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Purga cannot be described – there is no language for such abysms of shrieking and immemorial lunacy, such eldritch contradictions of all matter, force, and cosmic order. A mountain walked or stumbled. God! What wonder that across the earth a great architect went mad, and poor Gollum raved with fever in that telepathic instant? Purga of the idols, the green, sticky spawn of the stars, had awaked to claim his own. The stars were right again, and what an age-old cult had failed to do by design, a band of innocent sailors had done by accident. After vigintillions of years great Purga was loose again, and ravening for delight. Read more on Last.fm. User-contributed text is available under the Creative Commons By-SA License; additional terms may apply.











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