.
And so, the Magnus family departed Norway, for the south shores of Alaska. America… the land of opportunity. The Norse Gods look favorably on those who seek adventure and success, or so they told themselves. Either this is a blessing from Odin himself, or a trick by the mischievous Loki.
Only time would tell.
HURRICANE LOKE
Childhood friend of Baldur, the two kids were raised almost as siblings. Their parents were close, almost akin to family, and as such Meredith and Baldur shared everything. Stories, toys, secrets, adventure. Separating the two was tough for the families, but as the Gods smiled down upon them, it would be the case for them to reunite once again.
As the Magnus family departed their boat on the docks of Old Harbor, Baldur immediately felt at home. Picturesque docks greeted them, stone broken and weathered from endless storms. A beautiful village sat on the waters edge, wooden gangways leading into cobbled-stone streets haphazardly weaving through the small town. Painted in colors of blues, greens, grays, reds, the glossy eggshell coats seemed like something from a book. Baldur barely had a moment to absorb this new setting, from the village to the fields beyond, the cliffs overlooking the village, the stony beaches nearby…
“Baldur!”, she exclaimed, running towards him with open arms. Meredith and Baldur had only been apart for a couple of years, but in their youthful stage of life this felt like an eternity. She embraced him in a tight hug, her skinny frame clinging to his growing physique with more effort than expected. It took only a moment before he held her back, lifting her with ease and twirling around with his friend. Young-love, or love-lost friends, it mattered not. The two teenagers were reunited, and life in this new setting suddenly felt good.
Baldur quickly entered the working pool, allowing himself time for homeschooling with his mother Karolina, and time to work the docks with his father Karl and their would-be savior, Aron Agnar. Aron led a crew of fishing trawlers, clearly the most experienced man on the docks of Old Harbour. The Alaskans were nice people, hard working, doing their best but not a patch of two of Norway’s finest. The workers of Old Harbour were modern men, careful and precise, relying on their equipment and their waypaths.
Two Viking fishermen from Reine, with ancestry on longships was enough for them to step back and let others lead the way. Aron was teaching his younger son Frederick the ways of the water too, Baldur helping to teach his pseudo younger brother how to manage the ropes. It was long before the crew was surpassing previous records, bringing in more than had even been expected, and using their new-found profits to upgrade equipment, ships, ropes, better garbs and so forth. The men of Reine were truly a blessing to Old Harbor, and the people there recognized it.
Electing Aron Agnar as their new mayor, the family was sealed in the history books. The Agnars, the Magnus men, and Old Harbor was on the rise. Years would pass by and both Baldur and Meredith would grow. Leaving the comfort of their homeschooling days behind, both took on tasks that would help the village. Baldur worked the boats, the docks, and anything else required. Meredith, alongside her mother Karolina, helped establish local produce and began selling flowers, jewelry, baked goods, and anything else they could to neighboring towns and villages. Multiple revenue streams brough an abundance of income, opportunities, and even tourism to the town.
But things would not always be so bright. Working the boats as usual, Baldur was aiding Frederick with a tougher haul than usual, the winch struggling as it snagged on some rocks. Aron and Karl assisted, but being temporarily anchored normally doesn’t raise concern - today was different. Hurricane Loke (OOC: this is a real fact, you can look it up!) had ravaged the coastline of the Pacific ocean for days, and was thought to have been past the mark for Old Harbor. With their trawler tied in place, netting caught on something beneath the surface, the men could only watch in terror as the incoming storm grew closer and closer.
The temperature dropped to near minus numbers, the cold black water thrashing viciously around the men, throwing them and everything not nailed down aside. In merely minutes, they were fighting for their lives, the wrath of the ocean showing it’s true power. Aron Agnar was first overboard, thrown viciously from the hull as the boat nearly capsized. His son Frederick was next, an enormous wave breaking the starboard side of the boat and letting the vast emptiness of the waters creep in. Streaming, nonsensical screaming filled the airs, commands and pleas from the last two men onboard, but the Gods did not hear them.
Baldur watched his Father remove his life vest, strapping it to Baldur, but as the sounds of rain and thunder boomed over them, the storm now engulfing their trawler, he did not hear what was said. Only his face, pale and strewn, terrified. Not for himself, but for his son. The loud groaning and creaking drowned out all thought as the winch tore itself from the bow of the boat, and Baldur could only watch in horror as the small fishing vessel tore itself in half under the fury of the ocean.
He felt the cold embrace of the waters, the black void of the Pacific sea, he felt his lungs fill up like icy tentacles clawing their way into his body, and then there was nothing. No sound. No screams. No thunder. No light.
Nothing. Everything was black, cold and merciless.
MEREDITH AGNAR
“Baldur! Baldur!!”. Her words bounced off him like an echo in a cave. He could hear it, almost feel her screaming his name, but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like it was meant for him. As Meredith and her mother sprinted along the coast, Baldur couldn’t comprehend what had happened. He lay face down on the sand, unsure if he was alive or dead. Sand filled his mouth, his lips cracked and bleeding from the cold waters. His hands stinging from holding onto the vessel, ropes ripping his flesh and splintered wood piercing his skin.
