As a slothful creep of night, slowly gutters through the soul of this little town. A foul funk sweeps through the darkness of the trees of the valley. And with it comes a loathsome evil of ageless end. As eager kin do longingly terry in the pitch of night, for an end of such horrors. Continues on, are the words of lore from the downward ages, which fuels the stirring of this most dreadful woe. It is said: ‘Overlord’ comes by sway, by gain of the weak to sow the tide of rage, giving form which to drain life from all in whom faith dwells. Through the work of subtlety, in those whom we love, to the disfigurement of heart felt desires to the point of obsession, then to possession. Ergo, to the swaying of the spirit, from its origin. Rev. J.G.S.
