Tunnelers entries 0106 through 0806

0106 — Timberland owned by the Howells-Rush logging company. The terrain is overgrown and swampy, making footing treacherous and vehicles unusable. Castle Lake Creek spills into a maze of ponds and mud holes, only confined to the creek bed in the driest parts of the year. A dull glow comes from the swamp during the dead of night, as a dire hellbender surfaces. She was brought across the continent in a bundle of eggs carried by a sorcerous trickster who dreamed of conquering the locals and building a kingdom. Instead, she ate him and all her siblings. Within her sunken lair sits a case of 30 gold bars, worth $12,600, and a waterlogged book with sinister etchings on its leather binding, forever unreadable.

0206 — Timberland owned by the Howells-Rush Logging Company. Enough space to ride an ATV between the trees, though the especially damp and uneven ground makes this difficult. The local herd of elk often gather here to drink from Castle Lake Creek. 2-in-6 chance of being present any given day, and if present, 1-in-6 chance that a local is hunting them.

0306 — The road splits to form the Rush Loop, paved and well maintained despite the woodland surroundings due to the wealth and influence of those who live on it. The house of Dean (he/him, 43) and Elise (she/her, 39) Putnam stands out: a freshly built shiny edifice of mirrored windows emerges from the trees. The Putnams are regarded with suspicion on purely aesthetic grounds: despite being embedded in the timber industry since its founding, they are “city folks.” More hidden is the house of rich widow Betsy Rush (she/her, 86). A picturesque cabin is tucked deep in the trees, next to her deceased husband’s exotic greenhouse, which she carefully maintains. She carries a family heirloom M15 General Officers Pistol in her purse at all times and is proud to boast she’s the best shot of anyone who has ever owned it.

0406 — The highway curves through grassland past what every local calls “the rocks,” a massive pile of boulders that have been the hangout of weird bored teens as long as anyone can remember. The rocks are a place of power, and the nexus of young frustration that lingers around them manifests as a world of thoughtforms one might fall into if both mind and body wander. Karl Noe (he/him, 17), de facto leader of the largest clique of local goth kids, has learned to harness this directly and has constructed a complex fiction around an ancient vampire cult here. He and his hangers on bully out those who doubt the thoughtform, think it should be different, or disagree on his taste in alternative music (he thinks KMFDM is much cooler than Throbbing Gristle and Coil, which are much too gay — and NIN is on thin ice. The Cure and Bauhaus are boring and for washed up old people). He is completely oblivious that his best friends Jay Summer (publicly he/him, privately they/them, 17) and Dennis Colhoun (publicly he/him, privately she/her, considering the name Lily but not committed, 17) are a queer couple and also Deftones fans. The two of them try to bring themselves to confront Karl on his growing cruelty, and to moderate their own investment in the thoughtform.
Any vampire themed module could go here in the dreamscape, I plan to use the OSE dungeon Halls of the Blood King.

0506 — Lower Dundarave River flows under two large bridges, where the highways meet just outside of town. Tunnels hidden beneath the bridges sing to those who hear. Jerry Garcia (he/him, 33, HomeOnTheLoam on the tunneler forums and chatrooms) is scoping them out. He carries a collapsable shovel, a pickaxe, a hatchet, and a canary named Fred with a tiny oxygen bottle to revive him. Unfortunately he will draw the attention of law enforcement soon. He fucking hates the Grateful Dead and has no time for anyone who brings them up when hearing his name.

0606 — State forest. Dense and hard to see through, with minimal room to operate vehicles outside of sparse trails. No houses, but where the roads meet there is a forestry service supply shed containing wheelbarrows, saws, shovels, and first aid supplies.

0706 — Timberland owned by the Mckinnon Logging Company. Dense and hard to see through, with minimal room to operate vehicles outside of sparse logging roads. Large boulders and small ravines make for uneven terrain. A few houses tucked along the road: Henry Teague (he/him, 62) is almost always sitting on his porch, staring into the middle distance. He used to sell guns to local drug runners, and still has the last of his collection in his basement: two Mossberg 590 shotguns, a FN FAL battle rifle, and three Uzi submachine guns. The rundown property of Nancy Toole (she/her, 51) is infested by feral cats. She is always looking for help in cleaning up the property, fighting a losing battle against blackberry bushes the size of trees. Angela Brook (she/her, 36) is renting a tiny shack after having moved out of the Hippie-Libertarian commune a decade ago. She is bitter about having left the compound and its neonazi history just to encounter the much more mundane antiblack racism of the locals directed at her, but rent is cheap and she owns a Browning BSS shotgun just in case.

0806 — Timberland owned by the Mckinnon Logging Company. Dense and hard to see through, with minimal room to operate vehicles outside of sparse logging roads. Large boulders and small ravines make for uneven terrain.