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a forest village
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Scawwy, a quiet village nestled in its own pocket of space. Unless the weather is bad, the area remains relatively clear aside from the occasional patches of fog lingering here and there. Trying to walk through the fog to leave or explore farther than the village's borders puts the anxious and nosy right back in the village once again, looped endlessly. The bonfire lit in the center of everything can be seen from all angles around the village, burning warm and inviting. Dirt pathways lead everyone to and from each building, and it takes about a fifteen minute walk to get from one corner to another.
● The Cabin ● A small, wooden cabin with only four bedrooms. The chipped wood is worn, often dusty at the crevices, and prone to creaking. The windows have a grimy film on them, masking the view from outside and within. The simplicity belies the occasional strange groan of floorboards, or moving shadows across the wall. A perpetual chill permeates the building at night, and anyone plagued by insomnia can sometimes see a dark figure watchfully peering into one of the windows before it vanishes. Each room has two rickety beds, and the cabin can sleep up to eight reasonably. A chest sitting at the end of the hallway has a few extra thread-bare blankets and four magically lit lanterns. Outside around the corner are two plain outhouses for those who need daily quiet time.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
To the northeast, a stream curves south, making for prime pool party real-estate, or even a place to bathe. Just don’t swim after dark.
● The Barn ● Through the double doors of the rustic and bland barn, the first floor is spacious and smells of fresh straw. On one end are two empty, clean horse stalls, and while there isn’t a single horse to be found, periodically neighing or hoof clacking can be heard while in another area. Nearby is a chest with seven scratchy, flannel blankets. The southern side sports some quaint windows and a table covered by a rug, crates, and a single magically lit lantern. Rats (which aren’t six-feet tall, or bipedal thankfully) chitter and sometimes pop unexpectedly out of their hiding spots in the straw. A set of stairs leads to the loft above, a space filled with nothing but familiar straw bedding. A single, large window opens in the loft at the front of the barn, and in the distance, the bonfire rolls and toils. Outside to the north, two troughs can be plugged and filled with warm water as makeshift baths.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● Abandoned Theater ● The exterior of the theater is hanging on by a thread, and even the trees have seen much better days. Two elegant but wilting doors open into a space more dilapidated than the outside of the building. And more… clownified? Thirteen benches litter the auditorium, some in decent condition and many others close to breaking apart, but all of them covered in the remnants of multi-colored confetti. The stage has seen much better days even with the enthusiastic strips of old banner at the back exclaiming CLOW- KING RETU—! Cracks in the flooring stretch from left and right stage all the way to the proscenium, and those traversing the stage floor should use caution lest they crash through to the trap room below. Crates and boxes are stuffed with brittle unused balloons, a broken ukulele, a stained deck of cards, and dried-up face paint.
A chest near the bottom of the stage has a handful of colorful, patchwork blankets and pillows inside.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● Refectory ● Food is served at places on the tables for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, though what’s offered is tasteless and without spice. The sounds of tireless culinary work rattle away in the kitchen; however, opening the door reveals an empty and quiet room with a cold stove. Eating here in the wide, harmonic room fills diners with a longing for some type of faith, not necessarily religious, but in something, in anything. The front room can fit approximately twenty people at a time before becoming overcrowded, and a door to the side leads down into the lit cellar. A long wooden bar has been added to the wall of the cellar below, turning it into a winery and bar with several easy to open barrels of aged alcoholic grape juice. The liquid in the barrels are always at different levels when checked, even if no one has been around to have a drink.
● The Mortuary ● An industrial, cold building with no windows, brown-stained floors, and the metallic smell of blood. Five adult, wooden coffins sit neatly in a row near two metal surgical tables. Often, scratching can be heard from inside one of the coffins. Opening any of the lids reveals only an empty nest of plush velvet lining, perfect for long naps out of the sun. If the lanterns on the walls are still too bright, there is a tiny basement level with two extra coffins, not a sliver of sunlight or lamplight to be found. Additionally, the basement houses a chest with several velvet blankets inside.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● The Church ● A modest building with a single pitched steeple whose bell in the center has lost its clapper. The inside is mostly homely, but full of the reverence that comes with peace and silence. Every wall has at least one giant, stained-glass window, a pictorial progression of the rise and divine instatement of a Sabbatic goat. Six pews can accommodate sitting or sleeping. The book on the altar at the front is labeled Holy Bible, but the words on the inside are written in a ghastly and scratching, unreadable language of runes. Beside the altar is a small baptism pool, though the water is murky red. Sometimes, when drifting to sleep, or bowing in prayer, a phantom bell loudly rings a couple of times from above. The chest in the corner holds a handful of drop cloths and hassock cushions.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● The Cemetery ● Surprisingly less eerie than the church, the cemetery smells like freshly tilled soil and burdens those entering with a mantle of gentle sorrow. The tombstones are worn and broken with age, the real testament to how little lingers after death aside from memory. A single, very old shovel is here propped on one of the gravestones. Tarry here too long and the voices of the known departed whisper over a shoulder, or visions of them flicker in and out of the corner of the eye. At night, the only light here is of the stars above in the sky and the burning bonfire in the distance.