But he still felt numb. These sensations, they did not feel like his. This pain, it felt like it belonged to another. As the women of the Agnar house tended to him, screaming for help and calling all locals available to assist, Baldur still didn’t feel a thing. He was cold, he was tired, but something else. He was lifeless. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Couldn’t help himself, could help his Father, couldn’t help anyone.
Days passed by, Baldur sat in front of an open fire with his weeping mother alongside him. Not a word left his lips, his mother pacing and grieving enough for him to contend with. Many lives were long that night, not just his father, not just the Agnar boys. The village had a dark cloud over it, with Hurricane Loke having won its fight. He wanted to laugh, thinking of the cruel Loki and his ways. But nothing mattered, nothing helped.
Karolina Agnar could not take the loss of her husband and son. She was a broken woman, and no consoling her would help. Within a week, she had given herself to the same ocean that took her family, desperately seeking to be back with her boys. Meredith found the note, claiming that when she was ready she too should join her family in the sea.
Many others took their loss differently. Some left Old Harbor completely. Some buried their grief with drink and anger. Some followed the lost lives, deciding a trip to the watery depths would be better than a life of loss and misery. Old Harbor was dealt a blow, but for Meredith Agnar, she had lost everything.
Baldur had decided to walk the docks, something of a ritual for him now with each passing night. The routine of his daily chores on the docks, the life he loved amongst the boats, the cold air and salty crisp edge to the weather… it normally made him feel alive. But now, it just felt like nothing. He was still numb, and cold to the world. In a daze he walked along, hands in the pockets of his sheeps-wool jacket as the wind whipped at his hair.
And that’s when he heard it. A splash in the water, a very unique and identifiable splash. His head turned towards the end of the pier, but in the night sky he saw nothing. Something inside him urged him to investigate however, and as he drew closer and closer to the pier end, he found himself breaking from a run into a sprint. Feeling something inside him, he disrobed as he ran, tossing aside his jacket, kicking off his boots, his gloves and hat shedded as he moved. As he neared the end of the pier, it took only a moment for his to make his decision and ive into the waters below.
He found her floating there before him, unconscious, moving gracefully in the waters current. The moon lit the surface of the waters so well, he could make out her figure and her features almost to clearly. Her pale white skin, her flowing black hair, her silken black dress moving effortlessly around her. Her eyes were closed, her lungs filled with nothing but cold, night waters. But it was as if she was calling to him. It was as if she needed him… and he needed her.
Baldur dragged Meredith from the waters and with all his knowledge, he did his very best to revive her. It took a while longer than he hoped, but eventually she awoke before him, spitting out the salted poison within her lungs, coughing and clawing at air to bring her back to life. Baldur held her upright in his arms, kneeling beside her with his eyes trained on hers. She took a moment or two to accept the situation, to understand what had happened.
And then she kissed him.
THE INN AT OLD HARBOR
“...thanks for the history lesson, but what has this got to do with anything?” The spectacle-adorned man leaned over the railing next to him, eyeing up the waters below. “I mean, it’s good to know this stuff, but I don’t really plan on doing much sightseeing or tourism on this trip.”
Standing onboard a modern ferry, the man awaits an answer from the phone to his ear. Wearing a warm jacket, woolen hat and gloves, he looks like someone about to voyage to the Arctic, not to a peaceful fishing village in early winter.
“...gotcha, OK well I guess that is handy information to have on hand. Either way, I plan on stopping by my room and dropping my bags, finding a stool by the bar and someone to pour me a hot drink, and maybe a bite to eat if this place has anything good. I’ll leave the history and sights of Old Harbor for the fun-seekers and tourists.”
As the ferry crosses a bend in rocks, Old Harbor becomes visible in the distance. Clear skies and sun shining mean nothing to the Alaskan waterfront, as chilling winds still howl and blow around the man on the deck of the ferry. He quickly wraps up his phone call, and puts his hands back into his pockets, watching carefully as the ferry creeps towards the Hallmark village.
Moments later the ferry has landed, and alongside several foot-passengers the man begins to depart. Wheeling a single carry-on suitcase behind him, he disembarks from the ferry and finds himself on the famous docks of Old Harbor. Clean lines on newly chiseled stone adorn the docks, with beautiful casted iron lamps hanging above. The passengers accompanying him are mixed between locals, tourists, and folks awaiting their next connection. Old Harbor seems to be a buzzing, thriving community now, a far cry from the stories and tales he just heard on his phone call. 2024 is a new time it seems.
He nears the end of the pier when he spies her ahead of him, the woman he is scheduled to meet with - Meredith Agnar.
Manager and partner to Ozymandias, and by all accounts a big persona in this little village. She stands before him wearing very little in contrast to the weather around them. Catching Old Harbor on a good day admittedly, but still with temperatures close to negative and brisk winds, she seems unphased by the elements. Her pale skin glows in the sunshine, her hair a dark black in contrast to her body. She looks corpse-like from a distance, skinny and gaunt, wearing next to nothing as her silken dress flows behind her like wisps of smoke.
“Hello, Reiss, welcome to Old Harbor.” She greets him with a smile, but her eyes remain dead, unchanged. Reiss Smith-Rowe nods, still a little too far out to speak without yelling. As he draws closer he sees more of her, her eyes dead and hollow looking from afar, yet alight with fire as he stands before her. Her body unphased by the weather, her skin as pale as snow and yet she extends him a hand to shake, warm to the touch. “I trust your journey here was good?”
