He is a Time Lord, the last of a great and noble race, and it is time he took his birthright. These lesser creatures can hardly be expected to manage themselves, not without somepony who can feel the ebb and flow of Time and direct their destinies according to his every whim the greatest good. That Time eludes his control is only a temporary frustration; in time even the element itself will bow to him.

The Valeyard works at the heart of a great and terrible machine that feeds off the temporal energy of the ancient castle in which it was built. His stunted senses have failed him, but when this dark magic awakened within him it unlocked the knowledge of what he must do to reclaim mastery over the Web of Time. What he's building isn't a TARDIS any more than he's truly a Time Lord, but the twisted thing can almost be said to be living now, erratic, sickly energy pulsing through its conduits and crystals. The castle is the machine, twisted wires connecting its every room. Already space has begun to distort inside, the interior of the castle larger than should be possible, the hallways refusing to keep their positions when instead they can shunt captives visitors away from the center, sending them in circles until the Lord of the castle is inclined to deal with them.