In the midst of Southern England's verdant fields, it was the mid-12th century. The peasants went about their daily lives in a modest rural manor. A few of them were chatting among themselves, glaring and pointing at the granary nearby as though there was something wrong with it. As it turned out, there was, the local creep was back at it. A scruffy, unwashed peasant was muttering gibberish while scratching his stubble while he played with some grains and dung on the side of the old granary.

"Deus venit... Deus prope est."

The peasant murmured while maintaining a fixed gaze. A few rodents crept up on him and even sat on his shoulder, but he did not even bat an eyelid as he kept whispering and playing with the dirt and grains on the floor.