Paul Lojeski: Once more, the living dead have risen to steal the beaten, bloody land, to plunder history, to despoil the one true mother for coins and capital, for power’s poisoned love.
Paul Lojeski: This unfriendly winter, especially dark and rough heralding in, as it will, a change in kings: one quiet, suave killer replaced by a loud, fist-swinging would-be-thug emperor always yelling, threatening blood curses upon his enemies, any wicked souls who dare disagree with his sour bloviations.
Paul Lojeski: Anger strangles light before those cursed eyes like red lava smothering warm hearts, the hate they hold tight in soured souls their guiding angel.
Paul Lojeski: The great stone hall of history, silent and indifferent, has seen it all before: the gathering of oppression, excited and frenzied to bloody flesh and bone, thundering across the landscape like a pack of starving wolves.
Paul Lojeski: A love of violence Like a red river Floods the land.