“Yeah, couple of flights and a quick ferry, nothing too bad really… Nice little village you have here. I saw pictures of it online, but to see it in person, it looks great. Like something from a postcard.”
She smiles, accepting the kind words from the SCCW reporter. “Thank you, it has taken a lot of work to get to this point. Once upon a time this village was very different, no ferries and no tourists. Just fishermen, their wives, and some farmers that like the sea a bit too much.” She smiles at him again, one of those sinister-yet-welcoming looks. Not sure what to do, Reiss just smiles back.
“So, we have a room ready for you at the Inn. We’ll get you set up there, and whenever your ready you can come see the sights and sounds of Old Harbor.” She takes his case from him, signaling to an unnoticed man nearby to come grab the case, and suddenly he is gone.
“Er, I need that case, it has my things, and my laptop, and…”, but the man is already gone. A concierge of sorts, Reiss tries his best not to dwell on things. “So… you’ve lived here a long time?”
She smiles, and without responding begins to lead him on a walk towards the village. The pier stretches out into the Pacific ocean like a spear, with the town built alongside the coastline. Stone-laden beaches and wooden docks separate sea from land, but the gap is not much. Reiss can’t help but think that one big storm, and this entire village would be underwater…
“I have lived here all of my life. I travelled here with my family many years ago, and I have remained here long after they have gone. My father was once mayor of this town, and now I hold that title instead of him.” She doesn't turn or face Reiss while they walk, her eye remaining trained ahead. Her hands clasp together, allowing her black dress to flow freely behind them. As the winds grow sharper, Reiss winces at the cold - but Meredith seems to relish it.
“Mayor, huh? Must be a tough gig. Good thing this town seems small enough. Fishing, flowers, farms… not a lot else going on here?” She turns to face him, their eyes contacting for just a moment. But in that one moment, Reiss knows he is asking too much, pressing too far already. Something about Meredith’s energy is making him feel like he is there for a different agenda, a different purpose. When Aleister Mayfield first gave the order, Reiss was hesitant. Now… he's full on regretful.
“We keep busy. The Inn, where you will be staying, is wonderful. A roaring fireplace, lots of great food, and all the mead and wine you can stomach. I’m sure you’ll find your stay most pleasant.” As they walk along the village edge, Reiss spies something hanging on the wall of a nearby home. An effigy of sorts, hard to make out but enough to catch his eye. He tries to understand it, study it but he doesn’t fully know what he is looking at.
The effigy depicts an octopus, maybe a squid. But as they walk past it, it seems that the wood-carved symbol also has wings. Liked a winged cephalopod… he doesn’t quite get another chance to review it before they turn a corner. “Will Ozymandias be joining us at the Inn?” His words seem to fall deaf upon her ears, without her acknowledging his question. “Just, I’m here to get his thoughts and feelings towards the match at Supremacy, and I was thinking if we do that today, then tomorrow I could…”. She still ignores him, her eyes pointed ahead, her mouth sealed bar a slight curled smile on her lips. A little frustrated with her body language, he chooses to remain quiet for the rest of the walk.
“Welcome to the Inn, I will make sure you are seen to your room, and we will come find you later for your interview. Should you require anything at all, do not fear to ask.” Standing outside what can only be described as a cabin/ boathouse hybrid, Reiss looks at the building with a mixed bag of awe and contempt. The smoke billowing from the chimney and the warm lighting coming from the windows give a very welcoming vibe, especially as the sun is fading and the night sky is closing in on them. But the clear age of the building, and how it is located on the corner of town, away from other residents and stores, and markets… it feels out of place. Like it was purposely put here to keep people away from the townspeople?
“Sure, that sounds lovely. Thank you. So, for the interview, will you be attending, or just Ozymandias and myself…?”. She gives him one last half-smile, nods her head slightly and takes her leave of the SCCW reporter. Bewildered, he can’t do much more than watch her walk away, before accepting his faith and making his way into the inn by himself.
THE BUTCHER
“...what kind of reds do you have?” Reiss asks the barman, a rough and haggard looking ex-fisherman, not shackled to working a bartop in a makeshift inn. To be truthful, the inn is a lot warmer and welcoming inside, a strong contrast to the first impression from the street side view. “Cab Sav? Merlot? Pinot Noir...?” He asks again, getting a blank and emotionless stare back from the season server.
“We have red and white wine, beer and mead, and anything you want from the shelves behind me.” Seeing this isn’t going to be a swanky stay at the Hilton, Reiss orders his glass of red wine and rolls the dice on what comes out. Sat at the bar in between a couple of locals, the inn is quite lively and homely.
A live musician is playing music in the far corner, alternating between playing a piano to a violin, and even a harp when Reiss first arrives downstairs from his room. If you can call it a room, a detached-box off of the makeshift cabin surrounding him. Bed, shower and bathroom, all he needs really. He turns on his stool to observe the room, the main hall of the inn quite full much to his surprise.
The general atmosphere of the crowd is cheerful, a splash of tourists and traders sprinkled amongst locals of Old Harbor. Fishermen in their wading gear, florists and bakers still in their aprons, all finding a spot to sit, eat bread, sip mead and enjoy the many fireplaces dotted around the edges of the room. It feels quite warm in here, and quite enjoyable, much to Reiss’ chagrin.
