Post by Dagvald Riddik on Feb 19, 2020 13:15:51 GMT -5
“Thus, hath I been forsaken by the gods.”
Dagvald stands dejected in full Viking battle regalia outside his prepper’s bunker. Tonight, he wields his traditional sword. Again, the storms of Thor wash over him.
“And for what? Have I not been loyal to you, above all else? Have I not dedicated my entire life to serving you and propagating your wisdom? Where do you find the justification for this BETRAYAL? For that was nothing short of it! I fight in your name, bound in your runes and guided by your strategy, fueled by your brutality, and you led me into FAILURE!
“Yet you only fail yourselves. Do you not desire to have your people returned to you? I stand ready to deliver unto you the lost souls, to wrench them free from the grasp of this damned world and render upon them SALVATION, yet you reject my offering! I sacrifice for you, and for what? You spit in my face!
“I have heard your prophecies spoken in riddles. I always believed that I was the Chosen One, destined to save my people and this great earth from the true Ragnarok. How am I to continue living such a delusion when I am faced with nothing but failure after failure? No, this is worse than failure. This is beyond defeat in battle. In war, one may suffer a defeat and return to fight another day. The injustice now stricken upon me like a plague unto the followers of the desert cult is something I have not yet truly had the misery of experiencing. I have been… humiliated.
“My honor has been stained by your burning rain. You spoke through me and dared me to challenge Wesley. I heeded your guidance, yet you betrayed me! I fought to prove the merits of NeoNordicism over a hedonistic buffoon and you made your own ideals appear as FAILURE! By inflicting this humiliation upon me, you have made yourselves look like fools! Am I truly so vastly important that you are willing to sacrifice yourselves to tear me apart? Cruel and vengeful gods, I clearly have much to learn from your treacherous ways!
“You have thoroughly punished me. Not only did Wesley defeat me in battle, not only has he gone on to fight for the number one contendership in a match I should be competing in, but I have been stomped down into furthest, deepest, rankest depths of the scum and muck of Action Wrestling by being booked against a man in a fucking MICKEY MOUSE COSTUME! I am certain of victory, yet that means nothing for my career. For the world to take me seriously, I must accrue serious victories, not like those I have thus far accomplished. Patti Smith, Orville Buenavista, where did beating them get me? Wesley accurately pointed out their irrelevance, and now the world thinks beating them is all I’m good for. I should be in that US Title number one contender’s match! I should be a champion, so I can force the audience to pay attention to me! So I can force them to open their eyes and witness Nordic glory!”
The cleansing rains bathe Dagvald in freezing water. It soaks through his leather tunic and kisses his skin like ice. His resolve to withstand all the gods can throw at him steels his resilience in the face of hypothermic temperatures.
“Tell me, then, o mighty ones, do I still carry your favor? Have I been cast aside like the shattered skull of a crusader on your altar? I demand to know the truth, whatever it may be. Reveal your intentions, wicked, envious wretches!”
Dag strikes the sky with his blade, and instantly, a bolt of lightning connects with the moist metal. He collapses to the ground as the electric energy channels through him and into the earth. Every inch of his skin burns with the fury of a thousand suns. His vision fails him, and his consciousness subsides into slumber.
An eternity later, a warmth clasps his cold flesh. A soft voice eases him into a state of being best described as lucidity. The world around him slowly comes into focus, and when he regains his eyesight, before him stands the one known as Huldra.
“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Dagvald. I’m elated you’ve granted me a second chance. I know we got off a bit on the wrong foot last time, albeit having been entirely your fault, but that’s beside the point! You’re here with me now, and that’s all that matters.” The swooning coos emanating from the angelic face of the undercover monster attempt to lull their prey into complacency once and for all.
“You again?” The Forsaken One quickly recognizes his would be suitor from their last encounter during his Year Walk. “You dare try to seduce me again, temptress? What is it with you vile harpies lately!”
The monster in disguise just shrugs and says, “can’t you see that you’re lost without me? After all these years, you still can’t let go. The worst part is, you refuse to face the truth. You refuse to accept me for who I truly am.”
“What are you talking about? I know exactly who you are! I saw through your pitiful trickery and forced you to reveal yourself to me on our first encounter!” Dag shoves her hand away and hops to his feet, almost passing out from the blood flow discrepancy, but steadying himself.
“If that’s truly what you believe, then you aren’t nearly as clever as you think. I am not simply some mythical creature come to haunt your boyish soul, Dagvald. In your shattered heart you’ve known the truth all along, but refused to accept it. Everyone has their dark side, even those who appear to all the world as innocent anyone ever has. Yes… even your sweet little Isabella.”
