A Fragmentary Account of Temporal Displacement and Botanical Anomaly
Compiled by Elias Thorne, 23rd Cycle of the Obsidian Bloom
The air in Crucethouse always tasted of something…wrong. Not unpleasant, precisely, but a persistent tang of ozone and something akin to overripe starfruit. This, I discovered, was a consequence of the temporal eddies that swirl within its walls. Crucethouse isn’t merely old; it’s a nexus, a point where the currents of time collide with the strange, resilient flora that has taken root within its stone embrace. It began, as far as the surviving records indicate, with the arrival of Silas Blackwood in 1788. Blackwood, a cartographer obsessed with charting the ‘shifting landscapes’ he claimed to perceive, purchased the estate – a crumbling, isolated manor perched on the edge of the Black Fen. He was immediately plagued by the anomalies. His instruments spun wildly, his maps became filled with impossible geometries, and he began to document the proliferation of plants unlike anything seen on this world. The most notable of these was the ‘Chronoflower’ – a luminescent, violet bloom that seemed to subtly alter the ambient temperature and, occasionally, the perceived flow of time for those nearby.
Observations on Temporal Horticulture
The Chronoflower isn't merely a plant; it’s a recorder, a resonator. Its petals, when touched, leave a faint, shimmering residue – ‘temporal dust,’ as Blackwood called it – which can be analyzed (though the analysis is notoriously unreliable). I’ve found that the dust clings to objects, subtly altering their chronological signature. A quill dipped in ink salvaged from Blackwood’s study now writes in a looping, archaic script, occasionally flashing with images of a London choked in perpetual twilight. The plant itself seems to attract echoes – fleeting glimpses of events from its own timeline, projected onto the immediate surroundings. I’ve witnessed a brief, terrifying recreation of a thunderstorm from 1812, a child’s laughter from a century before, and, once, a silent, staring face that seemed utterly devoid of time. The rate of these projections fluctuates, seemingly linked to the plant’s health and the intensity of the temporal eddies.
Furthermore, there’s the peculiar effect on memory. Prolonged exposure to the Chronoflower’s aura induces a state of temporal disorientation. Individuals report experiencing memories that aren’t their own, timelines collapsing and reforming within their minds. I myself have lost entire days, replaced by fragments of forgotten lives – a Roman legionary guarding a crumbling wall, a Victorian seamstress stitching a mourning gown, a Neanderthal staring at the stars.
Records of the Blackwood Family and the Order of the Verdant Watch
Silas Blackwood, driven mad by his discoveries, established the ‘Order of the Verdant Watch’ – a secretive organization dedicated to studying and containing the anomaly within Crucethouse. His descendants, a dwindling line of eccentric botanists and temporal investigators, continued this work for nearly two centuries. The Order’s primary method of containment involved cultivating ‘temporal dampeners’ – specifically engineered varieties of moss and lichen that seemed to absorb the chaotic energy of the Chronoflower. These dampeners, arranged in intricate patterns around the manor’s courtyard, appear to stabilize the temporal eddies, though their effectiveness is questionable.
The Order’s records are fragmented and unreliable, often filled with cryptic diagrams and unsettling philosophical musings on the nature of time and existence. One recurring theme is the concept of ‘chronal resonance’ – the idea that all objects and beings possess a unique temporal signature and that the Chronoflower is simply amplifying these signatures to an extreme degree. They believed that complete eradication of the Chronoflower was impossible, only containment. A chilling excerpt from the Order’s final journal, dated 22nd Cycle of the Obsidian Bloom: “The flower feeds on time itself. We are not its masters, but its shadows. To destroy it is to invite a greater chaos. We can only…observe.”
Recent investigation suggests the Order was not entirely successful. There are indications of a second, more potent anomaly within the manor – a chamber known only as ‘The Echo Room,’ where the temporal distortions are far more intense, and the echoes are…active.