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You follow switchback trails down the cliffside and make your way into the mushroom forest, towards the ceiling-scraping silver shroom that sheds its ghostly light.
The mycelium is soft and squishy beneath your bare feet, tickling gently at your soles and leaving behind deep footprints that slowly but surely fill themselves in with the passage of time. The fungal rhizome acts like a sort of podzol that inhibits the growth of green and leafy plants. The organism might well cover the entire cavern to form a living network of fungi that each occupy their own niche in the environment. Perhaps even the grass those herd animals grazed upon was actually another expression of the fungus.
Without the fresh air blowing in with the falling waters, the air of this cavern is certainly thick with spores. The intensity of your heart chakra burns them from your lungs before they can take root, but an adventurer of lesser breeding who had not taken the proper precautions might have found themselves with issues breathing in this place. You know well enough that most molds are not good for the lungs from your time studying the healing arts from Dr. Gerulf. Some spores are fine, even beneficial to breath in when ill, but your heart chakra would not burn such things away.
The spores all come from the great, tree-like mushrooms growing from the mycelium. They very in size, shape, and even the colors of their stalks and caps. Some grow with great stalks twice or even three times as thick as your ample hips, their color a greyish purple speckled with something darker and each branch capped with a wavy plate the color of a stormy sky. Others are thin and spindly, no thicker that your muscled forearm, off-white stems growing higher and higher than their neighbors and crowned with a bulbous orange cap.
The ones you think you like the more remind you of the fire birches of the Herbstwald. Their trunks purest white, their caps as red as blood, giving the mushroom forest a shock of brightness that it otherwise would lack.
Your trek is nice and relaxing. No doubt a dull show for the scrying sensor. The only thing that approached a threat was a pack of horned stormwolves. When you booped their alpha on his snout, the rest of his pack went running and he began to follow you around like a chastened puppy. He better not be expecting you to share any meat with him. If you had any, you would have already eaten it. The day hasn't exactly gotten late, but your captors did not exactly provide you three square meals a deal whilst you were imprisoned.
<span class="mu-s">The growl of your stomach reminds you that you should probably find some food.</span>
>Hunt something. Maybe the overgrown puppy will prove useful and help you find some game.
>Some of these trees appear to be growing fruit that looks rather tasty.
>There's a stream nearby, and you've two good hands with which you can catch fish.
>You wonder if these giant mushroom trees are edible...?
>Continue on without lunch.
