If thunder could be caught, trapped in stone, and all its violent
concatenation stolen from time, and tens of thousands of years were free
to gnaw and scrape this racked visage, so would this first witnessing
unveil all its terrible meaning. Such were my thoughts, then, and such
are they now, when I last set eyes upon that tragic ruin, so fierce was
its ancient claim to greatness.

Penned by my hand on the 13th of Daedalan, in the year 522 AF.