Like moons make swell and wane the nescient seas, so too the sky-strewn gods ordain the tidal fates of mortal days. And yet - a notion born in lonely hours - come ebb, come flow, come all that is beyond the breadth of our dominion: be a moon unto yourself. Even the waves of fate can break upon the shores of will.

Smashing! Soon, my friend - soon we can share a flagon of something liquid and a tale of derring-do!

Kiss my arse. I'm the Lord of Murder - I'll show you why.

How would you feel about helping me kill some evil bastards?

I love this time of year. The dickheads start popping up.