Here I sit on an impossible chair. Charged with what seems to be an impossible task.
I sift through endless words looking for signs from histories past with eyes that were never mine, they are seeking something now aware that the ticking of time is passing by.
This much I know. The balance, that most delicate of things, is being tested. From the surface and from within stirrings from the depths of this our home threaten to tip that balance. A sighting of the Angel was the first sign that things are changing. That bright herald, blazing with light and blood soaked intentions, how many have been claimed so far?……… A name, that name again. They read it repeated, a name of fear, of change, a thing that should not exist but must. The name of The Heptameron. The eyes tell me much of the power it wields and of the suffering that will come.
Page after page, snippets of knowledge, useful knowledge gathers in my mind and on this day my Lady Elect has much to learn from me. The Sentinels have been busy culling those who would enter as that thrice damned Guild of The Ostium guides bring travellers from afar. Most are unworthy of the Call and fall on my Ladies blade or burn from righteous fire. Others, though tested, have made it through and aloud to seek whatever it is they have been called to seek. For better or worse only time will tell but the blood of innocents will run freely before the end.
Such doom, history is made up of this. I want to cry but the eyes do not, tears of blood they assure me shall be shed soon enough. I grip my sword knowing they are right. After all The Call has been cast and of those near the core no sign as yet been seen. They could be the key? The eyes do not read much about them. I must know more for time is passing. I need eyes! More eyes! Trusted eyes.