July 21, 1988
Yes, that must be the answer. I will call upon the Clergyman's Weave and bring an end to the corruption that suffuses this nexus!
It will no doubt rend this brittle frame from its mortal meats, but such fragility is the price for this, mine lifelong purity. Imagine, minds of the ages, one as stooped and ungainly as I partaking in the ritual once praised among the low courts of Eildih Downs for its complexity and rigorously trained grace. Would it not distract me from the dire importance of this mission, I would laugh as has not been heard since the university days.
Sweet, like the scent of young almonds, such was my yo--
This is not my choice, but little time remains. To fit a successor with even the most simplistic of abjuratory wards would be incurring a debt that the sheltered ones would be wroth to pay. It is my burden, indeed the sole duty of my life to proceed.
The outwardly wild, aesthetically daring gestures belie a degree of inner focus that will be difficult to attain. The cleansing must begin immediately, yet it is as if bands of rust have been entwined with my marrow. Too often in these catastrophic days that mark the present hour, it has taken momentous effort to enact the steps necessary to maintain my masked life, let alone the duties of this higher calling. The journey to gather the necessary components will not take me far from Spruce Street, yet I delay when even bare moments, lost, will result in untold suffering. It is... vexing.
(Source: Torn from the private diary of Dr. Orlando Laswell. Discovered by Caleb Drab within the false bottom of a Chinese puzzle box filled with Denri Butterfly pollen.)