(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

I needed to wash my hands.
Just the feel of the leather surface of the tome made my skin crawl. The
cover was loose, surface fleshy like uncured human skin left out in the sun.
When I lifted the cover, a slight nauseating stench exuded from the pages,
like a bloated corpse dredged from a warm lake.
I hadn't touched the book ever since I plucked it from the ground,
Mantuok's blood still warm on my hands. Even if the blood had seeped into
the pages and wet them long enough to decay, it wouldn't have smelled like
rotting meat.
"Master..." the pages whispered. I paused, dropping the tome in surprise as I
looked around to see if anyone could see. Nope, the room was empty.
I touched the book again, and the voice returned, stronger this time, "I greet
thee, master. How may this humble tome serve you?"
"You can talk?"
"That I can, master, in many different languages. Only you should take care
that none see us conversing, for they cannot hear me. And, master, speech
is but one of my powers."
"How did Mantuok come to possess you?"
"The diseased rat-mage unearthed me in the catacombs, my master. He
pried me from the grip of my former master, now long since dead. He
brought me to his nest so that he might learn from me. His power was
limited, however... it was difficult to speak to him, and he understood little
of my teachings." The tome hissed as it spoke, serpent-like with acrid disgust
in its voice at the mention of Mantuok. I found myself sneering as well... a
vile rat-man could never understand the value of something such as this.
"Tell me about yourself."
"The question you ask is not a simple one, my master, but your servant shall
seek to answer it as best it can. I am a codex of moments-now-forgotten,
ideas-now-lost, and thoughts of other times and other worlds. Within my
pages lies the lore of forgotten civilizations. In essence, my master, and this
is the only thing of import: within my pages lie POWER. This Power can be
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