I have paid a rusted, jagged, stinking price to become what I’ve become.
And with your flippant throat you speak against me?
Let me introduce you to the drowned council. . .
Those wretches from the ocean floor.
They will squeeze the breath from your lungs with their misshapen paws.
Until you gasp and fill with salt to taste.
Where you will be devoured by metal mouths and churned inside swollen lips
and chewed and swallowed beneath the ocean’s weight.
~The Centurion (to a whelp who went missing at sea)