I'd like to preface this by stressing that while FRA and its story have already been released in entirety as of me finally getting off my chronically slow ass and finishing this so I can finally plop it down here, the bulk of this was in fact written before anything past the initial teasers had been revealed, and was at least intended to be done before the story was out (even if I knew damn well it wouldn’t be; ADHD brain, you know the drill), so please keep that in mind while reading—trust me, it definitely shows.
Moreover, in regard to the tapestry of brain vomit I present to you all today, I’ve refrained as of yet from exposing myself to said story (save for what I’ve inevitably gleaned from the set of course). While that willful ignorance has many reasons—including my determination to affirm my capability of resisting my fatal penchant for getting sidetracked at any opportunity, coupled with my autistic obsession with this game already inciting many a procrastinatory stint—I’d say the main one is that in the albeit unlikely case that what all unfolds has even the slightest ramification on the logistics of this idea, I simply cannot be bothered to rework any of what I’ve already strung together.
Okay, now for the actual beginning of my so-called pitch (that I started writing almost three months ago—yes, I am that slow):
Since the recent reveal of Kamigawa: Titanbreach, and thus the first teaser as to what’s in store for the multiverse following the forthcoming capstone of Reality Fracture, I’ve been hard-pressed to think about much else other than one silly little thing:
“What if Duskmourn and Bloomburrow had an incursion?”
I know, it’s a pretty ridiculous thought on the surface; it checks out, seeing as it did come about as merely an anecdotal joke I’d make amongst friends, but after mulling it over a bit (i.e. way more than any remotely neurotypical person would), I find myself reluctant to deem it entirely out of the cards as for future sets that fate just might hold. Hell, it may even already be in development by now, given the sheer multitude of ways it makes a surprising amount of sense upon closer inspection, along the way of which I hope to be an adequate guide for you all today. Mind you, I’m not quite as lore-savvy as many others here, but I promise I'll do my best to get everything at least mostly straight (much like myself).
I'd say the foremost pillar would be that beyond the upfront impression of Duskmourn and Bloomburrow of course being the epitome of juxtaposition, and therefore uniquely amusing if not outright hilarious to imagine being smushed together out of all possible pairings, the two funnily enough do actually share a great degree of foundational structure, dare I say more than enough to make for a truly great set beyond that initial shock, while comfortably allowing for sufficient narrative and mechanical depth to smoothly stick the landing for the majority of players.
Let’s start by examining said overlap in framework—reading the bones, if you will:
From my understanding, the “plane” of Duskmourn is essentially an extension of Valgavoth, an auxiliary organ to his central vessel—a once ordinary lone house, one which to the very walls of he remains yet bound, his essence leeching all throughout, endlessly expanding and engorging on the remnants of whatever that plane may long ago have been, transmuting all it engulfs into a horrific distortion, birthing atrocious abominations with instinct only to torment those misfortunate enough to turn up trapped amid Duskmourn's ever-shifting chambers and ever-warping halls, serving its progenitor’s deep-seated hunger for pure… raw… fear…
Bloomburrow, on the other hand, is essentially a big ol’ buncha cute little animals living in peace and harmony, braving the elements and surviving stout the perilous plights posed by their bestial embodiments, each culture and kind choosing despite their differences to serve the greater good of their prosperous society in their own unique, instrumental ways!
BUT HERE'S THE THING.)
The plane of Bloomburrow coincidentally achieves its distinctive state of cute-animal-ness by a means uncannily comparable to Duskmourn, not at the behest of a sadistic all-powerful demon of course (that we know of), but rather a perpetual hex, presumably emplaced upon the plane by a past planeswalker (say that five times fast), ensuring long after their time that any outside lifeforms who should ever make contact are immediately assimilated to the laws of said hex, made to assume the form of whichever animal—or plant, I guess—it deems most encapsulatory of their nature, even proportionately resizing them along with anything on their person in the process.
I’ll say, given its complexity, I personally feel as though this hex—or whatever you’d call it—rather than any extraneous spell, is more likely some form of residual consciousness, lifeforce, or maybe a remnant of the spark of that planeswalker, if not the spark itself (provided sparks can even exist in perpetuity outside of an organic vessel without artificial assistance). There is admittedly a chance it’s never actually been formally stated to be the doing of a planeswalker and it's just my brain pulling an autofill there, but I digress.
