The year is 1862, and the Vatican legion marches on the walls of Old London. A thousand fires flicker in the distance, set to warm footmen that anxiously await tomorrow's advance. Glowing figures walk between them at regular intervals, the Pope's Bishops, radiant in white robes that reflect the firelight. With prayer beads and relics dangling from fine silver chains, they grant the blessings of God upon every one of the massed troops.

The shapes of giant mechanical beasts clutters the darkened vista, valves sputtering and gears churning, even in their idle state. Lights flicker and dim, and the men who work them shovel coal into furnaces and oil the joints, to make ready for the coming dawn.
They would, as always, attack at dawn, when God's Light comes to reclaim the Darkness.

A Recount of the Plight of Old London