● Haunted House ● Light-less and lifeless, this old house groans and creaks with any passing breeze. The wooden siding is grayscale and dingy, the windows drooping like a haggard face. The first floor has a dining room, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all small and claustrophobic. The chairs in the dining room will occasionally twist in another direction, or the table will rattle threateningly against the rug. A chest along the far wall is filled with several granny-square crocheted blankets. A few rats can be heard digging around in the kitchen just over the sound of incessant, unseen flies. The stove works, but is wood-burning, and the pop of any wood used sounds like a pain-filled wail. The bathroom is also functioning, but the tub water sometimes becomes rusty and gets cold very fast while the toilet periodically shoots water from the bowl like a bidet.
Upstairs, the house is split into four mothball scented rooms with two aged twin beds each (eight total). The bedding is dusty and paper thin, so any shadows haunting the hall at night can almost be seen through the sheets. Every morning at witching hour, moaning, crying, laughter, and walking can be heard on the floor below, on the stairs, and in the bedrooms.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● The Swamp ● Behind the house lies the vestiges of what was once a charming pond. The green, brackish water beneath the barren trees pops from algae gas and an earthy and pungent smell permeates the area. Hopping the eastern stones leads to an island in the center where the ground is covered by a permanent pentagram. There is a single spindly tree on the island, and the face of its trunk has the carving of a door burnt into the bark.
The swamp will now open to reveal a natural staircase. Descending it will offer curiosities beyond imagine.
● The Pyre ● An enormous, ever-burning bonfire surrounded by five benches and other extra crate seating. A large table sits at the southernmost point, and on the opposite side is an equally as large notice board filled with strange profiles and a copy of a rulebook. There are now pens and paper here to leave notes on the bulletin board or for writing messages for crows. Basking in the warmth of the fire feels mentally rejuvenating and comforting, a perfect place to hang out with others and cook food. Staring into the fire makes all else in the background recede into the shadows of the mind.
Next to the bulletin board sits a set of small, handsome shelves from Ebonbriar Academy, loaded with books. The books have been sorted by genre, and a note attached to the top of the shelves in neat handwriting reads:
Scawwy Library
A place of solace for all.
If you take a book, please return it once you've finished. Feel free to contribute books if you have them and would like to share. Thank you!
For your reference, the books on the shelves include these.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
To the northeast, a stream curves south, making for prime pool party real-estate, or even a place to bathe. Just don’t swim after dark.
● The Barn ● Through the double doors of the rustic and bland barn, the first floor is spacious and smells of fresh straw. On one end are two empty, clean horse stalls, and while there isn’t a single horse to be found, periodically neighing or hoof clacking can be heard while in another area. Nearby is a chest with seven scratchy, flannel blankets. The southern side sports some quaint windows and a table covered by a rug, crates, and a single magically lit lantern. Rats (which aren’t six-feet tall, or bipedal thankfully) chitter and sometimes pop unexpectedly out of their hiding spots in the straw. A set of stairs leads to the loft above, a space filled with nothing but familiar straw bedding. A single, large window opens in the loft at the front of the barn, and in the distance, the bonfire rolls and toils. Outside to the north, two troughs can be plugged and filled with warm water as makeshift baths.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● Abandoned Theater ● The exterior of the theater is hanging on by a thread, and even the trees have seen much better days. Two elegant but wilting doors open into a space more dilapidated than the outside of the building. And more… clownified? Thirteen benches litter the auditorium, some in decent condition and many others close to breaking apart, but all of them covered in the remnants of multi-colored confetti. The stage has seen much better days even with the enthusiastic strips of old banner at the back exclaiming CLOW- KING RETU—! Cracks in the flooring stretch from left and right stage all the way to the proscenium, and those traversing the stage floor should use caution lest they crash through to the trap room below. Crates and boxes are stuffed with brittle unused balloons, a broken ukulele, a stained deck of cards, and dried-up face paint.
