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Elaborate, hand-carved stamps have formed the smudged ink letters on this parchment into a symmetrical pattern:
I obey the creator. My tasks are clear. Commands will be fulfilled.
Barriers: divisions to conquer. Mazes: prisons to redeem. Carvings: wounds to heal.
My three sacred duties. I must not fail.
Doubt is my companion.
Write down the questions. Hope to learn answers.
Who weaves the sigil? What does it summon? How does it trigger?
The creator knows everything. But still I ask. Why am I chosen?
Some of the hand-stamped ink letters on this parchment are hastily smeared over each other. Only the following words are legible:
The creator provides tools. Burning wheels lower gates. I break the lines. Forge the broken sigil.
Locked the way behind. Claws raking the door. Scatter all the keys.
What trails my steps? It does not matter. There is only forward.
These hand-stamped, smudged ink letters are barely legible, overlapping each other in tight spirals on the parchment:
Redemption should follow sacrifice. The creator promised me. I end without hope.
Every command, a lie. Each task, a trap. Divided, I am conquered.
The sigil breaks me.
The words on this torn parchment are handwritten in ink as rusty as dried blood:
Terrible, to sacrifice one's own child with a lie. I preyed on perfectly trusting faith, but how could I explain my desperation? The Deep Roads wind in deceitful spirals, concealing the sigil from casual observance. I could not discern its true pattern until I stood in the Fade and gazed down upon the vast malevolent engraving. Its artist remains unknown, but its horrifying intent was all too clear - as was my necessity. I only wish it had not cost you, my only child. I could not build the locked barriers that would carve the marks and break the sigil. You alone could save us all, but only by destroying yourself. And I let you do it. Forgive me.
The rest of the text is illegible scratches. The lines and swirls form a disturbing pattern if stared at too long.