A pause. The silence cleaves like a battleaxe directly into Dag’s psyche. He is stunned, unable to move, unable to speak. His eyes are locked on the devourer of souls. His sword and shield lie useless at his side. His hands cannot form a fist. He is powerless to stop the revelation. He can’t even wake up.
“Even…”
The warrior descends into full panic mode. He feels his conscience clawing, tearing, pounding against the walls of his skull, begging and pleading to be free of this hell. He will do anything to escape from the freedom of truth. It is all hopeless.
“...me.”
Everything goes black. He cannot even see his own body. The only thing visible is her. Pale against the unrelenting emptiness is Isabella, just as he remembered her from that accursed day. Satanic make up adorning her face, rose velveteen lingerie, Nordic jewelry, and promise ring all adorn her time-frozen figure.
“The embodiment of female perfection you just witnessed, the monster you saw that night, and the girl who stands before you now, we are all one. Only now have I fulfilled your demand you reveal myself to you. Having done so, I may now reveal why the gods have cast their disfavor upon you. It is not for them you have fought, but for me. You hitch yourself onto their name to bask in their glory, but you dedicate your glory to my name. They are indeed jealous gods, and they have grown envious of your obsession with an earthly woman over their divine immortality.
“Week in and week out, year after year, decade over decade, you have lived a lie. You told yourself you would leave me in the past and bring honor to your gods, but you could never abandon me. They have grown tired of your false propheteering, and this is only the beginning of their vengeful wrath should you continue down this path of lies. I care about you, Dag Riddik, even after all these years the fire of passion still burns within me. It is for that reason I implore you to make your choice.”
“I do fight for glory, my dearest Isabella. I do fight for the gods favor. I sought to please them so they would lead me back to you. May I not humbly ask a favor in return for my services? Why must I choose between my love and my lords? I understand now that you are not such a hard woman to find as I believed you were all these years. But I’m afraid to offer myself to you without having earned your love. Men in these modern times live soft domesticated lives and demand women well above their merit. I refuse to be like them, I will not beg, I will garner enough prestige to bring you back to me of your own volition!”
Out from behind Isabella, manifested out of nothingness, wander two large, muscular, golden furred cats. One walks on either side of their master before sitting down at each of her feet. “You have chosen me, and furthered the progression of your prophecy. The gods condone your destiny, but it will be your burden alone to achieve it.”
<~~~>
“You’ve caught me on a bad week, Jaice Wilds. Is it really your fault, though? Well, partially. You may not have asked to be booked against me, but your failure on Clash is precisely why you are in your current predicament. I am being punished by powers vastly beyond your comprehension, and you are a pawn in their game. You are nothing but a tool with which I should be taught a lesson in humility. Torture wants to further take the piss on me but having me contend against an opponent in a fursuit. So be it.
“There are a million reasons I should overlook you, Wilds. I ought to underestimate you and dismiss any possible threat you pose to me. I should take one quick glance at your record, not only here, but across the virtually countless federations you’ve competed in and know, deep down, that I will have no issue collecting my third victory in this company. But I’m smarter than that, Jaice. Óðinn wills me to be smarter than that.
“I respect your legacy of longevity. You have been to several companies, always seeking new glory, always trying to expand the impact of your name. You are a mercenary, fighting where the money and fame carry you. You study your craft, honing your skill after every opponent, always integrating new methods and tactics after every opponent you face. You have immense willpower and refuse to allow defeat after defeat to crush your spirit into oblivion. From the anarchic hellscape of WCF to all of its shattered off shoots and then some, you’ve seen just about everything there is to see in this competition.
“Except that’s the problem, isn’t it? Jaice Wilds, hasn’t anyone ever told you the definition of insanity? Week in, week out, you put your body on the line. Multiple times a week, multiple times a day, it never matters to you. You throw your health and safety to the wind and for what, the so called fans? You wrestle for the cheers and approval of the fairweather crowds which have flocked to the arenas for the big names, and you just happen to be there flipping around like a kitten on crystal.
“You have not actually learned anything. The crowd will not erupt in awe when I pin you, Jaice. Except maybe out of shock at the mercy I show, when I could win by knockout against an impotent little rat like you. You have battled against every tier of competition in this business, changed your style and approach time after time, yet still you squander in the bottom of the barrel. It may come as a surprise to you, Wilds, but even a man such as I am capable of fear. I do not fear death, nor my gods, nor the apocalypse.
