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What have I to tell you, unlucky one, of this vision brought before me? Hear it here that I, Othur Lokbrok, do not speak with a voice of my own, but rather echo the Sisters Weird, come to me one night in a passion and fury beyond all earthly resemblance. Thereupon that cursed night was I, awake and trembling, for out of a dream my spirit raised itself vigilant, as hushed voices seemed to seep and slither eerily through my window. Then in the dark at the foot of my bed a dampened candle glowed red hot as three faces, horrible, wicked, appeared before me. ‘Awaken, young Othur, son of Lokbrok, son of Gap,’ spoke the middle one to me. ‘Heed our song, of heavy heart and shaking shudders, that we loathe to lay before you. For though you may clasp your ears, or cover your eyes, or seek shelter beneath your covers, it is you that must hear and see and embrace our awful lament. It is you that must carry such burden and tell it thus, tell it to all those that sleep without an open eye for the Evil of your day. We hope some still live with an ear, or two, or three, willing to hear how Evil once thrived, and how Evil may be felled again, as beneath a Heel or Rock.’