I have been asleep many years. I stir in my slumber, shadows collect

in the west and somewhere in the catacombs deep below the forest of

g'Harran a great evil awakens.

Still sleepy and not yet fully aware of the atrophy the city that once

served me with their bodies and their souls has suffered I cast my

protective shadow over the West and begin to rebuild my army of faithful

servants.

Then it becomes clear, these mortals are not rejoicing my return. They are

not dancing in honour of the great darkness that once lead them to

victory after victory. No. They mock, they deride, they insult and they

posture with arrogant defiance - for they live in an age where Olympus has

lain dormant and mortal man has forgotten what it is to be have their

petty lives Touched by immortals, blood pumping through their bodies with

the rush of the battle to hold aloft the banner of service and then flow

in rivers in the bloody battlefields of holy war. There is no greater

honour than to die a martyr.

I will crush this heresy. The rivers of blood will not be of martyrs but

of traitors, self-serving greedy merchants, heretics and arrogant fools

that DARE mock the God of Darkness.

My loyal followers, and those that still have Darkness in your hearts I

call out to you. Come out from the corners of the land where you have

lain repressed and hidden from persecution by the scum that currently

'rule', rise up and make yourselves known to me my children for The Hour

of Darkness is upon this land and it will be glorious.

Darkness ... WILL ... be ... restored.

Nostradamus.

Written by my hand on the 4th of Midsummer, in the year 1087.