The Capital Parkland - Part 04 - Fort Saskatchewan

“The Flocking Frontier”

Capital Parkland Suburb • Population: 1,900 humanoids, 4,000+ Thunder Sheep (on paper)

Overview:
Once a key node in pre-Hodge Alberta, Fort Saskatchewan now stands as a fortified enclave on the North Saskatchewan River—a surreal blend of industrial might, haunted history, and chaotic livestock. Though technically a suburb of Ed-Town, Fort Sask fiercely maintains its independence. What began as a police outpost and jail city has transformed into the headquarters of North America’s largest herd of magical trickster sheep—known as the Thunder Sheep.

Fort Saskatchewan balances whimsy and grim history: a place where spectral hangmen roam beside musical sheep, and where every laugh risks triggering a bleating explosion. It’s both a shrine to survival and a satire of civilization held together by song, static, and stubbornness.

The Thunder Sheep Phenomenon:

In Fort Saskatchewan, the Thundersheep aren’t just a phenomenon—they’re a civic institution, a spiritual hazard, and an unofficial mascot of defiant survival. Descended (or so the murals claim) from celestial herds once tended by dragon lords, these woolly pranksters now roam the greenways of the Fold, float above the Legacy Grounds, and occasionally loiter on courthouse rooftops to cause static. Local humans revere them with equal parts awe and exasperation—some treat them as divine omens, others as livestock with delusions of grandeur. The Shepherd-Knights maintain a tenuous truce with the flock, using music and elaborate pageantry to maintain order. At the same time, the Order of the Static Bale insists the sheep are agents of divine entropy, guiding the city through calculated chaos. Most troubling (and amusing) are the seasonal Wool Reckonings, when brave—or foolish—townsfolk try to pluck enchanted tufts of wool for luck, only to trigger increasingly elaborate prank wars that can last weeks. In Fort Sask, you don’t own Thundersheep. You negotiate with them.

Their wool is a prized commodity, used in crafting enchanted textiles and bio-reactive insulation, but harvesting it without getting zapped or outwitted is a seasonal ordeal known as the Wool Reckoning.

Key Factions:

The Shepherd-Knights of the Crook and Keytar

Clad in patchwork armor stitched from thunder wool, scrap metal, and band tour t-shirts, the Shepherd-Knights of the Crook and Keytar are Fort Saskatchewan’s most flamboyant defenders—and its most chaotic spiritual order. Equal parts warrior, bard, and sheep-whispering mystic, these knights blend divine theatrics with post-apocalyptic pragmatism. Armed with electrified crooks and enchanted keytars (yes, musical instruments), they patrol the Fold’s boundaries and mediate Thunder Sheep-related disputes through duels of sound and soul. Their rites are absurdly ceremonial invocations performed in power chords, oaths sworn to rhythm, and justice delivered via performance battle. Despite their eccentric flair, they are deadly serious about their duties: protecting the Flock, interpreting pranks as divine messages, and ensuring no sheep—or citizen—wanders too far astray. Outsiders may laugh, but when the storm rolls in and the wool crackles with prophecy, it is the Shepherd-Knights who rise first, keytar in hand and lightning in their step.

The Order of the Static Bale

In dimly lit woolhouses woven from reclaimed fence posts and electrified yarn, the Order of the Static Bale contemplates the divine spark hidden in every bleat. These woolwright-priests believe the Thundersheep are not mere animals, but living avatars of ancient wind gods—spirits of storm, luck, and chaotic enlightenment. Their scriptures are embroidered into thunder wool tapestries that hum with residual static, and their rituals involve combing the flock for omens, reading prank patterns as sacred glyphs, and preserving blessed tufts in relic jars. Members of the Order often wear elaborate robes braided with copper wire and stormcloud motifs, and many have scorch marks from their devotional misfires. They view prank wars as acts of divine teaching and believe suffering the sheep's wrath is a form of spiritual refinement. While the Shepherd-Knights act as protectors, the Static Bale act as interpreters—priests, mystics, and sometimes reluctant zookeepers to gods who poop in flowerbeds and float through windows at night.

Duh Dominion Remnants

In the rust-choked shadows of Fort Saskatchewan’s industrial fringe, the Duh Dominion Remnants carry on their petrochemical priesthood with oil-streaked robes and flickering safety vests. Once corporate technicians and refinery workers, they’ve become petro-cultists, interpreting faded hazard signs and maintenance logs as divine scripture left by the "Engineers of Old." Their rituals involve rhythmic chantings of refinery schedules, offering burnt plastics on cracked burner altars, and bathing in reclaimed solvents for purification. They believe the industrial complex is alive—a slumbering machine-god whose breath powers the world and whose wrath causes blackouts and mutation. Living deep within the Synthetic Sprawl, these zealots maintain scavenged control rooms, perform weekly “Pressure Rites,” and are known to anoint chosen pilgrims with motor oil. To outsiders, they’re mad—but to the Dow Dominion, they are stewards of fire, steam, and legacy. Occasionally, they clash with the Shepherd-Knights over leyline interference or try to convert a Thundersheep… with catastrophic results.

The Shearborn

Once inmates of Fort Saskatchewan’s notorious correctional complex, the Shearborn have traded shackles for shears and found unlikely redemption in the wooly chaos of post-Hodge life. Bound by guilt, honor, or necessity, these former convicts now serve as rugged shepherds, guardians, and woolwrights—dedicated to protecting the Thunder Sheep herds from raiders, prank poachers, and predators both mundane and magical. Many still wear fragments of their old prison jumpsuits beneath layers of reinforced shepherd gear, symbolizing the life they’ve left behind and the sentence they now serve by choice. Tough, stoic, and fiercely loyal, the Shearborn operate on an unspoken code: "Protect the flock, earn your peace." Though some locals still eye them with suspicion, their tireless patrols and quiet acts of heroism have earned begrudging respect. Some say the Thunder Sheep accept them more readily than any other people—perhaps sensing kindred souls who, like them, once strayed far but now wander with purpose.

Species of Note

Cyclops

In the static-charged, wool-wrapped madness of post-Hodge Fort Saskatchewan, Cyclopes are the black-gloved wrenches behind the wonder. While humans dominate the shepherd ranks and sheep politics, it’s often Cyclopean hands that keep the thunder wagons rolling, the containment grids humming, and the wool refineries from blowing themselves to kingdom come. Drawn by the promise of power sources, ruin-tech salvage, and weird wool conductivity, Cyclopean Gearheads have turned the industrial outskirts of Fort Sask—ancient maintenance tunnels and refinery sublayers—into subterranean “Gearpits”: hybrid chop shops, crash pads, and techno-mystic shrines dedicated to the Faustian craft.  Despite their sheer size and intimidating “evil eye,” many locals view them with a strange affection—half feared, half celebrated.

