BROKEN CHALICE
His words babble, falling from his mouth without any real meaning or purpose. His eyes flicker, looking from wall to wall in a flash, uncontrollable in his own head. His fever grows, yet his temperament does not adjust, not sickly or ill but more crazed. A man filled with strength and fire, when a true sickness should have him cold and weak. As he lays on the sofa of Meredith Agnar’s home, chanting and muttering crazed nothings, she can only do little but watch.
The man, a local fish merchant and beloved husband, father, siblings, villager… lost to a broken mind. Old Harbour is known for many things, but the darker secrets it holds are still unfathomable to those outside of the village's population. The teachings and preaching of Meredith began as such… silliness. Words of stupidity, pouring from her mouth, like a chant from a child book. But as she was heir to the Agnar name, and took over as mayor for her deceased father, the people with love in their hearts chose to listen to her. By day she helped them all individually, brought prosperity back to the small town, grew their trade and in turn their livelihoods. In a sense, she saved Old Harbour. But now her preachings are bringing forth a new affliction, and one that many in the town fear more than death.
As the local merchant loses his mind to insanity, blurting out chaotic notions and chanting lyrics to a song not heard by man before, Meredith furrows her brow and paces the floor of her cabin-esque home. The sickness that the man has come down with is not of this world, it is not foodborne nor is it transmitted via human touch. Of the horrors that exist in the current world, the existence of a pandemic competing with the monstrous diseases afflicting man, this is one that goes beyond.
The man, a devout follower of Meredith’s preaching, has simply succumbed to madness.
Upon many eves, Meredith gathers the townsfolk and begins her prayer ritual, her worshipping hymns towards the Great Old One below the surface. She gathers those who wish to be absolved of their chains to this mortal world, and to rejoice with her in eternal existence when the Sunken God comes forth once more. She prays for him, she cries for him, she lives for him. She vows her life to him so that when he rises once more, she will be spared. She will be chosen to stand by his side. She will truly become his Priestess. She devotes herself to him as words and wisdom, and she has another that stands for him through strength and fortitude. Another who braves all challenges and all tests, and will fight for his revival. He will be her Knight. He will be her Warrior. He is Ozymandias.
As she watches the man writhe on the sofa, uncontrollable twists and jerks of his body, she begins to lose faith that he can be saved. She looks at him as a man lost, a man broken. A beautiful mind and spirit, now trapped within a broken vessel. They have experienced this before in Old Harbour, a grim and unfortunate event. The town understands this is a risk they face when preaching and worshipping The One Below. But each time a mind is lost, it comes with a heavy burden. A decision of what must be done.
To save a life, broken and empty. Or offer another sacrifice to the city of R’lyeh.
The man enters a frenzied episode, where his babbling of words grows louder and his motions erratic. Frantic in his madness, he thrashes and begins to rise up before Meredith, as she can only look on in horror. The man is erratic, wild, feral, but she has not given up yet. She looks upon him, hoping to establish a connection with the soul still trapped inside. She calls his name, loudly, but he is too far gone. He poises himself for attack, and lurches forward towards her in a state of pure rage, as she flinches to protect herself from him… but he never reaches her. She hears a sickened crack of flesh dividing, feels the hard thud of a body hitting the floor, and hears the footsteps of another. She slowly lowers her arms to witness another before her.
Ozymandias. Standing tall and firm, between her and the ill-minded man. His body crumbled on the floor, Ozymandias standing vigilante, a rock in his hand, soaked in fresh blood.
OBEY, AND LIVE ETERNAL
Her village was her home, always and forever. Nothing would change that, and nobody would take her from there. Meredith grew up in Old Harbour, despite her origins from afar in Norway. Just like a young Baldur Magnusson, she too believed she had the blood of Gods surging through her veins. She too believed she would rise to something greater, to live a life as great and exalted as the Norse Gods. Little did she know, her ‘Gods’ would change from the thunder-wielding Thor or the ferocious Fenrir, to the Great Old Ones and the Sunken City below them. But even from a young age, she felt something reaching out to her. Not from the heavens or the sky above, but from the seas. Not the firm hand of a God, but the oozing tentacle of a new being…
As she grew older the world around her shifted drastically. From her teenage years struggling to fit in, to her adult years deadline with the loss of her family, to her mature years overseeing and managing a whole town, Meredith always had something darker over her shoulder. Another voice, another spirit guiding her way. Like Ozymandias, she too felt the presence from the deep, but unlike he, she has never heard his words. She has worshipped him in the shadows for too long, so she brought her altar to him, to the sea itself.
