On a time passed by, I received a gift from the hand of a stranger, from a wander between the worlds of the Living and the Dead.
Her gift was a bone, a sign of the return of the Oldest of the Dead.
This token of death I took and held aloft, and in my heart. I claimed as a Sceptre, a veritable Wand of Power. With such a skill as is mine. I cleaned and painted it, adorning its surface with fitting to Rite of conjuration.
Time passed, over upon myself and the dreams of the Stranger came upon me, tides of spiritous power crashing onto the shore of my heart and the stranger assumed forms ungess'd and unseen, as the image of the initiator, she came unto me, and in my ear, she whispered. Thus I knew and thus I carved my gift my bone anew.
Time pass' by, through and within its own path, a secret course I cannot tell. Dreams waxed greatly and all the wisdom of Others which I had heard, I stored in my heart. I bore it well through my Journeys. I went into a place of Burial to rest, seeking out the Secret of Magick Alone, without burden.