I write this story out of fear, punishing anxiety which keeps me bottled up in this dark, dank place lest I even more grossly affect the progress of that without. My friend lies dead, yet I know that he lives. Xortal, I fear, is lost but I am condemned to await its return if I am ever to escape my predicament, much less understand it. I wear the chest pack frequently still, going back on regular forays seeking Xortal. But I do not dare interact for fear of more greatly alienating my being, or worse, threatening my current existence.
So here, in this tomb of my time, I write the tale which will record my true passage through life. It will serve, should any attempt to follow, as a warning and it may yet serve as a guide for those with the courage, or foolishness, to seek this passage again. Although knowledge is a hollow substitute for human companionship, it has proven to be my only friend in exile. A friend that I embrace now more than ever in the awful loneliness that I suffer. It is that companion which, as its reward, will take on a new life in these pages.
So I collect data, increase my knowledge and catalogue it in my growing mind. Regardless, the bronze sled is gone and that can only mean that the isle of Avalon has again risen. The Tor is again a beacon. What terrors will come only Xortal knows, and only Xortal can command.
Listen to the rocks!