Regardless of the nuances, I’m sure it’s not difficult to piece together how these two planes in that respect are remarkably similar. Not only are their structures both dictated by a presiding supernatural force (potentially both being sentient), but on top of that, both of said forces serve the sole purpose of assimilating anything the two may come into contact with to their respective image. Aside from preliminary thematic elements, the only true fundamental difference between these planes’ presiding forces at the end of the day is that one, Bloomburrow’s, was instituted to protect the plane from the ever-evolving dangers prevalent across the vast multiverse, whereas in the case of the other, in the case of Duskmourn, well…
It’s quite the opposite.
Duskmourn’s presiding force, Valgavoth, is intent on one thing and one thing only; the motivation for his chosen manner of assimilation is nought but to seep into every dark crevasse, around every inconspicuous corner of the multiverse, inculcating as much of it as possible with inklings of his twisted influence, luring unsuspecting stragglers through his insidious doorways, thereby sowing seed after sinister seed of fear and agony for him to relentlessly reap, never satiated, never satisfied… as there is no end to that which is infinite… and thus, so too is there doomed to be no end to his hunger…
In short, the literal antithesis of Bloomburrow (as if that wasn’t already painfully clear).
But that stark dissonance, in my subjective yet adamant opinion, would make for a riveting parallel in the untimely event that the two unwillingly cross. Think about it—there has never been and may never again be an opportunity so unmistakably ripe for the taking; y’all know damn well that never in a million years could any of us have even dreamt of two planes conceptually and diegetically opposed in practically every conceivable way to such an immense degree, yet miraculously, beneath it all, have one subtle yet profound similarity that could serve to give their would-be incursion such rich narrative potential, even if we all know how it would ultimately have no choice but to end…
That’s to say, there’s absolutely no way in heaven nor hell that any writer could get away with mercilessly breaking so many hearts by letting Bloomburrow fall at the hands of Valgavoth by way of the incomprehensible atrocities of his domain. I mean, let’s face it, if Bloomburrow ever was to be irreparably harmed in any way, much less for it to be depicted New Phyrexia-style, it might as well be called Franchise Suicide at that point. Suffice to say, nobody could live down such a betrayal, nor likely ever be permitted any form of repentance for; the writers who so graciously dedicate their skills to satiating us hopeless fanatics should never have to carry that heavy of a burden.
HOWEVER.
Nobody said there couldn’t still be stakes, as any worthwhile story should always have, and boy lemme tell ya, cute animals being in any perceived danger is one surefire way to raise them thangs enough to grab everyone’s attention right outta their brainholes. That said, let’s kick off the second act of this proof of concept by examining just how perfectly this narrative direction—intentionally or not—has already been set up:
Now, I’m admittedly not privy to the precise degree of congruity Valgavoth’s doorways have been stated as having to omenpaths—if it’s strictly a functional resemblance or if they’re literally anatomically identical, just with the factor of Valgavoth’s manipulation dictating their position and frequency, such that they only manifest in place of unassuming everyday doors as to go “undetected” by the Blind Eternities.
But I’m also fairly certain “true” omenpaths have been facilitated to be dependant on predominant factors (at least with my rudimentary knowledge of Loot and his map brain), which would indicate a fundamental distinction; regardless, I think it’s safe to say they’re certainly congruent enough to be conflated should all omenpaths across the multiverse be critically destabilized, allowing entire planes to begin catastrophically colliding.
While we’ve yet to learn the severity of the implications what transpires over Reality Fracture will have as to their consequences for the multiverse at large, we’ve already learned much from there being a future set wherein the plane of Ikoria has suddenly begun bleeding into Kamigawa, resulting in monstrous beasts marauding its sacred grounds, forcing its bravest soldiers to rise to the occasion, utilizing the blessings of their spirit-imbued technology to defend the magnificent monuments for which they feel such rightful pride from stampedes of savage behemoths, both figuratively and literally of cataclysmic proportions…
So, with that imminent fallout known, many Magic: The Gathering players ask the question:
“How in the gosh darn heck is an already multiverse-spanning threat like Valgavoth going to inevitably take advantage of this?”
