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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 5
Standing at the bottom of the steps of a stone lighthouse brings the realization it is immersed in an all-consuming ocean. There is nothing in any direction except water, water, water. And foggy mist on the horizon. Up the steps is a large double, golden door left ajar, though it seems as if it shouldn't be open at all. Inside, lights wink on, illuminating a plaque on the back wall: A man chooses, a slave obeys. A two-person bathysphere awaits, and music plays gently from within. Hopping inside makes the round door shut, and the bathysphere drops through a glass tunnel 18 fathoms deep into the pit of the ocean.
Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? The bathysphere is lopped out of the tunnel and onto a rail above an expansive, modern underwater city. A screen flickers on in the bathysphere, running through a static reel of a confident and handsome man regaling riders with the story of his creation: an entire city built for artists without censor, scientists without morality, and great men who would not be constrained by the small. A city for gods.
The bathysphere arrives in a docking area connected to a building, and ELYSIUM is embossed on the plating of the opening. After decompression, the bathysphere rises into the building and opens, releasing all passengers. Glowing advertisement boards all around the room sell EVE ("Running on empty? Fill up with EVE!"), plasmid ("Pick your Plasmid and evolve!"), and ADAM ("With ADAM, there's no reason NOT to be beautiful!"). For as much as the city touts its shining, golden accomplishments, the interior is left dilapidated and in ruins after what could only be civil unrest.
There is also Dental, one room with a single chair and arms and arms of dental drills and picks attached to the base. If the Surgery Ward was bad, one can only imagine what would happen here.
Already dead? No problem! The Crematorium has a giant, ever-burning furnace where any twisted, freakish body can be wiped from existence and turned to ash.
● EDEN ● One respite in the city below the sea: a few rooms of ecology stolen from the land above. A Tea Garden is lush with plants, small trees, and an abundance of flowers. Iron tables and chairs are set up, offering a place for food, drink, and gossip, or even love.
The tea garden flows straight into a Grotto where a small waterfall spills into a waist-deep pool of perpetually circulated, filtered water.
Adjacent to these is Atlas Farms, a hydroponic chamber full of artificially cultivated fruits and vegetables via growth lights.
● THE PAVILION ● A collection of merchant shops and restaurants for the wealthy and impressionable. Clothing, jewelry, and accessories are here in droves, but the styles follow 40s and 50s designs. Bookstores are filled with fiction and nonfiction, self help, and, of course, etiquette. Restaurants cater to all kinds of palettes and cultures via small, faceless robots, but every experience is elevated and rich. Vending machines are here, too, selling thin vials of ADAM - juice that makes you look and feel beautiful - and EVE - a 5-hour energy shot from hell. Both of these are extremely addictive and have bad withdrawal effects. A large ballroom sits at the end of the rows of shops, the inside left a mess from civil infighting.
● SOMNOVIUM ● The residential district is locked behind a large sliding, metal door.
Strange, blackish organic matter clings to the door itself,The black, organic material has been broken away by the opened door, leaving a mess on the floor, and a large robot is stuck in the same material on a wall nearby.Two thick tubes stretch from it to organic ports by the doorThe two thick tubes have been unplugged from the ports on the wall. A lever switch sits by the door, now turned off.The door hums with energy. The robot will tell those nearby in a man's voice it's very hurt and needs help, a doctor maybe, repeatedly; he always ends his sentences with, "Would you kindly?"The robot has become dormant and unresponsive.The large door has slid away, leaving behind an opening which leads straight into a spacious, open foyer full of elegant and rich architecture and decor marred by the mess of infighting. There are benches and chairs for sitting and an empty reception desk at the back. Two open archways on each side lead to two separate wings of high-end apartments neatly stacked side by side along two stories. Each room is furnished like a lavish penthouse: a den, a full kitchen, several bedrooms, and a big bathroom.
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