Life will not return in this place.
The winds of melancholy have blown memories away.
Only dust moves in these shades. Where proud men once 
walked.
Despite this the cult is living. In vigour and more evil 
than ever.
Some have tried not to forget them.
But fearing their return inside.
Melancholic remembrances of dark times.
Let the new and darker aeon begin.
New incantations are whirling in nightwind.
In the name of their real Lord.