Chapter Two: The Cultists

[Locke]

(Note: Parts of this RP were mentioned to Sam, and with this being another realm was permitted. This writing is still diving further into a fantasy realm, and I'm hoping you'll all enjoy it! This does have some features for a novel that I am going to be working on.)

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The time dwindled down. Locke found himself in the inn that was offered to him by the barkeep, whom he determined was the owner of the establishment. Small town. Everyone had their duty, he was certain. Locke sat at the edge of the bed with his hat set beside him and twiddled his thumbs together with his fingers interlocked. The sunlight shone in from the wooden window frame that was open, and the curtains pulled back allowing even more light to come in; despite it being the middle of the afternoon, Locke had been exhausted. Even the travel through the portal, the wormhole, or whatever it is that Heimdall had taken him through had exhausted him; traveling overnight to this town did not help any matter. However, Locke still found himself quite restless.

How do I get back? Locke questioned, The portal closed behind me! Heimdall did not say anything about me being stuck here… I still have an obligation. I still have a match. I still have Heir to the Throne to win! Show those other Midgardians that even without my powers, I can beat the best they have to offer. Locke rubbed his chin while considering the options of how he would be able to make it back to Earth. Midgard. There was nothing in the desert where he left; just dirt on top of dirt. Where is Heimdall? Damn it! Did he strand me here? Was this his plan? Locke clenched his fist, visibly angry over the abandonment from whom he trusted as his guide. The Courier. Locke laid flat on his back and just stared at the ceiling; there was no technology, so he had no access to television… and he dared not use his magic knowing what the Midgardians had referred to his people. Straggler. He could very well end up dead if he had shown any signs as to who or what he was.

Minutes passed into hours. Soon, Locke had fallen into a deep sleep… exhaustion had finally caught up with him.



The window, still open and a breeze still filling the room. Locke blinked his eyes several times as the silver light hit him directly, until he finally stirred himself awake. He opened his eyes, groggily, and looked out to see the moon centered on his open window. Máni. He sighed heavily, and sat up.

Perhaps everything is ready… I shouldn’t waste anymore time. Locke thought, and got up to his feet retrieving all of his belongings. It wasn’t much. Just his hat. Locke felt confident that he would be able to conjure some magic so long as no one was around him for anything else he may need on the road; however, weapons he created weren’t necessarily strong enough… but should at least do the trick, if he needed. He walked to the door and left the room.

Downstairs, the same barkeep stood at the bar. The room was alive with piano music, and one of the patrons was playing lively music on it; other patrons drinking merrily, and dancing with women who had come in to join them. Others sat at the bar and enjoyed the show of others just enjoying themselves. Locke eyed everyone, but met eyes with the barkeep; a nod greeted each other, and Locke descended the stairs and walked to the barkeep.

“Mornin’,” Locke said to greet him.

“It’s the middle of the night, Wanderer. You tryin’ to head out already?” the barkeep replied.

Locke nodded, “I reckon so,” he said and tapped his knuckles against the bar, “I need to catch up with this courier ‘fore he gets along too far… y’already said he’s a few days ahead of me, right?”

“Aye, but you should be able to catch up with ‘im. Mule is out back. You should be careful out there, though, headin’ North. There’s still some cultists of Loki out there, the fool who really started all this chaos. If you see ‘em, you should probably jus’ run.”

Locke chuckled and managed a weak smile, “I’ll try to keep that in mind. Thank you for the room.”

“Not a problem. Next time won’t be on the house, though,” the barkeep said with a laugh.

“I figured not.” Locke said and tapped his knuckles again against the bar, and walked out from the front entrance.



He walked to the back of the saloon where he saw a mule tethered. “You must be my companion,” Locke said to the mule. He walked beside it to see saddlebags hanging on either side and began to rummage through to see what was provided for him. Four canteens of water hung beside the saddlebags, and the saddlebags were filled with nuts and flatbread. “Let’s not waste anymore time…” Locke said, and took the reins of the mule to guide him forward heading North out of town. Toward the mountain.



Trekking through the desert, Locke let the rope dangle loosely and the mule followed without incident. He could see the mountain growing larger in front of his eyes as he got closer, and closer with each step, but it was still a fair way off. There were details about the mountain that became more evident. Despite this valley, this desert, being nothing but ruin and desert, the mountain was lush. Green at the base of it. Locke couldn’t help but wonder why the town didn’t move closer to it. Why would they pitch their town in the middle of the desert where it seemed like it would take days of travel just to get to the mountain. But who was he to question them? This world, this realm, was still unfamiliar to him.

“You don’t get out ‘round here much, do you?” Locke asked the mule.

The mule, of course, unable to answer just continued trotting forward matching pace with whom had now been named his new master. Temporarily, at least.

“Fine. Don’t answer.” Locke scoffed.

