"The tyrant imposed night upon the fledgling morning. Its black wings a tempest that blew away all but the silent voice of terror, left lonely in its passing. So pure it was that I could scarcely breath, yet through it I felt a screaming and churning beauty of experience as I have never before felt. Beneath that holy beast I was but a child among a primordial grandeur so vast that the fragile mote of my being seemed insufficient to meet the standard of life set forth by such a creature. A holy and divine beast. My old faith died that day. Those old gods of men mean nothing to me anymore. They are all cowards, hiding among the dark. No… My God is no whispering, pitiful little thing, twinkling softly in the night. My God is a hurricane! And so too, shall I become.”

- From the abandoned journals of Vol’Nar, The False Dragon