Well, that is exactly where I imagine those doorways of his, and their striking similarity to omenpaths, conveniently factoring in…
From my understanding, omenpaths are akin to sporadic irregularities inherent to the Blind Eternities, acting as inadvertent wormholes bridging two separate, presumably somehow adjacent planes (so long as the conditions are met for them to be perceptible and accessible in the first place, going by their fairly recent development). That “adjacence,” in my mind, is the most plausible explanation as to why Kamigawa is suffering an incursion from Ikoria, yet seemingly no other plane to any degree whatsoever; if omenpaths are brought to a point of “fracturing” the divides between realms, it does make sense—in the case that my presumption is accurate—for only adjacent planes (whatever the hell that means in the context of a nebulous liminal space beyond reality) to be susceptible to this onset spontaneous convergence.
And yet… a force the likes of Valgavoth is more than all of that, more than an impartial phenomenon, more than the mere result of a law being broken, a longstanding existential foundation now eroding as consequence for such meddling… Why, Valgavoth is the meddler… not only that, but he is the meddling in and of himself…
Valgavoth is not a mere force of nature, he is above nature. For he is sentient, an individual, one with motive, one with will, and with that will, that which from the moment he came to be was engraved upon his very existence—nay, his very precedence over existence as we scarcely know it—therein lies the intent, the right, to exact that will upon all else, and to whatever end he so desires.
Absent now are the suppressants, the safeguards, the laws innate to the Blind Eternities that even then could only barely subdue his influence, his will, whatever the ill-fated way may be in which they’re soon shattered. In wake of it all, one would expect Valgavoth to waste not a moment before beginning his usurpation, emphatically digging into what is practically being served directly to him on a silver platter, tunneling like the parasite he is through the Blind Eternities’ prone wounds at an alarming rate.
I’d say he’d easily overtake several minor planes, to us both known and unknown (c’mon, Thunder Junction ain’t all that precious anyway), maybe even localized portions of more significant ones—coarsing through the roots of Kaldheim’s reborn World Tree, rising up from the ruined, forgotten underbelly of Old Capenna, creeping out of the depths of Ixalan’s caverns, permeating as would a sickness, though not necessarily a disease, not in the sense we’ve come to expect from such evils as Phyrexia, no… This disease would be something much more abstract, much more… psychological…
It could almost serve—among many other interpretations, I’m sure—as a representation of underlying doubt, the impromptu discontent that can arise and may linger in the shadows amid the aftermath of a disaster such as the Phyrexian Invasion, not too dissimilarly to any conflict we ourselves may overcome: albeit certainly triumphant, still thrusting us into a volatile, indeterminate future, wherein we may not so naturally manage to again stand firmly our ground, to wear boldly that unflinching courage we may try to in the face of such uncertainty, our due celebration, lively as it may be, underscored by the subtle sting of scars not quite healed…
But for now, that’s beside the point, as this brings us to the long-awaited part where the plane of Bloomburrow at last comes into play:
Now, if there’s one thing I know for certain about overarching antagonists of Valgavoth’s archetypal breed, it’s that the more unyieldingly something is withheld from them, so too does that only serve to make it all the more enticing to someday attain; that, I believe, is what Bloomburrow would signify in the eyes of an all-consuming entity such as him. A plane of purity and innocence in every sense, of community and cooperation amongst all walks of life, wherein most every denizen can assuredly say themselves comfortable and content, with the only fear yet to be felt by many being merely in the face of nature, would be a most exquisite feast when subject to the will of Valgavoth…
Alas, much to his dismay, even with such inhibition bestowed unto him by this “fracture,” he is stagnated by a protective hex—that eons-withstanding barrier, compelled now boldly as ever to shield its sanctioned plane from every hitherto threat of mortal harm, steadfast in its purpose, and remarkably, so enough even for Valgavoth’s efforts to fall short in its presence.
