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Writer's pictureJordan Gravewyck

The Burden of the Blytmoast

Why did I become a homeowner and have children?


In these times of tumult and thinning coffers at the Blytmoast Estate, my explorations into the arcane have been eclipsed by the dark exigencies of survival and diplomacy. The Children of Aion have withdrawn into the veils of obscurity, leaving behind no trace nor interest in the mystical lenses whose secrets I had hoped to trade for gold. Their sudden absence from the local timelines casts long shadows over my financial stratagems.


On the spectral edges of Witches’ Night, under a pact sealed with whispered incantations, I committed to playing host to the Witch Willbreak and her bastardic brood. The Hermenauts have since scoured the Outer Southern wing to accommodate her and her unnumbered children. The footfiends and housekeepers are still preparing their rooms. This is the price one pays for a fragile peace. Shall it prove to be a temporary appeasement or a lasting accord? Only the weaving fates can tell. As I walk the halls, once silent, now echoing with the murmurs of impending guests, a mix of anticipation and foreboding fills the air. Hosting the Witch Willbreak and her brood poses risks as great as the potential rewards. In the shadowy corridors of diplomacy, each step must be measured, each gesture calculated, to ensure that this fragile peace does not unravel into chaos.


With provisions dwindling, I was compelled to expel eleven of my least interesting guests into the embrace of the Cryptwood Forest. I harbor a dark suspicion that Chef Luzmira, constrained by her temporarily tightened budget, might see this as an opportunity to supplement her supply of protein.

Amid these harrowing distractions, my quill has stilled, and the pages of Foredoom’s Fugue remain unturned. To sharpen my blunted craft, I turn to recount the curious inquiries of my daughter, Oleander, who recently embarked on an alchemical endeavor to replicate the flight of birds.


With the innocent audacity of youth, Oleander questioned the mechanics of flight after her initial attempts of suspending the skin of a bird and flapping its limp wings with two lengths of string. This yielded naught but the gravity-bound dance of failure. I elucidated the roles of bones and feathers, the harmony of muscles and joints that conspire to conquer the skies.


Undeterred, she set about crafting her own avian mimicry. Oleander began sifting through her collection of bones, much like the time she assembles a mismatched turkey from scraps she collects from many Thanksgivings. As she assembled her creation, she found it necessary to shape bones from the pale wood of the edelwillow.



A young girl with pale skin and striking white hair working in a dimly lit workshop filled with an assortment of arcane objects. She is dressed in a dark, Victorian-style blouse with a bodice of squirming snakes and is intensely focused on assembling a mechanical bird. The bird is skeletal in structure and has legs where wings should be. Around her are various curiosities, including bones, skulls, old books, and glass jars containing unknown specimens, suggesting a setting that blends both scientific and mystical elements. The overall atmosphere is eerie and filled with a sense of dark academia.


My daughter lacks dedication and persistence in all things, save her devotion to justice; or is it revenge? Before finishing her construct of a bird, she sought to improve on a form optimized by the forces of time and death, which grind away at life, shaping the living masses of the universe into more and more efficient vampires suckling the lifeblood of the universe. She became enamored with the idea that she could improve the bird’s form by combining its leg and wing into a single appendage. She became bored with her project before finishing, and now, a second skeletal avian abomination is scuttling in the shadows of our halls.


As I navigate the shadowy corridors of Blytmoast, confronting the harsh realities of diplomacy, dwindling finances, and the challenges of parenthood, I am constantly reminded of the original intents that led me here. In becoming a homeowner, I sought to create a sanctuary of safety and profound curiosity. In this place, the secrets of reality could be pursued under my own roof, guarded from the chaos of the outside world. My decision to raise children was driven by a similar desire: to unravel the mysteries of existence through my offspring's fresh perspectives and untamed imaginations.


These commitments are tested daily as I grapple with my own health, the estate's precarious finances, and the whims of arcane alliances. Yet, it is in these trials that I see the clearest path forward. Through the ingenuity of Oleander's mechanical explorations and the resilience required to maintain our sanctuary, I am reaffirmed in my purpose. The challenges we face today are but the crucible in which this family's legacy will be forged. In the face of these adversities, I stand resolute, bolstered by the certainty that the sanctuary I’ve built and the heirs I guide will ultimately prevail, unlocking ever deeper layers of the arcane truths I seek.


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