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Many years ago, in a universe not unlike our own, a fragrant tribe of shaman poets concocted a complex soup of mirth and mystical mirrorball madness. As the clouds rolled and the rivers rose, the steaming soup continued to boil, with boiling duties being passed down the shaman line. |
Finally when the moon shed its final tear and the stars whispered that it was time, the soup was fashioned into a mighty multi-coloured candle mountain - its wick burning bright in an eternal seaweed trance in the sky.
Then some random exotic erotic neurotic jester came and bit a chunk out of the bottom, made love to a swan and buried the egg deep in a purple and yellow meadow.
What awoke, hatched and grew out of the sugary earth was Simanion - both hunter and gatherer, both child and man, but probably more child, like a knowing child, a plant/animal/mineral hybrid that rides the twilight rainbow for sumfin to do and stuff.