A chest near the bottom of the stage has a handful of colorful, patchwork blankets and pillows inside.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● Refectory ● Food is served at places on the tables for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, though what’s offered is tasteless and without spice. The sounds of tireless culinary work rattle away in the kitchen; however, opening the door reveals an empty and quiet room with a cold stove. Eating here in the wide, harmonic room fills diners with a longing for some type of faith, not necessarily religious, but in something, in anything. The front room can fit approximately twenty people at a time before becoming overcrowded, and a door to the side leads down into the lit cellar. A long wooden bar has been added to the wall of the cellar below, turning it into a winery and bar with several easy to open barrels of aged alcoholic grape juice. The liquid in the barrels are always at different levels when checked, even if no one has been around to have a drink.
● The Mortuary ● An industrial, cold building with no windows, brown-stained floors, and the metallic smell of blood. Five adult, wooden coffins sit neatly in a row near two metal surgical tables. Often, scratching can be heard from inside one of the coffins. Opening any of the lids reveals only an empty nest of plush velvet lining, perfect for long naps out of the sun. If the lanterns on the walls are still too bright, there is a tiny basement level with two extra coffins, not a sliver of sunlight or lamplight to be found. Additionally, the basement houses a chest with several velvet blankets inside.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● The Church ● A modest building with a single pitched steeple whose bell in the center has lost its clapper. The inside is mostly homely, but full of the reverence that comes with peace and silence. Every wall has at least one giant, stained-glass window, a pictorial progression of the rise and divine instatement of a Sabbatic goat. Six pews can accommodate sitting or sleeping. The book on the altar at the front is labeled Holy Bible, but the words on the inside are written in a ghastly and scratching, unreadable language of runes. Beside the altar is a small baptism pool, though the water is murky red. Sometimes, when drifting to sleep, or bowing in prayer, a phantom bell loudly rings a couple of times from above. The chest in the corner holds a handful of drop cloths and hassock cushions.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● The Cemetery ● Surprisingly less eerie than the church, the cemetery smells like freshly tilled soil and burdens those entering with a mantle of gentle sorrow. The tombstones are worn and broken with age, the real testament to how little lingers after death aside from memory. A single, very old shovel is here propped on one of the gravestones. Tarry here too long and the voices of the known departed whisper over a shoulder, or visions of them flicker in and out of the corner of the eye. At night, the only light here is of the stars above in the sky and the burning bonfire in the distance.
● Haunted House ● Light-less and lifeless, this old house groans and creaks with any passing breeze. The wooden siding is grayscale and dingy, the windows drooping like a haggard face. The first floor has a dining room, a kitchen, and a bathroom, all small and claustrophobic. The chairs in the dining room will occasionally twist in another direction, or the table will rattle threateningly against the rug. A chest along the far wall is filled with several granny-square crocheted blankets. A few rats can be heard digging around in the kitchen just over the sound of incessant, unseen flies. The stove works, but is wood-burning, and the pop of any wood used sounds like a pain-filled wail. The bathroom is also functioning, but the tub water sometimes becomes rusty and gets cold very fast while the toilet periodically shoots water from the bowl like a bidet.
Upstairs, the house is split into four mothball scented rooms with two aged twin beds each (eight total). The bedding is dusty and paper thin, so any shadows haunting the hall at night can almost be seen through the sheets. Every morning at witching hour, moaning, crying, laughter, and walking can be heard on the floor below, on the stairs, and in the bedrooms.
Out front, a large, wooden mailbox is sitting on a sturdy pole. There is enough room for all deliveries for every individual assigned to this housing.
● The Swamp ● Behind the house lies the vestiges of what was once a charming pond. The green, brackish water beneath the barren trees pops from algae gas and an earthy and pungent smell permeates the area. Hopping the eastern stones leads to an island in the center where the ground is covered by a permanent pentagram. There is a single spindly tree on the island, and the face of its trunk has the carving of a door burnt into the bark.
The swamp will now open to reveal a natural staircase. Descending it will offer curiosities beyond imagine.
