Low House
Half-hidden by the creeping woods on the outskirts of Tarlis, the house stands quiet and weathered, its history worn into the stone. Repaired, abandoned, and reclaimed more times than anyone remembers, it bears the weight of past lives in its walls. Though unremarkable at a glance, something about it lingers—an absence, a presence, a memory that refuses to fade.
Purpose / Function
A practical homestead on the outskirts of Tarlis, built for self-sufficiency and quiet living rather than comfort. Though old, it has been repaired and modified over the years, bearing the marks of past owners—some careful, some careless.
Its original use is unclear. Some say it was once a forester’s house, others claim it belonged to a recluse who never ventured into town. Whatever the truth, it has stood long enough to outlast its builders.
Architecture
A sturdy, timeworn structure on the outskirts of Tarlis, built to withstand the damp and shifting ground. Its low, squat profile suggests it was designed for practicality rather than beauty, built by hands more concerned with survival than craftsmanship. The walls are rough-cut limestone and packed clay, patched over generations, with some stones bearing old, half-faded markings whose meaning has been lost to time. The roof is a sloping timber frame covered in layers of weathered tiles, many replaced or shifted by storms. The windows are narrow and recessed, meant to keep out the cold rather than let in light, with heavy shutters that remain bolted at night. The thick wooden door, dark with age and reinforced with iron rivets, has a rusted warding nail hammered into the frame, a relic left by a previous owner. The hearth appears older than the house itself, its mismatched stones suggesting the structure was built over something even older. Scratched into the stone near the threshold is an unfamiliar sigil, its edges smoothed by years of weathering.
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