Nigel Cuntsberry walks across the ancient library, a dusty room containing alcoves filled with mottled tomes and dusty scrolls. His naked chest heaves from the exertion of the previous hour. “I expect nothing but the most tawdry truths of these common villagers.”
Nigel now smirks as he licks his lips. He raises both hands to the noonday sky and moans.
“I am the Fear Lord Ichikawa,” he bellows in a preternatural tone, slick now and slow.