Suncatcher turns a shade red, noticable even through her orange coat. She says nothing, even though you can practically see a hundred stammering rebuttals puffing up in her cheeks.>>716131
"Hopefully so," Candelabrum says. "Sirocco's not far off. Like Suncatcher, the stallions of my family who have taken on this task have tried every possible option for breaking the curse, but all have been dead ends. I have been sent out on the Pilgrim's Way, hoping that the miracle that comes to all pilgrims on its completion will be enough. Not everyone believes that the miracle is real, but I myself have seen it with my own eyes, when I completed it with my own father once before.">>716132
"Yep, that's the way of it. I've seen it happen – the moment the weapon starts to take control of its wielder, the moment the wielder realizes that they've lost control of their own bodies. It's not a fate I'd wish on even the worst of the world's evil.">>716129>>716130>>716131>>716132
With that, you head up the northwestern path, which is a great, wide tree root, gnarled and old, that connects to the stone island. The root is wide enough for you to follow along side by side without fear of falling off the edge. The long root crawls through the mist-dense swamp, running parallel to the water for some time, until it starts to elevate, rising steadily up into the treeline, though at a reasonable incline. The road winds along the many trees, which as you proceed, start to get densely packed and intertwined. Vines and branches droop down from above, and from being so closely built together, start to form a sturdy canopy. The path continues, until you can no longer see the waters below you through the thick canopy, which looks stable enough to walk on.
You head past a few more loops around the thick and ancient trees, when you hear a high and small voice call out from the murk ahead. "Haaaaaalt!"
Ahead of you, you see one very small snake, blocking the path ahead. He appears to be unarmed, but wears a rather tribal garb, consisting of old snakeskins that have been treated like leather to become armor.
"No visitors may pass without tribute! State your name and business, foreigners, or suffer the price of death for intruding upon these lands!" he cries out, slithering up to you with his chest puffed out. In the mist beyond, you see more snakes just like him, very small fellows, all.