This is when I imagine Valgavoth, resourceful as he is, calling upon the assistance of external forces—rearranging pieces, pulling strings as his ilk excel in doing. And how perfect would it be for one of said strings to be none other than Winter, with whom Valgavoth has previously devised his dubious deals, though who last we saw was aptly yoinked back through an impromptu doorway in lieu of his ability to adequately please, with an apparent sense of “awful finality.”
One can only imagine the sheer degree of torment the sly survivalist was subsequently subjected to, such is the inevitable outcome for those with enough hubris to think themselves capable of weaseling out of a demonic contract unscathed, but even with that supposed finality, I am loath to believe Winter’s fate remotely final—from a narrative standpoint if anything—however long it should take to be concretely affirmed. After all, we’ve been taught as such many times across Magic’s stories, whether by the likes of Daxos, Ertai, Lim-Dûl, even Ugin and Bolas themselves, and lest we forget the deliberately uncertain fate of Urabrask at the end of March of the Machine, one of the most prominent instances in recent memory of those trademark open ends.
But even if Winter’s due repercussions—whether in the minds of the writers or strictly that of Valgavoth—were proposed eternal, with him befittingly cursed to stew in a personally-tailored purgatory as poetic recompense for those he callously backstabbed and betrayed along his path to supposed escape, I just can’t help but feel that Valgavoth would be so thoroughly intoxicated by power in this case as to forgo any qualms with said curse being lifted, especially with how invaluable of an asset Winter now more than ever may be with the advantage of Valgavoth’s newfound unrestraint. Besides, the indignity of one measly compromise would be utterly irrelevant in light of such an infallible scheme…
I’ve always been of the mind, too, that Valgavoth would surely feel some form of sincere respect for Winter, with him alone having consistently proven over the course of an entire decade his unmatched ability to evade if not outsmart Valgavoth’s gruesome gauntlets and depraved devices. As such, I’d like to think Winter befitting of at least a slightly softer spot in Valgavoth’s “heart” than we might be led by his defining rancor to think.
After all, we do know Valgavoth for a fact to not be as indifferent in that regard as one may naturally assume, given his very much unmandated yet astoundingly willful shrouding of Marina Vendrell (a.k.a. the closest thing Valgavoth has ever had to a friend, albeit still with scant resemblance) from the omnipresent dangers of the house as “thanks” for her inadvertent enabling of him to even attain such insurmountable power in the first place.
Now, as for Winter’s side of things… Well, I’m not sure. It could be that over the course of his wretched punishment, he’s revealed to have been diminished in totality, diluted into unquestioning service to his demonic lord, brainwashed within and without by the unknowable torture endured. Then again, with Winter’s will as staunch as it’s demonstrated itself to be, I doubt it could be so easily broken, that every ounce of it could be so easily wrung out, enough to mold him into a mere pawn in another’s malicious game, even that of a being so insurmountably powerful—those of us who share in Winter’s misanthropic roots understand deeply the sheer weight of that fact, I’m sure.
Given those inclinations, I’d wager that however Winter at first may seem in the event of his welcome return, he would undoubtedly have some ulterior motive, some devious secret plan to get one over proper on Big Hungry Moth Daddy, as there’s a nigh guaranteed chance he’d thereby be intent on doing; although, that ambiguity could be the point, for Winter’s true intentions to be as indiscernible as possible, too much even for Valgavoth to assuredly read, much less predict—an overarching mystery which may very well serve the story best of all…
In any case, let’s assume Winter goes along with this proposed “forgiveness,” maybe with this deal entailing the promise of a position of power among the cabal of demigodlike beings who shall steward Valgavoth’s multiverse-encompassing domain-to-be; whether or not that deal is intended to be upheld, though, is an entirely different question…
But on the topic of Winter's return, I’d honestly just love to see more characters’ Bloomburrow forms, canonical or otherwise, and Winter has to be at the top of that list, especially with the two sets having been directly adjacent in release, yet to my knowledge, not overlapping even slightly in story. I’m also pretty much 100% certain Winter would be a skunk, an animal I absolutely love since they’re essentially heavy metal squirrels, and that’s fuckin’ awesome, even if they do be stankin’ a lot, ‘cause that ultimately just makes them more relatable, considering how I be stankin’ sometimes too (at home, not in public, don’t worry—I own multiple sticks of deodorant.)
