Fort Pants was first established in 1615 by one Bjorn Pants, a Norwegian explorer of some notoriety. Bjorn, tired of a lifetime weighed by plundering, pillaging, and raping, planted his anchor in the neighboring bay, burned his longboat, and set about building a hall where he could live out the rest of his life in peace. This was easier done than said, as the rest of his life lasted all of three months and two days. Before Bjorn could finish construction of the foundation, his bloody past must have caught up to him. To this day, nobody knows what befell the famed explorer. Construction workers, stirred one night by a commotion coming from his tent, set out to investigate and found nothing of him but blood-stained clothing and one left testicle. That same remarkably well-preserved testicle can be seen today in the Fort Pants Museum and Cultural Centre, as a reminder of the town's bloody history.
The construction workers, whom Bjorn had brought with him in his longboat, found themselves stranded in this strange, cursed land. They were promised freedom after completion of the hall, but with their master dead and the boat burned, they were trapped. The men finished construction of the hall and lived there until the end of their days. There were no women present; the men's lines died with them.
The hall would lie rotting and desolate for one hundred years before one Sir Alfred Cunningham, a British anthropologist of some notoriety, would come across it in his travels. The anthropologist first left Great Britain to pursue field research in Scandinavian culture and history. However, he was known for his geographic illiteracy. Instead of sailing North, he and his crew braved the Atlantic Ocean, looped around North America, and ended in a distant bay in British Columbia. It can be considered some miracle that of all the places he could have landed, he ended up at Pants Hall, the last of the Viking structures built by one of the last Vikings. Elated by his discovery and ingenuity, Cunningham set about dismantling the hall and carting it back to Britain. Unfortunately, his luck would run out. One night, his crew were awoken by sounds of a scuffle coming from Cunningham's tent. When they set out to investigate, they found nothing of the man but bloodied clothing and one left testicle. This same testicle can be viewed today in the Fort Pants museum and Cultural Centre, still surprisingly fresh and fleshy.
Cunningham, in his Scandinavian obsession, had demanded a proper Viking burial in his will. His men, being proper Brits, couldn't simply ignore a dead man's request, and with great regret, they loaded the bloodied clothing into their one ship and set it aflame in the bay. The testicle they kept, as a sort of good-luck charm. Now stranded in the middle of what they perceived to be Norway with no hope of rescue, the men quickly settled into their new lives. They repaired what they could of the great hall, and even established a little village in the surrounding areas. There they lived to the end of their days. They were survived by no one.
The village would lie empty and forgotten for another hundred years before one Sister Catherine, a French nun of some notoriety, would stumble upon it in her travels. The nun had traveled all the way from France with her convent to spread the word of the Lord to the new world, but a wayward wind had them shipwrecked in that bloody bay. Luckily, they'd crashed right next to an empty, strangely Nordic village. Unluckily, Sister Catherine wouldn't live to spend a week in the place. Again the loud clamoring, again the investigative party. Nothing remained of Sister Catherine in her small hut, nothing but scraps of clothing and one left testicle. The latter confused the nuns, but in time they would accept it as a message from the lord. In their final days, the nuns would come to worship the testicle as a sort of new god, an fetish of divine attribute. They too added to the village, including a heavy outer wall around the central hall which served to protect their new Lord. They would live and serve the testicle for another ten years before they were all eaten by bears.
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Again, the village lay dormant for another hundred years until it was rediscovered in 1915 by one Dr. Ozymandias Shaw, a banker of some notoriety. Dr. Shaw had been wandering the forest for the previous three weeks, subsisting on nothing but morning dew and whatever insects he could catch. When he finally came out of the psychotic episode, he found himself alone in the cursed village. The place was barren save for a few skeletons and what looked to be three severed testicles. Still experiencing the trailing effects of his episode, Dr. Shaw believed himself to be in the kingdom of God, further evidenced by the holy memorabilia left behind by the nuns. Building on the nuns' already established lore, Dr. Shaw developed his own ideology. He was stranded in the area for two months, which gave him ample time to develop his religion, which he dubbed the Church of Three. Then came that fateful day when a passing ship saw his bonfire on the beach and came to investigate. So it was that Dr. Shaw became the first human to escape the doomed bay and that cursed village.
Dr. Shaw brought with him news of this new and true religion to the civilized world and was mostly met with ridicule. However, due to his influence and wealth as a somewhat notorious banker, he developed a small following. He called this group the Testicallers and named them the true inner circle of his faith. With this group and an army of workers he'd hired with his vast riches, Dr. Shaw and his posse journeyed back to Fort Pants to establish the spiritual capital of his new religion. Over the many weeks, his cult would grow in followers, as word spread of a mysterious paradise, situated beside a certain bay. When Dr. Shaw finally passed later the same year, his cult had grown to over three hundred followers.
To this day, nobody knows what befell Dr. Ozymandias Shaw. He left nothing behind, nothing but shards of bloodied clothing and one left testicle. This testicle can be seen at the Fort Pants Museum and Cultural Centre today, for the affordable admissions fee of just $15.99. Visit today!
To his cult, the man had been accepted into the kingdom of God in full. They changed their name to the Church of Four in solemnity. The village now found itself well established, with industry booming from the bountiful fish that swam the bay. Over time, it would swell to become the city it is now.
As Fort Pants grew, so too did the Church of Four. They had upgraded from your run-of-the-mill cult to full fledged super cult, complete with brainwashing, drug abusing, and child sacrificing. It's no secret that Fort Pants is controlled by the Church of Four- every member of city council is a Testicaller, and the mayor is a descendent of Shaw Himself. Such is the fate of that bloody hall to now be a haven for drug-seeking spirituals and occult worship.
I know all this because I was once a follower of the Four. While my parents would follow no prophet but the Smiling God Himself, I exercised my newfound freedom to find my own truth. Of course, this wouldn't happen until much later on. As it were, I had more important things on my mind.