“Thank you”, he says as his wine is served. Unknown brand, unknown blend, served in a glass ale mug. Still, wine music and open fireplaces - just the evening he had hoped for. “Quite a lively spot, this is”, he says to a local sitting on the stool next to him, “Do the locals come here regularly? It seems very popular.”
The man on the stool next to him tried to ignore Reiss, but upon seeing the drink before him on the counter the local is intrigued. “Only bar in town, no choice otherwise.” Reiss nods, understanding the stupidity of his question now. “Y’hear on business?”, the local asks. A portly ginger fellow, red blushed cheeks and a waistline that doesn’t come from food. This is clearly his go-to spot, and judging from the several empty pints of ale before him, this is his favorite pastime.
“Yes, here with work.” Reiss omits the rest of the details, not sure how to progress the conversation. Does he tell him he works for a wrestling company out of ‘Sin City’, Las Vegas? Does he mention he’s here to interview the Sin City Championship Wrestling representative for Supremacy? Would this man even know what Supremacy, or the Xtreme Hardcore Federation even means?
“Y’here for the Butcher, right?” The words catch him off guard, Reiss quickly thinking he means to trade goods. “Our boy Baldur, big news out there on the mainland. I’ve seen yer kind round here before, ‘journalists’, prodding and asking the lad questions about shite he cares little about.”
“The Butcher? Ah, yes, Ozymandias… do you know about him? And the work he does?”
The local chugs his pint of ale, and motions for a refill all in one fell swoop. It’s a blonde man on the other side of Reiss that answers his question. “Baldur is a big name in this town. Grew up here since his teens, his family and others helped build Old Harbor into what it is today. A local legend, you might say.” The blonde man is turned facing outwards, into the inn’s main hall. The ginger facing the bar, the blonde facing out, Reiss is stuck in the middle not knowing who to speak with.
“Don’t mind Bill, old as the hill and rough as the seas, but he’s good. Known Baldur and his family since they arrived here years ago. Worked the boats with Baldur's father, him and the Agnars.” The blonde motions to the ginger, Bill, with a slight wink. “What’s it you’re here to do? Interview Baldur, ask him what he and Meredith have been up to? Prying into things you know nothing about?"
“None o’ yer business that. Poking noses around Old Harbor.” The ginger fat man clearly not enjoying the company of strangers, Reiss grabs his mug of wine and tries to move the conversation to the talkative blonde.
“Ozyman-... Baldur, has a big match coming up. I represent the company he’s signed to but he’s wrestling in a bigger tournament, so I wanted to learn more about that. His thoughts, his feelings, his intentions. All good press, and all good marketing… for Baldur. And I suppose, for this village too.”
The ginger man gets his fresh drink, gives a mini snort/ chuckle to Reiss before taking his first sip. “Old Harbor don’t need no more press. We have our own thing goin’ here, we’re happy being by ourselves. Whatever Baldur has before him, the man will do fine. You’ve seen the lad, seen him up close… wouldn’t count on anyone else t’get the job done.”
Reiss awaits the man to continue, feeling there is more coming, but when he gets nothing he turns to the blonde local. “The Butcher watches over Old Harbor.”
The ginger man throws out those last words, leaving Reiss a little perplexed. About to ask, the blonde man answers him in advance. “We call Baldur the Butcher round here. Your name for him, ‘Ozymandias’, we don’t really use that. That’s your stage name for him, his little nickname. To us he’s Baldur, the Butcher.”
“How did he get those names? Butcher, or Ozymandias? If everyone in the town calls him by his real name.” The ginger man keeps his eyes facing inwards to the bar, while the blonde faces outwards. Not getting eye contact off either, Reiss feels a mixed bag of emotions within him. Annoyance, frustration, impatience, but also thankful and relieved these men are passively answering his questions.
“Meredith gave him the latter, Ozymandias. Our mayor. You can grill her on the reasons for it, but she says it gives his purpose a higher meaning. It’s not so much of a name as it is a title. Ozymandias, ‘King of Kings’. The two of them have a bond unlike anything else, and for the work they do together… It's a fitting name. A good name that He will recognize.”
Reiss makes mental notes of everything being said, to document in his reports later. But the firm mention of a ‘He’ perplexes him. “He? Who is He?”
“He. The Father… the Great Old One.” The ginger man speaks into his mug, not once looking at Reiss or turning his body to face him. He doesn’t repeat himself, and doesn't help Reiss to understand either. "Watches over the seas, the boats, the docks and shores."
“Great Old One? Like a fisherman God? Sorry I'm probably being ignorant... Is this a religious thing?” The ginger man, not growing annoyed with Reiss, begins to chug his drink to an early finish. “My apologies, I’m not as up to date on things. Not sure if you mean God, or something to do with fishing, or even Vikings? I know Ozymand-... Baldur, is of Viking descent.”
Nothing from either man, leaving Reiss in the middle of two cold shoulders. He looks around the room, trying to forget what has been said and he notices something out of the corner of his eye, something from earlier. The same effigy, a squid or octopus with wings, something so unusual and strange, yet eerie and creepy. This time it's a carved wooden pillar, with the effigy at the top, and something like crisscrossed hatchets or cleavers beneath it.
