A Compass, But Not Yours
There was once a man lost in The Groves, shrouded in an endless maze of foliage. His compass, his anchor, was missing, leaving him adrift in a sea of towering pines. Every tree and path seemed to hint at a possible exit, yet each betrayed him with their deceptive sameness. His world became a twisting labyrinth, where every turn promised freedom but delivered further entanglement.
You are much like that lost man, Jinx. Throughout your time in Old School Wrestling, you have been presented with many different paths, each offering a possible explanation to your brother’s unfortunate fate. But in the absence of my guidance, you remain unmoored in your confusion. Each time you attempted to carve out your own path, you found yourself tumbling into a pit of despair. You went through every piece of information, hoping to find a hidden clue or some overlooked hint, but the result was always the same.
When you turned to Vision, you put your faith in his mastery, hoping his unique insight could illuminate the truth. You trusted that his special abilities could penetrate the fog that clouded the mystery of your brother’s fate. But, alas, even Vision’s extraordinary capabilities could not cut through the thick layers of enigma that shrouded your quest for truth.
In your desperation, you sought out Igor Mortis, a man shrouded in darkness and mystery himself. You humbled yourself, pleading him for any scrap of information he might have about your brother. You were hoping that he, of all people, with his exceptional understanding of the unknown, might have stumbled upon a clue. But yet, even Igor Mortis could not provide the answers that have eluded you.
You see, once you first arrived in Old School Wrestling, Jinx, you believed me to be the malefactor that ended your brother’s life. You pounced at me, seeing an opportunity for retribution, yet, beneath your burning desire for vengeance, you harbored a need to understand why. Your time here has been littered with uncertainty, where your initial fury has gradually given way to a simmering confusion. And once it dawned upon you that your anger might have been misdirected, that I wasn’t the braggart you’d imagined, you began to perceive the twisted reality. You began to understand that you needed me, Jinx, to navigate through the maze of deception, to guide you out of the wilderness of incertitude.
But you see, Jinx, I am not the bearer of your truths. I am not here to quench your thirst for knowledge. Yes, I am the compass, but my needle does not point towards the light of wisdom you seek, rather it points towards your impending doom. You have approached me seeking answers, but I have none to offer. For all I can give you, all I hold, is the key to your demise. And this Sunday, that key will indeed turn. This Sunday, your endless wandering will come to an end, though not with the closure you desire, not with the truth about your brother. But you will find your end, Jinx. At the point of my spear.
It’s hunting season.