Capital Parkland - Part 06 - Spruce Grove Continued: Meet the neighbours!

 

Species of Spruce Grove

Bogey

Bogeys fit into Spruce Grove like raccoons at a midnight tailgate — loud, clever, shameless, and somehow always knowing the shortcut through a maze of purgatorial cul-de-sacs. In the Elven Trailer Court, Bogeys are the barter-kings, salvage-scouts, and neon-lit dealmakers who thrive in the chaotic blend of faerie glamour and Alberta pragmatism. Many claim ancestry from fey courts or forgotten dimensions, but most Bogeys insist they “showed up, liked the rent, and stayed.” Their family compounds occupy the densest pockets of the trailer-spiral, where stacked RVs and storage sheds become multilevel warrens alive with whispered schemes and friendly con-jobs. Bogeys trade in everything the elves won’t touch — broken bug zappers, cursed hubcaps, off-brand arcane texts, and suspicious barrels of “mystery diesel.”

Despite their reputation for trickery, they’re fiercely loyal once an adventuring party becomes “family,” banding together with frightening efficiency against threats like Bubba Yaga, the Ringborn, or an overdue property spirit. They get along best with humans (easy marks) and gnomes (dangerously compatible), and view Spruceling elves as delightful neighbours who haven’t yet learned how to haggle properly. Small, fast, cunning, and blessed with a strange honour among thieves, Bogeys are the Grove’s unofficial diplomats, smugglers, fixers, and chaos-gremlins — indispensable in a place where glamour bends reality and everything, even a parking pass, has hidden value.

Elves

In Spruce Grove, the Elves are refugees twice over — first from their ancestral forests, twisted or consumed during the Hodgepocalypse, and second from themselves. Forced to abandon ancient customs, they rebuilt their society amid abandoned cul-de-sacs, half-flooded parks, and a sprawl of rusted RV lots. What emerged was something new: a people who fused timeless fae mysticism with the improvisational grit of central Albertan suburbia. Whether Verdant, Exalted, or Resplendent in origin, all three subspecies adapted in wildly different ways to survive the Grove—then blended until the distinctions blurred like Northern Lights reflected in motor-oil puddles.

Relationships define Spruce Grove Elves far more than lineage now. They treat the trailer park like a living organism: every cul-de-sac a clan circle, every stacked trailer a branch of the family tree, every propane fire pit a sacred hearth. They barter secrets with Bogeys, debate philosophy with Trollitariots, and treat Humans as honorary cousins who need constant guidance (and occasional babysitting). Their glamour is fueled not by moonlit glades but by neon bug zappers, banjo chords, and the hum of old power lines. In Spruce Grove, an Elf is still an Elf — graceful, long-lived, and eerily perceptive — but they’ve traded the sylvan aloofness of their ancestors for community, chaos, and the strange, stubborn magic of a town that refused to die.

The Ghost Magpies  

The Eternal Busybodies of Spruce Grove, Ghost Magpies drift through Spruce Grove like half-remembered pranks given feathery form, flickering between bird and cloaked stranger depending on their mood or how much mischief they smell. Locals insist they’re either ancient elven omen-spirits, dreamstuff blown in from the highways’ psychic winds, or the recycled souls of magpies who stole so much junk they eventually ascended. In the trailer labyrinth, they perch on satellite dishes, steal glitter cans, and reorganize your RV keys to watch you curse. Though compulsive tricksters, they secretly protect the Grove from bullies — especially abusive war-rig crews and predatory fae — coordinating in murder-swarms to humiliate wrongdoers with pranks so karmic they become legends. Their hidden “trash hoards” out in the ditches are infamous treasure piles, containing everything from magical hubcaps to lost IDs and artifacts stolen from people who absolutely deserved to lose them.

Trollitariot

In Spruce Grove, the Trollitariot are the backbone of everything that doesn’t collapse — and half the things that do, because they enjoy rebuilding them. Drawn from the Dreamtime by the irresistible promise of “real work that actually matters,” they’ve settled into the trailer spirals as self-appointed fixers, mutterers, and midnight road-patchers. While the elves weave glamour into satellite dishes and neon signs, the Trollitariot handle the physical labour: stacking RVs three high, reinforcing chicken-legged huts, and building “temporary” bridges that somehow become spiritual landmarks. They grumble constantly about elven nonsense — “sparkly weirdos with poor load-bearing instincts” — yet take deep pride in being needed.

Despite their grouchy tone, Spruce Grove’s Trollitariot form genuine bonds with the locals. Once a Spruceling earns their respect (usually by working a full shift without whining), they’ll have a friend for life — one who’ll quietly repair their Airstream in the dead of night or stare down an angry banshee with equal parts stubbornness and profanity. Their Dreamtime heritage gives them long ears and wiry frames, making them look like giant Bogeys stretched through a funhouse mirror. Still, their attitudes are pure Alberta: hard work, blunt talk, and a suspicious fascination with power tools. In a town full of magical chaos and glitter-soaked rituals, the Trollitariot keep things grounded — even if they complain the whole time.

 Geography & Districts of Spruce Grove

“A city of cul-de-sacs, chicken-legged RVs, and glamour that smells faintly of propane.”

Spruce Grove didn’t simply survive the Hodgepocalypse — it rearranged itself. The ley lines twisted the old suburban grid into spirals, pockets, and loops where glamour pools like melted snow. Trailers, RVs, lifted trucks, and mutated playgrounds became anchors for wandering magic. The place is equal parts prairie, faerie realm, and the world’s largest off-brand campground.

The glamour is strongest here, fed by thousands of rusted mailboxes acting as accidental foci. Elves treat the Loop as both a defensive perimeter and a spiritual pilgrimage way; completing a full circuit is considered a rite of adulthood, assuming you don’t vanish into a Mirror Cul-de-Sac first.

Landmarks of Spruce Grove

The heart of Spruce Grove — a spiralled mass of stacked trailers, chicken-legged RVs, wandering deck-platforms, and haunted port-a-sheds. The architecture continues to grow vertically, horizontally, and occasionally sideways into other realities.