“So… the Butcher. I’m sure you have a better story for that, other than Baldur worked in a local meat merchants as a kid.” Reiss turns to face the blonde man, his face and demeanor somewhat warmer and more approachable. The blonde sips his own mug of ale, before answering.
“We had a spot of trouble a few years back, some ruffians came into town with bad intentions on their minds. Kicking up stones and causing all kinds of ruckus. They got into it with a few locals, Baldur stepped in to talk them down, and things got worse from there.” The blonde man pauses his story, takes a sip of his drink and gathers himself. Feeling Reiss standing next to him, burning a hole into the side of his face, the man continues, gingerly.
“They gave the town a warning, asking for all sorts. Money, crops, respect, usual little pissant things. Baldur told them where they could go with their requests. Anyway, that night came and while people were sleeping the gang came back. Snuck into town, hand torches and other things with them and started throwing them around. You see the homes on your way in? With the wooden roofs? Back then it was all thatch, all stray and hay and whatnot. Easy to catch a flame.”
The man stops his story, letting Reiss put two and two together. “So they tried to ransack the village? Set buildings on fire? What happened then, cops came and stopped them? Or did the people fight back…?”
The blonde takes one last sip, turning around fully to place his empty mug on the bar. He spins back around but this time stopping to make direct eye contact with Reiss for the first time.
“They burned it down. Old Harbor. Homes with people inside. Barns with cattle and livestock. Ships and boats in the bay. They tried to send a message, to scare everyone. But they picked the wrong town. One of the houses was Baldur’s, with him and his mother asleep inside.” The man stops, once again letting the story sink in for the SCCW reporter.
“...Jesus, well we know Baldur made it out. What about his mother?” The blonde man turns his seat back to face the musician, and the fireplaces of the hall. His demeanor returns to a semi-smirk, somewhat joy on his face listening to the music. Reiss is left absent, a void in his story.
“Baldur carried his mother out of the house, laid her to rest on the docks. Said his goodbyes and went back side.” The ginger man speaks, not to Reiss but seemingly to open air, to the barman, to anyone with earshot. “Baldur emerged from his burning home, singed and blacked from smoke… two kitchen cleavers in his hands. He found that gang, he found every last one of them, and he gave them everything they wanted. He gave them all they took from him, and Old Harbor.”
The ginger man chugs his drink, and stands up. Alarmingly taller and broader than Reiss first expected, the man towers over Reiss, his large beer belly and long ginger beard almost pushing Reiss over his own chair. “When he came back to the village, there wasn’t a patch of him unmarked. Whether it was smoke, fire of blood… the Butcher stood there, before us all. He washed his hands in the ocean, washed the blood from his face, and by the time he came back to dry land he was a new man. Our protector. Our watcher. Those acts, he did for us, will be rewarded when the Great Dreamer awakens.”
Reiss is blown away by the story, a little taken aback to hear of the barbaric and brutal actions taken by his Supremacy rep. The final statement doesn’t fully sink in, not until the ginger man has already taken his leave and walked away. “...what was that about a Dreamer?”
“So, Baldur has a fight coming up does he?” The blonde man quickly shifts the topic so quickly, and without warning that it leaves Reiss somewhat speechless. Trying to comprehend all he just heard about Ozymandias, his horrific past, and what gave him his nickname. “Y’hear me? Who’s he up against this time?”
Reiss gathers himself, sits back on his chair, and sucks back his entire glass of red wine. The bartender arrives to refill his glass, pouring the crimson liquid from an unlabeled green glass bottle.
”Uh… sorry, what did you ask me again?” He looks around the room, suddenly feeling like people are staring at him, but he takes no notice of anyone in particular. Digesting words for a moment, he understands what was asked of him. “Um, sorry… Supremacy, a big tournament coming up at the end of the month. Ozymandias represents his company, SCCW, and there are others involved in the match too.”
“Like a big rumble then? I’ve seen one of them, seen some of his fights in the past. You're not the first reporter to come to Old Harbor trying to figure out our Baldur. But at least it’s good to learn a bit more about what he does for work. Him and Meredith take off for weeks at a time, coming back with big ideas for the community, big ambitions for the Cult, and usually with wads of cash to reinvest into Old Harbor. I’m just happy we get to understand a bit more about what he does.”
“Yeah, he makes good money with us and from what I understand he was very successful in past promotions too… hang on, did you say Cult? What Cult?”
“Cult, church, religion, call it how you like. This fight, coming up, who’s he facing? I always loved the characters from those shows, guys wearing snakes around their necks or guys dressed like undead corpses. Wacky stuff.”
Reiss pauses, trying to see if the man is being sincere or sinister. “Can you explain what you meant when you said Cult?”
The blonde man turns to face Reiss, still somewhat smirking but his eyes feel black and empty, almost nothing behind them. “Tell me… who’s he fighting in this big match coming up?” His expression remains cheerful, but looking into his eyes, Reiss feels a cold shiver rising up his spine. Like he is speaking to a ghost, a man possessed. Suddenly the man before him doesn’t feel so warm and welcoming, all from one glance of those dead, hollow eyes.
