For a legendland challenge. Prompt: Books
Rahl treasured knowledge as one of the cornerstones of power. He loved the library he had inherited from his father, full of leather bound volumes on subjects as diverse as history, magic, and folktales. He loved maps, physical representations of the landscape that had by magic that was not magic, conquered geography; captured it, shrunk it to manageable portions, imprisoned it on the page.
Journey books were another matter entirely. He could almost feel the magic impregnated in the parchment when he held such a book. He loved to slide one finger over the smooth leather cover and then open the precious book, dip his quill into a pot of blood-ink, and inscribe his orders across the yellowed sheets. He took pride in his penmanship. The written word was important.
There was one book dear to Rahl that no-one else had ever seen. Call it a diary or a journal or an autobiography; Rahl thought of it as a history book in the making, carefully recording his every triumph for future generations to marvel at. And who could blame him if every word was biased in his favour, when the rest of the world was biased against him.