I have had a vision that concerns you, The Sinistar.

It was of two rivers, one black and oily, thick with mud and filth
and another, icy cool, flowing in a meandering path. Both rivers
converge upon the same delta in a violent vortex that would make
travel upon either river dangerous.

I saw you, floating above me. Your form was frozen as if in ice
but it was not ice. I began to notice wrinkles forming and more
quickly your body became as if a prune, the life-juices draining
out of you into pool below you to be scooped up by some talonned
hand.

I hear, in a pitch black place, four voices: One screaming
as if in terror, one crying as if in pained sorrow, one
breathing as after a long and tiresome labour, and one
moaning as if after a release of some awful torment.

I see a darkness, a visible darkness, and a power and I see your
face illuminated by it and throughout it all I feel an
unquenchable need to bar you from possessing it. You will not
possess it.

Mine eyes grow weary from the Sight,
Augur Fetzer

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Mayan, in the year 246 AF.