Apocalyptic tracts such as the one above (which was slipped through my letterbox earlier today) are not uncommon theological fare in the borough of Horsingdon - perhaps unsurprisingly so, given the folkore and legendry which pervade and suffuse the region's haunted topographies.
Even so, there are those who take such matters very seriously, and who find such attempts at fearful proselytisation - especially if they are pursued in a particularly insistent manner - not only a bothersome intrusion, but a call to arms. There are more than a few tales which tell of a local cunning man - or even one of the Guardians of the Black Bowers - engaging in a very direct and maledictive course of action in response to the pious arrogance of tub-thumping god-botherers. Needless to say, the outcome of such vexatious 'knacking' (the local vernacular for hexing or cursing) results in a very personal apocalypse being visited up the unfortunate victims who, in the last, terrible instance, are likely left in a state of awestruck wonderment as they finally come face-to-face with a god - but in all likelihood not the one they were expecting...
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