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.
