The Ventureweaver

Greetings, fellow adventurers.

This past week, I’ve been lost in thought-drifting between daydreams of frozen paths, forgotten realms, and the reality of daily life. Like many of you, I have to work for a living, carving out hours for my craft between shifts and family time. And truth be told, there are moments I wish I didn’t have to. Moments where I find myself wondering: What if I had the freedom to focus solely on this game? To breathe life into every stone, every shadow, every whispered secret of the world I’ve been building?

It’s a dream-perhaps an impossible one, especially in the world of text adventures. But that dream carries me through the noise of the day. It makes every spare moment precious. Every evening at the keyboard feels like returning home. And that’s why I continue-doing everything in my power to shape a world worthy of your curiosity.

Recently, I’ve been working on new portions of the game, one of which includes a meeting with Lord Vaereth, the solemn master of a lonely manor that lies just beyond a great stone Archway-a boundary between the known and the unknown. These Archways serve as more than landmarks; they are invitations to adventure, a gateway into regions touched by frost and ruin, yet alive with story.

I’ve been weaving together new characters, ideas, and environments-trying to build a sense of exploration that is both personal and epic. In the latest update and video, you’ll discover a mission that takes you deep into the earth. The mine, once full of life and labor, has now fallen silent. Its workers are gone. The village is all but abandoned. A priest warns you of what stirs in the dark, urging you to speak with the Lord of the manor, who tasks you with uncovering the truth.

But, as with all things in The Labyrinth of Time’s Edge, the choice is yours. You may take up the burden… or wander freely, forsaking the mine and its secrets. The path is not bound by duty-it is driven by the player’s will.

With the summer sun gracing the world outside, I thought it only fitting to throw you into a wintery hellscape within the game. A world overrun by creatures I personally despise with every fiber of my being-giant spiders. And yes, like every great fantasy adventure, there had to be big, terrifying spiders. (You can thank-or blame-my lifelong fear of them for their presence.)

As I return to my daily grind, I leave you with this thought: everything you experience in this game is a piece of me. Every tunnel, every echo, every flickering torchlight is something I’ve imagined, shaped, and shared. And with every update, I hope to give you something that feels not just like a game-but like a journey.

And finally, for those who appreciate the magic of yesteryear-when manuals told stories, and game boxes held more mystery than the games themselves-I’ve added something special to this post. Think of it as a piece of lore pulled from a dusty instruction booklet, the kind we used to read by flashlight under the covers. Back when imagination filled the gaps, and every pixel was a portal.

Thank you for walking this path with me.

Until next time, adventurers –
Hold your lanterns high, and may the forces of good guide you on your path.

Enjoy.

THE LEGEND OF OATHMOOR
As told to those who would dare walk the path of fire and shadow…

You have journeyed long and far-across frostbitten ridges, through forests thick with secrets, and over ancient bridges half-swallowed by time. Days and nights have blurred into one, the stars your only compass, the wind whispering names long forgotten. You are Drakhan, an adventurer not born of noble blood, but of rare purpose-carved not by comfort, but by the trials of wilderness and war. The world you tread now bears no resemblance to maps of kings or scribes; you have entered a realm few return from, spoken of only in hushed tones-the Unclean Lands.

In this place, the stones remember.
You have passed villages where the walls themselves seem to weep, forged in the first light of the world’s creation. They speak not in words, but in dreams-offering visions of the time when gods walked among mortals. Strange peoples dwell here, their eyes like flickering stars, their language older than breath. They know things-dangerous things. Knowledge of life, death, and what lies beyond the veil. You felt it in your bones, the weight of their secrets, but their riddles are not for you. Not yet.

For a darker purpose draws you onward.

Beyond the fog-draped mountains and past the River Hushed lies the village of Oathmoor-a place that appears on no parchment nor in any traveler’s tale. Carved into the belly of the world itself, Oathmoor is a hushed name among the wise. They say its soil cannot bury the dead, for the dead refuse to stay down. The very air hums with sorrow and forgotten oaths. Lanterns burn even in daylight, not to ward off night, but to keep away the shadows of memory.

The King has summoned you-yes, you. His kingdom lies in disarray, beset by a creeping dread no army can confront. His messengers ride no longer. His priests dare not speak the name of the evil they face. But you know it.

Her name is Malthera.

A witch born from the last dying ember of a cursed bloodline. Her ambition is endless, her cruelty precise. But what sets her apart is not her magic-it is her faith. Malthera believes in the old ways. In fire, in sacrifice, in the power of forgotten gods. And her heart is set on one goal: to awaken the dragon Vaelthoryn, the ancient one-Giver of Life, Bringer of Destruction.

Vaelthoryn is no mere beast. It was the dragon who tore the sun from the heavens and gifted light to the world. It was Vaelthoryn who breathed into the lifeless dust and gave rise to the first mortal. But the gift came at a cost. With life, came death. With fire, came ruin. The dragon was sealed away by the Five Treasures-relics of old, bound in magic and blood, scattered across the realm.

Now, Malthera seeks to gather these relics, and if the stars align and the full moon rises, she will perform the Ritual of Reclamation. With it, Vaelthoryn shall rise again-not as a savior, but as an instrument of unmaking.

You, Drakhan, are the last hope. The King offers no crown, no glory. Only the truth: should you fail, the world will fall-not to sword or flame, but to silence.

The wind howls. The moon rises. The lantern dims.
It begins now-your journey into the heart of legend.
Will you bring peace to a world on the edge, or become just another shadow in the depths of Oathmoor?

The choice, as always, is yours.
But time… time is running out.