There is but one way to put an end to the Garvis. You must kill the middle Garvis. When his head is beneath the stars launch your steel into his eager neck and slake the cold blade’s righteous thirst. Without his power the other four Garvis are bootless. They will gnash and wail a pungent song that will make your ears bleed. Their eyes will turn to stone and their bodies will melt into smoke and ash.
And the graves will shudder and the birds will wake in the sky and for the passing of 10 saeculum no one will dare mention the name of the Garvis; and the world will be safe. Until one day when someone will make fun of the Garvis on a part-time blog about stupid looking album cov… oh. Oh no. Oh God, what have I done?