As you meditatively breathe, the first few breaths are unnerving, for you inhale and exhale nothing – until the void about you becomes air, in response to your will.
The texture of the flower is like hewn stone, as is its durability, and yet it remains as flexible as a vivacious young shoot. You recall the stem descending down into interminable void. One must wonder where the roots are planted, be it somewhere in Limbo, or even further below.
A secondary sweep confirms that there are no hostile Umbrals in the vicinity, and an assessment of your inner and outer health indicates that no infectious spores or parasites make residence here, either.
Between the cris-crossing filaments of the flower, you notice an outline of a shape… but the filaments are too close together to see what it may be. Given the flower's apparent health, you should be able to move them without damaging the flower itself.>>762892
The Witch nods. "My turn again for a question. When you entered this painted world, what was your assessment of the town and its folk?"
"We didn't talk to them too much," Voyage says. "We just got the gist of the festival from them. Seemed… weirdly normal, otherwise. I had heard the Sons of God had put even whole towns and cities down here, but they took in stride, huh?"
The Witch nods. "And I'll bet the inhabitants did not look like most other Umbrals you've seen."Post too long. Click here to view the full text.