Braidwood Cemetery

To many citizens, Braidwood Cemetery is one of the most terrifying places in all of Purgatory. The eerie silence that hangs over it, broken only by the whispering wind, has earned it a reputation as a place best avoided after sunset. The strange thing about it is that there are only seven tombstones, all standing in a perfect line in the center of a vast, overgrown field. Out of the seven that were present, only three of the stones had names that were readable: Caleb Fonsworth, Sarah Glasper, and Smitty Weberson. The rest of the stones bear no names and no one has any idea of who they might be. What could be seen on the stones however, are ancient, cryptic symbols etched into weathered granite.

One of the main reasons behind this peculiar scene is that proper burials have become increasingly rare under the oppressive rule of The Wolfhounds. Once, Braidwood was a small, lively town with cemeteries filled with familiar names and stories. But the Wolfhounds, a brutal military-like regime that seized control years ago, decreed that the dead were to be left unmarked, unremembered — their graves abandoned and forgotten. As a result, traditional burial practices fell out of favor, replaced by hurried disposals in abnormally large mass graves outside the city borders.

The rest of the area surrounding the seven tombstones appears to have once been a beautiful garden. Now, it has been transformed into a sprawling jungle. Massive vines drape from gnarled, ancient trees, their thick tendrils snaking across the ground, wrapping around broken headstones and fallen branches. Thorny shrubs and brambles grow unchecked, their sharp stems and thorns making every step treacherous. Hidden within the undergrowth are patches of vibrant, yet sinister-looking fungi, pulsing faintly with an unnatural glow—some resembling ghostly spores, others like strange, luminescent mushrooms. Hidden within the dense foliage are remnants of old grave markers, half-buried or toppled, covered in moss and vines, making it difficult to distinguish between what is natural and what is man-made. Twisted roots sometimes break through the soil like grasping hands, as if the earth itself is trying to reclaim what was lost. 

The air is thick with humidity and the scent of rotting organic matter. The sounds of the jungle—chirping insects, distant calls of unseen creatures, and the rustling of leaves—create a constant, unsettling symphony that echoes through the silence of the cemetery. Occasionally, the sound of dripping water echoes from unseen sources, adding to the feeling that this place is alive and watching. And to make matters worse, this area seems to be the designated resting ground for the mutant dogs that haunt and terrorize the city of Purgatory.

Few dare to venture near Braidwood Cemetery after dark, for it is said that the spirits of the unclaimed and forgotten rise from their graves. The mutated forest area is not just overgrowth; it’s a living, breathing entity that has transformed the cemetery into a nightmarish landscape—an uncharted wilderness where only the bravest of souls dare to enter. Those who do often find themselves lost in its sinister embrace.