Border Paving Combat Grounds — The Asphalt Arena

What was once Border Paving is now a sacred battleground where hot-blooded warriors, magical truck-tenders, and glamoured road spirits settle disputes through burnouts, wheelie rituals, and chrome-blessed trials. The asphalt is always warm, always humming, and sometimes shifts underfoot like a restless beast. The elves say the ground remembers the machines that thundered over it.
Plot Hook: A mysterious crack has opened in the asphalt, exhaling hot winds and whispered challenges. The Chrome Father demands a champion step forward before the ground gets hungry.

Central Park / Borderline Green — The Shimmerfield

What used to be a calm suburban park now pulses with bioluminescent grass, ley-shock mushrooms, and trickster spirits that take the form of magpies made of stolen sunglasses. The elves use the Shimmerfield for diplomatic gatherings, bardic competitions, and the occasional dance-fight with fae rivals from Stony Plain.
Plot Hook: A growing bald patch in the park is devouring magic at an alarming rate. If untreated, it will become a “Null Zone” — deadly to elves, wild magic, and glamoured tech alike.

The Cranklot — The Chrome Father’s Court

The Boxco parking lot transcended its humble origins: now it’s a ritual ground of lifted rigs, bumper-charmed battle trucks, and worshippers of the Chrome Father. The shrine — an old, lifted Ford decorated like a Norse altar — hums with mechanical divinity and occasionally revs on its own.
Plot Hook: The Chrome Father has gone silent, his headlights dimmed. Rumors whisper of a curse spreading from the automotive aisles — and a rival deity rising from St. Albert.

Eggspire Labs — The Poultry Prism Tower

Hidden on the outskirts, near the industrial zones, Eggspire Labs is a warped, egg-shaped research facility built from fungal crystals and retrofitted trailers. It’s where rogue scientists, poultry seers, and psychic chickens undertake “cluckstodian rituals” forbidden by both elven law and common sense.
Plot Hook: A feathered blackout has fallen over the district — no chicken crows at dawn. Eggspire is sealing its doors, and the psychic static is growing louder.

The Faerie Ring Playground — The Laughing Slide

Once a cheerful children’s park, now a supernatural node where the plastic play structure has become a semi-sentient oracle. Its slides whisper secrets, breakups, and uncomfortable truths about your future; its swings creak in impossible rhythms. Local parents warn children not to accept “gifts” from the monkey bars.
Plot Hook: The playground has begun abducting adult memories and storing them inside its tunnels. The PCs must retrieve stolen childhoods without becoming part of the play structure themselves.

The Grain Elevator Tower — The Verti-Barn

The last surviving grain elevator of old Spruce Grove didn’t fall — it grew. Layer by layer, elves stacked shipping containers, RV shells, and scavenged barn wood until the Verti-Barn reached the clouds, pulsing with ley energy that smells faintly of oats and diesel. At night, glowing runes drift down like fireflies.
Plot Hook: A rogue spirit has begun manipulating the Verti-Barn’s machinery, causing containers to rearrange themselves into ominous shapes. Someone (or something) is trying to send a message through architecture.

The Horizon Stage — The Neon Elk Opera Hall

The Horizon Stage became a haven for elven glam-opera after the world cracked. Now holographic elk, glowing antler-spirits, and neon-draped performers reenact sagas that alter fate and summon storms. The audience is required to wear glamoured earplugs — “for safety.”
Plot Hook: A performer has gone missing mid-aria, pulled into a parallel echo of Spruce Grove’s future. The show demands the PCs replace her… whether they can sing or not.

Jack’s Drive-In — The Throne of Grease & Prophecy

Jack’s Drive-In survived the end of the world simply by refusing to change; in the Hodgepocalypse, its stubbornness became holy. The Court of Jacks rules from its deep-fried temple, a shimmering house of neon grease-sigils and enchanted fry vats that occasionally whisper the future. It’s the only place where a burger can open a third eye — or close one forever.
Plot Hook: A prophecy burned into the fry grease foretells a disaster the Court refuses to acknowledge. The PCs must decode the sizzling message before the “Grease Eclipse” arrives.

Jubilee Park — The Green Hollow

Jubilee Park, once a family recreation area, is now a fae-infused forest pocket cradled by glamour and warped playground roots. The elves treat it as a sacred retreat where spirits of old shade trees debate the ethics of picnics and guide initiates through rites of camouflage, patience, and “hiding from your ex.” On full moons, the park’s amphitheatre opens into a natural portal to the Dreamtime.

Plot Hook: Children have gone missing during glamour swells, taken by a rogue tree-spirit who believes they are reincarnations of ancient fae nobles. The PCs must negotiate in the Hollow — where every lie becomes a vine.

The Library of Lost Parking Passes — Cartographers of the Before-Times

Once a modest municipal library, now a maze of enchanted road atlases, glowing paper maps, and sentient parking passes that flap like moths. Elven librarians guard the knowledge of “old roadways,” claiming that pre-Hodgepocalypse traffic patterns are keys to future prophecy. Visitors must pass the Dewey Ritual (alphabetical combat) to gain entry.
Plot Hook: A vital map that shows a forgotten offramp into EdTown’s dreamscape has vanished. Rumours say it walked off on its own — and may be plotting something.

The Tri Leisure Trials — The Water-Warp Rec Centre

The Tri Leisure Centre has become a cathedral of recreational chaos: waterslides that bend into other planes, diving boards that rebound with impossible force, and an ice rink patrolled by Zamboni golems who groom the ice and the soul. The elves use the slides as test chambers for agility rites and teenage dares that sometimes end in different dimensions.
Plot Hook: A waterslide has begun spitting out strange artifacts and lost travellers covered in glitter and frost. The PCs must trace the slide's path before the portal widens.

Westland Market Mall (Dead Mall of Echoes)

Once a modest shopping center, Westland Market Mall is now a haunted retail labyrinth patrolled by the Echo Shoppers — glitches of past customers looping in spectral routines. The elves use the mall’s central court as a neutral meeting ground for diplomacy, trade talks, and ritual catwalk duels. Some say a forgotten anchor store still exists behind a sealed gate, containing relics of consumerism too powerful for mortal hands.