“Uh… lots of guys and gals. Reps from other wrestling federations, all good guys and top of their games.” The blonde continues to hold eye contact, his smirk leaving his mouth and now just a deathly, cold expression remains. Reiss cannot break eye contact, almost like he is transfixed.
“...the bigger names are James Raymond and Mistress Discipline, two pretty seasoned stars in the XHF. Former president, Curtis Kanyon, is in there too alongside Psychotic Goth, and some other names you might not have heard of… um, Kilroy Evans, Von Grapple, a furry robot and a female mathematician.”
The blonde man still continues to stare at Reiss, truly unnerving him and making him feel very uncomfortable. A moment of tense silence rises between them, before the blonde man rapidly changes his demeanor back to friendly, and shoots Reiss a warm smile. “Well, that certainly sounds like a mixed bag of stars! Hopefully we get to watch it here, although the connection to satellite TV is spotty at best. Still… here’s to our guy Baldur going the distance!”
He raises his glass of ale to Reiss, insisting on them cheers’ing. Reiss obliges, purely intimidated now by this strange local. Out of the corner of his eye he spies some other folks looking their way, whispering, side glances and covert conversations. The blonde man chugs his drink, going until completion and holds Reiss’ glass at a tilt so that he has no choice but to follow suit.
“To good health, good success, and a bloody good match for Baldur.” The blonde man stands up, gives Reiss one last smile and pats him on the shoulder. “Nice meeting you friend, I must take my leave but you should stick around a while, Old Harbor really grows on you. The longer you stay here, the harder it is for you to leave.”
He laughs, prompting Reiss to chuckle awkwardly in response. The blonde man is about to take his leave, grabbing his coat from the stool he was sitting on and throwing it on. Before he fully goes, he turns to face Reiss once more, still semi-smirking, before leaning in to whisper.
“If you really want your story, go down to the docks when the moon is at its highest.” Reiss, perplexed and figuratively terrified, doesn’t understand what the man means by this, and is too frozen now to ask. “Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
The blonde man pulls away from Reiss’ ear, gives him one last pat on the arm and takes his leave. Unsure of what he just heard, what to make of this situation with the blonde man, or even why the locals are all looking his way, Reiss decides he’s seen enough of the Inn at Old Harbor for now.
He drops a $20 on the bartop, grabs his coat and calls it a night.
THE CALL
To call it a peaceful sleep would be a hysterical joke, as Reiss Smith-Rowe has not gotten so much as a wink. The bedsheets, made from some form of straw-like cotton, chafe and irritate his skin while the mattress appears to be a very old, outdated spring surface. Hearing the sound of the metal coils ‘spring’ as he moves, he is finding the whole situation unbearable. Not to mention the room has just stopped spinning, as those two quick glasses of wine at the bar hit him like a wall of bricks.
Was he drugged? Was he given something else? All these questions flow through his mind, worrying him and making him more paranoid the more he ponders his night. Words like Cult, Great Dreamer, Butcher… all standing out. His purpose to come to Old Harbor is to find out what he could about Ozymandias, and spend his first day here deciphering just who that man is.
Day two can include thoughts on Supremacy, the Annihilation Complex insanity and how that will play out with the crazy eight inside, not to mention the other unfortunate souls entering into that arena alongside Ozymandias. But today, part one of his journey was only meant to focus on the SCCW rep, and he has heard enough to last him a lifetime.
Sitting upright, legs dangling from the edge of his bed, he can’t help but wonder if something darker or more sinister is happening in this town. Those effigies, those weird markings on people's homes, the way the town seems to breathe and more in tandem, not to mention the very strange nature of the locals at the bar, and even Meredith herself as she walked him to the Inn.
His thoughts and confused paranoia are quickly broken, as the sound of creaking floorboards outside his door alarms him. He hears the wooden floor of the cabin/ inn creaking here and there, but this sounded too close. Too real, like someone is at his door, breathing on him, ready to enter and pounce…
*splash*
Barely audible, and from far away, but distinct enough to know what it is. The sound of something hitting the water along the shore, with enough effort to send sound waves all the way to his room. Reiss can sit on his bed, waiting and worrying for the monster at his door to break in, or he can push open the blinds of his window and peer outside. He chose the latter.
The first, unmistakable thing he notices as he draws his curtains aside and unfolds the wooden outside slats is the moon - bright, full, sitting at the highest point in the sky. The village looms before him, the bright and vivid colors of the eggshell-painted doors and windows not lost to a palette of blacks, white and grays. Even the smoke billowing from the chimneys looks bright in this moonlight.
From his vantage point on the third floor, he can surmise the entirety of the village before him, and the docks further before him. The waterline ebbs and flows along the shore, the tide coming hither and forth in a beautiful rhythm beneath the milky lunar light. But the clearest, most eye-catching sight on the entire horizon… the torches.
He spies it briefly, but just enough to see what it was and make it out - torches, alight with fire, held high by people. He could not see their faces, their attire, their purpose, but far in the distance he spotted them. Villagers, possibly more ruffians from the Butcher story earlier, leaving the docks towards the village, holding high torches ablaze.
