I saw myself wandering the depths of Kalimdor, trapped a thousand feet below the surface in caverns made of serpent's coils. The hundred-headed snake hissed and spit venom at me, and it burned through my veins. I wept five perfect, crystalline tears, capturing the glittering shards of poisonous sorrow in my hand.
Finally, I saw myself in my sanctuary, sheltered by the earth and rock and companied by the dead. Before me stretched miles and miles of fabric, blank and shimmering, calling to me. "What will you do to become Grim?" Calmly, I replied, "I do what I must. No more and no less." My words bled from my lips, staining the bolts of cloth, until my face was dyed onto the fabric, with the faces of a thousand other Grim.
When I woke from my visions, I had what I had been told to collect, and so I sent them on to the Inquisitor. Here is recorded the catalog of my quest. I humbly supplicate myself before the Grim Council and ask to be made one of you.