You are no doubt shocked by the demise with which our antagonistic mage foe fell by; that malicious, sneering, loathsome Hamir who had, at best, burned all supplies of our patience with every interaction with the man and, at worst, actively sought to see any number of our group impoverished, imprisoned, or immolated upon a pyre.
Yet his death hung little on our minds. I had interacted little with Hamir yet I felt I knew his personality very well; well enough that I saw in him the most base reflections of my father, and for a person to have such cold a heart I dare say I think no one shall weep for Hamir; for no one did for my father. What was a point of contention was my continuation of studying the Tome of Twisted Skin; that cumbersome and imposing slab of leathered flesh that dominated every moment of our presence at the ship with an imposing doom that clung to the air like a choking miasma.
Once I proved myself of sound mind and reason to maintain my examination of the book, I was molested no more; I was even offered the support of Leith’s company and powers should the volume begin another trick far more dangerous than the ones we had previously seen. As I was magically able to decipher the giant script and as it was written in such large hand that the font was of clear interpretation, I discovered the exact nature of this book.
This tome was not only a spell book – as indicated by the wish spell I found the book opened to – but also an account, almost autobiographical, of