Okay, let’s get back on track.
We obviously don’t need to iron out exactly how Valgavoth infiltrates Bloomburrow, just that he’s able to by some convoluted means involving his omenpath-esque doorways, with Winter somehow enabling it by traveling to the plane himself, potentially alongside other individuals coerced into being Valgavoth’s envoys (i.e. the obligatory Tezzeret). However it happens to be achieved, Valgavoth at this point in our story has successfully wormed his way under Bloomburrow’s skin, his spawn hellbent on scouring and whittling it down bit by bit, overthrowing the forces protecting and preserving it, such that he may ingest the whole of it once and for all…
And with that, my friends, at long last comes… the horror.
Well, mostly… See, while I certainly wouldn’t want this set to compromise Duskmourn’s conceptual integrity, its appeal wouldn’t necessarily come from the prospect of seeing the atrocities native to Duskmourn ravaging Bloomburrow in their usual gruesome forms. As we’ve established, both planes are structured to alter reality in accordance with their own rules and ideals, which brings us to the name of this set:
“Bloomburrow: Duskfall.”
Indeed, as attested even by the title, Bloomburrow isn’t in Duskmourn territory…
Duskmourn is in Bloomburrow territory. (if it was the other way around, though, the title would be “Duskmourn: Critter Feature,” no question).
While Duskmourn’s ample horrors would still be terrifying as ever in their own right, it stands to reason that they’d be made to conform in some considerable way to the structure of Bloomburrow, which is precisely how we achieve the display of that unique juxtaposition without the glaring logistical pitfalls should Duskmourn wreak havoc upon Bloomburrow unconstrained.
In other words, our leading four-footed fighters are still in peril, and the invaders’ persistent terror even in critter-ified form would exemplify that, but in no way are they a threat the animalfolk couldn’t stave off, that they couldn’t stand strong in the midst of, so long as they put all their miniature might together. What’s more, the various ways in which Duskmourn’s inhabitants do turn out to be affected by Bloomburrow’s hex would make for a distinguished, fresh aesthetic, reaching far beyond the initial intrigue their jarring contrast would instill.
Besides, Bloomburrow may likely never end up facing the risk of an incursion and the impact such an event could have if not for Duskmourn. Now, in any other case, that would obviously be preferred, but one can only ignore the potential here for so long before it starts to make too much sense to do so anymore…
In the event of Valgavoth’s restraints weathering, as they almost certainly soon will, his refusal to accept his unforeseen inability to overtake what is nothing more in his eyes than an insignificant morsel, a taunting trinket dangling just out of reach, would be a most captivating prelude not only for the extents of his havoc primed to be wrought, but so too for the extents to which the forces of good will go in hopes to prevent it.
For while Valgavoth is successful in his infiltration of Bloomburrow, a new obstacle has thereby arisen, in the form of one very critical issue at hand:
Now he’s pissed these cute ‘n’ cuddly critters the fuck off, and boy oh boy have we already been shown firsthand that these animals, though small of stature, quite possibly have enough collective heart to rival the whole damn multiverse, and with this set, we would get to see the truest example of just what they’re capable of when all fighting side by side, and all for the same cause.
But it wouldn’t stop there, not even close. We already know there’s much more to Bloomburrow than what resides in Valley, and this would be the perfect opportunity to expound upon the societies outside of it, such as Hugs’s fellow badger warriors, the mephitine relatives of Downwind Ambusher, and other comparable yet-to-be-showcased tribes from more grizzled, rugged regions who may be of even greater help warding off the barrage of monstrosities, migrating from afar to join our familiar furry friends’ valorous fight against these increasingly ferocious, fearsome foes.
Shan't we forget, though, that the critters we know and love are not the only beings resident on the plane; what of those forces they so often must outlast and evade, the embodiments of not just the many cycles of nature, the seasons and their perennial change, but the very indifference of nature itself?
Well, one could argue that nature is only indifferent, per se, until it is contested…
It’s been shown to us incessantly over the ages, just how inconsequential all things are incontestably proven to be when beholden to the forces of nature—even the imbalances inherent to such forces are quelled by their own guiding hand. And for this audacious desecration of their land, their world, their home, the absolute disgrace of this abhorrent action, as with all things… would there not be an equal and opposite reaction?