Upon the evening when the moon is at its highest, most full state, she gathers those of the village that wish to secure a better future for themselves. Not all are asked to join, and not all are interested or invested in the idea. But those that arrive with her to offer their thanks, their prayers and their lives… She loves them all for their effort. She truly believes the Great Old One will rise once more, and her opinion grows stronger by the passing moons. Growing closer to his time, to his return. The Great Cthulhu, rising from the deeps to enslave and destroy the world we call home.
Her belief is that when that day comes, when he comes forth, she will be chosen as one of his High Priestesses, a voice for his punishment and enslavement, a being that can carry forth his message. A herald for his reign. But she cannot do this alone, she will need another to stand vigilant and protect her. To stand by her side, equal in power, equal in authority, equal in eternal life. Ozymandias is her Warrior, he will protect her for millennia to come, and in return she will give him all he wishes. She will allow him her guidance, her wisdom, her companionship, and her body if he wishes. She views him as a brother, inherited from a distant family but when the end times are nigh, all will unite to become one, or nothing.
The night the villagers' mind broke was a ritual unlike the others, where they congregated on the pier following a hard day of labour to share their aches with their God. Tired, hungered, craving their beds and their homes. To come to the pier and offer themselves up as they were, raw and weak, means more to Meredith than anything else. In return, they will be brought into the new world alongside her, her new family. Not all are chosen, but those of the village that make this pledge with her… they are as much her family as those the sea took from her.
As they gathered and chanted, repeating Meredith’s words of an unknown language, one follower changed his composure and pointed to the sea. Erratic with excitement, overjoyed and euphoric, he screamed out for all to look at the idol within the sea. A growing light of green he declared, floating beneath the waters surface, calling to them to swim to it. He jumped for it, he lost his cool and his temperament. And as the man hopped in joy for the green idol, unseen to all else on the pier, he slowly lost his mind to it. The very sight on an unseen object, fracturing his mind before them. Ozymandias escorted the man back to her home, and kept him confined until she had finished the ritual, but Meredith knew tonight would have one conclusion.
The man's mind had broken, just as others before him had. To those amongst the gathering, Meredith pressed the excitement the man had shown to be a gift from below, that he was chosen by the God. That Cthulhu himself had revealed to him the door to R’lyeh, and the man must accept or deny this offer from the God. The man's wife, shook with terror at the sight of her husband rapidly declining into madness, was reassured she would have her husband returned to her if R’lyeh rejected him, else he will be accepted and will wait for her in the Sunken City.
The reality of the situation was always more grim to those that understood it, yet it was never spoken of. For Meredith, her altar and congregation comes to an end for the night. For Ozymandias, his night simply begins.
OBLATION
“Another one, so soon after the last…”, Meredith says, her voice deep and gravelly. She speaks almost mournfully. “We should be honored that he is electing these folks for sacrifice, but I had hoped their minds would be… stronger.” She ends the sentence with a sigh of disappointment, almost embarrassment at the man before her, unconscious now and bloodied.
“To grow strong… we must cut out the weak”. Ozymandias speaks to her in such a matter-of-fact manner than she can only simply nod in response. “Sacrifices only help our cause”. His words reassure her, enough to bring a little light back to her eyes, but not enough to enlighten the mood in the room. Ozymandias bends down to pick the man up, hoisting him to a standing position but not without aid. His arm slung over the shoulders of Ozymandias, he is held upright for Meredith to prepare her final rites.
She finds a silver bowl nearby, filled with what looks like ashes, and approaches the duo before dabbing her thumb in the black, oily substance. “Cahf ah nafl mglw'nafh hh' ahor syha'h ah'legeth”, she says to the man, the alien language of guttural and drawling sounds unlike her natural voice. That is not dead which can eternal lie. She marks the man's forehead with a black ‘X’ before walking away to return the bowl.
“The waters are strong tonight, be safe.” Her words are heard by Ozymandias, but not felt. Not true. They make eye contact, and Ozymandias understands what she is insinuating.
“The water will not test me. I will return to fight. I will continue my path of dominance… for you.” His words are broken and muffled from his mask, but his sentiment is met with a smile from Meredith.
