[He knew not where he was going, but that was so often the case with the Singularity. On his travels, various places, settings, and worlds would rush by as he would delve further- further and further until a destination materialized.
Normally.
This trip appears to be somewhat of a different experience for the traveler. For each of the myriad settings would all lead back to the same place. Different routes would be taken, of course. It was almost as if a wheel would spin, but once more, he would find himself back within a strange land, with terracotta-colored buildings haphazardly lining greenish blue water, strange, arched bridges that appear, to him, sized for children, and walkways too small for his gait.
It is perhaps the third time that he has made his return that he is addressed. He looks around. And then, he looks down.
Ah.
A person in miniature as so often appears the case within other peoples' horizons. And poor Claude. For he, in turn, would see a man impossibly tall- almost as tall as the buildings themselves- cloaked in what appears to be gloom- an expressionless mask angled right at him, shrouded within the waves upon waves of darkness the early afternoon's sunlight cannot pierce.
A man, by all accounts, who lacks a face. As well as a grasp on his language.]
[What words are uttered appear akin to the moans and groans- yet perhaps, should Claude focus his control over his domain toward him, some of the sounds would begin to sound like words.]
an accidental visitor;
Normally.
This trip appears to be somewhat of a different experience for the traveler. For each of the myriad settings would all lead back to the same place. Different routes would be taken, of course. It was almost as if a wheel would spin, but once more, he would find himself back within a strange land, with terracotta-colored buildings haphazardly lining greenish blue water, strange, arched bridges that appear, to him, sized for children, and walkways too small for his gait.
It is perhaps the third time that he has made his return that he is addressed.
He looks around. And then, he looks down.
