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Arkamedis holds a book under his arms, it's rarely never off of his person. Every once in a while he sets it down, and begins to write within its confines. It's a rather thick, leathery old book that would seem to be a jornal or some other item to narrate his days and thoughts inside. It's black, and cracked with age and even though it looks frail, its pages are all bound together tight as if it were new.

[Page 01]
Last eve I did not have the sort of dreams I'd expected,
After concocting my usual vial of pig's blood and other miscellaneous herbs,
I fell into a dark sort of slumber. All around me was black.

All I could see were the bony limbs, and hollow eyes of skeletons.
All around me were skeletons. The dead. They spoke to me in my dreams.
They call to me. They wish me to join them. To speak on their behalf.