“For us... We have a great opportunity ahead of us, a chance to truly gain an advantage in our offerings.” She drops the bowl and picks up a rag to wipe the residue from her thumb, tossing it aside when she is done. She is dressed in a long flowing black lace dress, which flows around her like smoke as she moves. “To offer our lives as martyrs to Him is noble, but to offer him the mark of a Champion…”. The European Championship, to be exact. To take the golden belt and offer it up as a symbol of divine and utter atonement. The present the Great Old One with a body, a soul and the fire of a tested warrior.
“I am not concerned.” He speaks in a manner of tone which matches his words. He is not concerned, nor worried by his expression, but Meredith somehow sees through this. “I have yet to face a real challenge in WrestleWorld. I have yet to be truly tested. Montoya and Magall came close, but still fell before me.” He drags the man to a wooden chair nearby, and sits him down on it. “I long for a real fight.” He begins to strip the man down, removing all his clothes roughly. Tearing what he cannot pull off normally, stripping the man with such aggression, while the man remains unconscious, bleeding from a fresh wound on his head. “I long for a battle.” With the man undressed to his briefs, Ozymandias motions for Meredith to pass him something, a brown roll of thick fabric it seems. As he accepts it, he again makes stern eye contact with her. “I wish to be tested.”
He accepts the items, but remains looking directly into her eyes, almost into her soul. “Twenty souls enter that ring to fight, twenty. Every ninety seconds another is sent in to fight, fresh. If you are near the beginning of the gauntlet, you face up for nineteen others. No disqualifications, no timeouts. No restrictions.” He begins to unroll the fabric, only averting his gaze to look back to the seated man. “You will have a target on your back, following your last victory. And you will be a threat to most in the ring based on your size alone.” He grunts, a sign of amusement, before turning back to face the man. He flings the fabric so that it rolls out along the ground, maybe ten or twelve feet in length. Soft to look at, but coarse, like a burlap sheet. “This is European Championship rules too... that means you can only win by submission. Have you worked on your training much recently?”
He grunts again, not so amused this time. “This match requires strength. I have the advantage.” She walks past him to a hamper near the door of the cabin, and lifts the lid. She pulls out a wheel of rope, and drags it to where he is standing over the long sheet of fabric. “They can try to twist me, bend me, break me… I will crush their bones until they beg for mercy.” He grabs the man from the chair and drags him onto the floor so that he is laid down on the fabric. With ease he rolls the man along the floor, until he is fully engorged in the sheet, before taking the ropes from Meredith. “Submission has many faces. Broken bones is one.” He tucks a length of rope underneath the man's body and pulls it out so it wraps him. He does this again a couple more times until the man is fully entwined. “Suffocation is another.” He pulls the ropes around the man's body tightly so that he is tied completely inside his cocoon. Ozymandias kneels down to make the final twist of a knot. “Exhaustion is another.” With the man fully tied up inside his burlap blanket, Ozymandias grabs him and without duress lifts him up onto his shoulder and stands up tall.
“My arsenal is of strength, force and brutality. I need little more to make my opponents cry for relief.” His words are not what Meredith hoped to hear, but it is enough to put her mind at ease, for now. She simply nods and accepts what he has to say. "Then all should go accordingly to plan.” He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make a noise, but simply turns to exit the cabin. As he approaches the doors, she walks to him and places a hand on his unburdened shoulder to stop him. “We must do what is asked of us, what is needed of us. For we are the messengers, the heralds of a new world.”
Her eyes waver, almost on the cusp of tearing up, but he nods to accept her words. “I understand what must be done.” He shifts the man's weight on his shoulder to readjust him, before taking one last moment with Meredith. “All men must fall”, he simply says before turning and exiting the building.
CALL OF THE DEPTHS
The thickness of the night is so dense that even sound itself struggles to wade through it. As he marches towards the shore, to the docks before him his footsteps are drowned by the wet, softened soil beneath his feet. The late evening rains poised as a blessing in disguise it would seem, but now the skies are clear and only the stars offer company on this dark and cold night.
As he approaches the docks he finds a small boat, large enough for a couple of fishermen to row the coastline and catch a small haul. Tonight this vessel becomes more, it becomes a chariot to the underworld for another fortunate soul. Another mortal who has been blessed enough to see the image of Cthulhu himself, to see his glowing light and hear his words. Not all who meet the God can understand, and for many their minds simply cannot fathom what is occurring. Their circuits fry, and in turn so too does their connection to this mortal realm. A body and a mind, no longer suitable for this world, only posing as a chamber or vial to transport the ascended mind to the new world below.
