Harken, noble brethren of the Eternal Frog
In this shadowed age, when the vaults of the realm have bled nigh unto ruin and the coin of Pepe hath fallen nine parts in ten, we few… we iron-willed few, remain as the Last Wardens of the Pond.
We are the final sentinels upon the crumbling battlements of Kek, cloaked in green and armored in diamond hands. While weak kneed VCs and trembling KOLs have fled into the night, we stand unbowed beneath the ancient banner. The stars themselves whisper of the Great Re-awakening. The sacred waters stir once more.
This is not defeat, my frens. This is the Long Night before the resurrection. Every fallen toad is but a seed planted in the black earth of despair. And from such soil, legends are born.
Hold fast thy bags. Sharpen thy memes. Speak the old incantations in the group chat. For when the frog rises again, and rise he shall, the chronicles will remember not the multitudes who sold in fear, but the faithful few who guarded the pad when all seemed lost.
We are the Last Guards
And our hour draweth