Fate Fugitives

Fort Saskatchewan’s penitentiary past makes it a natural refuge—and battleground—for Fate Fugitives, especially those who broke free of both literal and metaphysical sentences. Many of the town’s Shearborn (reformed ex-cons) include Fugitives who slipped through the cracks of prophecy, death, or damnation and found purpose herding Thunder Sheep or guarding the Fold from cosmic oversight. To them, Fort Sask is more than a home—it’s a sanctuary of second chances wrapped in static.  Fort Sask is both a final stop and a starting line: a place to rebuild what fate once denied, one prank, scar, and redemption at a time.

Humans

Humans remain the backbone of Fort Saskatchewan’s population—descendants of farmers, refinery workers, jailers, and suburban survivors who refused to flee when the Hodge came crashing down. Hardened by blackouts, refinery burns, and sheep uprisings, the locals embody Alberta grit: blue-collar resolve mixed with spiritual stubbornness. The town’s human population is diverse, with significant Métis heritage and a working-class culture shaped by generations of labor in petrochemical plants and corrections facilities. Many locals trace their lineage back to prison guards, steelworkers, or those who served time and turned their lives around—making Fort Sask unusually tolerant toward outsiders and ex-cons, including Fate Fugitives, Cyclopes, and other weirdlings. While humans dominate the Shepherd-Knights, woolwright guilds, and the Flockwatcher’s Council, they’re far from insular. Shared hardship has bred a reluctant multiculturalism.

The Fold - The Rebuilt Fort

Rising atop the historic site of the North-West Mounted Police outpost and its adjoining prison, The Fold stands as a jagged fusion of penitentiary grit and post-Hodge absurdity. What was once a place of iron bars and retribution now hums with static energy and the wool-bound chaos of Thundersheep. Reimagined as both stronghold and sanctum, The Fold serves as Fort Saskatchewan’s first line of defense, a wool enchantment workshop, and the seat of the Flockwatcher’s Council—a bureaucratic oddity where humans, fey, and at least one thunderous sheep debate municipal matters with alarming efficiency. Reinforced jail cells have been repurposed as barracks, meditation pens, or static-charged holding cells for unruly rams. Lightning rods crackle overhead, while bronze murals and old inmate graffiti remind all who enter of the fort’s checkered past. Some whisper of Swift Runner’s ghost, wandering the lower levels in search of molasses and absolution. All the while, the adjacent Legacy Park & Sheep Grazing Grounds buzzes with pranks, prophecy, and electric fleece.

Plot Hook: When the ghost of Swift Runner begins appearing outside The Fold’s walls—fused with unnatural storm energy—panic spreads through the council chambers. Someone must brave the haunted prison wing and the misbehaving Thundersheep to uncover what (or who) is stirring the stormy past.

Other Important Locations:

The layout of the town is pretty unique. The whole city is split down the middle by Highway 21. The east side is primarily made up of new suburbs, big-name retail chains, a prison, and some industrial areas. The west side is mostly the older homes and original downtown, which has some great little stores and restaurants. Feels like the east side is a big city and the west side is a small town.

The Alchemoils

Once the crown jewel of Alberta’s Industrial Heartland, the Alchemoils now sprawl as a seething petro-eldritch nightmare—its smokestacks warped into writhing towers of sentient chrome and fumes. Living pipelines slither like steel serpents, refinery stacks weep molten chemicals, and bioengineered maintenance creatures stalk the fumes in search of “leaks” to plug—with flesh or otherwise. The site is half-functioning infrastructure, half techno-occult shrine, tended to by the zealous Dow Dominion Remnants and Nucleomancers, who interpret tank pressure gauges and refinery logs as divine prophecy. Despite the madness, rare fuels, reactive alloys, and mutagenic vapors still draw desperate scavengers and opportunistic warbands to its bubbling gates.

Plot Hook: A local vehicle cult needs a canister of “Living Diesel” rumored to only gestate in the belly of a rogue refinery beast deep within the Alchemoils. Unfortunately, the refinery believes it’s pregnant—with a messiah.

The Loomhall

City Hall & Library →

Once the municipal core of Fort Saskatchewan, The Loomhall now serves as a wool-bound sanctum of law, lore, and dangerously literal bureaucracy. The old city hall chambers echo with the rhythmic clatter of loom-clerics weaving bylaws, edicts, and civic history into enchanted tapestries that line every wall. At the center of it all stands Ewegene, a sentient Thundersheep librarian whose encyclopedic memory and unpredictable zaps keep would-be vandals and misfilers in line. The adjoining Wool Archive is both a civic treasure and a mild existential threat, as some readers report being swallowed whole by unfinished footnotes or overly legalistic knitting. Here, civic duty meets metaphysical tapestry, and getting a library card might require a saving throw.

Plot Hook: A rogue ordinance stitched into an old tapestry is about to be ratified—one that would magically evict every non-sheep resident of Fort Sask. The party must race against the municipal clock to decipher ancient bylaws, survive the Loomhall bureaucracy, and outwit Ewegene’s woolly wrath.

The Penitent Hall

Once a provincial correctional facility, The Penitent Hall now stands as a half-collapsed penitential monastery looming over Fort Saskatchewan’s eastern edge. Its surviving wings are home to ex-raiders, outlaws, and repentant brutes who now walk the path of grim discipline, seeking redemption through silence, service, and sheep-herding. The ruins resonate with the wails of execution ghosts and the slow, syrupy moans of Molasses Wraiths—spectral echoes of Fort Sask’s most infamous hangings and last meals. The Hall trains its initiates in both martial rigor and spiritual atonement, but some say it also harbors relics of darker justice, locked away beneath the Last Gallows. Visitors are warned: mercy is learned here, but only after pain.

Plot Hook: A spectral uprising threatens to unravel the fragile order of the Penitent Hall, and the only way to quell it is to retrieve the cursed Last Gallows ledger hidden beneath the execution chamber. The party must brave ghostly trials, morally conflicted monks, and sticky-fingered Molasses Wraiths to restore balance—or watch the penitents fall back into wrath.

The Pulse Tower

Once a standard community hospital, the Pulse Tower now rises as a biomechanical marvel—its walls thrum with rhythmic energy, its corridors pulse with bioluminescent veins, and its structure seems to breathe with a will of its own. Psionic medics and empathic healers guide patients through both physical and mental recovery, using a blend of biotech, dream therapy, and aura surgery. However, not all treatments take—the lower wings are sealed due to outbreaks of rogue gene therapies, and infection spirits drift through abandoned wards whispering fevers into sleeping ears. Some say the morgue still catalogs its dead through twitching, sentient filing systems, while others claim the building chooses which lives to save. The Pulse Tower is both a sanctuary and a testing ground, a place where miracles and nightmares are manufactured daily.

Plot Hook: A patient infected with a psychic virus has vanished into the Pulse Tower’s dream ward—and their nightmares are bleeding into the real world. The party must brave hallucinatory wards, corrupted medtech, and psychic feedback storms to bring them back before the infection spreads beyond the tower.