Plot Hook: The Echo Shoppers have begun manifesting physically and stealing authentic goods. To stop them, the PCs must enter the “Back Hall,” a maze of half-remembered stores where nostalgia hunts intruders like a predator.

Travel Notes of Spruce Grove

"The road lies. Trust your boots, not your GPS." — Old Spruceling proverb

The Dreampath Slip

When the highway blocks you and the GPS deceives you, the locals always say the same thing:
“Take the Dreampaths, but don’t think too hard or they’ll think back.”

Dreampaths are faint ley-lines worn into the land by nightly banjo magic and wandering spirits of the Grove. They let travellers bypass curses but walking them means your thoughts become scenery.

5e Mechanics:

Entering a Dreampath

·       PCs must succeed on a DC 13 Charisma saving throw to keep their identity aligned.

·       On a failure, one dream or memory manifests physically for the next hour (GM choice — an NPC, a creature, a fear, a childhood pet, etc.).

·       On a critical failure (nat 1), the group encounters a Glamour Duplicate: a friendly or hostile copy of one-party member.

Adventure Hook (Mini):

A band of Spruceling kids is lost on a Dreampath, and their dream-creatures have started wandering into the Grove.

Elven Glamour Mucks With GPS

The Sprucelings’ magic saturates the air like cheap incense — fragrant, persistent, and absolutely impossible to ignore. The result is a veil of illusions that scrambles digital navigation. Apps glitch, screens flicker, and even mundane compasses spin like they’re auditioning for a metal band. Travellers often find themselves arriving at the wrong Wanderstop, the wrong cul-de-sac, or occasionally the wrong version of Spruce Grove entirely. Some swear there’s a mirror town of eldritch green skies and power lines shaped like runes.

5e Mechanics:

Spruceling Glamour Field

·       Creatures relying on technological or magical navigation (including find the path, locate object, and locate creature) must roll a DC 15 Wisdom save or the spell/device leads them to the wrong place (often dangerous).

·       Creatures traveling traditionally (landmarks, sun, vibes) gain advantage on navigation checks within Spruce Grove.

·       Failing a navigation check by 5 or more leads PCs to a random faerie-touched location (playground mushroom ring, abandoned Wanderstop, Chrome Father’s Shrine, etc.).

Adventure Hook (Mini):

A Circle K from another dimension keeps overlapping with the real one — and something is watching from the slushie machine.

Highway 16 Is Cursed

Nobody knows whether the curse predates the Hodgepocalypse or if the highway finally snapped under decades of construction delays — but today the Yellowhead is a living, shifting creature of orange cones and conjured inconvenience. Lanes realign when you blink. Detours fold in on themselves like origami. Workers in reflective vests appear and vanish like ghosts, always waving you toward your doom. Clearing the barricades never helps; they regrow by dawn, reborn from lingering glamour and municipal spite.

5e Mechanics:

Highway 16 Construction Aura

·       Whenever a creature travels along Highway 16 for more than 10 minutes, they must succeed on a DC 14 Wisdom (Survival) check or become magically redirected to a random location within 1d6 miles.

·       Clearing or dispelling the barriers requires a successful DC 18 Intelligence (Arcana) check, but the effect returns at sunrise regardless.

·       Casting dispel magic suppresses the construction for 10 minutes, but doing so summons a spectral flagger (use Will-o’-Wisp stats, but holding a sign).

Adventure Hook (Mini):

A construction crew of faerie hard hats has unionized and gone rogue, demanding magical concessions from the Chrome Father before allowing anyone through town.

The Wrong Wanderstop

Abandoned since the early days of the Hodgepocalypse, the Wanderstop near the Grove is famous for flickering in and out of reality like a faint radio station. Some nights it’s boarded up. Some nights it’s pristine. Some nights it’s… alive.

5e Mechanics:

Roll 1d6 when the party is lured here:
1 — Haunted by Ringborn children
2 — Portal to the Barbacoa Spire
3 — Glamour illusion masking a bandit camp
4 — Dream-Ale barrels left behind (dangerous)
5 — Wanderstop staff from another timeline are still working
6 — The store tries to eat the party politely

Local Threats:

Bubba Yaga — The Airstream Hag

Bubba Yaga roams the backroads of Spruce Grove in a rust-pitted Airstream mounted on a pair of spindly metal legs, clattering along like a drunken insect god. Her propane tanks hiss like angry spirits, and she is followed everywhere by the smell of burnt bacon that never comes from anything cooking. Once an honoured member of the Kaylna Country Baba Sisterhood, Bubba was exiled for “culinary crimes against magic,” which she insists were misunderstandings involving enchanted mustard and an unfortunate relative. Now she cruises the Grove picking fights, trading gossip that can hex entire neighbourhoods, and challenging strangers to spectral hot-dog eating contests where losing means your shadow smells like onions for a year.
Plot Use: Bubba has declared someone at the party “her new grandchild” and will not take no for an answer.

The Ringborn — Playground Revenants

The Ringborn are children taken by the mushroom circles of the Faerie Ring Playground and returned… modified. Their eyes glow with cold bioluminescence, their movements swing and sway like invisible seesaws, and they speak in voices that echo faintly with dozens of harmonics — as though someone else is always whispering under their words. They gather near playgrounds at dusk, gliding rather than running, perpetually playing games whose rules make no sense to mortal minds. Locals say the Ringborn are neither harmed nor benevolent; they are emissaries of the playground spirits, forever watching and occasionally luring adults into elaborate games where losing means you wake up days later with bark for skin.
Plot Use: One Ringborn keeps appearing near the PCs, silently inviting them to “come play one round.”

