Idlethorp
Idlethorp is a ghost of a village, its crumbling remains nestled among moss-laden trees and dense underbrush in the western reaches of Mordent. Long abandoned, this once-humble crossroads trading post is now choked in silence, a place where the fog lingers low and the forest has grown thick with secrets.
Idlethorp lies within sight of Punchinel Manor, though no path directly connects them anymore. Locals claim the land between the two is twisted, refusing to remain mapped or memorized.
What remains of Idlethorp includes:
- The stone foundations of a coaching inn, blackened by old fire and split by tree roots.
- A dry fountain in a sagging square, its basin home to frogs and fallen leaves, the statue at its center worn faceless by weather and time.
- A collapsed chapel of Ezra, its stained-glass windows shattered, but a silver medallion of the goddess still gleams from the overgrown altar.
- Root-cracked cobblestone lanes vanish into the underbrush, lined by the stumps of long-felled signposts.
No roof remains intact, and no doors hang straight. Yet some villagers from distant homesteads whisper that the buildings do not always appear the same—sometimes the shutters are closed, sometimes open. Sometimes the inn’s front door is gone, only to return.
Today, Idlethorp is marked on no maps. Locals avoid it—not out of terror, but with the quiet unease reserved for cursed places. It is a trap of memory, a town that dreams of life it no longer has, and one that seems to wait—patiently, hungrily—for those who might remember it.
It is said that Idlethorp is not truly abandoned. It is simply waiting for the curtain to rise again.
History
Before its abandonment, Idlethorp served as a waystation for merchants, trappers, and pilgrims, a modest hub where four roads met. All those roads still exist—but none lead here anymore. Somehow, travelers veer away without noticing.
The villagers vanished over a century ago, according to land records. Yet some say they never truly left.
Tourism
Idlethorp is known among Mordentish folklorists as the setting of several unsettling tales:
- One legend tells of a puppeteer from Punchinel Manor who used Idlethorp's townsfolk as test audiences—and never quite let go of them.
- Another speaks of a play performed in the town square on the last night before the village was abandoned. No script survives, but those who try to recreate it suffer inexplicable accidents.
- A few hunters tell of a smiling figure glimpsed at the crossroads near Idlethorp: a tall man with a marionette’s gait, who offers directions… and sometimes, a stringed gift.
Climate
Idlethorp doesn’t feel like it died; it feels like it stopped mid-breath. The air is always still, and bird calls fall away as one approaches the ruins. Despite the decay, no scavenger nests here—as if even nature refuses to claim it.
- Travelers who spend the night near Idlethorp report hearing carts roll across stone streets in the dead of night.
- Some claim to have seen candlelight flicker in windows, or the silhouettes of children skipping down nonexistent alleys.
- The area is rife with cold spots, especially near the well in the village square, which locals say is "deeper than it ought to be."
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