Ah.
A person in miniature as so often appears the case within other peoples' horizons. And poor Claude. For he, in turn, would see a man impossibly tall- almost as tall as the buildings themselves- cloaked in what appears to be gloom- an expressionless mask angled right at him, shrouded within the waves upon waves of darkness the early afternoon's sunlight cannot pierce.
A man, by all accounts, who lacks a face. As well as a grasp on his language.]
H̵͕̲̠̪̑̈́̐̿̆͐̕̕̚͝ͅe̸̞̮͛̿͊̽̐̇̃̓́̊ĺ̷͍̻̖̲͍͔̉̇́͊ͅl̸̼̘̭̻̜͖̭̟̟̼̑͌̆̔́͗̈͗o̸̪̠͍̖͂̈́̆͛̑͗̋̌̈ͅ!̸̺̌͝ ̷̢̟̪̥͍͙̥̜͉́̾̔͑ͅÏ̶̜̀͘ ̵͙͕̳̲̣̣͊h̵̲͇̳̪̜̗̣̟͋͌̿͑͗̆̋̕o̸͉̙͒͝p̸̧̨̛̗̪̥̫̼̲̂̀͛͊ͅe̶͉̗͕̓̏ ̴̧̛͔̤̟̬͉̭̞͉̻̆Í̸͈͑́̏̈̍̃͒̐̔ ̴̧̛͇̹͋̓͛͂͋̇̂̌h̶̭͕͚̠̠̉̽̾a̶͉͈̽̐̃̀̈͒v̶̦͇͍̼̣͍̎̊͐̚ę̴͙̤̹͈͕̈̆ͅ ̷̲̄͗̾̈̿̌̈́͌̿͘n̵̨͕̝̙̟̐͌͊̅͌͒͌̚o̶̳̜̣͉̞̥̗̍̋̚͜͝t̶̞͍́̓̈̾̏͑̄͘͠ͅ ̸̼̻̤͕͔͖̘̖̋͗̍͌̄̚͜ş̴̢̹̤̟̼̭͉͆̂͌ṫ̸̰̼̱͕͖͐́̑a̷̡̼̟̦̮̘̖̭̍́̿̋̽̚͠ͅr̶͎̹̰̠̹͊̓͂̓̌̄́ṭ̸̡͊͝l̷̢̨͎͖̼̄̋̀̌̎̈̆̈̉͛ë̴̛̯̟̟̲̬̣́̑͒̄̀d̷̡̲̜̠͔̗̯͙́̊͌̑͜ ̸̰̬̼̠͍̻̱̜̖͖̋̒̉̉y̵̢̋̆͊̋͝o̴̘̮͒̃̀͗̄̀̄̎̆u̷͖̱̘͎̝͔͍̙̔̎̈́̐̔͗̎̃͠.̶͍̎̀̈́́͌̕̚͝ ̸̨̣͎̰͕̥͓̩̀̎̽͗͒͘Ǐ̴̧̧̲̟̜̯̋̓̂̀͝ ̷̨̝͎̻̗̙̠̼̻̄̇̋̽̽͜͝ă̷͇̤̮̘͖͗̅͐̆͜͠͠m̶̬͇̯̗̈́́̾̅͘͜ ̶̢̺͕̘͈̖͉̠̫̣̈́l̶̨̧̻̲͒̐o̷̢̬̥̺̭̟̣̐̊̃́o̸̲͇͉͒̿̂̚͝k̴̪͈͛̒̐͋̂̅̈́̾̌̕ị̵̛͕͎͔͈̯̒̂̽͑̊͘̚ņ̷̧̣̜͎̦̥̜̗̙̈͗̐̽͗͌̉͠ğ̸̢̖̯̜͓͙̙̫̝̏͝ ̸̜̪̏̍̋͠f̵̢͈͈͇̭͎͍͕̘͓̉̅̓͆̒͘ơ̸̛̼͍͙͍͇̦͙̼̯͌̎̐̀́̓͌ȑ̵͍̄̂͋͆̔̐́͐͑ ̶̛̲̺͓͖̦̃͛̒͌̾a̴̛̛͚͛̌̓̐͆n̵͈͇͕̮͔̿͊͌̿̅́̇͘̚͠ ̵̛̰̯̘͉͈̩͚͉̦̉̄͒̀̅́ë̸̯̱̗̳̦́͒͒x̶̨̧̦͉͓̖͚̭̱͘̚͠i̶̬͙͎͓̝̳̽̔̎̽̀͜t̴̥̄̓͑̉̄̎́͝,̴͎̦̞̯̫͛̇̓̅͝ ̵̱̝͛́̌̐͛̈́̚͝b̵͓̘̖̩͖͋̊́ų̸̘̣͖̟͈̄͒t̴͈̜̲̲͎͕͚̤͑̔̐̑̒̊ ̴̢̙̺̘̙̝̩̻̣̉Ȋ̸̖̖͔̱̫͈͚̌͐̏̿͋͘ ̵̛̬̫͇̈́̒̓̏͛́̒̀͘͜t̸͈͈͗̍̄̌̎͋͑̓ĥ̵̭͍͐͒͆̕͝ḭ̷̠͖͗̊̆́ń̴̬̲̭̤̓k̷̡͇̙͙̮̩̪̠̈́̑̔͌ͅ ̶̡̢̩͎̤̝̣̓̾̒̇͜͝y̸͕̗͛̆̎͂̈́̓̾͑o̸͈͇̣̻̅͋͐̈͗ṷ̸̤̙̂͒̍̍̒̈́͒̀͝ ̵̡̳͎̙̤̈́̓͐̀͐́̀̾̚ņ̵̡̗̜͉̝̤̿̓ͅo̶̺̯̩͎͜͝ţ̷̮̞͎̥̯͖̅̓̋̑̕ ̵̢̘̳͊͆̏̎l̵̼͂̊̆̃̂̑̊̏̐̾ȋ̴͕̭̭̗̒̾̚ḱ̶̡͛͠e̵̯̥̒͆́͜ ̷̢͓̝͕̝̘̓̈́̈́́͑̆̓͊̑ẗ̶̞͍̰̰̝͒̋̓͋̾͐o̴̖̍̈́̀͊̆ ̷̨̺̳̗̳̃̐u̶̯̘͈̼͈̤͚̭̻̻͗͋͋̈̽n̵̢͔̜͔̪͝d̷̡̟̼͉̳̻̮͎̯̆e̵̻̥̱͔̻̭͙̙̅̊̓͐͘͜͜r̶̫̘͎͎̯̻͖̻͚̹͋̀́͌̃͠͝s̵̻̦͚̖̬̮͔̜͇̓̃ͅt̴̪̱͚̺̱̼͓͐̐̑͐̚̕ǎ̴̺̻̦̮̗̤͂͛͘n̸̛̜͑͑̀̀d̶̩̮͓̜̳̯̟̭̥̀̉͂̊̀́͜͝ ̸̲̟͚͚̗͚̩͖͚̎̅̒̒͆̋m̴̦̻̔̊́̅̂͠y̵͉͙̿̓̈̓̅̏͘̚ ̵̢̝̤̬͙͆ẅ̷̮͕̄̑ơ̶̗͖̩̲͔͉͖̯͔̎͆̓̓r̵̳͓͎͑̈́́̒͌̌͋̉͂̌͜d̶̯̻͋̽̌̏́̎͠s̴̢͚͓̻̠̩͉̠̲̳̆͆̂̓̈́̇̽̒.̷̡̱̩͕̟̿̎͝
[What words are uttered appear akin to the moans and groans- yet perhaps, should Claude focus his control over his domain toward him, some of the sounds would begin to sound like words.]
