...He sits upon a throne no one else can see. The other gods avert their gaze because looking at him directly causes thirst, causes the sensation of being watched from inside your own skull. He speaks in sentences that fork and contradict themselves. Moments ago he was laughing about how he'd corrupted a paladin. Now he's weeping, certain that same paladin stole his voice decades hence, has not yet stolen it, will steal it tomorrow. The shadows around him don't move right. They move faster than they should, then slower, then sideways through time. In a realm of madness, even madness loses meaning. All that remains is the echo of what he whispers to himself, over and over; that if he can just make the world broken enough, it will finally match him....