The Memoirs of Tyltin Valenti IV.

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The old king had written his words in the old way, making translation a difficult thing to do for those who were lacking in focus or, in the case of certain princesses, sanity. A few priests still knew the tongue, and the Nharati royalty had long since learned its patterns. The catch, however, was that it was rarely written. The old speech had turned into a verbal language.

The book was old and cracked in its spine, the black of its hard wood cover paled through time. The pages were yellowed and were of sizes that seldom correlated with each other, frayed and thick to prevent time from compromising their integrity. There was a single distinguishing mark upon the book in the form of the Valenti crest carved into the inch-thick cover; still visible despite time having worn down the grooves.

"...And so it was that I arranged the marriages with the countries that posed the most threat to my House. To soften their hearts, but more likely to satisfy their coffers. I have paid a high ransom for these men and women, and I suspect that the most return I will see will be irritation and anger..."

"I can almost smell the change coming over me. It comes it tiny incriments, and manifests itself in such a manner that I can barely notice. It is only in times like this, when I am in quiet solitude and safe from the wanton clamouring of my court, that it seems so obvious. I can feel a tingling in my brain that whispers things that I should not think. Particularly concerning that brat of a princess. She irks me. Every time I come within fifteen paces of her, she trembles. I do not like trembling. It is a pathetic thing. So why then do I think of... [words are strangely burned here.]

There seems to be trouble in my court wherever I go, and my progeny are not assisting things in the slightest. They seem to enjoy bickering with their affianced, giving me migraines from afar as I collect the gossip and coalesce it into some kind of sense. These brats are fouling my nerves. If it were not for Vandhlandaleni's concoctions, I would never be able to be the soft-hearted man I am.

I am thankful for good Zith, who has provided me with a modicum of normalcy and a pang for the old days. Those days when I could swing a sword at what troubled me, and delight in dancing in the intestines. Those days are gone, now. I am strong, but I am so old. So very old. It makes me angry to see the youth, see them squander it, almost enough for me to want to hurt them.

Among the court issues today were the uncollected taxes of Halidon, the road making from Yysalv to Uhtrenom, and the troll incursion that threatened..."

"I can smell their lies and they make my teeth tingle with the feeling of death on my flesh why can I not be rid of men and women who want to eat my strong noble royal majestic fle

Another night. I wake up not knowing where I am, lost wandering in the castle. My entries, when they occur, are most terrifying. I am afraid. The blood of that doctor still haunts my daughter's body and I can see no love in her eyes. I see no love in anywhere I go. My queen... O, my poor queen, she does not understand that I must be cruel lest we lose it all. My magician has assured me that there is no magic at work here, and I trust him. Of all the men in this castle I trust him the most, for no longer can I trust Zith. Zith. You have betrayed me more zealously than any I have ever known..."

A single page that had not existed in this world now appeared at the very end of the book. It was as fragile to the touch as spiderweb, but it would hold its form through an axe stroke. Scribbles burned themselves onto the page in the nauseating toned hue of blood.

"YOU WILL KNOW NO JOY."