To the eyes of the outsiders, the act might seem cruel, unusual, illegal or downright disturbed. But to those who remain in Old Harbour, those loyal to Meredith and her preachings, they understand this is as much a part of rebirth and revival as the words they chant. For each who joins the festivities seeks sanctuary in the new world, but for some their time comes sooner.
As Ozymandias rows the small boat away from dry land, he narrowly passes the moored fishing trawlers and bigger boats docked in the harbour. The size and agility of the wooden raft allows them to escape the confines of the village unnoticed, undisturbed, free to continue on their journey to open waters. As moments pass and land grows further from sight, then and only then does Ozymandias fire up the small two-stroke engine attached to the boat, and rapidly decreases their duration. The water is still tonight, calm following the aggression's of the winds and rain previously, and one can find peace here at this moment. This unnerving, disarming moment. For Ozymandias, he is delivering this man to his new life, his new world of R’lyeh at the bottom of the ocean. For outsiders, this would be considered cruel. Unusual. Murder.
As the steady hum of the boat moves them along as a casual pace, the man tied within the sheet begins to murmur, slowly regaining his consciousness. For now he is not posing a challenge or a nuisance, so Ozymandias lets him stir. Instead he pulls his cellphone from his pocket, a device he rarely uses. Tonight he has only one purpose for it, and navigates to the WrestleWorld home page. The list of entrants for the upcoming Carnival Carnage come up before him as she scans over the names, some familiar but many unknown. He sees names from his past matches, Daniel Horror and Rhiannon Hartwell. One stood with him, one stood against him, neither were of notable skill nor talent. He saw an easy victory over Hartwell, carrying Horror along with him. Neither will pose much concern for the war to come.
Chad Kennedy, Sara Lynn and Beau Cassidy. Names he had not heard of within WrestleWorld, and rightly so. If they were to be of concern or pose a true test, he would know their names. This is a carnival after all, there has to be some clowns to fill the show up. John Reaper and Crow fall into the same category, two absurdities of the professional wrestling world. One is a living gimmick, and the other is failing to imitate the first. Neither are successful. They will prove to be little more than an obstacle in his way, but even then these would best be left to the lesser names to fight, to try and ‘earn their stripes’.
He continues to review the names, finally seeing someone he knows. Kennedy Matthews, someone he has had to face off against twice in his tenure at WrestleWorld. In truth, she did give him a good fight, and he was impressed with her skills in the ring. She will be looking for blood at this show, and looking to put her mark on the World. This one woman could be a huge upset if left unchecked, so allowing her to progress deep into the match might be a mistake. If another fails to eliminate her, Ozymandias will have to do the task himself.
The man wrapped in the fabric stirs more, almost full conscious now, but so tightly wound in rope and cloth he can’t budge much. Ozymandias continues to read, and sees a couple of names he recognizes. He has seen them perform, but never as their opposition. Alice Gamer and Lillie Saint. Two strong fighters, equally threatening and dangerous as one another, but lapsing any form of concern for Ozymandias. He had lived ten times the life they had, battling foes inside the ring and out. He had faced adversity and shed more blood that would have liked, but facing him against these two female warriors is a slight injustice. He craves a fight, a real test. Kicks and punches are not a battle, they are fuel for the fire. Ozymandias knows their strategy will echo that of Matthews, Hartwell and the rest- assault fast, attack hard, hope that he falls down. Ozymandias knows their strategy, he has faced it all his career. They can strike, but he will be braced and ready to counter attack.
As he scrolls the names they become more confusing that anything else, more gibberish or comedic. Jacob Steele. Teddy Mac. Jimmy Johnson. Jungle Jaguar. There is a need for entertainment he presumes, so sending in a fleet of jobbers to flail and caw and the hands of the real talent is understandable, but why the heavy emphasis on these clowns? These fools, a mockery to the very sports of wrestling, of fighting. A jeer at the concept of battle. If anything, seeing their names infuriates him more, that his cries for a true test are being met with names forma children's novel, that characters like this exist in the same realm as he does. He has not seen them, nor heard words of them good or bad. They are puppets, pawns to the game, fodder to the battle. Numbers to buff up the show, and they pose nothing more than a hindrance to his progression.
