Found written on a folded piece of STC-cellulose sheet inside the journal. Seems to be penned in a mix of soot, dirt, and human blood.
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Day of The Skull Throne, Year 80.214, Q'Sal reckoning.
I have been imprisoned. By the 'Imperium of Man.' As if 'Man' and 'Imperium' are somehow titles that belong solely to decadent Terra. For eight hundred centuries or more, we men have ruled Q'Sal, far longer than Terra has known civilization. How dare they!
They found me in the wild, starved, alone, disease-ridden, and close to death. But the servants of the False Corpse-God 'saved' me. Well, they did save me from the vile clutches of Nurgle, that is true. But I take this as a sign of approval of Great Tzeentch. He guides and protects me. These mortals are but dancing to his tune.
Anyway. They've restored my health by force-feeding me a greasy slop they call food. I assure you: it is not food. They have taken all my things, my robes, my items of power. Even my journal they have taken. Hence this piece of unworthy paper.
I could escape at any time, of course. Except they have stuck me in a warded cell. By 'they,' I'm talking about black-armored brutes with clubs and pistols. They call themselves 'Adeptus Abrites.' I think they are scum. But they do have some experience with containing witches and psykers and sorcerers, I have to give them that.
Someday soon, they say, tomorrow or next year or in ten years, they cannot say for sure, a Black Ship will come and take me away to Terra. I must say, I am tempted to go, I know of no other Q'Sal sorcerer who has visited Terra. But I'm afraid it will have to wait. I have too much work to do for such frivolous pursuits. Another time, perhaps.
How do I get out of this stupid cell?
By my hand,
Akram the All-seeing, High Sorcerer of Q'Sal
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