As I sit in my humble workshop, quill poised over parchment, I find myself ensnared by a tempest of thoughts. The hands of the great clock tower strike eleven, a solemn toll heralding my departure into the uncertain morrow. I am to join a band of strangers on a quest deemed impossible—slaying the great beast that has plagued our lands for generations. Alas, I shall not wield sword or shield; my role is that of the chronicler, tasked with documenting the endeavors of valiant souls. Should we succeed, my ink shall immortalize our triumph; should we fail, it is my hope that this journal will endure to tell the tale of our folly.
I am beset by a sense of foreboding, for while the prospect of glory beckons, the weight of responsibility presses heavily upon my heart. Sir Cimex, a knight of considerable renown in Cicada, leads our band. His reputation offers a glimmer of hope, yet I wonder if I possess the mettle required to rise above my station. This venture may be my only chance to elevate my family’s standing, yet the fear of the unknown gnaws at my resolve.