We are living the [End] times.

In keeping with the practices of the glorious Imperium of Man, I thought I might ressurect this ancient form of communcation in order to cry out through the warp from a place beyond human reckoning. The portents are clear. The hour is soon upon us. My return is at hand. On the twenty sixth day of the sixth month of the two thousandth and fifteenth year of our Emprah, I will once again walk among you. I shall be immediately required to attend a ceremonial occassion in the region of Oxford, but after this triffling affair I will be present to take part in games of wits and strategy, quench this perishing thirst, and discuss matters of the greatest import; the endless dance of the spheres, the whispers in the dark, and how far a flying snake might travel if it throws itself really, really hard from the top of, like, a super tall tree. A kilometer? Must be. Ahem. I shall be present in your realm until the second day of the eighth month of the same year, after which I must once again travel back to this hollow dimension that I might once again continue to carry out His work. In short, comrades, a conclave, nay, several conclaves, are humbly requested, for it has been too long since last we met, and I have missed your company greatly. Emperor guide us, that we might meet again soon.