Avebury is an idyllic village in the English countryside. From every angle it is a colourful and warm place. A sedate life brings easy smiles to its residents, and the atmosphere is at the same time calming and invigorating.

But the village’s innocence is like the soft innards of a snail, and the shell is weak and brittle. It is not hardened against the myriad pressures found in larger urban centres.

There is an evil in the cities of the world. When so many people are thrust together, clawing for space and for life, they harden themselves against this evil, and they embrace it. People are willing to harm their neighbours, to take from them. Society becomes lifeless and people find solace only in those they can trust.

Avebury is different – it is happy, and helpful, and trusting. It should take only the barest of pressures to crack the brittle shell and corrupt the soft innocence within, my lord. We will reduce that innocence to rotting blackness, and from that foothold we will wage our campaign.