Long have you sought refuge from these restless hyperlinked seas.
Here, you have found it; on the unremarkable beach of an unremarkable shore, where the light of the campfire is humbled by the brilliant majesty of the stars.
Come and rest and listen with me to the sound of the wind in the palm leaves and perhaps I will tell you a story–not at all once–but enough that you will come to understand the truth of this place.
In decades past, in the beginning that was not the beginning but a beginning, in a strange realm, in an underground bunker deep within the earth, a teenaged boy conducted an experiment.
The boy (who was very sad) combined dark magic and technology, conducting rituals of blood and bone and electricity.
And from these disparate elements he built a humble shrine but knew not which Gods to serve. Instead, he dedicated his creation to an uncomfortable affectation that roiled within him.
And thus, in that dark space (body bg color black), the Shrine of Insanity was created.
There now, I have said enough already. The sun begins to rise and it is time for you to leave.
One day, if you return, perhaps I will tell you the rest. Indeed, I know the story well.
For I am that boy.
And this is that Shrine.
Michael Scott Hand 