The band kids at my school scare me. They speak in languages beyond my mortal comprehension. Lost to time eons ago, when mighty beings of R’ylla could fall through worlds, the language was born. Not dead, not alive, Chtulu lies in slumber lying in the minds of the corrupted, through scriptures lost to the hourglass, they lay their ritualistic homage to the statuette in wait of his return, when man and animal shall feel pleasure and violence beyond current fields. When Cthulhu, Scourge and Priest of R’ylla wakes from his slumber when the stars are right.
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