Few dared to speak his name — the Drowned King, the Old One, the monster god whose shadow could swallow entire fleets. Sailors swore his tentacles could crush a ship’s hull in a single embrace, and his voice could drag a man’s soul straight into the abyss. But Captain Pika was never one to fear a good legend… especially when there was gold at the end of it.

Chasing whispers of treasure lost to time, he sailed into the Black Current — a stretch of ocean so cursed, even gulls would not fly over it. There, hidden in fog and silence, he found an island of black coral and shattered wrecks. At its heart loomed a temple carved in a tongue older than the tides.

Inside, Captain Pika found this statue — the very image of Cthulhu himself, frozen in mid-roar, stone tentacles forever writhing. Local lore tells a darker tale: that the gods of the deep, fearing Cthulhu’s growing hunger, bound him with a curse, turning his body to stone to keep the seas safe. But his spirit? That, they say, still stirs in the abyss… and sometimes, through this statue, it watches.

Now it rests in your hands, matey. Display it proudly… but never turn yer back on it. ⚓️