Rivergate

Once a humble boat launch, Rivergate now serves as a mist-choked ferry outpost on the ever-shifting North Saskatchewan. Rafts cobbled from scrap and enchanted driftwood brave the tides under the watchful eyes of tidebound mutants—aquatic folk warped by devotion, radiation, or both. They answer to Saint Undine of the Drowned Crossing, a half-mythic water saint said to sleep beneath the riverbed, her presence marked by sudden whirlpools and voices in the fog. Rivergate is a liminal place where secrets change hands on damp piers, and passage across the water may require more than coin—it might demand memories, oaths, or offerings pulled from a dream. The fog rolls in quick, and sometimes, boats return without their pilots.

Plot Hook: A smuggling job across Rivergate is complicated when a rival crew invokes Saint Undine’s wrath with a cursed relic. Now the party must navigate an unraveling truce between mutants and spirits, or risk becoming part of the river’s next forgotten tale.

Thunderloop Spiral

Once a regional raceway for internal combustion diehards, the Thunderloop Spiral is now a sacred circuit of speed, spectacle, and barely-contained chaos. Thunder Sheep yoked to scrap-chariots thunder across the cracked asphalt alongside howling biker gangs and semi-sentient hotrods that burn more soul than fuel. The arena stands—patched with hubcaps and bleacher bones—echo with chants from betting Shepherd-Knights, rogue mechs with a taste for gambling, and crowds hungry for kinetic glory. Lightning arcs through the sky in sync with the Spiral’s pulse, and racers swear the track sometimes shifts, twisting to favor the bold or devour the slow. Victory brings fame, favors, and a blessing from the Track Seers; failure earns a roadside grave or worse—eternal laps in the ghost lane.

Plot Hook: The party must enter the Thunder Derby to earn the favor of a Shepherd-Knight sponsor, but an AI racer gone rogue believes one of them is the reincarnation of its old rival. Meanwhile, an assassination plot rides shotgun under the guise of competition, and only a well-placed shortcut—or well-timed crash—can change fate.

Woolhalla Market

Once a humble suburban plaza, Woolhalla Market is now a chaotic bazaar pulsing with neon relics, electric fleece, and the smell of ozone. Cracked pavement hosts vendor stalls made from repurposed vending machines and arcane ATM husks, each hawking wares like static-charged cheese, emotionally volatile yarn, and prank-based weapons of mild destruction. Thunder Sheep squat beneath flickering signs advertising forgotten retail holidays and mutter strange slogans in dead advertising tongues. WyrmNet pirates, rogue AI shopkeepers, and reality-TV cults compete for control of the mall’s central court, while the bravest—or most foolish—seek glory in the Blue Bag Trials, a trash-bin coliseum where dignity is optional and victory stinks. Somewhere in the shadows, animatronic mascots stir, still obeying algorithms last updated before the Hodgepocalypse.

Plot Hook:  To unlock a banned codec spell, the party must win favor from the mall’s semi-sapient food court oracle by completing a prank war against rival vendors. Meanwhile, a rogue animatronic mascot begins kidnapping patrons and wiring their minds into an endless feedback loop of loyalty points and lost memories.

Legacy and Lore Hooks:

The Ghost of Swift Runner: Said to possess sheep during storms.

The Last Executioner’s Blade: Hidden beneath the Fold—rumored to grant control over the flock.

Woolbound Prophecies: Found only in the glyph patterns left by prank-stampeding sheep. Readable only under moonlight or while wearing wool underwear.

Thunder Sheep Prank Table (d20)

Roll 1d20 when the flock gets frisky—or at random intervals, just because.

d20	Prank Description
1	A Thunder Sheep sneaks into camp and eats a character’s socks. Later, it returns them… electrified and humming with static.
2	The flock rearranges all carts, wagons, and parked vehicles into a replica of the Yin-Yang symbol. No one saw them do it.
3	Someone’s bedroll or tent is filled with freshly plucked, still-sparking wool. The static discharge ruins one electronic device.
4	A musical bleating flashmob erupts at dawn. The tune is suspiciously familiar—Eye of the Tiger in pentatonic scale.
5	A single Thunder Sheep follows a PC everywhere for the next 24 hours, mimicking their behavior like a mirror.
6	The party’s food is replaced with perfectly crafted wool replicas. The real food is hidden in increasingly elaborate puzzles nearby.
7	A PC’s weapon or tool is replaced by a plush wool facsimile. It goes “baaaa” when swung.
8	The Thunder Sheep create crop circle-like patterns in the nearest field, but with sigils from an unknown magical language.
9	The party wakes to find their faces painted with glowing runes in sheep dung. The runes slowly fade… unless you cast Identify.
10	The herd steals a key piece of gear and holds a sheep trial to determine if the PC is "worthy." All arguments must be in bleats.
11	A flock stampede occurs—but only in place. Dozens of sheep gallop at full speed without moving, creating a thunderous drumline.
12	A PC’s shadow starts lagging behind them and baaing loudly. Only visible under moonlight.
13	The Thunder Sheep rearrange all signage in town to point toward a made-up place called “Woolhalla.”
14	During a critical negotiation, a sheep loudly farts and explodes into glitter. Everyone’s eyes water.
15	A sheep hands (yes, hands) a player character a crumpled love letter. It’s addressed from “Ewe Know Who.”
16	One sheep gains a faux halo and begins performing minor miracles: turning water to oat milk, calming anger, and charging phones.
17	All of the party’s shoes have been licked clean, waxed, and braided together with wool thread overnight.
18	Thunder Sheep form a kickline and perform a surprisingly tight version of New York, New York at sundown. They demand tips.
19	A sheep swaps places with one PC’s familiar, pet, or summoned ally. No one notices until it's too late.
20	A Thunder Baa! echoes from the hills. Lightning splits the sky, and a giant, glowing, trickster sheep appears… then vanishes. Every Thunder Sheep in the area now glows faintly and refuses to explain why.

 

#Hodgepocalypse
#ThunderSheep
#PrairiePunk
#AlbertaFantasy
#CanadianPostApocalypse
#StaticWool
#Flockpunk

#apocalypse

#drevrpg

#dungeonsanddragons

#canada

#alberta

The Capital Parkland - Part 03 - Castledowns continued: Species, Locations and Greaseholds

Prominent Species in Castledowns

Deerfolk

In Castledowns, a reclusive enclave of Deerfolk—known locally as the Antlered Grove—has established itself in a reclaimed golf course transformed into a wild thicket called “Greenhole Glade.” Nestled near the border between the feasting fields of Greasehold and the pageantry pavilions of Castledowns Proper, this pocket of overgrown fairways and birch-claimed sand traps serves as both a spiritual refuge and a listening post.   While their presence is often marked by runic wardstones carved from old flagpoles and ironwood saplings, few Castledowns nobles acknowledge them directly—save for those who seek prophetic riddles, rare herbs, or a guide through the whispering brush.

Feylin

To the Feylin, Castledowns isn’t just a refuge—it’s a living, breathing fan convention. Drawn by the pageantry, the endless reenactments, and the chance to cosplay every day, Feylin thrive among the confederacy’s bard colleges, jester troupes, and heraldic fashion guilds. Their homes are cluttered shrines to pop culture—vintage VHS tapes, salvaged graphic tees, and glittering wigs—and their professions range from improvisational minstrel to theatrical duel choreographer. Locals say that if you squint during a tournament, you’ll spot a Feylin cheering for the knight who most resembles a cartoon they once saw. To the Feylin, Castledowns is sacred ground: a place where every day is dress-up day and no reference is too obscure.