The journey was quiet for the most part, only Locke still thinking to himself… still wondering how he would make it back to Earth to beagle to compete in the Heir to the Throne and Imperial Wrestling Federation. But just having no choice but to strive forward. Eventually, there were sounds of hooves stamping the desert. Locke had his head lowered and smiled; the conflict he sensed nearing him should allow some entertainment, and permit him to unleash some of his frustration. The stamping continued toward him until a voice called out.

“Halt!” one of the people ordered.

Locke did not obey the command, but continued forward. The group that had approached him reared back, and tried to make eye contact with him but his hat covered his eyes from them.

“I said to halt!” the same voice called, but still to no avail. He finally reached to a holster hanging at his side and withdrew a six-shooter, shooting at Locke’s feet. This finally caused him to stop, and smirk. “Y’all know the rule. You are not to travel this close to the Mountain. We’ll let you turn back ‘round. For a fee. And your mule.” the man continued.

“Listen, cowpoke… you’re outmatched here, an’ I reckon that you should jus’ go ‘bout mindin’ your business. I’m goin’ to that mountain. An’ all y’all can live to see daylight if y’all turn yourself ‘round. An’ better yet, I think one of y’all should leave your steed to help out a lone wanderer.” Locke returned his own threat to the group.

“Sir, I feel you need to raise your head an’ see that you are outnumbered.” he said, with there being nine of them all together.

“But not outmatched.”

“... sir… the next word out of your mouth had better be an apology, an’ compliance.”

Locke began to rub his fingers together and a cloud began surrounding his hand leaving a physical dagger there. Locke just smirked, and eventually smiled, as he dropped the rein knowing he would need both hands for this combat. “You had your chance…” Locke muttered, and who was presumed to be the gang leader leaned forward, unable to hear him fully.

Without being able to mutter another word or even draw his weapon, Locke throws the dagger forward with it going straight through the leader’s neck. The leader dropped his revolver and reached his hand to his neck to try to keep himself from bleeding out as his blood squirted everywhere. He toppled over on his steed and laid in the dirt still clinging to his neck. The rest of the gang reached for their own revolvers but before they could draw, two more knives hit their mark also in the neck. One toppled over on his horse but was stuck by the reins, and the other fell from his horse, and still tried to draw his revolver but at the cost of bleeding heavily. Six to go. Two of them had their firearms aimed at him. Both of them fired, and Locke zigged and zagged to avoid both shots. Two more, and he zagged the other way. More throwing knives emerged in his hands, and were flung forward to hit their marks, and two more down, and a forward roll to take the revolver off the leader. In a kneeling position, he fired the revolver four times holding it near his hip and fanning the revolver to hit the remaining four between the eyes. They all drop dead.

Locke, now back to his feet, walks towards the downed leader who seems to almost be bleeding out. The one still getting his revolver together in his hand starts to raise it for a shot at the wanderer, but Locke hits down the hammer and fires while walking over him to shoot him in the chest. The leader and one other are still bleeding out.

“It didn’t have to be like this, son,” Locke said as he stood over the leader and pressed his foot down on his hand to apply better pressure to the wound. “Now, I can make this quick, but where is the fun in that?” he said almost sadistically. “Who sent you?”

The leader looked up in fear, seeing the emerald eyes of Locke glowing, and he knew… he knew that he was looking at Loki. The sinister smile. He was gagging on his blood, unable to let the words escape, but he tried his damndest to do just that. But nothing. Both of them bled out and their heads dropped after taking their last breath.

“Shame.” Locke said, and knelt down to rummage through their pockets. He found something that looked like a compass, and a coin; Locke immediately recognized the face on the coin as his own. There was a döppelganger, or really, he was the döppelganger. “Good resemblance…” Locke said and tucked the coin into his pocket, then opened the compass. Instead of a typical compass that points North, East, West, and South, a virtual map spread out a bit of a distance. Locke toyed with it a little and found that he could mess with the size of the map and saw that it was on a grid. There was a marker that seemed to pinpoint where he was at, and other dots that seemed to mark towns and hideouts for who he believed would be other cultists. His cultists. “This is some kind of technology… this place just gets better, and better.” Locke said and closed the compass, also placing it into his pocket.

He looked around for the horses of the men that he had killed and saw that most of them had run away through the battle. There was one left, where the second man he killed was still stuck to the reins and making the horse unable to flee with the rest. It was trying to shake the man loose.

“Easy there,” Locke said as he went to the horse. He quickly freed the dead man from the rein and let his body topple to the ground, but held the reins and began patting the horse trying to calm it. “Easy. Easy.” The horse gradually calmed. “You’re gonna take me to the Mountain.” Locke said, and guided the horse over to his mule. He attached the mule’s reins to the horse, and then mounted the horse. He guided the horse forward, going North again, leaving the dead bodies for the vultures, the crows, or whatever it was in this realm that took scraps.