Thank you. I wanted to try to both echo the cards I was drawing, to keep it true to the game’s feel, and make it feel like a dream. I’m pleased it succeeded.
One last reply, because it is appropriate, a mere text-dump (available on my mantelpiece as well):
You bid farewell to your acolytes, for they cannot follow. The mirror’s glass is like cold water on your skin. Behind, the Marches wait.
When you find the Writhing River, you plot a parallel course against the direction of its flow. You keep a good few somniofathoms of distance between you and it - the hissing along the bank is too loud to bear, and the poison mists are a dangerous inconvenience. Your journey takes you down into successive valleys and up their jungled sides (the river climbs as easily as it pours), and slowly the hissing softens. You draw close.
Here, in a humid basin, the river crawls from a crack in the stone one adder at a time. Silver-barked trees grow, weeping gobbets of shining sap. You help yourself to some. You can use that…
edited by absimiliard on 5/4/2016