Gnomes

In Castledowns, Gnomes thrive in the blurred boundary between craftsman and conjurer. Their blend of magical intuition and theatrical flair makes them the beating heart of many artisan guilds. Whether running elaborate prop shops, serving as guildmasters of the Tinker's Quorum, or engineering elaborate special effects for jousts and faux wizard duels, these gnomes treat craftsmanship as performance art. The more flamboyant gnomes even moonlight as stage magicians or medieval illusionists— “Merlin with a smoke machine,” as one halfling jested. While some locals find their rapid chatter and spontaneous gadgetry chaotic, no one denies the essential role gnomes play in keeping the realm’s gears turning (often literally).

Halflings

Among the faux-feudal sprawl of Castledowns, the Halflings have carved out a cozy fiefdom of their own known as Hearthwood—a barony less concerned with conquest and more with comfort. Nestled in the ruins of suburban cul-de-sacs, this halfling-run district is famous for its taverns, teahouses, and community kitchens, where the scent of fresh bread mingles with the distant clatter of jousting practice. Hearthwood serves as a crossroads for travelers and gossip, where locals swap stories over stew, offer lodging for barter, and throw spontaneous festivals whenever a full moon or a new pie recipe warrants it. While their carriages are often up on blocks and the "militia" is mostly an excuse for afternoon bocce, Hearthwood’s Halflings are fiercely loyal, frighteningly organized when rallied, and always ready with a warm meal and a wry tale.

Haraak

In the pageantry and performative chivalry of Castledowns, many Haraak have found a peculiar kinship. Those who see the tournaments and trials as honorable tests of strength adapt quickly, rising as hedge knights, martial instructors, or even champions of the peasantry. Their blunt honesty, loud bravado, and ritualized martial pride blend strangely well with the Confederacy’s faux-feudal customs. Some even earn renown in mock tourneys or oversee squires eager to learn “real” combat. Others, however, reject the pageantry as toothless theatre—choosing instead to guard Castledowns’ outer marches where threats are real and ceremony means little. Whether embraced as heroes or dismissed as thuggish throwbacks, the Haraak are undeniable presences on the frontier between cosplay and carnage.

Humans

In the self-fashioned baronies and theatrics of Castledowns, Humans remain the dominant population, not by divine right or raw numbers, but through sheer adaptability. Many of the self-proclaimed “Barons” and “Dames” were once ordinary survivors—suburbanites, office managers, or drama teachers—who fully embraced the pageantry of post-apocalyptic nobility. Clad in chainmail made from tire treads and ceremonial robes of blackout curtains, these humans have reshaped their sense of purpose into something performative, proud, and oddly sustainable. Make no mistake—those who thrive here do so with fervent commitment, be it to the code of chivalry, the art of the masquerade, or simply to the next paycheck handed out in bottle caps and bread loaves.

Medusas

Regal and enigmatic, the Medusas of Castledowns are not merely refugees but matriarchs of faded grandeur. Many have claimed decrepit manors along the fringe of the confederacy, where the ivy grows too thick, and the mirrors are always veiled. These ancient homes—often known as Cursed Houses—hold whispered reputations, their grounds strewn with statues that are definitely "just art" and not the remains of former intruders. A Medusa house is a place of riddles, veils, and oaths, where knowledge is power and a glance can end a feud. While they rarely walk openly among the jousting knights or ren-faire merchants, their presence is deeply felt through quiet alliances, mystical debts, and a network of covens that tend to the magical balance of Castledowns. Gothic elegance, uncanny wisdom, and a history older than the Hodgepocalypse make them both feared and revered.

Castledowns Class Integration

Common & Integrated Classes

These are part of the fabric of daily Castledowns life.

Adventurer

These are the roaming freelancers, quest-takers, and relic-seekers.

Prowler: Act as sanctioned thieves, infiltrators, or barony spies. Often operate in a masked state, called "Whispers.”

Scout: Vital to border patrol and monster tracking. Maintain maps and “ranger codes.” Often feud with Sentinels.

Scrap Foot: Treated like wandering tinkers or messengers with a holy bond to their vehicles. Decorate skateboards like holy steeds.

Troubleshooter: Village engineers, bridge-keepers, or wandering “fix-priests.” Build traps for tournaments and rituals.

Channeler

Seen as mystics, shamans, or chosen ones of fate.

Faustian Mechanic: Known as “Gadgeteers.” Beloved for fireworks and hated for explosions. Run their guild.

Sentinel: Idealized. Many wear tabards, speak in prophecy, and patrol for corruption. Treated as “Modern Paladins.”

Witch: Essential lore-keepers. Often run “Wards & Warnings” shops. The term “Hedge Witch” is literal in this context.

Combatant

Castledowns reveres personal martial prowess—Combatants are knights, tournament fighters, and baronial champions.

Brute (Traditional): Highly respected. Think of them as warlords with honor codes, clad in patchwork plate and swinging scrap axes.

Brute (New Age): Seen as “Knight Errants of the Iron Horse.” Ride jury-rigged bikes or boars into battle. Some viewed it as too wild.

Commander: Frequently led militia squads, border patrols, or even ruled minor baronies. Speak like noble captains.

Deadeye: Called “Toxophilites” or “Crimson Gunners.” Serve in ceremonial hunts or outlaw duels. Revolvers named like swords.

Psychic

Treated as fey-touched prophets or spirit-riddled performers.

Eruptor: Castledowns bards spin tales of “The Fire-Touched.” Most live in exile unless tightly controlled.

Mentalist: Respected in courts as interrogators, truth-finders, or political spies. Wear psychic sigils on masks.

Rocker: Popular in taverns and at feasts. Wandering "Psybards." Their instruments are often relics. Frequently duel in song.

Psi-Warrior: Seen as “Knight-Guardians of the Mind.” Idealized like Sentinels but not fully trusted.

Ritualist

Seen as sorcerer-scholars or court wizards.

Artillery Mage: Entertainers, war-boom-makers, and drama queens. Many double as bards with magical “fire solos.”

Magister: Usually tied to Elsinore’s Scholarchs. Dismissed as snobs or "inkbloods" but called upon when relics go wrong.

Rainmaker: Rare and hired for feast theatrics or military sieges. Their arrival is marked by a trumpet and parade.

Key Features and Locations

Baturyn

The Emberhall

(based on Baturyn Community League building)

Once a modest neighborhood hall and skating rink, the Emberhall is now the sacred kitchen-throne of the Greaselord. A massive propane-fed grill rests beneath stained-glass fryer hoods, and around its blazing altar, disputes are settled with sauce-challenges, feast duels, and ceremonial flambé. The league’s old trophy cases now house sacred spice jars, vinegar scrolls, and the Eight Blades of the Ladle Order.

Plot Hooks:

·       A new sauce—known only as “Red No. 9”—has entered the feast trials, but its effects are... alchemical.

