I have passed the threshold of mere study and now stand at the precipice of true understanding. Having spent the last 3 years in careful study of source, in my case human, anatomy I possess the knowledge to begin harvesting the the tools with which I shall pen my opus.
Today, I took the first step towards crafting my Corpus Thesis, the culmination of all my sacrifices and studies within the College of Flesh. The day began with a tremor in my hands, not from fear, but from the anticipation of what I must do. I took the ceremonial scalpel—cold, polished, and hungry —and I made the first offering from my body.
It is strange, this exhilaration that accompanies pain. As the scalpel kissed my skin, liberating the delicate superficial layer of skin from underlying connective tissues, I felt a clarity that I have never known before. The skin, once a mere barrier to natural decay, now lies before me awaiting its anointment with water and lime. Once stretched and treated, the vellum shall be ready to receive the words that will etch my name into the annals of our order. My arm is lighter now, unburdened by what it once held, and I feel more whole than I ever did with that flesh attached.
The crimson blood that flowed from my work was caught in the basin, carefully gathered and alchemically preserved. What once was merely an essential medium for nurturing my mortal being shall now become true life essence, the perfect ink that will script the secrets I have uncovered in my studies. I watched it darken to the perfect hue, a deep, almost black crimson, swirling with latent power. To see my own fleeting life force transmuted into an instrument of knowledge is to witness the truth of our philosophy. We are not mere scholars—we are the vessels of wisdom, and our bodies the parchment upon which the universe writes.
Entry 153: The Stripping of the Veil
My body continues to yield the materials I require. Today, I liberated a piece of my thigh. Two horizontal incisions, one proximal along the cephalic border of the medial compartment, the second distal along the proximal patella, both traced around the circumference of the thigh. I carefully separated the webbing of the fascia that bound the dermis to the underlying muscle. This delicate layer of tissue is ideal for the vellum upon which I inscribe my contribution to the College’s permanent collection.
The sinew, once mundane, has been purified through pain and intent, transformed into the thread that will bind my work. Each stitch will be a prayer, a wordless invocation to the arcane, securing my flesh-bound tome with my own strength. The thin and sensitive skin that previously enveloped the pectineus, adductor longus, and gracillis muscles of the medial thigh will soon become the cover, stretched tight over the binding I prepared from the facial matrix of the ipsilateral iliotibial band. I can't help but find humor of that same tendinous tract that used to cause me such pain from constant rubbing against my arthritic bones now serving as a perfect support with which to bind the nascent pages soon to be woven from my flesh.
I am reminded of the first days here, when I recoiled at the thought of such acts. How naive I was, to think that knowledge could be attained without sacrifice! This is the true path—one paved with our own sinew and sealed with our own blood. To contribute to the great repository of the College, to be remembered in eternity, one must first relinquish what is most precious. The pain is fleeting, the body ephemeral, but the knowledge... the knowledge is eternal.
Entry 161: The Euphoria of Loss
I have now begun the most delicate work: the creation of the parchment. My chest was the next to be flayed, the skin peeled back with precision to reveal the ribcage beneath. As I worked, I could feel the cold air against my exposed bones, a sensation at once alien and invigorating. The pain has become a distant thing, a minor inconvenience in the face of my ultimate goal. My chest, now devoid of its skin, pulses with raw energy, each heartbeat a reminder of the power within me.
The parchment I have crafted from this skin is exquisite—soft, yet strong, and eager to accept the ink of my blood. Each page will bear a fragment of my soul, the lines between the words filled with the whispers of the arcane. I can already feel the words forming in my mind, a torrent of knowledge that demands to be written. There is no greater joy than this, the knowledge that every sacrifice brings me closer to my ascension.
Entry 172: The Binding of Flesh and Knowledge
The time to bind the pages has come. My fingers, once nimble with the quill, now guide the needle through the parchment with unerring precision. The sinew of my thigh pulls tight with each stitch, the bone powder reinforcing the spine. It is as though the book itself is an extension of my will, a physical manifestation of my determination to transcend mortality.
There is an ecstasy in this work, a euphoria that comes from knowing I am nearing the end of my journey. The words I inscribe flow effortlessly, each one a drop of my essence captured in ink. This is not mere writing—it is the act of creation, of carving my existence into the fabric of reality. Every page, every line, brings me closer to the moment when I will no longer be bound by this frail form, but will exist as pure knowledge, eternal and unchanging.
Entry 183: The Final Sacrifice
My body is weak now, a shell that has served its purpose. The last of my flesh has been offered, the final page inscribed with the secrets I have uncovered. There is little of me left that could be called human—my skin lies upon the altar, my bones ground to dust, my blood dried into ink. And yet, I have never felt more alive. My mind is clear, my purpose fulfilled.
Tonight, I will complete the Final Binding. The book, my Corpus Thesis, will become my phylactery, the vessel of my soul. I will enter the Chamber of Souls, place my work upon the altar, and speak the incantations that will seal my essence within these pages. This is the moment I have worked towards, the culmination of all my sacrifices. I will emerge from the chamber no longer as Ebrithar Calos, the acolyte, but as Ebrithar, the Fleshwright — a permanent scholar of the College of Flesh, bound not by the limitations of flesh, but by the endless possibilities of knowledge.
What is a body, but a temporary vessel? What is pain, but the herald of enlightenment? As I lay the final stitch, I am overwhelmed with a sense of peace. My work is done, my legacy secured. In these pages, I will live forever.
Postscript:
If you, dear reader, should find this journal, know that it is but a shadow of the true work I have crafted. Seek the Corpus Thesis, for within it lies not just my knowledge, but my very soul. Perhaps, one day, you too will come to understand the truth that I have embraced: that in sacrifice, we find transcendence; in pain, we find clarity; and in death, we find the path to eternity.
