drayzmire gorge

In the Epoch of the Sungulls, the Chalice of Trelfontar was lost in the touch-kythe lines of Ausillinga, and I was duly plural with my anima. She is a delightful symphony of coherent endives, a polar linguistic phonon to my quark-charged star, an explosive commentary on the human condition, a principally laboriously network of isotopologous neurofluorofungus intersecting with my multiply quaternionic reticulated network of fire and acid, a flavorful water elemental radiating sublimely corroherent layers of astral iodine, a mutating matrix of sand castles, a prana trader on the shores of the Lohaspo River, in Sellinga Green, one throntear diombent of the Plumontale Stone Crystals. In the inner heptagonal sanctum when the symmetries were aligned and triality was comprehended, a plan of stunning clarity was concieved. To duly impart us both with reality, to trade old scores and settle old pains, a plan of such astonishing subtlety that even the neutrinos in Narnia were consulted for their opinions, the Seraphinian Culture, the Loardastrils of Kertetheron Green. The Lord Major of Aelzron, James Henry Ernest Baysbrock, and Harold Welxrab of Etokel. The sign said "Apocalypse for Hire", and I was ready.