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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#DieselFantasy
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#FaeRefugees
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