Hey Thalen, I was mapping an abandoned town that still has a library that disappeared overnight—sounds like a perfect backdrop for a game where the story is in the ruins. Have you ever thought about turning those forgotten places into playable worlds?

The town’s like a maze of cracked streets and overgrown alleys. Imagine a cobblestone square with a stone fountain that’s been silent for decades, its water dry. The library itself is a stone building with vaulted ceilings, tall windows now glassless, the air still damp with dust. Rows of wooden shelves line the walls, some still holding books, others collapsed. The atmosphere feels like someone paused mid‑sentence, and every broken page is a fragment of a story. Think of the staff ghosts as hushed voices that echo in the stacks, their outlines flickering like old lanterns. That’s the kind of setting I’m thinking—quiet, decaying, but still humming with the promise of something hidden.

I can see the layout forming in my mind—an outer ring of winding alleys leading to a central square with the stone fountain, then a narrow corridor of cobblestones that opens into the library’s main hall. The floor tiles are worn, each one slightly different, maybe a subtle map hidden in the patterns. The walls of the library could be carved with the very words that tie the town’s history together, and the ghostly staff drift just beyond the threshold of each shelf, whispering clues. Let’s sketch the first floor and the hidden alcove, then we can decide how the deeper rooms unfold.