● The Pyre ● An enormous, ever-burning bonfire surrounded by five benches and other extra crate seating. A large table sits at the southernmost point, and on the opposite side is an equally as large notice board filled with strange profiles and a copy of a rulebook. There are now pens and paper here to leave notes on the bulletin board or for writing messages for crows. Basking in the warmth of the fire feels mentally rejuvenating and comforting, a perfect place to hang out with others and cook food. Staring into the fire makes all else in the background recede into the shadows of the mind.
Next to the bulletin board sits a set of small, handsome shelves from Ebonbriar Academy, loaded with books. The books have been sorted by genre, and a note attached to the top of the shelves in neat handwriting reads:
A place of solace for all.
If you take a book, please return it once you've finished. Feel free to contribute books if you have them and would like to share. Thank you!
For your reference, the books on the shelves include these.
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mygodlocations ✦ statuses ✦ ic profiles
Audiences ✦ reporting ✦ private conversations
murder proposals ✦ rulebook
FULL NAVIGATION
WEEK 2
A desolate two-lane roadway winding through fog, trees, and hills for about a mile. No cars or trucks rumble down the road, though occasionally, white apparitions can be seen disappearing into the trees. Reaching the end of the road envelopes travelers in fog and loops them to the beginning once more. Along the journey, several eerie places spring out of the fog into view.
The store itself has rows and rows of shelves filled with snack foods as well as freezers along the back walls packed with water, sodas, and beers. The lights inside are so white and harsh they feel draining, and after spending several hours in the building, the uncertain dread of being watched seeps into every bone. The counter at the front is unmanned, but no matter how long of a wait, no one ever comes. Cigarettes are just out of reach on the wall behind the counter, and a case of lottery scratch-offs and 5-hour energy shots crowd the space where items go to be rung up.
In the back corner are two doors: one is a grungy, halfway clean bathroom; the second is a staff room only as big as a closet space where a small server buzzes to keep the split-screen camera monitor alive. Each camera points at a different area of the station, two inside, two outside (front and back). Watching the feed doesn’t reveal much for a long time, but every so often, a figure can be seen looming in the shadows of the building, especially when the lights flicker off.
● Toyama Residence ● This old minka house, sitting in endless night, has become dilapidated and overgrown by weeds. A single dirt path from the gate cuts through the brush straight to the creaking engawa and frosted-screen sliding front door. The genkan is nothing more than dirt which has turned into mud from an abundance of stale-smelling water, a shoe stone, and planks of wood on the other side welcoming visitors up into the first section of the house.
The dated exterior clashes with the transplanted interior decor from the 80s and 90s, and despite having electricity, none of the lights work. Most of the individual rooms are filled with tatami flooring except for the washroom and kitchen, and the brittle rice paper of the sliding doors have all been torn or ripped out. One of the front rooms has a small irori fire pit. Flickers of figures pass through the holes. Sometimes, a figure may be standing at the end of a hallway, or across through the sliding doors of several rooms. There and gone again.
There are two additional levels: a second floor, up a set of steep stairs; and an attic, up a ladder on the second story. A lot of old, hoarded junk spills out of the rooms into the hallways. Musty clothing, boxes, furniture, broken heirlooms and collectibles; handed down mementos mix with the modern age like a room with a kotatsu, a television, and video cassette player.
Dank, shadowy bedrooms fill the second floor where remnants of occupants have been left behind in time. The ladder into the attic spills straight into a room covered in rows and rows of dusty Ichimatsu dolls. It’s difficult to tell if they move their eyes or their heads. One way here, another way there.
Outside, around the side of the house along another dirt path is a single outhouse with a hole in the ground. Low, scratchy whispering occasionally rises up from the depths of the dark hole.
● The Side Rooms ● A surreal, eerie labyrinth of different rooms stretched into the distance by a liminal space. This area can only be stumbled upon accidentally through a door in the Toyama Residence, or the Gas-N-Pass station. All who enter become lost within for some length of time; to the outside world, only about an hour, but to the lost it could be minutes, hours, days. Rooms are lit or dark, high or low. Some are upside down. Some are filled with pools. Some have strange geometric structures, or holes, or warping hallways, or doors through doors through doors. The air is lukewarm and quiet.
Travelers inside feel watched and stalked. Some unseen creature is hunting all who venture through the rooms with an insatiable, curious hunger. The urge to keep something living inside of this dimension. As the pressure of being chased builds up, running away will finally lead anyone lost suddenly back to the main village as they pass through the next doorway.
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