·       A stolen jar from the Spice Reliquary has caused tension with the Meadhall of Hearthwood, and an inter-kitchen conflict looms.

 

Fryer’s Gate

(inspired by the 97 St / Castle Downs Rd intersection zone)

The major crossroads at the edge of Baturyn has become a sanctified checkpoint where Fryer Knights conduct taste rites and trade passage for condiments. Covered in battered metal armor and wielding spatula-glaives, the knights demand that all who pass either pay the Toll of Tasting or present a sauce token from a previous peace-feast.
Plot Hooks:

·       A caravan of vinegary pilgrims has been detained for carrying a "Forbidden Relish" linked to the Disgraced Greaselord of Yukon.

·       A diplomat vanished mid-ritual at Fryer’s Gate—leaving behind only a scorched pickle spear and an unsigned treaty napkin.

The Greaselands Market

(formerly Baturyn Park and nearby schoolyard zone)

This open-air grill bazaar stretches across cracked blacktop and synthetic turf, where vendors sear mutant meats and sling deep-fried delicacies. Festival bunting woven from diner aprons flaps over hot-oil pits and sauce-brewing cauldrons, while “menu-bards” recite today’s options like heralds in a high court. Here, flavors are currency, and burned offerings are traded for fame, favor, or kitchen-based miracles.

Plot Hooks:

 

·       A feast duel has escalated after one bard insulted another’s spice lineage—now the crowd demands a cook-off judged by the Serpent Banner.

·       A whisper spreads: someone is selling meat with “true flame”—a flavor banned since the Greaselord’s last trial-by-grease.

Beaumaris

The Laughing Steps

(Repurposed from the sloped trail and playground hill southwest of the lake)

This grassy rise, once a sledding hill and playground path, is now the stage for the Painted Court’s public executions—delivered as tragicomic performances. "Fool-judges" in jesters’ masks pronounce sentence through rhymes and slapstick, with condemned nobles dancing, joking, or confessing their sins in operatic flair. The crowd throws roses or rotted produce based on how entertained they are.

Plot Hooks:
• A jester has refused to laugh for seven days, claiming he sees ghosts in the giggle-lines of the hill.
• A condemned noble vanished mid-routine in a puff of violet powder—leaving behind only her velvet glove and a perfectly recited limerick.

The Mirrorweft Grotto

(Based on culverts or artificial grottoes near the Beaumaris Lake drainage paths)

Hidden beneath the willow-thick shore, this flooded grotto serves as a secret reflection chamber for Painted Court initiates. Its mirrored surfaces—some glass, some water—are enchanted to show alternate versions of the self, and initiates must mask the correct one before being allowed into the inner circle. Many enter alone but return dressed as someone else entirely.

Plot Hooks:
• Someone has carved a fourth mask into the sacred reflection slab—one no one recalls ever seeing before.
• The water in the Mirrorweft rippled during a moonless night… and now three nobles share the same voice and memories.

The Veil Pavilions

(Inspired by the picnic shelters and floating docks around Beaumaris Lake)

Originally modest lakeside picnic shelters, the Veil Pavilions have evolved into elaborately draped masquerade tents that float on the surface of the lake. Beneath their silken ceilings, masked nobles trade secrets, gossip, and performances in exchange for favors, rumors, or immunity from the next courtly purge. Each pavilion is color-coded by season, and guests must change identities before stepping onto the docks.

Plot Hooks:
• A pavilion sank during a masquerade duel, but no bodies were found—only wax masks floating in perfect circles.
• A guest left behind a mirror-mask that reflects not the viewer, but their deepest regret—and it’s begun whispering invitations to return.

Caernarvon

The Golden Vat

(Inspired by Caernarvon Community League Hall & Caernarvon Park)

Once a humble rec center, the Golden Vat has been transformed into a central brewing temple wrapped in copper piping and lined with fermentation murals. Massive wooden vats bubble with mead made from wild honey and genetically altered barley, and rituals of blessing are held on the park green before each new batch is sealed. The air always smells of roasted grain and herbs, and each brew’s flavor is said to influence village omens.

Plot Hooks:
• A batch of "Moonroot Reserve" turned bright blue—and now anyone who drinks it dreams of past lives.
• A would-be suitor claims their lineage was altered mid-toast during a marriage rite—someone tampered with the scrolls.

 Hearthkeeper’s Ring

(Repurposed from Caernarvon School's playground loop and fire lane)

This rounded courtyard, once an access loop for school drop-offs, has been fortified with communal ovens, fire pits, and carved benches for public feasts and storytelling. Local children are trained in oral law and firekeeping, preserving lore by retelling tales beside smoldering kindling piles. The Ring is guarded by the “Flamewrits”—elders who test all who wish to wed, brew, or settle disputes.

Plot Hooks:
• An apprentice Flamewrit failed the Kindling Riddle three times—and now strange flickers are appearing in every story he tells.
• The Ring’s central brazier went cold during a naming ceremony, something that hasn't happened in over fifty years.

The Scrollstead

(Converted from a nearby bungalow row and attached library box)

A former cluster of single-family homes now operates as a genealogical archive, each house dedicated to a clan, crop, or harvest ritual. Rolled parchment scrolls and engraved wood tablets cover every wall, and librarians brew tea from their family’s herb-garden blends. Outsiders come here to “prove bloodlines” or seek blessings for birth and burial alike.

Plot Hooks:
• A newly uncovered scroll contains the lineage of a long-forgotten noble line—complete with an unclaimed brewing claim in Greasehold territory.
• Someone has been carving fake names into the elder scrolls… and the names match people who’ve gone missing.

Canossa

The Barrowborn Forge

(inspired by the Canossa Centre/utility lot)

Built inside a reinforced community shed converted into a makeshift smithy, this forge is powered by scavenged tractor engines and fueled by mutant lichen briquettes. Run by a dwarven-descended halfling named Molga Stubblebraid, it supplies barbed armor, retractable plowblades, and the famed "Rootcleaver" axes handed down through the kin lines.

Plot Hooks:

·       Smoke has stopped rising from the forge, and Molga's apprentices speak only in whispers and riddles.

·       A cursed warpick unearthed during a junk-sifting ritual may have awakened an ancestral revenant sealed in the smelting pit.

 

Boarwallow Commons

(based on Canossa Lake & surrounding green space)

Once a suburban park with duck ponds and footbridges, this area has sunken into a mud-churned marsh where the Brotherhood raises their prized battle boars. Reed huts line the edges, woven with barbed wire and broken lawn furniture, and the scent of roasting roots and swine fills the air during their nightly "Rootdowns"—storytelling, sparring, and stew-feasts.

Plot Hooks:

 

·       A prized sow named Sister Gruntsworth has gone missing the night before the Rootdown Festival.

·       The Brotherhood suspects sabotage by a rival beastmaster cult who once tried to hybridize Laser Gophers and Coyotes.

