The Allegory Abyss is a tremendous gouge in the world, a canyon so deep its walls are layered not with stone but with poetry — stanza upon stanza, prose pressed between like sediment. Once it rang with the verses of the great Bards of Threadbare, whose recitations could shape the weather and shame a tyrant. Now the Abyss is hunted territory: Word Eaters scuttle along the cliff faces gnawing syllables loose, while Dream Hunters glide silent on currents of old metaphor. To descend is to risk losing the meaning of one's own name to whatever moves in the dark below.