He rubs his eyes, wondering if this is sleep deprivation or drowsiness from the stiff red wine earlier, possibly a mixture of both alongside his paranoia from the looming invader outside his door… but again, he spies it. Through gaps in the village roofs and buildings, he sees the entourage walking through the village. A dozen or so people carrying torches, walking in a parade back through the buildings. Their purpose and their intention are lost to the imagination, but something else catches Reiss’ eye - a woman. Standing by the docks, barely caught in the moonlight.
It is unmistakable, her black flowing dress wisping behind her like loose smoke. Her pale skin, glowing in the night light. He posture, facing towards the same pier the torch-carrying posse just left. And, for all disbelief, he sees her… and she sees him. An entire village away, a whole town and many homes between them, but Reiss is convinced of it.
She sees him. She sees his eyes. He sees her, sees her face. For a moment he feels like he is standing on that dock with her, or her in this room with him. Surreal, strange, terrifying, but entirely captivating. She turns and begins to walk out the pier, towards the docks and out of sight. Something within him screams 'NO, go back to bed, go back to sleep, do not investigate’, but as he slides on his boots and overcoat it’s obvious Reiss is already on autopilot. Possessed by curiosity, obsessed in utter dread and fascination.
His first challenge is swinging open his bedroom door, ready to face the demons outside of which there are none. Bounding down the many staircases and hallways of the cabins, alarmingly larger inside than it looks from outside, he finally makes his way past the night reception and into the icy, cold night air of Old Harbour. Alaskan winter has set in, temperatures are below freezing and the wind howls around him, yet right now Reiss feels alive. He feels comforted, consumed with curiosity.
Chasing the direction of the splash, and the pier where he spied Meredith, Reiss progresses from a brisk walk to a slight job, almost into a full sprint by the time he arrives. Clearing the coastline along the pier is easy, the soothing sounds of the wind at his back and the tides to his side keeping his footing in rhythm. But as he nears the docks, knowing that he has no idea what he is about to face… he quickly stiffens up and falls back into a walk.
“What the heck am I doing…” he mutters to himself, now frantically looking around him to make sure he is not being pursued, watched, or that there is any hidden danger lurking. He has walked the halls of SCCW for a long time, spying behind the scenes at rockers like Justice and Galloway, seeing strange acts from Eichi or Richard Energy. Hell, he’s even dabbled with Vincent Draven, a literal vampire in the flesh.
But something about this setting, this little fishing village, and the undeniable feeling of impending doom has his stomach in knots. As he reaches the end of the boardwalk, where the docks begin and a long, straight pier juts out into the ocean, he draws a deep, long, cold breath. This is where he saw Meredith, liege and advisor to Ozymandias. That means the man himself could be looming out of sight, and after hearing the brutal story of how he earned his ‘Butcher’ nickname… Reiss didn’t want to face any music tonight.
Looking around, it doesn’t take longer before he sees her yet again. At the end of the pier, her black dress flowing in the wind like smoking from a billowing fire. Black lace and silk, as if gravity didn’t exist, as if she were underwater… flowing around her, like a shroud of smoke. He does not know why, every step feels like walking on icy hot coals, but Reiss begins to walk down the pier towards her.
Crying, sounds of sobbing or weeping, first greet him as he approaches. Meredith remains with her back to him, no visible sign of the giant Ozymandias to be found, and nothing but ocean all around her. Reiss Smith-Rowe feels a little more at ease as he approaches the lone woman, his stomach still jumping in circles but yet he remains steady.
“M-Meridith? Can you hear me? It’s-it’s Reiss… from the wrestling.” His mind fails him as gibberish pours out, not making sense but trying to alert her to his imminent approach. Her sobbing continues, wailing into the night in a most peaceful, eerie way. “I’m behind you…come-coming up behind you now, y’hear? Don’t do anything sudden…”. The pier, ocean all around, no witnesses or others in sight, a woman crying and broken in the night. Reiss suddenly gets a heart pit in his stomach, hoping she is not committed to jumping in.
As she approaches, she remains vigilant, staring at the waters before him. He chooses to walk next to her, standing in parallel as they both stare out into the waters before them. She remains stoic, staring ahead, tears streaming down her face… but not tears of pain, or suffering it would seem. She reaches over and grabs his hand, shockingly firm for such a small framed woman, her hands cold as ice on first touch - but alarmingly warm once her fingers clash around his.
“Isn’t it beautiful?”, she asks, staring into the void. The black abyss before them, endless dark waters and thrashing tides, cold salted foam flying from end. Bottomless death. “I love it here, I find it so… peaceful. So warm. So full of life.” She looks at Reiss, a quick glance but enough for him to lower his guard, knowing she is not mourning but somewhat content.
“All OK with you, Meredith? Here, take my coat, it's freezing out here. Let’s get you back inside-”, but she stops him, a very small gesture but enough to let him know not to worry. He notices a long rope by her feet, slowly moving into the ocean and continuing to get sucked into the deep waters before them. Slowly it inches further and further into the water, no idea what is connected to the far end.
“This is where you can hear them best. Hear them calling, reaching out for you, calling you to join them.”
“...who? Who do you hear calling?”
She smiles. “The drowned ones. Those in the deep. Those who now slumber in R'lyeh with the Great Dreamer.” She turns to the waters, watching the rope slow down in movement, watching as it begins to stop. “I once thought the sea took my family from me, I once thought the depths were cruel and unforgiving, but quickly I grew to understand… they were not taken from me, they were chosen. They were the first to be invited, my family. The first of the new dwellers in the deep.”