“I fear eternal mediocrity such as yours. To overcome my fears, I must surpass you.”
Dagvald stands dejected in full Viking battle regalia outside his prepper’s bunker. Tonight, he wields his traditional sword. Again, the storms of Thor wash over him.
“And for what? Have I not been loyal to you, above all else? Have I not dedicated my entire life to serving you and propagating your wisdom? Where do you find the justification for this BETRAYAL? For that was nothing short of it! I fight in your name, bound in your runes and guided by your strategy, fueled by your brutality, and you led me into FAILURE!
“Yet you only fail yourselves. Do you not desire to have your people returned to you? I stand ready to deliver unto you the lost souls, to wrench them free from the grasp of this damned world and render upon them SALVATION, yet you reject my offering! I sacrifice for you, and for what? You spit in my face!
“I have heard your prophecies spoken in riddles. I always believed that I was the Chosen One, destined to save my people and this great earth from the true Ragnarok. How am I to continue living such a delusion when I am faced with nothing but failure after failure? No, this is worse than failure. This is beyond defeat in battle. In war, one may suffer a defeat and return to fight another day. The injustice now stricken upon me like a plague unto the followers of the desert cult is something I have not yet truly had the misery of experiencing. I have been… humiliated.
“My honor has been stained by your burning rain. You spoke through me and dared me to challenge Wesley. I heeded your guidance, yet you betrayed me! I fought to prove the merits of NeoNordicism over a hedonistic buffoon and you made your own ideals appear as FAILURE! By inflicting this humiliation upon me, you have made yourselves look like fools! Am I truly so vastly important that you are willing to sacrifice yourselves to tear me apart? Cruel and vengeful gods, I clearly have much to learn from your treacherous ways!
“You have thoroughly punished me. Not only did Wesley defeat me in battle, not only has he gone on to fight for the number one contendership in a match I should be competing in, but I have been stomped down into furthest, deepest, rankest depths of the scum and muck of Action Wrestling by being booked against a man in a fucking MICKEY MOUSE COSTUME! I am certain of victory, yet that means nothing for my career. For the world to take me seriously, I must accrue serious victories, not like those I have thus far accomplished. Patti Smith, Orville Buenavista, where did beating them get me? Wesley accurately pointed out their irrelevance, and now the world thinks beating them is all I’m good for. I should be in that US Title number one contender’s match! I should be a champion, so I can force the audience to pay attention to me! So I can force them to open their eyes and witness Nordic glory!”
The cleansing rains bathe Dagvald in freezing water. It soaks through his leather tunic and kisses his skin like ice. His resolve to withstand all the gods can throw at him steels his resilience in the face of hypothermic temperatures.
“Tell me, then, o mighty ones, do I still carry your favor? Have I been cast aside like the shattered skull of a crusader on your altar? I demand to know the truth, whatever it may be. Reveal your intentions, wicked, envious wretches!”
Dag strikes the sky with his blade, and instantly, a bolt of lightning connects with the moist metal. He collapses to the ground as the electric energy channels through him and into the earth. Every inch of his skin burns with the fury of a thousand suns. His vision fails him, and his consciousness subsides into slumber.
An eternity later, a warmth clasps his cold flesh. A soft voice eases him into a state of being best described as lucidity. The world around him slowly comes into focus, and when he regains his eyesight, before him stands the one known as Huldra.
“It’s so wonderful to see you again, Dagvald. I’m elated you’ve granted me a second chance. I know we got off a bit on the wrong foot last time, albeit having been entirely your fault, but that’s beside the point! You’re here with me now, and that’s all that matters.” The swooning coos emanating from the angelic face of the undercover monster attempt to lull their prey into complacency once and for all.
“You again?” The Forsaken One quickly recognizes his would be suitor from their last encounter during his Year Walk. “You dare try to seduce me again, temptress? What is it with you vile harpies lately!”
The monster in disguise just shrugs and says, “can’t you see that you’re lost without me? After all these years, you still can’t let go. The worst part is, you refuse to face the truth. You refuse to accept me for who I truly am.”
“What are you talking about? I know exactly who you are! I saw through your pitiful trickery and forced you to reveal yourself to me on our first encounter!” Dag shoves her hand away and hops to his feet, almost passing out from the blood flow discrepancy, but steadying himself.
“If that’s truly what you believe, then you aren’t nearly as clever as you think. I am not simply some mythical creature come to haunt your boyish soul, Dagvald. In your shattered heart you’ve known the truth all along, but refused to accept it. Everyone has their dark side, even those who appear to all the world as innocent anyone ever has. Yes… even your sweet little Isabella.”
