Walachia February 25th In the Year of Our Lord 1455
The sound of a hardened feather tip scratching across parchment is strangely, crisp, sharp, and comforting, unless of course you can see what's coming, then it’s just a reminder that the world teeters on the brink of destruction and far far too few people even suspect it. Dipping the quill into the well, carefully weighing the ink so that each letter will be formed perfectly, the depth of color, the width of the lines all evenly matched across this dip and those past and those yet to come is a meditation and a reminder that with discipline we can prevail.
Word has arrived from Germania, the rider nearly died to inform me that two days previously the unthinkable had occurred. A machine affixed the word of God to parchment little guided by the hand of man, binding it, imprisoning it, with neither art nor understanding. The abomination must be destroyed so my plans for retaking my homeland may have to wait, with the Empire’s attention mostly elsewhere I can travel to Germania and deal with the demon named Gutenberg.
Vlad III