Reiss begins to feel that same sickly stone in his stomach, much like hearing the two fishermen in the bar earlier. Talks of Cults, effigies, talks of some Great Old One… “What is R'lyeh?” he asks, knowing he will not like the answer.
She bends down to grab the rope, stopping it from being consumed by the ocean entirely. “The Emerald City of our Father… where our friends and loved ones can be born, anew.” She answers casually before she begins pulling on the rope, dragging whatever is at the other end back to the surface with relative ease. “That which is not dead, may eternal lie…”, she says with a smile on her pale face. She glows in the moonlight, milky and marble shining skin in the moon pale light. She continues to draw the rope in, effortlessly.
“I-I… I guess, I don’t understand… I don’t know what all this means.” Reiss is struggling to gather his thoughts, understand what Meredith is trying to explain, when his mind completely empties. His body, his being, everything goes blank as he sees what Meredith is pulling out from the waters beneath them, from the depths.
“You don’t need to understand, once you hear the Call… all will make sense. He calls to us, He invites us to join him. And when the time comes, He will reclaim this world with the people of R’lyeh as his chosen successors. You will see… one day, you will all see.”
Reiss can only stare in horror as Meredith pulls a body from the waters without any apparent struggle, hoisting a very large and vast person from the surface. Alongside the pier is a ramp leading to the waters below, which she navigates to join the corpse. Pulling it from the water, Reiss is filled with nausea but also bewilderment at Meredith's immense strength, but regardless of his ill-feelings withholds his composure. Meredith turns the man's head around and begins to kiss it. One after the other, she kisses this deceased person, or so it seems. A few more embraces, and the corpse comes to life, coughing and spluttering water, gasping and clawing to life.
Meredith leaves the man be on the ramp, and returns to the pier top alongside Reiss. “You will understand, one day. Stay with us a while, here in Old Harbor. We will show you our ways. Your squabbles in Las Vegas, your career with the XHF… meaningless, in comparison to the eternal life you may have with us, here.”
He looks at the man, the light bouncing off him. As the man moves, Reiss noticed his size, his girth. The man is a giant, and Reiss is even more baffled with how Meredith dragged him from the depths, her frame holding maybe eight pounds in weight yet hauled this three hundred-odd person from below.
“The chosen few remain at the depths, the deep ones initiating them. Those that do not make it ro R’lyeh, join his corpse armies. And us, Ozymandias and I, we spread the good word of the Great Elder. We bring light to the world, so that before the reckoning comes, those who oppose us might decide to join us.”
Reiss watches the man get to his feet, walk up the ramp and stand next to Meredith. His face, extremely rough and gnarred, his lips cracked and sore, bleeding. His mouth and face, dried and torn, scratched badly. His eyes, black and hollow much like others in the village. Reiss knows the man, yet has never seen him without his mask.
“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.”
He speaks, his voice extremely coarse and agitated. His lungs still gargling from salt water, lucky to be alive in Reiss’ eyes. Soaked wet, moon shining on him, with a slight drizzle of rain fall, the man’s presence is utterly terrifying. Meredith hands something to him, which he begins to affix to his face. Only then with his mask intact and in place, Reiss begins to tremble. Only then, does Reiss truly feel fear.
Reiss can barely breathe, his heart racing, as he stares into the eyes of Ozymandias.
“The nightly drowning was a success, I hope? Did you speak with Him?”
Ozymandias keeps his eyes trained on Reiss, before turning to Meredith to nod. He reaches out, rubs her shoulder so slightly, which she seems to cherish and relish. With that, Ozymandias turns and takes his leave, walking down the pier to leave the two alone.
“Other federations have housed Baldur, and misunderstood him. His career has had him holding titles and championships, claiming him to be a Viking warrior and a burly American Hero. But truly, Baldur has found his home here. This is where he belongs, this is who he truly is.” She sees Reiss is still shaking, his eyes still watching the giant Ozymandias walking away.
“He speaks with the Great Cthulhu, drowning himself to the edge of life, so that death's embrace opens the door to R’lyeh. Only by dying, can you truly reflect on life. Would you too like to speak to Him?”
Reiss, instantly about to desecrate his pants, clenches and backs up from Meredith, almost falling from the pier.
“No… perhaps it is too soon for you. Today, you learn of Old Harbor, of Ozymandias, and of the Call. Tomorrow, we speak on Supremacy, the competition, and what the opposition must face. They do not enter a cage against a man, as you have seen. And he does not fight for gold, or glory. Supremacy… it brings power. It brings influence. It brings wealth. All things we require to grow our following, and strengthen our family. Our Cult.”
Reiss, frozen in place, tries to speak but his words fail him.
“Come, Reiss Smith-Rowe, today is over. Let us rest, give thanks to the deep, and tomorrow we shall speak on matters to come. Supremacy awaits…and so does He. The Father.” She gestures for his hand, which he slowly raises to meet her. Once she grapes him, she begins to lead him back along to the pier, back towards the village, more questions left unanswered in his blank, empty mind now.
“...and with strange aeons, even death may die…”
TO BE CONTINUED
IN PART TWO
