The Foundling Fount

Is it really any surprise that we find the gospel of the R’lyehian sleeper within the murky, neglected confines of a Detroit squat, however duplicitous they may be? Cthulhu may save us, but only for a midnight snack. Yet it is our obligation — as indigent wretches slave to the whims of beasts lurking in the nothing-space between worlds — to lure the unwary into the famished maw of our ageless lord beyond the stars.

[Thanks, Blake!]