Sparkbucks — The Sign-Nest Faerie Deer

Sparkbucks are miniature faerie deer no larger than starlings, each one carved from glimmers of headlights and iced coffee dreams. They build intricate nests inside the glowing signage of the old Mercer’s Messkits drive-thrus, eating electrical hums and dripping light from their antlers like neon sap. Their presence is both blessing and menace: Sparkbucks bring luck to those who treat them with respect but will aggressively kick at anyone who disrupts their nesting grounds — causing the signs to flicker, warp text, or display eldritch donut recipes. On rare nights, herds of Sparkbucks leap from sign to sign, forming constellations shaped like pastries and guiding travellers off cursed highways.
Plot Use: A Sparkbuck herd has gone into rut and is defending a drive-thru with lethal adorableness.

The Taint of the West — Spiritual Mildew

The Taint of the West is a spreading metaphysical mold, a psychic mildew that seeps into Spruce Grove like a bad vibe with teeth. It starts as a feeling — that faint sense of being watched by something unimpressed with your life choices — then manifests physically as blotches of iridescent damp creeping across walls, signs, and flesh. Those infected don’t fall sick; they become compelled to share unsolicited opinions on behalf of entities lurking beyond the Hodgepocalypse veil. They gain influence, followers, and viral meme-magic powers, but lose all sense of agency as they become hosts for eldritch marketing campaigns. No one knows what the Taint wants, only that it spreads fastest through small talk and passive-aggressive comments.
Plot Use: Someone the PCs know is suddenly spouting eerily specific messages — clearly not their own.

Wight Coyotes — Dubstep Howlers of the Ditches

Wight Coyotes prowl the fields around Century Road, spectral and lanky, with glowing rib-lines and eyes like dying dashboard LEDs. Their howl is a distorted, bass-heavy dubstep wail that rattles windshields and curdles milk for miles. These undead scavengers drift through fences, circle campsites, and mimic the sounds of engines idling to lure travellers off the road. Though they rarely attack outright, they are drawn to emotional distress — feeding on fear, heartbreak, and road rage like psychic carrion. Farmers claim they can be appeased with a perfectly tuned FM radio, but no one agrees on the station.
Plot Use: A pack of Wight Coyotes is following the party, remixing their campfire songs into unsettling dubstep echoes.

Adventure Hooks:

The Triple Jack Challenge: The PCs are dared to uncover the secrets hidden in Jack's greasy triple-stack burger. Eat it and see visions. Or die trying.

The Mushroom Moon Fair: A carnival appears in the playground ring. Prizes include memory candies, soul rides, and an accordion that can make you dance forever.

Bubba Yaga's BBQ Off: She's hosting a cookoff and everyone in town is cursed to compete… or become ingredients.

#Hodgepocalypse #TTRPG #DnD5e #Worldbuilding #SpruceGrove #UrbanFae #PostApocComedy

#canada #alberta #edmonton #dungeonsanddragons #apocalypse 

Capital Parkland - Part 05 - Spruce Grove: The Elven Trailer Court

 

“Where the fae folk wear camo, the huts have wheels, and the banjos bite back.”

A mythic enclave of post-apocalyptic elves who abandoned the forests and built their shimmering domain in a spiralled, ever-growing trailer park — an architectural labyrinth of stacked RVs, converted buses, and dancing, legged huts.

No longer bound by the old sylvan laws, these Sprucelings wield glamour magic through neon signs, bug zappers, and satellite dishes pointed at unknown stars. Their ley lines run through sewer pipes and rusted-out pick-up trucks.

History

Before the Hodgepocalypse twisted it into an elven trailer labyrinth, Spruce Grove was a prairie city shaped by farms, rail lines, and the steady sprawl of suburbia. Originally a small agricultural community clustered around the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway, the town grew through waves of settlers, grain farmers, and commuters heading to and from Edmonton. By the late 20th century, it was known for its hockey arenas, bedroom-community calm, and the iconic Jack’s Drive-In, which fueled generations of road-trippers along Highway 16A. But when the ley lines cracked and the forests went strange, the Spruce Grove that once boasted quiet cul-de-sacs and spray parks became something else entirely — a place where the old farming grit fused with faerie glamour, and the trailer courts rose like stacked fortresses in defiance of both gravity and common sense.

Post-Hodgepocalypse Origin

When the Hodgepocalypse tore through the Edmonton Capital Parkland, Spruce Grove was one of the first commuter towns to be abandoned. Its proximity to Highway 16 — once a lifeline, then a cursed fault line of collapsing reality — made it too unstable for most human survivors to hold. What remained were derelict subdivisions, silent strip malls, empty sports fields, and long rows of trailer courts left behind when the last evacuation convoys went east. Into this vacuum came waves of elven refugees from the shattered Whispering Woodlands west of Stony Plain, a people who had lost their forests but not their instinct for weaving settlement and magic together. They wandered east following faint ley echoes that clung stubbornly to power poles, drainage ditches, and rail lines — signs that Spruce Grove itself was trying to regrow something.

At first, the elves meant only to shelter in the abandoned trailer courts, but the Hodgepocalypse had changed them: their glamour adapted to metal, plastic, rust, and neon. Trees no longer answered their call, but old RVs did. Trailer frames hummed with residual ley charge, satellite dishes reflected dreams instead of signals, and the stacked remains of mobile homes formed natural spirals that echoed their ancestral tree-cities. What was meant to be a temporary refuge became a cultural mutation. The “Sprucelings,” as other survivors called them, found identity in reinvention: elves who traded bows for jury-rigged crossbows, robes for denim, and forest hymns for banjo magic. The town became theirs — not an imitation of their past, but a neon-lit, grease-stained evolution of it — a place where fae glamour clung to chicken-legged RVs and the spirit of the suburbs twisted into something mythic.

Culture & Beliefs of Spruce Grove

"Where faerie grace meets farm-team grease."

Spruce Grove today is a paradox in motion — a place where old elven elegance has been duct-taped to Central Alberta grit and somehow made stronger for it. Life here hums with a kind of trailer-park mysticism: half poetry, half piston grease. Conversations drift between twang-laden folk sayings and lyrical elven metaphors; blessings are given with equal parts glitter and gunpowder; and every resident, whether fae-born or trailer-raised, knows how to read the moods of both spirits and carburetors. The elves of the Grove are lanky, tattooed, neon-scarred wanderers, their skin marked with runes and bumper stickers, their bows hammered out of satellite dishes, their familiars hopped up with cybernetic jackrabbit optics scavenged from the industrial edges of the Yellowhead.

