From The Vault

October 23, 2241

Chosen, the spirits of our ancestors guide me to world of dreams that I may touch thoughts. Our village suffers without the holy GECK. Your hands hold our lives as a father holds his children.

January 21, 2242

Once again my spirit touches you from the void. Chosen, our crops fail, our reserves are meager. Return to us with the GECK. Your failure is our lost light.

April 21, 2242

Chosen. The village weakens. It is harder to touch your dreams. You must hurry or we will all...

July 20, 2242

(or when you have picked up the GECK) Chosen? Chosen? Do you hear me? The village dies. All of our futures die, too. We have little left in both time and essence. Hurry. Hurry...