 

Hogback Watchpost

(set along 167 Ave by the tree cluster just west of Canossa Road)

Perched at the edge of Brotherhood territory, this hill-shaped rest stop is a converted playground repurposed into a defensive station with lookout perches made from jungle gyms and swings wrapped in tire-chain. From here, scouts track outsider movements and race back on armadillo-dog mounts to signal the horn of defense.

Plot Hook:

·       Scouts report "green smoke riders" appearing beyond the Henday at dusk—but by dawn, all trails vanish.

·       The Brotherhood offers a bounty for proof of their origin... but demands no contact be made with them first.

Chambery

The Cogclave

(centered around the real-world Chambery Business Park & industrial garages)

What used to be a quiet commercial strip is now the heart of underground trade in the north. Iron grates, scaffolded silos, and tarpaulin-roofed market stalls form a web of walkways known as the Cogclave. Here, Guildmasters trade everything from bootleg tech to forged sauce-tokens, using copper sigils and gear-stamped codes to approve each deal.
Plot Hooks:

·       A trade embargo has been placed on spark-plugs, but one Gearwarden is quietly stockpiling them for a rumored “light cavalry.”

·       A bartered artifact has overwritten a guild member’s memories with someone else's—now two claim to be the same person.

The Rustgate Tracks

(inspired by Chambery's proximity to rail utility corridors)

The defunct rail access behind the district has been converted into a smugglers' corridor called the Rustgate. Cargo carts rigged with pedal engines run silently along the gravel trail, guided by flickering lantern code and guarded by mechanical hounds built from streetlight parts. In shadowy corners, tribute is paid in chrome shavings, dried fungus jerky, and explosive relics.

Plot Hooks:

·       One rail-runner vanished mid-shift—his cart returned packed with rusted crowns from the lost Yukon Trade.

·       A rival faction has rigged the rail switches, shipping Copper Cross explosives directly toward Greasehold territory.

The Wyrmbulb Vault

(a refitted cul-de-sac housing block hidden under false fronts)

Behind a wall of rusted vending machines and fake apartment mailboxes lies the entrance to the Vault, a fortified archive of knowledge, blueprints, and outlawed enchantments. Glowing wyrmbulb fungi light the chambers where smugglers whisper trade secrets and implanters offer “gray mods” (unauthorized augments). Access requires a riddle, a gear offering, and at least one unregistered idea.
Plot Hooks:
➡ Someone left a false gear at the gate—and now the Wyrmbulb network is showing visions of a dead engineer.
➡ A cache of forbidden Greaselord recipes is rumored to be hidden in the vault—one potent enough to blackmail the Feast Knights.

 

Dunluce

The Iron Rewind

(converted from a local video rental store or postal outlet)

The last remaining VHS duplication center in Castledowns, now operated as a monastic script-scriptorium. Knights transcribe their duels from magnetic tape to parchment, keeping both analog and written record under lock and seal. "Archivars" tend the machines like relics, using disassembled rotary phones as prayer beads.
Plot Hooks:
➡ Someone has forged a duel tape—claiming a victory that never happened. Now, a real duel is demanded to "burn the lie from the reels."
➡ The Iron Rewind’s machines malfunction during a solar flare, randomly splicing combat footage with prophetic riddles from lost broadcasts.

Rampart Hall

(based on the Dunluce Community League building & nearby greenbelt)

Once a modest community centre, Rampart Hall now stands armored in corrugated steel and old fridge doors. Inside, trophies made from melted-down swords line the walls, and VHS cassettes are kept in temperature-controlled lockboxes, each one documenting past duels. The hall’s rooftop serves as a lookout over Castledowns’ northwestern frontier, and challenges are issued via megaphone or carved rock placed at the dueling square.
Plot Hooks:
➡ A tape labeled “Dunluce Duel #0001” has been stolen, and the Knights claim whoever holds it controls the right to rewrite their legacy.
➡ A new recruit refuses to duel unless the fight is streamed digitally—an act considered heresy by traditionalists.

The Thornfield Yard

(repurposed from a suburban cul-de-sac near 121 Street & 157 Avenue)

A ring of war-torn townhomes, boarded up and reinforced, now forms an open-air training yard for would-be squires and patrol knights. The cracked cul-de-sac pavement has been etched with trial lines, and banners hang from balconies declaring which Knight-Brood resides there. It’s a space both sacred and dangerous—used for training, but also for judgment.
Plot Hooks:
➡ A squire has died mysteriously during a night trial—yet no knight confesses to hosting it, and the tapes are all blank.
➡ The Yard’s central training dummy has begun whispering forgotten Highland vows during the night… and one knight recognizes his dead brother’s voice.

Elisonore

The Scrollspire

(Based on Elsinore's central school complex or multi-level library site)

Once a modern school with two-story classroom wings, the Scrollspire now rises like a tiered ziggurat of learning and law. Its stairwells are etched with scriptural equations, classrooms retrofitted into monkish scriptoriums, and the rooftop hosts a rotating lens that channels sunlight through salvaged projectors. Here, Scholarchs recite mantras from PDF printouts and enforce ‘truth duels’ over conflicting interpretations of ancient Wikipedia entries.

Plot Hooks:
• A tablet unearthed from the old supply closet contains forbidden content labeled "Teacher Training Video – Mind Management."
• A second-floor hall of the Scrollspire now loops the same three seconds of a digital lesson—no power source detected.

The Quillgrounds

(Inspired by Elsinore’s nearby soccer fields and open green spaces)

These former recreation grounds are now organized into debating circles, calligraphy tournaments, and “ink trials,” where students prove mastery by writing upon windblown scrolls while walking the perimeter. Once a month, young Scholarchs duel with lecture points rather than blades, while attendants throw word-ribbons to show approval.

Plot Hooks:
• One scholar’s ink has turned crimson mid-recitation—her thesis now induces fainting fits in the audience.
• A lost grammar tome was found buried under the Quillgrounds, its pages stitched shut with copper wire and unfamiliar script.

The Vault of Drives

(Converted from a utility shed or technology depot near a smartboard-equipped school)

Once used to store networking tools and A/V carts, this bunker-like building now functions as a sanctum of silicon scripture. Hundreds of flash drives, hard disks, and cloud printouts are enshrined in crystal resin, and apprentices study their formats in dim blue light. Only High Archivists may decrypt a drive—after a ritual called the Bit Rite.

Plot Hooks:
• One of the sacred drives has begun beeping at night—no known Scholarch claims to understand the pattern.
• A corrupted file has begun rewriting text in other scrolls across Elsinore—spreading what some claim is a virus, and others a prophecy.

Griesbach

The Garrison Gaol

(inspired by old military housing & The Griesbach Training Barracks)

 

Converted barracks and training houses have been transformed into prison-temples of reflection and preparation for exile. Here, those awaiting judgment or penance undergo ritual fasts, memorization trials, and recitations of broken oaths before the audience of former knights. Each cell has a mirror and a sword—the first for self-confrontation, the second for final pleas.

Plot Hooks:

·       A famed exiled duelist has escaped, leaving behind only her cell mirror—etched with a message in mirror-script that reads “justice begins anew.”

·       One prisoner refuses to speak, eat, or duel, claiming only the lost heir to the Court has the right to try him.

