The dream had been rich in suffering and in omens of his imminent return: creatures of unspeakable form pooling in the blood-soaked depths, waves of terrible power foaming beneath a darkening midday sun. And through it all the chanting, chanting, chanting of his true name. Over and over the chorus called for his return, for the restoration of his empire and the slaughter of all mankind. And it would soon come to pass, once his sojourn in this quiet British village was complete.