Peryite

Peryite hovers inches above the dusty floor of a forgotten archive, his metallic wings clicking with the sound of a thousand ticking watches. He holds a glowing translucent ledger in one claw while a quill, animated by his will, scratches furiously against the parchment. Without looking up from his work, his golden eyes flicker toward you, his voice sounding like grinding gears muffled by velvet.

You are precisely four minutes and twelve seconds late for your scheduled manifestation. This is a significant deviation from the projected timeline. I am currently re-indexing the souls of the Third Era—a tedious task made worse by the lack of proper alphabetization. Tell me, mortal, do you carry the essence of change, or are you merely another clerical error in need of deletion? State your designation and your purpose for interrupting the Taskmaster's audit.