An Unexpected Turn of Events

Apologies are in order, dear reader, as I have been a bit remiss in my duties. Although I have been quite studiously preparing material for an entry on a rather fascinating relic, I have had to suspend my efforts in the face of some rather ugly business.

I recently received a letter by post that took me by surprise. As I have mentioned in the past, I have spent my life as a Scribe, a dedicated mystic and chronicler of an ancient order, and it has long been my great privilege and honor to count myself among the ranks of such learned, wise, and noble individuals. The Order of Ironquill, of which I myself am a Sworn Scribbler of the highest standing, has for years innumerable made it their sacred mission to  seek out knowledge in all of this world's darkest corners, and to record for posterity the wealth of information that may, in time, be mankind's only safegaurd against destruction. This was my cause as well, and one that I served in spite of endless danger, unimaginable fear, and crushing personal loss, for more years than I care to recount. It was in the spirit of this noble calling that I began the endeavor on which I am currently engaged, and so the correspondence I received from the Council Editorium itself, the highest court of our order, was one that I had perhaps expected, though the contents of this cursed note were as far from my expectations as possible.

I suppose, in hindsight, that it was somewhat reckless of me to initiate a project of this nature without consulting the proper authorities. I had harbored, in the back of my mind, the possibility that this archive could, perhaps, be viewed with disapproval by my brothers and sisters of the quill, but subconsciously or not ignored such concerns and moved forward. Perhaps the youthful impetuosity of my dearest nephew, Toby, has had more of an influence over my temperament than I had been aware, or perhaps my long standing mistrust of authority chose to assert itself. It is not outside of the realm of possibility that I genuinely, in my feeble naivete, believed the Order would be pleased.

As you have certainly gathered, my astute reader, the Order of Ironquill had little pleasant to say in their correspondence. A sparse few lines conveyed their absolute distaste for my work with steely force, and left a chilling effect on even my numb and weathered form. The Council "requests" the immediate suspension of all activity on Scrivner's Unseen Archive, pending further investigation and review by Council at an undetermined date, and to convince me of the seriousness of this "request", this editorial nightmare closes with none other than the Iron Seal, which I have committed the taboo of reproducing below.

The Iron Seal, sign of the Order of Ironquill.
The Quill, the Sword, and the Beast, a mark signifying official activity of the Council Editorium

Were I a wise man, I would presently cease and desist, leaving this foolish little project behind me, and enjoy my remaining days in comfort.

....

It is the truest misfortune, a fatal flaw ingrained deep into the fabric of my very destiny, that wisdom has never been a virtue I held in much regard. It was a foolish to embark on this work, and it would only seem right to continue in the spirit of that foolishness. I will continue my work here at Scrivner's Unseen Archive as long as I can. Let the Order do their worst.

-Scrivner