A medium-sized, horse-drawn carriage made its way across the sandy path, and descended down it. Looking down the hill, one would be able to see the beach, and the ocean beyond, its waves cresting and breaking against the shore.
The carriage came to a stop about thirty feet from the water. If there were witnesses around, they would see the Duke of Weselton step out the back of the carriage, his face obscured by a cloak. He was carrying another man over his shoulder, unconscious, gagged, and bound.
As the Duke struggled to carry the larger man over to the water, he stopped for a moment to speak with the carriage driver.
"Turn it around and face the other way. If you try to leave without me, I'll see to it that you go to the gallows. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly, your Grace."
The driver moved the reins to the side, and the horse obeyed, walking in a semi-circle and turning the carriage to the opposite direction. The Duke grunted as he continued towards the ocean, hauling the still-unconscious man with him.
The driver sat still, facing away from the beach and listening to the faint sounds of the waves. He heard the Duke take a few steps into the water, and then, a larger splash as something emerged from the sea.
The Duke began to mutter in conversation with someone. But as far as the driver knew, there was no one else around. He couldn't make out any words that were being spoken, but he heard low, grunting replies from whoever the Duke was talking to. Another splash was heard, then quiet footsteps heading back towards the carriage.
The Duke had returned, but he was no longer carrying his human burden. Instead, he was holding eight or nine pieces of what looked like gold. He climbed into the back of the carriage once more.
"Let's go," he said.
The driver snapped the reins, rousing the horse from its short nap as it began to trot back towards town.
The marketplace in Weselton had dwindled quite a bit ever since Arendelle had cut off all trade with them. Where there were once dozens upon dozens of merchants that could be found selling their wares, there was now merely a handful. As it turned out, Arendelle was the only remaining trade partner with Weselton, and after the Duke's foolish actions against Queen Elsa, all ties between them were severed, and the small nation began to suffer great economic hardship.
As the citizens mingled about and checked out the few booths and vendors, they all heard the clanging of a small bell. People looked in the direction of the town square, and they saw the official town crier waving his bell about, shouting as he made the day's latest royal decree.
"Hear ye, hear ye! All citizens of Weselton, hear ye!"
Now, all eyes were on the man as he read from his scroll.
"As decreed by His Grace the Duke of Weselton, henceforth all food will be rationed by an additional five percent. Additionally, water rations will now only be distributed on Tuesdays and Saturdays."
A few quiet groans could be heard from the people in response to the bad news; they already had barely enough to eat, and as Weselton was surrounded by ocean, freshwater was scarce.
A rotund man from the crowd, who had had quite enough of the Duke's silly decrees, spoke up, his face red with anger.
"Oi, crier bloke! Why don't you tell the Duke that if he wants us all to starve, he can go f-"
Three guards came out of nowhere. They tackled him to the ground, and began to beat him with their clubs. It took them four blows to render the man unconscious, and another eighteen to actually kill him.
The rest of the citizens went about their business. Most of them had adjusted to Weselton's new draconian laws.
The Duke sat in the study of his luxurious villa, absentmindedly sipping at some brandy. He surveyed the gold that sat on the table before him, looking intently at the unusual carvings that were etched into each piece. Last time, he had gotten ten of the trinkets, but this time, he had only received eight.
Since nobody wanted to trade with them anymore, this gold was the only thing keeping Weselton's economy afloat. The Duke had to head down to the beach at night to collect it, then sell it off to unscrupulous Southern Isles merchants in return for goods, which were then rationed and distributed to citizens.
Despite the reduced amount, he was still going to have the usual two pieces stored away in his personal vault. The rest of Weselton would just have to make do with their reduced supplies. The Duke had himself to think about, after all.
Opening the drawer to his desk, he removed a piece of paper and pen, then scribbled out a quick note.
Edwin,
Get the men together. The high priest has called another meeting for tonight, in the forest. Don't forget the candles this time.
The Duke tucked it into an envelope, then took the little bell that sat at his side and gave it a ring. After about thirty seconds, a voice was heard at the door.
"Your Grace?"
It was his butler's voice.
"Come in."
The servant opened the door, and when he saw the Duke's outstretched hand, he headed over to him and took the letter.
"I need that delivered to Edwin, at once."
"Another...meeting? So soon?"
"That is correct. Now hop to it."
The butler obeyed, quickly leaving the room in search for Edwin.
The Duke sat back in his chair, removed his round spectacles and breathed deeply through his nose. He looked to his right, at the window. Past the paned glass, he could see the sloping hills that led down to the beach, and then the sea.
The waves were unusually large today.
The twelve robed men stood in a circle around their unconscious sacrifice, the black candles dimly lighting up the immediate area. They stood in the middle of the woods, a perfect place to conduct a ritual.
As the high priest drew out the long, ceremonial dagger from the folds of his cloak, they all began to collectively chant.
"I'a Dagon! I'a Hydra! I'a Dagon! I'a Hydra!"
The priest plunged the dagger through the man's chest and into his heart.
"I'a Cthulhu fhtagn!"
None of the people there knew the man personally. Even if they had, it was unlikely any of them would have felt even the slightest amount of guilt. He was just another peasant, a commoner.
"I'a Dagon! I'a Hydra! I'a Cthulhu fhtagn!"
The unforunate victim's blood seeped out and formed a pool around him. Eleven of the cloaked members knelt down and started to drink up the red liquid off the ground, making slurping noises.
As he watched, the Duke of Weselton threw back the hood of his own ceremonial robe to get a better look. The abnormally long tongues of the other cultists moved about, lapping up the man's blood. When the ritual was all finished, they stood up, and the high priest looked over at the Duke.
"Good work, Allen. Your supply of fresh sacrifices has been invaluable to the Order."
The only time the Duke of Weselton allowed someone to address him by his first name, Allen, was when they were his superior. Of course, he had no superiors as far as the citizens knew, as they lived in a grand duchy. But the Weselton branch of the Esoteric Order of Dagon was not known to anyone other than the few nobles and their trusted servants that made up its members.
"Anything to serve our cause, my Lord," the Duke said, bowing to the high priest.
"Soon the transformation will be complete, and our allies will restore Weselton to prosperity."
The cultists began to disband, each going their own separate way through the woods, leaving just the Duke and the priest.
The high priest spoke in a lower tone as he cast off his hood.
"I trust you will...dispose of the body, like you have with the others."
The Duke's heartbeat began to quicken, and despite the summer, he felt cold. He still wasn't used to seeing the priest's full face.
"Y-yes, of course my Lord."
"Very well then. Until next time."
He raised the hood once more, and turned away.
The Duke watched him walk off and tried to ignore his long, not-quite-human strides. In fact, the Duke always tried to ignore the high priest's features, like the webbing that had begun to spread through his fingers, or the scales that were on his face, or the gills that had formed on his neck, or his eyes that had begun to turn black.
The Duke was now standing there on his own, in the middle of the woods, with a corpse. He picked up the nearby shovel and began to dig a hole, as he wondered how much longer he could keep this up.