Music is the Grove’s actual heartbeat. Banjo magic is not only real — it’s regulated. The Enchanted Stringers are a half-bardic order, half-outlaw biker gang, riding across the badlands on walking Winnebagos whose legs clatter like enormous chimes. Their jams don’t just sound good; they bend gravity, tilt perception, and set off every motion-sensor light within a kilometre. Even the most stoic locals will admit the whole world feels a little more alive when a Stringer’s riff echoes across the asphalt.

Core Beliefs & Trailer-Park Superstitions

The Gospel of the Glowbug
Bug zappers aren’t appliances — they’re altars. Every zap is a message from ancestors judging your choices, your cooking, or your last argument. Locals swear you can interpret the frequency like Morse code if you listen during a humid July night.

The Rite of the Fresh Coat
When someone moves into a new RV or finally manages to fix a long-dead trailer, the entire community gathers for the Fresh Coat — a ceremonial blast of glitter spray paint meant to “seal the vibes” and “keep the rot out.” In daylight, it looks chaotic. At dusk, it glows like an aurora trapped in aluminum siding.

The Spirit of the Empty Campsite
This invisible prairie trickster enforces etiquette at any campground, cul-de-sac, or unofficial RV gathering. Leave garbage behind, disrespect the fire pit, or steal someone’s folding chair, and you’ll trip over nothing repeatedly until you apologize out loud even if no one’s around. Especially if no one’s around.

Propane is Sacred Fire
Central Albertans already treated propane like a holy object, but the elves elevated it further. Disrespecting a BBQ with cheap briquettes is an actionable offence. A well-tuned tank is considered a guardian spirit, and seasoned pit-mages will lay hands on their grills and mutter prayers before lighting them.

Food Traditions of the Spruceling Elves

In Spruce Grove, cuisine is more than sustenance — it’s spellcraft, diplomacy, and sometimes full-contact recreation. The elves who claimed the abandoned suburb after the Hodgepocalypse quickly realized that Central Alberta cooking traditions were already halfway to faerie magic: smoke rising from a backyard grill like a divination ritual, perogy potlucks that bound entire neighbourhoods, and Tim Hortons drive-thrus that functioned as sacred gathering halls. They borrowed what they found, added a handful of glamour, and spiced it all with the stubborn wanderlust of trailer-folk.

Spruceling dishes are hearty, improvised, and deeply tied to their environment. Meals are cooked on repurposed propane tanks, enchanted griddles, and catalytic converter smokers. Ingredients include prairie-grown herbs struggling to survive the apocalypse, mushrooms coaxed from the ley-fungus web, and the local cyber-jackrabbits (who shed amazing pseudo-meat fibres, so nobody has to hunt them… usually). Their cooking is equal parts campfire tradition and arcane performance, with recipes delivered through song, smoke patterns, or the occasional prophetic grease splatter. Central Alberta comfort food meets faerie decadence — and the result is delicious, volatile, and occasionally sentient.

Elven Trailer Architecture of Spruce Grove

“When the trees fell, the trailers grew.”

Elven architecture traditionally weaves living branches, starlight, and flowing curves. In Spruce Grove, those same instincts collided with the detritus of the human world — RV lots, cul-de-sacs, rusted F-150 husks, and abandoned mobile homes — resulting in a style equal parts whimsical, practical, and deeply Albertan.

Where high elves once sculpted palaces from moonlit stone, the Sprucelings now stack RVs like building blocks of a new mythology. Trailers rest on top of school buses, hitch-mounted cabins lean at impossible angles, and entire cul-de-sacs spiral inward like a prairie crop circle engineered by a construction crew with ADHD and divine guidance.

Below is the full cultural breakdown.

The Principles of Elven Trailer Architecture

“Even in ruin, the elves still build with rhythm.”

 

1. Spiral Growth Pattern — The Arcane RV Ring

Spruce Grove’s trailer district forms a slow-growing spiral that mimics both traditional elven sacred geometry and local cul-de-sac urban planning. Trailers grow outward in rings as families expand, migrate, or get into feuds with the Court of Jacks.

The spiral’s movement is so culturally significant that if a trailer must be moved, it’s always to the following clockwise position — doing otherwise is considered bad luck and invites the Spirit of the Empty Campsite to steal your camp chairs.

2. Vertical Living — Stacked RV Totems

Elves build vertically in whimsical towers of:

·       fifth wheels

·       vintage Airstreams

·       half-scorched toy haulers

·       gutted school buses

·       chicken-legged mobile huts

A three-tiered stack is considered “standard.” A four-tier is “fancy.” Anything five or higher requires magical supports, reinforced propane beams, and someone to perform the Rite of the Fresh Coat while holding onto the top rail with a hockey stick.

Locals claim the towers sway in the wind like spruce trees — and that’s true, but only because the elves enchant them to do so. If you stay inside one during a windstorm, your dreams become movies about your past lives.

3. Living Trailers — The Roamhomes

Many trailers have developed personalities due to persistent exposure to glamour, ley-leaks, and the emotional intensity of rural life.

Common personalities include:

·       The Grumbler (hates winter)

·       The Wanderer (tries to walk away on its own)

·       The Romantic (plays country music when it detects flirting)

·       The Prepper (keeps spawning canned beans)

Some elves bond with their trailers for life. A few marry them.

No one judges.

4. Neon Glamour Lines

Instead of old-world runes carved into bark or stone, Spruce Grove elves carve their sigils into:

·       doorframes

·       propane tanks

·       floodlights

·       old Boxco shelves

·       bug zappers

At night, this glows like aurora-infused Christmas lights, creating a mystic ambience halfway between “Edmonton rave” and “rural holiday parade.”

Some lines flicker with moods. If the trailers start glowing purple, it means someone is lying. If they glow blue, it means a train from another plane is arriving soon.

5. The Sacred Hitchpoint — Heart of Every Home

For Sprucelings, the trailer hitch is the spiritual center of the dwelling.

