There is something strange in this file.
The ground is stained red, blood seeped down to the damn core, and still, Mother is coming. Nothing grows here, I have seen scavengers turn the soil as if they are tilling farmland. We would be wise to leave here - all of these fools leaving offal for a god they cannot satisfy. I am the only one bound to her until they find a host.
The bindings carved into my chest reek of leyline and core-blood. They assume they can bind a fabric to me, but a simple coat can be torn. The stitches, these are so much more.
It won't be long now before we're forced to take drastic measures. I do not look forward to it.