Biome Props
The smallest family in the library — props that belong to nothing but the woodland itself. The stump has no axe marks, on purpose: anything that prompts the question who did this? belongs to a different family.
Continue reading →General Props
The unbranded library — barrels, boxes, a domestic iron, and the foundational campfire whose flame quad is reused across half the moor. Connective tissue.
Continue reading →Farm Props
Two large props that mark a place as used to be working: a tractor stopped mid-furrow, and the tallest silhouette in the library — a wooden-legged water tower built to be visible from a kilometre away through haze.
Continue reading →Church Props
The altar, the bell, the book on its stand, and a rack of red-glass votives — the only warm colour the church will let itself have. Each one is designed to be approached slowly.
Continue reading →Outpost Props
Solar panel, weather station, jerry can, folding chair. Where pagan props imply ritual, the outpost props imply procedure — left mid-shift by people who expected to come back.
Continue reading →Pagan Props
A skull torch, a scarecrow, a mortar and a bowl too dark on the inside. The project's most heavily-loaded prop family — every object has to tell you something about whoever lives in that cabin.
Continue reading →The Pagan Setpiece
A log cabin under a thatched roof, a tripod cooking fire, an effigy nailed above the door, and a ring of trees that closes around it like a hand. The oldest answer to the moor, finally a place.
Continue reading →The Outpost
Four prefabricated modules ringed by barbed wire and floodlit by sodium lights. The moor's only piece of harsh modernity, and the most recent answer the world has tried against it.
Continue reading →The Forest in Mist
A dense field of bare-branched dead trees with thick low mist underneath. No setpiece, no prop, no character moment. The moor's connective tissue, and the truth about what's between everywhere else.
Continue reading →The Church
Stone walls, a black-tiled steeple, a cross. Organised faith, ruined — one of three or four answers the world has tried against the moor, and the only one that left a building behind.
Continue reading →The Altar Ritual
A stone block ringed by twelve candles in a forest clearing. No mechanic, no trigger — the first proper composition in Ashmoor that means something, and the start of the arrangement language.
Continue reading →The Bone That Looked Wrong
A short entry about a prop that was very nearly right and then completely wrong. Saved here because the moment things stop working is the moment you learn what was actually doing the work.
Continue reading →First Prop Tests
The test scene gains a hand-lantern, a campfire, and a stone crucifix. The job is the lighting, the silhouettes, and whether the moor has anything to say about each object — including the first object in the project that means something specific.
Continue reading →The Test Scene
Before Ashmoor has a player, a controller, or a single line of game logic, it has a scene whose only job is to answer one question: does the moor read? A contract with the thing being built.
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