They hang protective amulets from it:

·       beer tabs strung like wind chimes

·       carved elk bones

·       LED strips scavenged from local electronic stores, such as Northern Byte

·       tiny carved runestones shaped like pickup tailgates

An unhallowed hitch invites calamity. Hitch blessings must be renewed at least once per season, preferably with banjo accompaniment.

6. Communal Decks & Shared Firepits

Trailer decks expand like tree roots, winding between neighbours to form:

·       elevated walkways

·       shared platforms

·       rooftop patios

·       makeshift amphitheatres

Elves gather here for nightly banjo duels, communal rib-smoking rituals, or the weekly airing of grievances where insults must be delivered in rhyming couplets.

Firepits are always circular, always glowing with propane magic, and always surrounded by folding chairs that decide who gets to sit based on personality alone.

(If the chair creaks at you, that’s a “no.”)

7. Satellite Dish Crossbows & Roof Magic

Roofs are sacred battlegrounds of creativity.

Elves mount enchanted:

·       satellite dish bows

·       neon weather vanes

·       wind turbines that hum at specific magical frequencies

·       bug-zapper lanterns that attract spirit-flies

·       dreamcatchers woven from old Ethernet cables

A roof without decoration is considered “spiritually naked.”

8. Chicken-Leg Architecture (Alberta Bungalow Baba Yaga Style)

Some trailers have adopted legs due to residual Baba influence from Kaylna Country. These mobile huts walk around at night, settling where the ley-ditches feel warmest.

A chicken-legged RV becomes a family status symbol — unless it kicks your truck. Then it becomes a family curse.

9. Seasonal Transformations

Spruce Grove architecture changes based on the moon cycle and hockey schedule.

·       During full moons, trailers gain luminous fungal trim.

·       During Hockey playoff games, entire buildings hum with stress magic.

·       During long weekends, everything glows orange and smells faintly of hot dogs.

Signature Dishes of the Elven Trailer Court

Bannock of Binding

Adapted from traditional prairie cooking. When baked correctly, it seals deals, mends friendships, and anchors wandering spirits. When baked poorly, it explodes.

Barbacoa Ley-Ribs

Slow-cooked over sacred propane flames while the bard-smokers sing. The smoke plumes dance like tiny auroras. These ribs can reveal visions if eaten after midnight.

Dream-Ale Slushies

Created at the repurposed Tri Leisure Centre “brew gym.” A swirling, neon-blue drink that induces shared dreams. Popular at midnight bonfires and extremely dangerous during karaoke competitions.

Fairy-Dust Beaver Tails

Deep-fried pastries covered in glammed-up sugar. If you eat one without smiling, the pastry spirits will fix that.

Jackrabbit Jerky (Ethical, Usually)

Made from the shed cyber-fur of the local techno-hares. Tastes like sweet wildfire and pepper. Used to bribe familiars, children, and the occasional truck idol.

Poutine of Prophecy

A local cult classic. Curds squeak with ominous portents. Gravy shifts colour depending on the eater’s fate. Fae travellers claim that the mushrooms used in the gravy “remember things.”

Runic Chicken Fingers

A Spruce Grove staple. Marinated in mushroom-spirit brine and sizzled on rune-carved griddles, each strip has a faint glowing sigil that gives it a “kick.” Some kicks are psychic. A few are literal.

Cooking Rituals & Social Customs

The Blessing of the Potluck

Before any large feast, a designated banjo-druid plays a single string to harmonize the dishes so none of them become territorial or animate.

The Grill Council

Every long weekend, clan leaders gather around a circle of enchanted barbecues to settle disputes. Whoever produces the most flavourful smoke wins the argument.

The Midnight Snack Parade

Teens and trickster elves roam the spiral lanes offering sizzling bites of experimental foods. Some offer enlightenment. Some offer stomachaches. All offer chaos.

The Smokestack Signal

Neighbourhoods send coded smoke messages across the trailer-towers — part gossip, part weather report, part magical alarm system.

Spruce Grove Elf-Name Generator

Roll 1d6 for each category or mix and match freely:

First Names (Elven Base w/ Trailer Flare)

d6	Name
1	J'owin
2	Sammirion
3	Jimthas
4	Laurelgut
5	Randyllion
6	Treelane

Nicknames / Call Signs

d6	Nickname
1	“Greasebow”
2	“The Gaslight Kid”
3	“Banjo Elf”
4	“Slider”
5	“Chickenleg”
6	“Bubbleseeker”

Surnames (Trailer Park Gothic)

d6	Surname
1	Thunderpot
2	Pickerelbane
3	Von Doublewide
4	Silverpropane
5	Oakley of the Drainfield
6	D'Lenny

Fashion of the Spruce Grove Elves

“Glamour in the gutters, enchantment in the exhaust fumes.”

Spruce Grove’s elves don’t dress like their forest-dwelling cousins anymore. Once draped in moon-silk and leaf-woven gowns, they now celebrate a bold fusion of prairie thrift stores, classic fae ornamentation, and the aesthetic ghosts of the 70s, 80s, and 90s. Their look is simultaneously retro, magical, and proudly trailer-court couture.

Wherever you go in the Grove, you hear the same boast:
“We may live in doublewides, but we dress like royalty.”

Denim Runes & Trucker-Glam

The cornerstone of Spruceling fashion is the Rune-Jacket — a weather-beaten denim coat covered in stitched symbols, bumper stickers, and enchantments that glow when danger approaches. Each rune tells part of a family’s history: skid marks of past migrations, sigils of BBQ victories, and glittering decals gifted by the Faerie Court of Stacked Kegs.

Many elves wear trucker caps enchanted to never blow away, even in prairie stormwinds. Others swap caps for high 80s volumized hair, often held aloft by glamour magic and an irresponsible amount of hairspray (a highly flammable resource considered a status symbol).

Toque-Crowns & Extension-Cord Weaving

Nothing is more distinctly Spruceling than the Toque-Crown — a woollen hat woven with colour-coordinated extension cords, Christmas lights, or cable-TV wires scavenged from Ruined Radio Shack. These crowns hum softly when the wearer channels magic, and the glow can indicate mood, hunger, or how much propane remains in the communal tank.

