Home of Some Fantasmical Insanity

Bottom images are from here.

Trust me. I’m a professional. 

But seriously: the second you free yourself from the expectations of perfection you will suddenly be overleveled for many of life’s challenges.

And if anyone tried to sneak a peak they'd get shot in between the eyes.

Though I fear someone with knowledge of red science could use that kind of power for nefarious purposes.

The theory is there, practice is another.

Even after October is over, feel free to tag me in whatever piece you've made that was inspired by the board above, or use the tag 'neath-tober', I would love to see it and go crazy in your notes.

WE HAVE ARRIVED AT STATION VIII!!!

Excuse me I need to call up Otto Mentalis from Psychonauts 2, I need to know if he's ever been to the Neath.

hey friends can you escape the myosotis incarnation curse . #youcanrememberipromyyyyy i know you can do it!! winky wonk try your hand at it. tell me who you get too

When you return to the Surface, you begin to walk. You use your weapon to guide you, at first. You told him: I will spare you the pain of seeing me forget. But it does not spare you. You walk until you bleed, you walk until you forget. You last for longer than most, walking on, and on, and on--pieces, fragments, wisps and winds and gusts of memory escaping you. Sometimes people find you, and you beg them to remember your name. Sometimes they do. Most don't. The last person you meet is a young traveler, and though you are not old, he thinks you are old, and weary, and when he asks you for your name, you cannot remember it. When you lay down, the sand consumes you, piece by piece. You are subsumed: memory and all.

They said your veins were as cold as your homeland, and for once, you wished what they whispered about you was true. When they imprison you for your breach of knowledge, place you in your prison of whispers, for daring to break through their veil of ignorance, you are sure that some like-minds of your caliber will come to help. They do not. So single-minded, so fiery in pursuit of knowledge, but so cold when it came to your peers. When they come to your prison, and you assume they will help, they press a chalice and a bowl of soup into your hands. You drink. Your name is in shame, your accolades and renown destroyed when you are not there to salvage it, paralyzed in your cell, only able to beg with a heavy tongue for water. You almost wish you could forget what they did to you. But in the end, you die for what you dared to learn. But you would do it all over again, if you had the chance to.

You'd probably be near unrecognizable in Parabola. At least if Attar is even visible there, not sure if it sticks around besides in Arbor. But think about it.