̵̟͐͑̎̚I̷̦̥͖͉̗̠̺̤̯̐̑ ̷̡̢̛̱̱̥̯͎̳̋̾̆͌̕͘͝͝b̴͔̋̋i̵͚̼̒̿d̷̝̀̿ ̴̨̫̭̱̪̣̗͓̂̋͂̚͘ỳ̶̡̩̤̘͌̾̅̀̏̽̈́ǒ̷̢͉̱̝̪̣̖͗̾̈́̍̐̇͒͆̚ǔ̷̡̖̭̖̀̅̒ ̸͓̬̪̞̻̠̼͐̽̀̅̐̏͐̆̚̕focus. ̵̡͔̞̫͖̠̦͎͍͂̈͜Ï̴͔̜̆̽̀̌͗̽͌͝ ̶̞͊m̸͚̩̗͆͆ȇ̷͔͕̽̈́͠a̸̧̛͔̩̥̪̺̺͗̒̎̒̉͆̾̇͘n̷̡̨̖͖̫̠̳̭̣̎̉ ̷̤̱͈̻͕͕͂͑̈̚͜ý̸̨̼̰͗̏̿̄̿̈́o̷̻̝͖͈͓̗̩̭̾̍͗̾ủ̴̡̨͓̭̪͇̰̘͈̆̽͑ ̸̝̳̺̖͊̀̀͒ͅa̴̧̛̪̳̱̋́̔͛̃͌́͐̐ņ̸̛͔̦͖͋̉̑͋̕d̶̲̕̕ ̶̼̱̲̣̾̎̊̐̔͘͜͠y̸̡̲̫̩̲̝͎̓͜ͅǫ̴͎̙͍̥̣̥͇̇̓͆͒̓̇̽̎̒̚u̴͎͋ŗ̸̺̙͕̝̳̀̀̍͒͑̒̋̾͜͝͠ś̴͚̪̠́͐͋̊͆̎͑̾̀ ̷̛̛̞̦͗̈́̅̓͆̿̕͠no harm.̵̛͈̠̭͙̝͓̦̪̲̌̏͋̊̚̕͠ ̸̡͍͖̥̞̹̱̲̗̚͝͠I̷̽̃̑̓͘͝ͅ ̶̬̫̘̠̝̫͊̈́̋̓͘t̸̢̘̹̙̪̬͂̿r̵̮̥̿̈́͐̇̐͑́̈́u̷̙̞͙̮͈̩͋̽̅̅͛͑s̴̻̜͇̫̅̇́̉̍͗͌͝ẗ̷̬̗̝̪̬̝̩̩́̓͂̊̈́̚̕ͅͅ ̸̖̤̬̆̎͂̑̇̊y̶̞̠͇̭͍̜̭̖̽̏̆̀͑͘͘o̴̱͚̹͇̝̤͆̔̈́̈́̀̒̄̚͜u̵͉͂͂́̓́͒͜͠ ̷̪̺̫͓̝̰̒̀̌̉́̈́̾͝ư̵̯̝̬̂̒̄̋̈́̏̂n̶̡̩͑̆͌͗̐͊͛͊̂̕͜͜ḑ̶̨̠̱͋͊̇́̓̆̏e̷̢̼͉̣̣̗̔̈́̉͜͝r̴̦̝̞̾s̵̹͓̯̊̌͂͂̍̌̃͐͘͠ẗ̴̤̽͐̈́̕ȃ̷̱̈́̃͆͒̀̽ņ̵̱̐͗̋͝ͅd̴̜̥͓̠̪̞̳͂͋̆̏̕͝ͅ?̷̢̨̡̭͔̦̩͑̅̚͘ͅ
[Fingers crossed.]