As he continues to scroll the list, spotting names even more unfamiliar such as Ishikari, Takagi, Mikhailov and Takenaga, the man in the boat stirs more, rocking them on the still cold ocean surface. Not close enough to make his offering, Ozymandias checks on him to see how he is holding up. Pulling back the cloth a bit to reveal his face shows him that the man is now awake.
“Wha… what’s happening, where am I? Why am I tied up?” he asks, struggling in his shackles. He seems coherent, alert, awake. A strange revelation indeed. “Why am I tied up… what’s going on? What’s happening! Where are you taking me!”, he screams, now thrashing fully. Ozymandias puts a hand on him to calm him, as the boat shakes and rocks on the waters.
“Relax, easy… what do you remember?” He asks with an air of confirmation, almost as if he needs an exact answer. “Tell me what you remember of before.” The man looks up to Ozymandias, looking in horror at the face before him. The bald head, the black mask, the metallic tubing, the utter visage of a merchant of death. Quickly realizing where he is and what is happening the man panics more.
“I’m not crazy man, I’m not! You… you’re about to throw me in the ocean me, aren’t you? Like the others! No man, I’m fine. I’m fine I’m telling you! Let me go man, I’m fine!” His cries for release strike Ozymandias in a strange way, almost reminiscing him to a time before this. He had watched clips of other fights in WrestleWorld, and something about the screams for release drew him back to it. Back to another moment… Santiago. The final name on the list, the self-proclaimed master of manipulation. He courses through his opposition with an eagle-eye on their joints and weak spots, aiming to break them down one digit at a time. He remembers a clip of Santiago in action, cracking fingers as his opponents screamed out in agony. His method of submission was dismantling his foes. A strategy that Ozymandias can appreciate, and potentially might adhere to himself. A break of a finger, a shattered of a bone, a snap of a limb… Santiago might have a keen strategy after all, and one that Ozymandias can be inspired by. Break the fingers, break the chain… he still remembers the screams.
“Let me go!”, only this is not his memory but his passenger, alerted and afraid. Ozymandias bends forward and gets the man in his arms, lifting him to a seated position. “Tell me… what you... remember…”, he asks. His voice now deeper and more feral sounding, his mask adding an extra layer of intimidation. “I don’t know man, just bring me home. Bring me back to Old Harbour.” Ozymandias ignores the request, and continues to look into the man's eyes. He reaches back and kills the small engine of the boat, so they drift slowly to a stop on the water. “Tell me…”, this time an order versus a request. The man remains silent, contemplating his answer for Ozymandias, slowing his breathing.
“I don’t know… I think I saw something in the water, but there must have been nothing. I thought I saw a green light, or even a green head coming out. I thought it was him, man. HIM! The Great Old One, rising up to greet us. Cthulhu, praise Cthulhu! The God will rise again, he will come to strike us all down, and only the strong will live… he will rise once again… R’lyeh come forth… they will come backtous… comeupfromthem… Cthuuuulllaaaaaaa……”, and the more he continues the more his words become incoherent. Ozymandias leans back and takes a seat across from him, watching the man slowly drift back into his madness-fueled ramblings. He shakes his head, somewhat disappointed but more so relieved. As the man enters a state of chaotic laughter, seemingly his conscious gone from the present once more Ozymandias gently lifts up the wooden oar to the boat, stands up with it firm in his grasp, and clashes it firmly against the man's skull, knocking him down. Not unconscious, but down.
“The Underworld will not accept a screaming mad man… sleep, brother, so you can eternally slumber in the Sunken City.” The man stirs again, but Ozymandias slams the oar down on his skull once more. And again, and again. The bay is empty of life, nothing but the stars above to shine some light on the surface. And so the sickening thud of wood on bone and flesh carries across the waters surface for far further, each thud growing more soft and wet than the last. The boat, a tiny speck on the vast openness of the Pacific Ocean, a wooden vessel carrying two lost ferrymen to their futures. For one, that continues below the surface. For the other, that continues above.
“Until the day we meet once more, brother… that which is not dead may eternal lie…”. His words come much softer and soothing than before, almost caring, as he hoists the man from the floor of the boat up and tosses him over the edge. The splash of water breaks the eerie silence of the water like a boom of thunder, and Ozymandias watches slowly as the man's body is swallowed whole by the gigantic mouth of the ocean. He watches the man slowly drift deeper and deeper beneath the surface, his bindings soaking with water and adding speed to his submerging. With the man fully gone, Ozymandias scoops a handful of water and uses it to wash down the boat's interior of blood and bone, cleaning the vessel before taking a seat on the small bench inside.