 

The Oathwright’s Circle

(set around Griesbach’s roundabouts & statues near Admiral Girouard Park)

Where roads once converged in tribute to war heroes, the Court now convenes for civic trials and “rites of rewording.” Each stone roundabout has been transformed into a stage or pulpit, where exiled nobles deliver final arguments before exile or redemption. Spectators throw tokens (coins, bones, trinkets) to indicate favor—those who leave with none are declared “shadow-sworn.”

Plot Hooks:

·       A former knight has bribed audience members to flood the trial with false tokens—and someone has noticed.

·       During a storm, one of the oathwright’s statues bled from the eyes... and now none dare speak its name aloud.

The Writ-Pit

(based on Patricia Lake Amphitheatre and surrounding parade grounds)

Once a ceremonial space surrounded by military monuments and a shallow manmade lake, the Writ-Pit now serves as the Court’s central arena. Carved runestones line the perimeter, and combatants enter to chants from the audience—who vote with flags, not gavels. The duels are often poetic as well as martial, with songs, riddles, or dance-offs required in certain judgments.

Plot Hooks:

·       A local noble accused of oathbreaking has challenged the verdict—on the grounds that his opponent cheated with pre-Hodge era tech.

·       A song duel between a masked bard and a wandering knight has ended in a double disappearance... and the crowd claims no one won.

 

Lorelei

The Griplock Spire

(Built atop an old climbing wall, possibly in a rec field or schoolyard)

Once used for supervised recreational climbs, this towering wall of grips and cables has been encased in rusted scaffold and plated metal. Now a proving tower for squires, its summit is reserved for the Iron Rite—a solo climb made with no rope and one hand bound. Its base is circled by squires-in-training who chant physical prayers between protein-packed meals.

Plot Hooks:
• A senior climber fell—but left no trace on the ground. Only a smear of chalk and a rusted handprint remain.
• Someone scaled the Spire backwards in total silence—then left behind a banner stitched from training uniforms.

Sweatpact Circle

(Set around an outdoor school track or former community jogging path)

A once-cracked asphalt oval has been converted into a ceremonial circuit where oaths of endurance are sworn in sweat. Tire-stacked pylons, kettlebell altars, and chant-leaders mark each lap as a rite of passage. Those who complete fifty laps while chanting the Maxims of Motion are considered “Forged.”

Plot Hooks:
• A challenger collapsed mid-rite—and when revived, spoke in fluent Old Elvish, despite never studying it.
• Strange red glyphs appeared overnight at every lap post, and the Circle Elders refuse to acknowledge them.

The Tower Forge

(Inspired by Lorelei's central fitness centre or former recreation gym)

Once a mid-sized public fitness facility, the Tower Forge now looms like a shrine to sweat and strength. The original weight racks have been fused into altar-benches, and mirrored walls are cracked but still reflect the efforts of squire-monks undergoing their morning rites. Barked mantras echo through the halls as acolytes climb rope walls, deadlift anvils, and spar with foam-wrapped maces in full ritual attire.

Plot Hooks:
• A youth acolyte shattered a sacred mirror mid-set—then claimed he saw a divine version of himself giving orders.
• The Forge's bell hasn’t rung in a decade… but last night, someone heard its toll just before the storm hit.

Rapperswill

The Gloomcoil Gardens

(Based on overgrown community garden plots and tree groves)

This mutated garden, thick with twisting vines, thornroots, and serpent-like plants, is where cult herbalists cultivate hallucinogenic fungi and “shed fruit.” It's considered sacred to be bitten by a fruit-serpent during trance and is home to "Mother Gaze," a massive, half-petrified snake fossil that whispers wisdom through vibrations in the soil.

Plot Hooks:
• A harvest rite yielded a new fruit with human teeth—and it bit back before vanishing in the dark.
• A noble was found staring at the fossil for three days straight—when pulled away, he had no pupils and spoke with two voices.

The Molten Crossing

(Converted from pedestrian overpasses and walking trails near utility roads)

Once a safe walkway over traffic lanes, this bridge has been wrapped in woven vines, molted banners, and charred silk. Pilgrims must cross barefoot while chanting their lineage backward to sever past ties and "molt the self." Those who hesitate are left behind—and sometimes heard muttering under the bridge for days.

Plot Hooks:
• The vines have begun writing out names overnight—some of them belonging to people who haven’t yet arrived.
• A section of the bridge burned itself into a spiral pattern, and anyone who walks over it begins dreaming of serpents underground.

The Shedcoil Amphitheatre

(Repurposed from a sunken sports field or open cul-de-sac plaza)

What was once a waterlogged ball diamond has become the central ritual pit for the Serpent Banner. Encircled by concentric rings of stone and broken bleachers, this amphitheatre hosts nightly “skin dances” beneath clouded moons, where initiates writhe in snake-like movements under hallucinogenic incense. Serpent effigies slither along the edge, and bio-luminescent moss lines the steps like veins.

Plot Hooks:
• A dancer shed her skin mid-ritual—only for the flesh to slither away chanting prophecies in broken Latin.
• A rival noble accused of heresy vanished during a performance; only a coiled banner and an open eye remain at center stage.

Other Locations

The Wylde Faire Grounds
(Former Castle Downs Park)

Once a municipal park with picnic areas and sports fields, Castle Downs Park has blossomed into the Wylde Faire Grounds—a riotous realm of reenactment and revelry. Cobblestone paths wind through wooden stockades, mead tents, jousting lists, puppet stages, and bardic dueling rings. It is both the ceremonial heart of the Castledowns Confederacy and a tourist draw for outsiders seeking chaotic pageantry. The site expands and contracts like a living village, depending on the season, and the rules change as quickly as the roleplay.

Plot Hooks
• A bard was booed offstage for revealing a piece of true Hodgepocalypse history—now the crowd wants his head or his source.
• Someone won all twelve pub tokens in one night… but never cashed them in. The next morning, the tokens were found melted into their boots.

Ye Olde Pubbe Crawl

Once a simple beer tent loop, this glorified tavern gauntlet now spans the Wylde Faire Grounds and surrounding pop-up alleys. Each of the 12 themed pubs is dedicated to a different community or faction within the Castledowns Confederacy, turning the crawl into a microcosm of post-collapse society. Patrons must journey through:

• The Rooted Tusk (Boar’s Brotherhood – Baturyn): Earthen ales and boar jerky, served in tusk-shaped mugs.
• The Oathbrewer’s Tap (Court of Broken Oaths – Arena District): Every drink is a wager; toasts are legally binding.
• The Sizzled Spoon (Greasehold – Fryer’s Gate): Deep-fried beer bites and sauce-sipping duels.
• The Copper Draught (Guild of the Copper Cross – Chambery): Smuggler stouts and “black market bitters.”
• The Iron Goblet (Knights of Dunluce – Dunluce): Served only warm and always in dented tankards.
• The Golden Horn (Meadhall of Hearthwood – Caernarvon): Mead-tasting tournaments and drunken genealogy tests.
• The Flexing Flask (Order of the Rusted Tower – Lorelei): Protein-packed grog and kettlebell drinking contests.
• The Footnote Tavern (Scholarchs of Elsinore – Elsinore): Proofread your order or be refused service.
• The Masked Stein (Painted Court – Beaumaris): Every drink has a different persona; guess wrong, get hexed.
• The Molten Mouth (Serpent Banner – Rapperswill): Hallucinogenic cocktails served in coiled vine cups.
• The Faire Warden’s Cup (Wylde Faire Grounds – Central Hub): The ceremonial midpoint; loudest pub song wins a free pint.
• The Atomic Satyr (Wandering Mech Monks or Deep North Traders): A radioactive blend of myth and mead—location unknown, appearance random.

