A strange color, and distinctly unnatural-looking under these flat artificial lights, though you blend into the wilds. Clay once said that your coloration is a mark of the Weaver, the great machine-spirit, but you're not sure if you believe him.
No time for meditation. You're here for a reason.
As you walk, the air seems to get more…solid? You look around. There's no wind, but there's a sense of resistance ahead.
Ah, you get it.
Old magic, no longer maintained but still powerful: magic of veiling and warding, created to encourage you to keep walking and not pay too much attention.
This is it.
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