Gartenarbeit

[bleikebab]

Now your ships are burned, your soul has been spurned. The derelict shell of a wounded soul, spinning down into the eternal hole. A vortex of fire, climbing ever higher, greets you at the first ring; listen to Lucifer's choir sing! The plumes of smoke and roar of fire increase as you descended deeper and deeper into the flaming spire. The seventh is for you, betrayers and liars like you; it's a long fall and a short stop. Good luck.



I'm not working until later on today. Give me a call.