The Ventureweaver

The weather here has been relentless. The cold temperatures, the biting wind, and the heavy snowfall have made Edmonton feel like a frozen battleground. As I watch the snow falling outside and see the extreme cold warnings in effect, I find myself grateful for the warmth of my creative space.

Being stuck indoors has given me the perfect opportunity to fully immerse myself in developing my game. I’ve spent countless hours wandering its many locations, meeting its diverse inhabitants, and meticulously remapping everything I had once scribbled down over the months. By that, I mean I finally bought a new notebook and began redrawing the maps—transforming a scattered collection of mismatched pages into something cohesive and refined.

Beyond that, I’ve been focusing on the smaller, quieter corners of the world—places where players can step away from the main story and simply explore. Little villages, hidden settlements along the road—pitstops that breathe life into the world. One of these is a goblin village, featured in the video below. There’s something deeply magical about fantasy worlds, something that ignites a sense of adventure. The idea that you can speak to a king about a grand quest, then venture into the wilderness and stumble upon a goblin village tucked away in a whimsical forest—a place that may or may not exist on the same plane as the world above. Or perhaps it lies beneath it? That’s the beauty of it. It’s open to interpretation. Or is it?

Lately, I’ve been reflecting a lot—not just on the game, but on the world itself. Some days, it feels like reality is spiraling into madness, like everything is teetering on the edge of chaos. And in those moments, I find myself looking back on my past, remembering the days and nights I spent playing text adventures, dreaming up my own worlds, and teaching myself QBasic from scratch. I built my own engine, studied old documents, scoured forgotten corners of the internet, all to create what would eventually become The Labyrinth of Time’s Edge.

Somewhere along the way, I got lost—wandering through life like a restless soul, searching for meaning in a world that often feels beyond repair. Maybe I’m foolish to believe things can get better. Maybe humanity was always meant to exist on the brink of collapse. But working on this game—crafting its world, its characters, its dialogue—feels like stacking layers of a sandwich, each piece carefully placed to build something bigger. And when it’s done, it’s going to be one hell of a sandwich.

More importantly, it’s been my therapy. This world I’m creating has given me purpose during a time when I needed it most. I’m not great at talking about myself, but I suppose that’s why I’m pouring everything into this game.

And let me tell you, venturing into that goblin village has been strangely comforting. Meeting these creatures—who, despite their quirks, live and struggle just as we do—reminds me of road trips through forgotten towns, those quiet places far from the main highways where people carve out an existence with whatever they have.

But never fear—I’m hard at work on something special. A throwback to the classic games that shaped me, a portion of The Labyrinth of Time’s Edge that I think you’ll enjoy experiencing soon.

So, to all of you—thank you. Thank you for reading, for supporting the game, for joining me on this journey.

And with that, venture forth, brave adventurer. Let the light of your lantern guide you into the unknown. I shall see you next weekend.