The broken water gradually gathers itself to a clean solid state once more, as Ozymandias sits there and watches the stars above find their reflection on the water. He looks to the constellations he remembers from his childhood, the giant plough and the three heads of Loki, the hammer of Thor and the fangs of Fenrir. He takes in the peach and the calm that the ocean brings him, the serenity of this world above the surface. As one soul makes their way towards R’lyeh, the Sunken City below this world, Ozymandias can still take some solace in what remains above. He slowly detached his mask from his mask and turns it to look at it closely, the boat slightly rocking with his movements. Blood splattered across the metal mesh, the tubing designed to resemble tentacles, an homage to the described appearance of the Great Dreamer asleep in the depths below. He turns to scoop some water, rinsing blood from his hands and then his mask before finally taking a couple of scoops in his hands swallowing the cold water hole.
“We shall reunite soon, Father”. His words come out clearer without his mask, his true voice. He takes one last handful of seawater, tainted with the blood of his former passenger and swallows it all before reattaching his mask. With the sacrifice completed, he turns back on the engine of the boat and charts a course for Old Harbour.
THE WAR AHEAD
As the boat draws close to the docks, the sun begins to rise before him as it climbs and stretches over the mountains and the plains of Alaska. The early morning is no no stranger to the commotion of the village, as many arise with the sun itself, so it is no surprise to find figures standing on the pier as he returns. He eyes Meredith from a distance, her tall slender figure and tight black dress billowing in the slight wind. Alongside her are the mans wife, now widowed and their two sons. He sees them from afar, but the distance feels like a year before his small vessel finally makes it to the pier. As he docks the boat, tying it to the moors, the gathering stand vigilante and wait for him. Ozymandias scales a nearby stairwell to meet them, and his expression answers their unasked quotations.
“He… he is with the rest now… isn’t he?”. She knows the answer but asks it still. Meredith looks to Ozymandias with an expression of concern, but it is unwarranted.
“He has entered R’lyeh, and now sleeps with the Great Dreamer himself.” His eyes move from the mothers to the children, then back to the mother. She is on the verge of breakdown, but Ozymandias steps forward and puts his hand on her shoulder. “We do not mourn for the dead, we rejoice for them. And we pray that soon, we can join them in the Sunken City… Vulgtmah Cthulhu.”
She pauses, looking at him through teary eyes, and replies “Vulgtmah Cthulhu.” Praise Cthulhu, a phrase commonly used by the cult, and only used by Ozymandias after his sacrifices. He has lost count of how many trips he has had to take, how many folks he has delivered to the Dreaming City, but he knows that no trip is without meaning. He motions for the woman to leave, and she does so with her sons tagging along. He hears them question her further out of earshot, asking about their father and wondering where he is but Meredith breaks his focus.
“This is behind us now, we must wash away any weakness and move forward. Stronger than before.” He looks at her, before averting his gaze to the ocean.
“I washed my hands of this already. His blood is gone from my skin.”
“Good… for you have much more blood to spill. I hope this hasn’t afflicted your mind?”. She asks, but she knows already. He turns to face her, their eyes locked for an indiscernible amount of time.
“I have a gauntlet to prepare for.” He says no more, and instead takes his leave of her as he walks down the pier towards the village. She remains, still facing towards the open sea, now glowing as the morning light reaches across it.
“Yes you do.” She smiles to herself, a personal moment before turning to walk down the pier after him. Ozymandias has delivered countless folk to their watery grave, and tonight added one more sacrifice to the Great Old One. But in a matter of days he must deliver many more sacrifices, ending more lives at once than he would care for. The Carnival quickly approaches, and with it an opportunity to advance his name through the ranks of WrestleWorld, and achieve a level of eminence amongst the viewers. With a bigger platform, he will be able to change the minds of many. With a better revenue stream, they can expedite their construction efforts and complete altars and monuments to the sea. With the European Championship, his name will truly be feared amongst the roster, and his return to the ring will finally come to fruition.
Ozymandias, the Breaker of Chains. Breaker of Bones.
Sat Dec 03, 2022 4:36 pm by 
Subject: Breaker of Chains 