The very fancy elves weave CAT-5 cabling into their winter hats, claiming it gives them “better mental bandwidth.”

Boots of the Shifting Gingham

Spruce Grove elves walk everywhere, often across cursed highways and ley-tangled trailer lanes. Their boots — usually steel-toed for safety and style — feature gingham patterns that shift with emotion. When calm, they’re blue-white checks. When angry, red-white. When casting spells, the pattern scrolls like old Windows screensavers.

Rumour says the ancient elves’ boots still show 70s earth tones: avocado green, burnt orange, and “realtor’s basement brown.”

Neon Face-Ink & Northern Light Tattoos

The elves’ facial tattoos are a bridge between old-world fae identity and post-apocalyptic Central Albertan aesthetics. These designs shimmer like the Aurora Borealis whenever an elf uses magic — swirling neon greens, pinks, and radio static blues inspired by every era of nightclub, roller rink, and laser-tag arena from the 80s and 90s.

On calm days: the tattoos glow like softly lit Christmas lights.
During spellcasting: they flare like a malfunctioning arcade cabinet.

Retro-Fae Aesthetic Touches

To round out the look, Sprucelings often incorporate nostalgic flair items:

·       Cassette earrings that spin when danger approaches

·       Fanny packs of Holding

·       Murphy-jacket cloaks (a glamour illusion that permanently adds wind machines like every 80s music video)

·       Shoulder pads of Protection +1 (because no warrior should face the wasteland without looking like a backup dancer from Flashdance)

·       Rings braided from telephone wires

·       Legwarmers knitted from repurposed sweater-moss

Every outfit feels like a mix between a Renaissance festival, a Walmart in 1995, and a Faerie Queen’s garage sale.

Spruce Grove Elf Fashion Generator

“Dress to impress — or at least confuse.”

Roll 1d12 per category, or mix & match wildly.

Each entry blends fae aesthetics, central Alberta trailer culture, and retro decades.

TOPS — Shirts, Jackets, & Glamoured Layers (1d12)

d12	TOP
1	Denim battle jacket covered in glowing runes and oil-company patches from defunct pre-Hodgepocalypse brands.
2	Neon mesh shirt that flickers like faulty Northern Lights whenever you lie.
3	Plaid workshirt of subtle enchantment — resists stains, but only if you’re polite.
4	Elven hunting vest, stitched with feathers from psychic magpies.
5	Vintage baseball tee that plays faint organ music when angry.
6	Bedazzled leather vest that sparkles in moonlight AND when someone mentions “coulee.”
7	Glam-rock tunic with shoulder pads large enough to serve as landing pads for familiar jackrabbits.
8	Hockey-jersey robe hybrid, displaying a mythical team that never existed.
9	Tie-dye prophet shirt, swirling with slow-moving illusions predicting the weather.
10	Windswept cloak of old tarp, stitched with bungee cords and blessed to flap dramatically at all times.
11	Sleeveless flannel of destiny, warm in winter, cold in summer, confused year-round.
12	Fairy-silk tank top, but with an ironic 90s slogan like “Take Off, Eh?” that glows faintly.

 

BOTTOMS — Pants, Kilts, Shorts, & Weird Stuff (1d12)

d12	BOTTOMS
1	Rune-etched jean shorts (“jorts”) that summon slight breezes to show off your legs.
2	Cargo pants of holding, pockets go somewhere, no one knows where.
3	Elven riding leathers made from enchanted moose-hide.
4	Glitter-camo utility pants, equally suitable for stealth and disco.
5	Hockey-tape leggings, surprisingly flexible, mildly sticky.
6	Prairie kilt made from repurposed picnic blankets.
7	Bell-bottom leafweave trousers, flare size increases with magical power.
8	Coveralls embroidered with vine patterns, the vines sometimes wriggle.
9	Leather pants that squeak with every righteous step you take.
10	Mystic yoga pants, subtly rewriting reality to make your butt look amazing.
11	Farmhand bib overalls, but the straps tie themselves and occasionally give advice.
12	Classical elven breeches, shimmering like starlight, but worn ironically.

 

FOOTWEAR — Boots, Moccasins, Sandals, & Mystical Crocs (1d12)

d12	FOOTWEAR
1	Gingham-patterned mood boots — colours shift with emotional turbulence.
2	Steel-toe elf boots that ring with chimes when you kick evil.
3	Antler-strapped sandals (very “summer at Pembina River”).
4	Cowboy boots of the West Wind, spurs whistle Prairie thunder.
5	Neon rollerblades, hover a few inches if you're confident.
6	Birchbark moccasins that leave glowing, temporary footprints.
7	Mystic Crocs whose holes emit faint banjo notes.
8	Snowmobile boots, perpetually warm, faintly smelling of gasoline.
9	Old-school LA Gear light-up sneakers, still light up… magically.
10	Platform boots from the 70s, carved with runic lightning bolts.
11	Combat boots wrapped in extension cords, grounding your glamours.
12	Barefoot glamours, illusory shoes in whatever style you desire.

---

HEADGEAR — Hats, Crowns, & Questionable Decisions (1d12)

d12	HEADGEAR
1	Toque-crown made from braided extension cords.
2	Baseball cap with antlers, glowing insignia from forgotten junior hockey teams.
3	Feathered mullet illusion, magically maintained 24/7.
4	Shimmer-veil tiara, converts daylight into subtle melodrama.
5	Cowboy hat of minor illusions, tips itself politely.
6	Neon halo headband, leftover from a '90s rave, now magical.
7	A fishing bucket hat, enchanted to repel mosquitoes and ex-lovers.
8	Glam-rock headband, hums “Sweet Child O’ Mine” when excited.
9	Leaf-woven circlet, grows flowers when you flirt.
10	Elven welding mask, visor glows in runic turquoise.
11	Propane priest hood, fireproof, stainproof, unreasonably majestic.
12	The Legendary Trailer Tiara, made of Christmas lights and rebar (rare artifact).

