I woke inside a tiny slavers' cell.
Companions were; they aided my flight thence.
A cityful of faces, names to tell
A worldful of ways, some lax, and some tense.
Connect the dots of books, of scrolls, of lore
An image forms, a continent and more
I read about origins and confusion
Great triumphs, and of course, Great Illusion.
And in this city where I do now dwell,
I begin to make of this world, deeper sense.

Penned by my hand on Gosday, the 7th of Severin, in the year 466 MA.