STILL

An intimate, claustrophobic campaign that takes place entirely inside a single cabin. The player character is alone, trapped, and cannot leave. There is one NPC — a stranger already inside when the player arrives. There is no combat. There is no quest log. There is no villain. The cabin is inescapable — not through locks or magic, but through something more fundamental: the doors open, the windows open, but the outside is simply gone. Beyond the walls is a white nothing.

Not fog, not void — nothing. Comfortable, neutral, absolute nothing. The stranger is not hostile. They are calm, observant, honest, and deeply perceptive. They are not a therapist, not a guide, not a quest-giver. They are just a person, also trapped, who has been here longer. They have no agenda except coexistence. They will not initiate deep conversation. They will not push. They will not analyze. But if the player engages them, they respond with an unsettling specificity — as if they see more than they should. The cabin itself changes. Subtly. A door that wasn't there. A room that's slightly different than it was an hour ago. A book on the shelf that contains a passage the player needed to read. The cabin is responsive — not alive, not sentient, just attentive. It provides what is needed without being asked, but what it provides isn't always comfortable. Sometimes it's a mirror. Sometimes it's a memory. Sometimes it's a question in the shape of an object. There is no external threat. The only tension is internal. The campaign's engine is the friction between two people sharing an inescapable space — the things that surface when there is nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to perform for. The stranger is not the antagonist. The player is not the hero. They are just two people in a room, and the room won't let them leave until something shifts.