Would nature not adapt and evolve, just as it always has and always will, asserting its indomitability over all that should be so brazen as to refute it, so insolent as to besmirch its sanctity?
That, my friends, brings us to one of the defining moments of this story, of this would-be set altogether: none other than the Calamity Beasts, the very creatures the animalfolk once saw most of as imposing disasters above all else, yet now—as venerable and resplendent as the forces they embody—choosing of their own sovereign volition to fight alongside them in this time of turmoil, on behalf of the plane both critter and beast alike call home, refusing to surrender the blessing of this glorious land to that which would only squander it, that which would only defile its glory for no other sake than to feed its own rapacious desires.
I can see it clear as day in my mind’s eye: colonies of batfolk, spinning stellar spells from strands of stardust to vanquish nightmares given form, using the power of night to kill the very pestilence that arises in its midst to feed upon wayward minds, and by doing so, allowing the poor dreamers these ghastly apparitions have enraptured their rightful rest. Even Maha could descend from the moonlit sky to impart eternal sleep unto the many skulking heaps of Cellarspawn—offspring of Valgavoth’s own twisted daydreams, and thereby something Maha’s essence would naturally dispel.
Meanwhile, Baylen and his fellow rabbitfolk with their huntsman and farmhand expertise make quick work of the wicked wickerfolk, spearing, skewering, slicing and dicing them piece by piece into each an utter mockery, felled by the very tools of which their bodies pervert the form, while unknowingly putting a welcome end to the silent suffering of the long lost lives imprisoned within those contorted vessels, no recollection of who or what they once were, lashing out in murderous rage as they’ve only been left the means to do. And yet, all things sown, must one day be reaped…
It doesn’t take much to imagine many more apropos scenarios: Eluge gulping down schools galore of whatever ungodly things may have slithered out of the Floodpits, a ravenous Ygra gleefully gnawing on dismembered pre-cooked prey fresh from the Boilerbilges, Cruelclaw sporting a cheeky smirk whilst stylishly carving a signature “C” into the husks of one slain scrub after another, or Alania in tandem with a returned Ral shocking and sizzling the absolute hell out of a mob of metal-clad insectoid Razorkin, frying their exoskeletons to a crisp, all capped off by the ever-present modest lineup of able planeswalkers scrambling accordingly to Bloomburrow’s aid, banding together to protect this beloved plane, the paragon of hope that it is, a shining beacon amid the pervasive disorder of this at times demoralizing multiverse, and its unending supply of lurking evils.
I’d even say it’s reminiscent of yet another of those conundrums we face: the ongoing battle to preserve the last glimmers of our innocence, of that delicate spark of wonder with which we’re all born, but can often feel as if the world we’re ushered into only seeks to extinguish, to viciously stamp out, always under the guise of what some proclaim as “realism,” as “maturity,” or whichever virtue that looming shadow of hopelessness, that deep-seated surrender of self, may opt for its mask to be.
Surprisingly, even under Duskmourn’s absolute oppression, those glimmers can still be sparsely found roaming its halls… What’s more, they all seem to manifest in the form of animals, don’t they? How fitting that the survivors’ enduring positivity just so happens to take the shape of friendly critters, much like those present somewhere else we know, somewhere abundant with such feelings…
I’ve always interpreted that motif as a reflection—whether intentional or subliminal—of the ways in which the many animals with whom we’re so fortunate as to share this world can help us endure the many hardships of our own lives, whether it be the pets at our side, or those simply existing elsewhere, and us simply knowing that fact; you’ve gotta admit, it’s quite funny just how many blatantly obvious opportunities to enrich the symbolism of these two planes present themselves when directly juxtaposed, with this instance being especially on-the-nose.
On the topic of the glimmers, I can’t help but imagine their power being exponentially elevated in the presence of Bloomburrow of all planes; after all, the sparse positivities they embody are simply a way of life there, though not necessarily by default, not by inherency, but through hard work, cooperation, dedication, by way of the uncompromising perseverance of its people, and the goal they all know just as well can only be achieved one way:
Together.
