The rain in the Obsidian Wastes doesn’t fall; it *weeps*. It’s a viscous, charcoal-grey lament, born from the solidified sorrow of the Bloom. Before the Bloom, there was only the Grey – a monochrome expanse stretching to a horizon that wasn’t a horizon at all, but a suggestion of further grey. The Cartographer, Silas Vorath, chronicled this bleakness with meticulous detail, his journals filled with sketches of the shifting dust devils and the unsettling stillness of the air. He believed the Grey held a key, a resonance that could unlock the Bloom’s origins. He was, of course, profoundly wrong. The Bloom doesn’t *want* to be unlocked. It simply *is*.
“The geometry of the Grey is subtly…uncomfortable. It feels as though the space itself is attempting to absorb observation.” – Silas Vorath, Journal Entry 78.
The Bloom is not a flower. Not in any conventional sense. It’s a manifestation of temporal distortion, a localized rupture in the fabric of reality. Its core, a pulsating sphere of solidified shadow, appears to be composed of overlapping echoes of the past. These aren’t merely visual echoes; they’re sensory – a fleeting taste of brine, the phantom scent of burning pine, the unsettling feeling of a hand brushing against your skin. Each pulse of the core releases a wave of fractured time, manifesting as impossible structures – spiraling staircases that lead nowhere, buildings built with materials that shouldn’t exist, and figures caught in perpetual moments of movement. The most unsettling aspect is the language. It isn’t spoken, but *felt*. A cascade of half-remembered phrases, layered upon one another, forming a chorus of lost intentions. The echoes whisper of a civilization that mastered the art of manipulating time, a civilization that ultimately destroyed itself by trying to control the very essence of existence.
“Time, you see, is not a river. It’s a shattered mirror, reflecting infinite, distorted versions of itself.” – The Voice of the Bloom (interpreted by Dr. Lyra Thorne)
It isn't just the Bloom's geometry that poses a threat. The ‘Guardians’ – entities coalesced from the Bloom’s temporal distortions – are manifestations of its protective instincts. They aren’t inherently malevolent, but they react with extreme aggression to any attempts to analyze or interact with the Bloom. The most common type, the ‘Shimmers’, are translucent, humanoid figures that phase in and out of existence, their movements erratic and unpredictable. They’re capable of inflicting a form of ‘chronal dissonance’ – disrupting the victim’s perception of time, causing disorientation, nausea, and, in extreme cases, complete temporal displacement. The larger, more stable Guardians, known as the ‘Echoes’, are towering constructs of solidified time, resembling ancient, ruined statues brought to life. They move with glacial slowness, their actions dictated by the Bloom’s rhythms. Evidence suggests they were originally created by the lost civilization to contain the Bloom, but their programming has become corrupted, their purpose warped by the Bloom’s influence.
“The Shimmers are a warning. A testament to the fragility of perception. Do not attempt to *understand* them; simply…avoid them.” – Agent Kaelen, Report 47B.