A pause. The silence cleaves like a battleaxe directly into Dag’s psyche. He is stunned, unable to move, unable to speak. His eyes are locked on the devourer of souls. His sword and shield lie useless at his side. His hands cannot form a fist. He is powerless to stop the revelation. He can’t even wake up.
“Even…”
The warrior descends into full panic mode. He feels his conscience clawing, tearing, pounding against the walls of his skull, begging and pleading to be free of this hell. He will do anything to escape from the freedom of truth. It is all hopeless.
“...me.”
Everything goes black. He cannot even see his own body. The only thing visible is her. Pale against the unrelenting emptiness is Isabella, just as he remembered her from that accursed day. Satanic make up adorning her face, rose velveteen lingerie, Nordic jewelry, and promise ring all adorn her time-frozen figure.
“The embodiment of female perfection you just witnessed, the monster you saw that night, and the girl who stands before you now, we are all one. Only now have I fulfilled your demand you reveal myself to you. Having done so, I may now reveal why the gods have cast their disfavor upon you. It is not for them you have fought, but for me. You hitch yourself onto their name to bask in their glory, but you dedicate your glory to my name. They are indeed jealous gods, and they have grown envious of your obsession with an earthly woman over their divine immortality.
“Week in and week out, year after year, decade over decade, you have lived a lie. You told yourself you would leave me in the past and bring honor to your gods, but you could never abandon me. They have grown tired of your false propheteering, and this is only the beginning of their vengeful wrath should you continue down this path of lies. I care about you, Dag Riddik, even after all these years the fire of passion still burns within me. It is for that reason I implore you to make your choice.”
“I do fight for glory, my dearest Isabella. I do fight for the gods favor. I sought to please them so they would lead me back to you. May I not humbly ask a favor in return for my services? Why must I choose between my love and my lords? I understand now that you are not such a hard woman to find as I believed you were all these years. But I’m afraid to offer myself to you without having earned your love. Men in these modern times live soft domesticated lives and demand women well above their merit. I refuse to be like them, I will not beg, I will garner enough prestige to bring you back to me of your own volition!”
Out from behind Isabella, manifested out of nothingness, wander two large, muscular, golden furred cats. One walks on either side of their master before sitting down at each of her feet. “You have chosen me, and furthered the progression of your prophecy. The gods condone your destiny, but it will be your burden alone to achieve it.”
<~~~>
“You’ve caught me on a bad week, Jaice Wilds. Is it really your fault, though? Well, partially. You may not have asked to be booked against me, but your failure on Clash is precisely why you are in your current predicament. I am being punished by powers vastly beyond your comprehension, and you are a pawn in their game. You are nothing but a tool with which I should be taught a lesson in humility. Torture wants to further take the piss on me but having me contend against an opponent in a fursuit. So be it.
“There are a million reasons I should overlook you, Wilds. I ought to underestimate you and dismiss any possible threat you pose to me. I should take one quick glance at your record, not only here, but across the virtually countless federations you’ve competed in and know, deep down, that I will have no issue collecting my third victory in this company. But I’m smarter than that, Jaice. Óðinn wills me to be smarter than that.
“I respect your legacy of longevity. You have been to several companies, always seeking new glory, always trying to expand the impact of your name. You are a mercenary, fighting where the money and fame carry you. You study your craft, honing your skill after every opponent, always integrating new methods and tactics after every opponent you face. You have immense willpower and refuse to allow defeat after defeat to crush your spirit into oblivion. From the anarchic hellscape of WCF to all of its shattered off shoots and then some, you’ve seen just about everything there is to see in this competition.
“Except that’s the problem, isn’t it? Jaice Wilds, hasn’t anyone ever told you the definition of insanity? Week in, week out, you put your body on the line. Multiple times a week, multiple times a day, it never matters to you. You throw your health and safety to the wind and for what, the so called fans? You wrestle for the cheers and approval of the fairweather crowds which have flocked to the arenas for the big names, and you just happen to be there flipping around like a kitten on crystal.
“You have not actually learned anything. The crowd will not erupt in awe when I pin you, Jaice. Except maybe out of shock at the mercy I show, when I could win by knockout against an impotent little rat like you. You have battled against every tier of competition in this business, changed your style and approach time after time, yet still you squander in the bottom of the barrel. It may come as a surprise to you, Wilds, but even a man such as I am capable of fear. I do not fear death, nor my gods, nor the apocalypse.
“I fear eternal mediocrity such as yours. To overcome my fears, I must surpass you.”