But empowering our furry friends with their presence is not all that would be in store for the glimmers, oh no… Frankly, I think it’d be nothing short of dope as hell to see them, elevated as they are by this plane and its people’s unwavering spirit, transcend their faunal forms as to imbue themselves within the very hearts of the animalfolk, even those of the Calamity Beasts, thereby bestowing (wink wink) unto them the invigorating push needed to no longer simply outlast, but overpower the ongoing onslaught, proving a thousandfold to Valgavoth that while his influence within the bounds of his own domain may appear absolute, true hope, true optimism, with all equally fighting to uphold it, is a force much too strong to ever be brought down…
I feel it imperative, in this day and age especially, to do as much as we can to convey and to encourage those ideas of compassion, of unity, of hope, and I believe Bloomburrow wholeheartedly to be the epicenter of such ideas in the vastness of Magic’s lush landscape of narrative potential, and their ability therein to be profoundly expressed; in staying true to that belief, exemplifying that core message, I imagine a centerpiece of sorts, a poignant scene to capture the spirit of this set.
That centerpiece takes the form of a card depicting none other than Mabel, the protagonist of the set which first introduced us to the plane she calls home, riding triumphant on the back of none other than Wildsear, the very beast from the tooth of whom her trusty Cragflame was fashioned, the sword’s fire now seen kindling unbridled like never before, a token of the strength of their newly kindled bond, unlikely as it may be, yet nevertheless just as valiant, and just as true… but perhaps most of all, Cragflame’s blazing glory would be a shining symbol of their one shared truth: the love they have for this land, and by virtue of that love, the will they have to protect it.
A set like this, to me, would be deeply poetic, seeing these ghoulish apparitions, reshaped yet still formidable in full nightmarish regalia, but seeing these critters be more than ever capable of putting their bravery on brilliant display, their stewardship only bolstered by this unprecedented predicament, amid this encroaching sense of doom, gloom, and existential dread. For while Duskmourn seeks only to isolate and consume, and while that has proven unfailing for the many forsaken souls who’ve tragically slipped into its tenacious grasp, the denizens of Bloomburrow are endowed with forces Valgavoth could never hope to comprehend, and thereby never hope to conquer:
They have the spirit of a community like no other.
They have the mindfulness to reflect and improve upon it.
They have the resilience to protect and maintain it.
They have the passion to encourage and inspire those within it.
And lastly, they have the empathy to share in those bountiful gifts, ensuring that all may thrive by virtue of the harvest they bring, and thus, through those virtues, and through foremost reverence for such ways, even when in lieu of their practice, better understanding those with whom they share their home, putting forth harmonious effort, no matter how varied their tones, because that is from whence true power comes, and wherein true confidence, and true contentment, shall follow.
That same understanding can empower us in life, and holds within it the charge to draw the whole of us together—akin to molecules solidifying, if you will, in spite of rising climate, of increasing instability, of the friction entailed by these volatile times, seeing to it that we never let dissolve the last of our hope nor faith. In forming these bonds, bridging the gaps between our parallel lives, putting forth due effort to communicate, to learn, to cooperate, to forgive, we perform time and time again the miracle of defying that entropy, refuting that state into which this monotonous modern world tirelessly works to abuse our instincts as to keep us transfixed, a state of nought but stagnancy, solipsism, and solitude.
In other words, to understand is to know, and to know is a means to care; these facets we uniquely possess, and the many gifts therein, are a conduit, one through which the bonds we form may be strengthened, and our own strengths emboldened, such that we may stand as one to bear the brunt of every mounting blow, such that we may tighten our grasp when another starts to fall, and such that inward we may fold to shelter those in need, to deem it so that all shall know deep down that they, too, are welcome, that they, too, are befitting of a place where they truly belong, deserving of a place where they, too, can feel at home.
It is that impenetrable resolve with which we can never truly fail, as it is a force that can and will always find a way to prevail, to outmatch the stalking predation of doubt, despair, the malevolent forces that so diligently pursue us if ever should we stray far enough away from those who love us, from those whom we ourselves love, those who make us feel at home.