ACCESSORIES — Trinkets, Gear, & Trailer Glamour (1d12)

d12	Accessory
1	Dreamcatcher earrings that actually catch dreams (storage limited).
2	Keychain of infinite trailer keys, none labelled.
3	Bumper-sticker spell tags, slap them on the enemy to hex them.
4	Extension-cord lariat doubles as a whip.
5	Propane-blessed BBQ tongs, your holy symbol.
6	Northern Lights glitter makeup swirls on its own.
7	Elven Walkman, cassette never jams, plays ambient magic.
8	Feathered jean jacket patches that act as minor wards.
9	Glowing pager, receives messages from the spirits of 1997.
10	A single dangling Christmas light glows brighter near danger.
11	Cyber-jackrabbit charm grants +1 speed when hopping.
12	Rune-labeled fanny pack, waterproof, extra-dimensional, stylish as hell.

 

NPCS of Note

J’owin Thunderpot, the Frying Pan Warlock

Once a line cook at The Trax, J’owin Thunderpot made a pact with the Spirit of Sizzling Flame when a cursed deep fryer exploded and whispered eldritch secrets into his soul. Now clad in scorched oven mitts and wielding a cast-iron skillet infused with chaotic kitchen magics, he roams the trailer lanes of Spruce Grove dispensing justice, jambalaya, and jinxes in equal measure. J’owin is revered by children, feared by spirits of health inspection, and banned from Sandyview Farms after the gravy incident.

Despite his gruff manner, he follows a strict code: "No one burns the bacon on my watch."

Plot Hook: A cursed food truck is corrupting spirits along the mushroom ring, and only J’owin’s knowledge of grease-based runes can counteract it. The PCs must convince him to leave his cook-shack fortress — but first, they’ll need to survive The Trial of the Triple Baconator.

Sammirion “Greasebow” Pickerelbane, Bard of Barbacoa

Smooth-talking, sweet-singing, and always slightly charred around the collar, Sammirion “Greasebow” Pickerelbane is the Barbacoa Bard — a culinary balladeer and meat-mage whose songs are marinated in smoky wisdom and slow-cooked vengeance. With his enchanted mesquite wood lute (which doubles as a skewer rack), he performs melodic rituals at the Barbacoa Spire, where rhythm stokes fire and flavour alters fate. His voice can glaze ribs, calm spirits, or incite riots, depending on the sauce. Though he walks with elven grace, his gestures carry the swagger of a showman who once sang a duet with a thunderbat — and survived.

He claims, “You ain’t tasted truth ‘til it’s been smoked low and sung slow.”

Plot Hook: A rogue grill-priest has stolen the Sacred Spice Blend of the Spire and plans to season a demon into the flesh of the next Barbacoa Champion. The party must track the thief through flavour-wards and sizzling duels — with Greasebow insisting on being the musical backup, hype man, and possibly the main course.

Laurelgut “Slider” Von Doublewide

With a mullet like a windblown prayer flag and boots that squeak with stolen destiny, Laurelgut “Slider” Von Doublewide stalks the ley-ditches and rusted-out trails of Spruce Grove. Born in a double-stacked camper atop a haunted Winnebago, she learned early how to slip through walls, fences, and social expectations. Her weapon of choice is a crossbow made from old satellite dishes and coat hangers. Still, her true power lies in her uncanny bond with Princess Pecky, a hyperintelligent psychic chicken who scouts, distracts, and occasionally pecks prophecies into dirt. Slider wears her family name like a badge of shame and pride and insists that “doublewide” refers to her tracking range, not her living conditions.

She may steal your keys, your heart, or your dinner — in that order.

Plot Hook: Someone’s been kidnapping psychic poultry from across the trailer-spiral — and Princess Pecky is next. Slider needs the party’s help to break into the ominous Eggspire Labs, where rumors speak of scrambled minds and feathered clones.

Jimthas “Bubbleseeker” Oakley of the Drainfield,

Once a sanitation engineer, now a full-blown magister and arcane regulator, Jimthas “Bubbleseeker” Oakley communes with the myco-arcane network beneath Spruce Grove’s drainfields and trailer park gutters. Cloaked in robes spun from repurposed weed barrier fabric and neon grow-lights, he summons cyan halo mushrooms of hard light — floating fungal constructs that serve as wards, lanterns, and sometimes judgmental familiars. Jimthas treats the mushroom web like a legal code and acts as both magister and mediator in disputes between rogue gardeners, feral druids, and trailer-dwelling fey. He’s slow to speak, faster to lecture, and wields a PVC staff etched with glyphs that glow only when you're lying to him.

He claims, “Truth grows best in compost.”

Plot Hook:

Alien spores are infecting the ley-fungus beneath the Grove from beyond the psychic veil — and Jimthas believes someone flushed a summoning circle down the wrong pipe. The party must enter the sewer-lattice and navigate its judicial tribunal of fungal familiars, each eager to prosecute, pollinate, or party.

Treelane “The Gaslight Kid” D’Lenny, Local Fae-Fixer and Beer Prophet

Treelane D’Lenny is what happens when faerie charm gets tangled in six-pack rings and conspiratorial bravado. Equal parts local scam artist, hedge-witch, and beer-fueled visionary, Treelane roams the stacked trailers and ley-pipes of Spruce Grove in a patchy duster stitched from pub banners and aluminum tabs. He communes with the Spirits of Fermentation, claiming that every brew has a soul and every belch carries a message from the Beyond. Known for “fixing” magical problems by making them weirder and then somehow charging rent on the solution, he’s tolerated for his connections to the Faerie Court of Stacked Kegs and for once predicting a thunderstorm by cracking open a lukewarm pilsner.

His motto? “The beer’s never wrong — just ask it nicer.”

Plot Hook: A magical hangover is sweeping through Spruce Grove, and no one can wake up — literally. Treelane insists the Dream-Ale has gone bad and must lead the party into a half-forgotten bar in the psychic astral slums to broker a deal with the Beer Witch of the Bottom Shelf.

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