Excerpt from the scribe.
Thus have I been charged with the syntax notation of the ever blessed utterances of the ones above, the ethereal kind.
Behold the result of my imperfect labor. Witness a humble craft, woven by a hand lined with mediocrity. Yet it is the pinnacle performance of these, my cells. I am finite, stayed by the prison of my organism.
As you engage with this seminal piece and notice its imperfection, mind you the task that was laid before me. Even while I toil with the semantics do the melodies of our makers fill me, strike me with paralyzing awe. My performances as a scribe challenged by their beautiful terror. Their song renders me ever silent as I write. I dare not but a single objection to their divine will.
Meek, yet proudly, my body erected, my hands moving blindly, my eyes watering, my mouth agape, I write this that my heritage is secured henceforth, the scribe of the Arcanis.
Struck by an overwhelming sense of duty I am compelled to obey, just as you would be, as any organism of simpler structures would be. I am unable to resist the majestic splendor that rises before me in command. It is a frightfully ecstatic sight.
I will think of naught else for the remainder of my existence. My mind is bound as a slave, in devoted servitude.
Forgive me the fickle nature of my kind. I performed to the utmost of my abilities, that you may revel in the accomplishment. What lies before you is a portal to another plane. Worlds within worlds. Know that the portal is of singular nature. There is no other of its kind.