There is a small man with a paintbrush in his hand, kneeling on dry cracked ground beside a large round metal plate, painting the plate with coloured inks drawn somehow from glass spheres in the open case that lies on the ground beside him. Occasionally he checks his work against the book propped up beside the case.
"No kidding." He starts going back from the end of writing; how long did it take to get that big?
The crater's growth was fairly stable on the monthly-intervals level, about ten of them all told from when it appeared to when it hit magma, but the flooding was noticeable at this scale before the crater was. Tiro gazes in fascination at the small planets.
"I feel like these should be all strung up on a chain in chronological order and hung decoratively from a ceiling as a warning."
"That seems like a good guess for what happened to the Problem Continent. And I guess there are obvious ways to avoid accidentally creating ravening fiends. What's missing is... I don't know what exactly the Problem Continent people did wrong that caused their continent to be eaten by Problems."
"Are you going to conjure the entire written works of the Problem Continent?"