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This week in Witherwild, we open not with eldritch horrors or tangled plot threads, but with Karl’s body betraying him in the most low-fantasy way possible. First, the good news: he does not have MS. The bad news: his foot has been dramatically introduced to a knife. Life finds balance in weird ways. Between careful steps and cautious optimism, we check in on what’s new with Karl, because no campaign truly begins until the GM’s real-world hit points are accounted for.

From there, we descend into the sacred ritual of character creation as Lyra finally takes shape. Stats, background, and the soft mechanical bones of who she’s going to become are laid out on the table. We talk about what makes this system tick, the weight of choices, and the looming poetry of death moves—those final narrative echoes that ensure even the end of a character means something in the world.

And just when the rules start to feel heavy, the Witherwild does what it does best. We step out of the numbers and into the air, meeting a group of friendly birb people who feel like they flew in from a softer corner of the setting. Feathers, curiosity, and just enough strangeness to remind us we’re not in Kansas, or even in a normal forest. They’re a reminder that not every unknown in Witherwild wants your blood. Some just want to share stories, or breadcrumbs, or maybe directions you don’t entirely trust.

So this episode’s moral: not every week is about fighting fate. Sometimes it’s about building it—one carefully chosen stat, one strange bird conversation, and one stabbed foot at a time.

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