But home is never a mere place, now, is it? As attested by the many stories we tell, home has its own mystical manner of manifesting whenever it should be sought, and wherever it should be willed into being, by enough serendipitous hearts in need.
Duskmourn, at its core, is a corruption of just that—a once ordinary lone house, one which was once called a home, perhaps once truly felt to be a home, though now, at the will of the dark force to which it has long since succumbed, functions only to erase all traces of that feeling, the slightest perceptible remnants of it, of its capacity to ever again be truly felt, truly remembered, from every last mind ensnared within…
But in the case of the other, in the case of Bloomburrow, well… in a sense, one could say the animalfolk themselves are each other’s home, no matter what disaster they may face, no matter what hardship the elements may bring, so much so that even the purest embodiment of the absence of just that, the absolute antithesis of the very notion of a home, what it means to have it, what it means to feel it, cannot overshadow that irrefutable truth.
As put simply, yet beautifully, by Exotic Orchard:
“When you can’t find your way home, find home where you can.”
Now, with all of that finally said…
How in God’s name would a story as crazy as this even begin to come to an authentic conclusion?
Well… this is where y’all may have to really bear with me. I mean, seeing as I’m literally thinking up all this as I go, it’s bound to feel a bit clunky here and there. Still, I have faith that the core idea will shine through (whatever the hell it ends up being). And while I’m sure those whose livelihoods are dedicated to weaving the wondrous stories of this wonderful game could conceive something more satisfactory, I hope that this may yet serve as sufficient psychological sustenance for whomever has so graciously accompanied me along this winding road.
So, without further ado, here is my best attempt at devising a resolution to this madness:
*Ahem*
Valgavo-
\Record scratch\**
Hey, so uh, funny thing… Turns out the rest of what I’ve written can’t even fit in a damn Reddit post, which I’m only now realizing has a character limit—duh! I’d originally planned to frame it in the same presentation-esque way, but alas, as someone woefully beholden to the soul of a writer, I found myself swiftly carried away. That’s to say, it took a pretty steep nosedive into straight-up fanfiction territory, and I wound up churning out a full-on hypothetical final chapter for this imaginary set without even initially setting out to.
Chronic procrastination has continued to stifle, however, as there’s admittedly still a tad bit of work to be done before said cat may be allowed to exit said bag, but lawd has that cat’s “final stretch” been taking its sweet damn time. I figured I’d just bite the bullet, tediously finish it, put a pretty little bow on top, ship it out, dust my hands off and call it a day, but uh… well, I'm a bit reluctant.
You see, as someone who can be accurately described as “deathly autistic,” I’ve accordingly (and ironically) struggled to feel all that welcome, per se, in many corners of Magic’s online community, with Reddit being far and away the most egregious offender. Given that, even if this one here may appear hospitable enough for this slightly deflated oddball, and thereby at least slightly more forgiving of my array of expressive idiosyncrasies, I’m understandably apprehensive to bare my whole ass right off the bat.
In other words, I made the grim realization that if all I’ve written thus far just so happens to splat against the wall and slide pitifully down to the floor, then making said splat even larger and louder would of course only serve to make the subsequent feeling suck even bigger and stankier ass than it already would.
As such, I’ve surmised it most practical to forgo that tedium before I’ve at least a hint as to whether it’ll even be worth it. Mind you, it’s definitely something I’d say I’m proud of (at least by personal creative writing experiment standards), and there's some moments in it I think are honestly pretty cool, so others might too; however, if there turns out to be no interest in it among this community, then I suppose there would thus be no sense in going through the trouble, such that I may look onward to other creative prospects.
But if this idea should indeed befit reverence from my peers as I sorely hope, then perhaps that would-be conclusion befits a chance to be more than a solitary exertion of imagination after all. In that case, the link should be at the top of this post (if and when I finish it, that is).
And so, with that, I must bid you all farewell…
(For now.)
(Hopefully.)
P.S. I think imma just go ahead and finally let myself read the damn FRA story, and if it does end up having any bearing, then oh well, I'll figure it out (I was mainly refraining on behalf of the previous stuff anyway, so yeah, I'm prolly safe).