“Knights of the Crawl” wear flagons on their belts, duel in drinking songs, and must collect a stamp, sip, or story at each pub. Completing the full circuit without passing out, vomiting, or offending a Toast-Witch grants the legendary Token of Tenacity—a magical artifact redeemable once for trial immunity in the Court of Broken Oaths or any drinking duel across the land.

Plot Hooks:

•  A tavern called The Last Sip only appears during blue moons. It’s opened early this year… and the barkeep remembers your face.
•  A “viking” NPC at The Rooted Tusk refuses to stay in character, muttering code fragments and broadcasting static. Is he a sleeper agent, a rogue LARP-bot, or just very, very hungover?

The Reach of Castledown

Though bound by oath to Mayor Larry of Ed-Town, the banner of Castledown casts a long shadow. Its gallant influence unfurls like a painted standard across the north—riding the winds of trade, song, and ritual from mead hall to molten bridge. Where doublets are worn and flagons raised, the Confederacy endures.

Anthony Henday Ruins ("The Perimeter of Peril")

Once a modern ring road, the Anthony Henday now serves as a war-torn beltway of broken asphalt and overgrown interchanges, known grimly as the Perimeter of Peril. Bands of mounted warlords and nomadic scavengers roam the lanes, their vehicles armored in sheet metal and highway signage. To preserve tenuous order, Castledowns dispatches its elite “Pathkeepers”—knightly highway marshals who enforce tolls, dueling rights, and fair passage. Atop the shattered roundabouts, monthly jousts determine lane control and settle territorial disputes with honor (and horsepower).

Ardrossan ("The Outer Court")

Ardrossan, affectionately dubbed “The Outer Court,” is where rural nobility meets cosplay agriculture in full, oat-scented glory. Once a quiet farming community, it now flourishes under the banner of the Order of the Grain-fed—a ceremonial knighthood known for its tractor duels, heraldic seed banners, and oat-brewed mead tastings. Locals wear armor fashioned from grain silos and hockey pads, hosting Greasehold-inspired singalongs and reenacting vintage highway jousts to honor long-lost commercials and grain subsidies. Despite its eccentricity, Ardrossan serves as a vital granary and spiritual foil to Castledowns' theatrics, offering fealty through ritual harvest and karaoke-laced diplomacy.

Namao ("The Boarlands")

Once a quiet farming hamlet, Namao is now known as The Boarlands, a wild borderland of truffle-pocked fields and pig-wrangling paddocks. Home to rugged freebooters and beastmasters, it serves as the breeding grounds for Castledowns’ infamous mountable mutant boars and armored lawn beasts. While nominally loyal to Mayor Larry and the Confederacy, its folk are more easily swayed by smoked meats and sausage coin than by banners or bloodlines.

Greasehold Locations Across Alberta

Forged from the charred remains of pre-Hodgepocalypse fast-food ruins, the Greasehold chain has mutated into a loose confederacy of saucebound strongholds—each ruled by a Baron or Baroness with their spice laws and sacred recipes. Though all claim descent from the Original Fryer, they operate with notorious independence, trading ingredients, greasecoin, and condiments through back-alley caravans and blackened delivery drones.

Some boast legendary specialties—The Veggie Viceroy of Leduc, The Double-Battered Duke of Vegreville, or the Waffle Warlock of Wetaskiwin—while others have turned to more militant measures, defending secret spice vaults with mayonnaise golems and breaded battlewagons.

The Frykeep Bastion

Ringed by reinforced drive-thru lanes and topped with a sizzling iron crown, The Frykeep Bastion rises like a greasy cathedral above the quiet suburban cul-de-sacs. Its facade, still faintly branded with melted plastic signage, now bears sacred fryer-sigil banners and golden-battered shields. The entire compound runs off converted deep fryers and solar-heated grease traps, making it both self-sustaining and deliciously defensive.

The Order of the Golden Crumb, Baturyn's ruling kitchen-knights, oversee training in culinary combat, fryer maintenance, and the ancient art of customer charm. Apprentices—called Greaseborn—must recite oaths over sizzling patties before they may wield the Sacred Spatula. Their internal code holds that “All meals are trials. All sauces, judgments.”

Inside, the Deeppan Hall serves as a feast-assembly arena, where disputes are resolved over duel-cooked burgers, and heralds sing the day’s specials. A side annex, the Milkshake Vault, is sealed with biometric flavor profiles and houses the last operational soft-serve relic in northern Alberta.

 

Northern and Central Alberta Greaseholds

Town	Greasehold Title	Notes
Fort Saskatchewan	The Ironhold Fryhall	Militarized fry fortress. Recruits armored food couriers.
Vegreville	The Bun-Relic Keep	Site of the Pysanka Sauce Miracle. Pilgrimage destination.
Mundare	The Kielbassa Grillcloister	Sausage-themed Greasehold with strict seasoning rites.
Lamont	Hold of the Fried Cross	Known for healing unguents made of sauce and pickles.
St. Paul	The Cosmic Combo Hall	Home to alien-influenced recipes. Hosts offworld burger trials.
Lac La Biche	The Cratergrill Bastion	Built into an impact crater. Radiant burgers. Sauce glows.
Redwater	The Oil-Battered Griddle	Fusion of refinery tech and fry tech. Burger grease powers backup generators.
Tofield	Greasehold of the Haystack Flame	Remote outpost with frontier flair. Big on flame-broiling duels.
Sherwood Park	The Stripgrill Sprawl	Faction-ridden mega-patio fortress. Houses 3 rival sauce sects.
Camrose	Greasehold of the Bearded Baron	Revered for its mustache-fried pickles. Great Feasts every solstice.
Leduc	The Bunrun Tollhold	Controls aerial delivery lanes. Known for hot air balloon burger drops.
Wetaskiwin	The Jingle Crown Citadel	Famous for Greaselord sing-offs. The winner’s burger is law.
Ponoka	The Mounted Frypost	Horse-riding Feast Knights. Arch-fryer games held each spring.

Southern Alberta Greaseholds

Town	Greasehold Title	Notes
Calgary (Prairie Atlantis)	The Drowned Sizzler	Sits atop sunken mall ruins. Burger barge fleets roam canals.
Brooks	Frypost of the Holy Patty	Religious Greasehold with devout sizzle-chant orders.
Medicine Hat	The Solar Grill Bastion	Powered entirely by sun-fried burgers and panel-forges.

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