Somewhere along the Old Svalich road, a woman coughs raggedly and smooths a paper sheet across an ornate desk.
With a fine quill, she writes something several times over, changing it each time, as if testing it.
She whispers the words as she finds them...
"Old Svalich sect."
The paper curls and twists, cracking as a candles flame is brought to the words. The ink nearly steams off the paper as the fire consumes it. But still it remains... floating around in some of Ezras enlightened minds, the end times drawing close with their inevitable march.
