As he sombrely marched into the dark confines of his base, UQLS Presidential candidate Omar Harduwar knew what he needed to do. He knew the promise he needed to make.
He had not come here yet, not for the entire campaign. In many ways, he was coming face to face with his destiny, with the vow he had chosen to take.
Walking slowly towards the pedestal, Omar breathed deeply. Ascending the steps towards his fate, he closed his eyes momentarily, before pushing on.
Before him lay the vanquished skull of Fergus Geary. Complete with little holes for durries and a supporter’s sticker from the Mandurah RSL, the skull lay in Geary’s battle helmet that he valiantly sported when headbutting nerds at PALS sessions.
Omar knew that he must build upon the legacy born from the anti-establishment campaign of Geary. Many still drink secret toasts to his health, after all. Toasts of rum and Coke on a Wednesday.
Omar looked deep into the skull’s eyes, which still somehow sparkled like schooners.
‘I will finish what you started.’
Pretty tense music blared from somewhere as Omar turned around and marched out to battle.
He was about to put the war in Harduwar.
More to come.