Obojima: The Long Grass Route

An Obojima Delivery Tale of Soup, Spirits, and Sentimental Machinery

Morning arrives with the hush of a tea kettle just before its song. Mist coils lazily through the tall grass, and dew freckles the delivery ledger left on your doorstep—folded three times, tied with red string, and smelling faintly of camphor and engine oil.

Old Hiji-sama is unwell. The villagers whisper of a spirit-flu, a sleep-thickening fever where dreams run backward and soup goes bland. He’s resting now, bundled in mossy quilts and attended by a hovering kettle spirit with one eye always watching the clock.

But Mint Blossom, his rust-patched keitora, is wide awake. Parked stubbornly beneath the persimmon tree, she hums like a contented cat left in charge of the garden. A cassette is already in the deck. A list of deliveries and minor repairs lies on the passenger seat—along with a bag of dried fruit, a handful of spirit tokens, and a note written in Hiji’s scratchy hand:

"You’ll do fine. She remembers the way."

There are no monsters to slay today. Just soup that needs delivering, spirits who want to be heard, and a truck that may—or may not—be ready to say goodbye.

Somewhere along this route, magic lingers in rust, memory clings to upholstery, and errands might become something more.

Time to start the engine.

Premise

Old Hiji, the village’s beloved handyman and only delivery driver, is laid up with a spirit-flu. His beat-up keitora truck (a small, boxy First Age relic held together by spirit tape and sheer goodwill) needs to make its usual delivery circuit before the weekly festival. The PCs are asked to fill in for him, running errands, fixing odds and ends, and maybe—just maybe—keeping the truck from falling apart or ascending to the Spirit Realm mid-route.

Act I: Morning Prep

• Players are given a hand-scrawled delivery ledger (crumpled, annotated in Hiji’s nearly illegible handwriting).
• The keitora has a name ("Mint Blossom”), a temperamental starter, and a cassette deck that only plays tapes backward.
• A local spirit mechanic, half-sure they’re a raccoon, gives the players three spirit tokens to offer if the truck stalls.

Optional complication: A passenger—a spirit hitchhiker or talking package that insists on storytelling during the ride.

Act II: The Route

The route consists of 3–5 stops, each its own mini-vignette. Some examples:

1. The Soup Lady’s Ladle
   • The soup is spoiled, and the ladle hums ominously. A spirit of bitterness has taken up residence.
   • Players must calm it through a poem, a cleansing ritual, or offering it better soup.
2. Delivery to a Forgotten Shrine
   • The box isn't labeled. Opening it reveals an object (a cracked mask, a paper talisman) that causes dreams.
   • They must decide whether to leave it, return it, or try to commune with the silent spirit that awaits.
3. Goats on the Road
   • An exasperated herbalist's goats have blocked the only pass.
   • Players must herd them with creativity or get the truck to fly for exactly 10 seconds (thanks to a potion bottle leaking in the glovebox).
4. A Ramen Stand in the Rain
   • The storm is magical and won't let up until the proper ramen toppings are delivered—each chosen to soothe a different type of homesickness.

Act III: Evening Return

• Mint Blossom begins to sputter and glow—she might be ascending.
• Players can choose to anchor her with a meaningful object (like Hiji’s cassette), let her go, or bargain with a passing sky-spirit to get her home one last time.
• Back in town, Hiji waves from the window, chuckling that “She always did like you lot better.”

Rewards

• A talisman made of truck parts that always points home.
• A spirit blessing that ensures warm soup and dry socks for a season.
• A note from Mint Blossom left in the glovebox, thanking the players for the road.

Mint Blossom’s Quirks

Roll 1d6 or choose as appropriate.

1. Cassette Curse
   The tape deck only plays music backward.
   Certain spirit passengers insist on dancing to it, while others grow unsettled. Once per trip, a song played backward reveals a cryptic riddle or memory fragment tied to a location on the route.
2. Sentient Air Freshener
   A pine-scented charm dangles from the mirror—and occasionally offers snarky commentary.
   It dislikes hills, ghosts, and jazz. Will give accurate mechanical advice only if politely asked in verse.
3. Haunted Glovebox
   The glovebox contains a small, personal pocket of the Spirit Realm.
   Reaching in might retrieve a lost delivery item, a ghostly photograph, or a weathered snack wrapped in a language no one speaks anymore.
4. Mood Horn
   The horn changes pitch and tone depending on the truck’s “feelings.”
   Honking while annoyed may summon small thunderclouds. Honking while happy might inspire roadside flowers to bloom. Honking at random… inadvisable.
5. Spirit Brake
   The emergency brake must be appeased with a ritual (e.g., three knocks, a whistle, and the phrase “not today, mountain”).
   If ignored, the truck will roll 20 feet forward when parked and sigh audibly.
6. Secret Compartment
   A floor panel reveals a compartment containing… something different each time.
   Options might include: a dusty ramen coupon from a forgotten stall, a potion vial labeled “Not for Birds,” or a journal page from a previous driver hinting at a lost love or spirit pact.

Epilogue: When the Engine Cools

The sun dips low, painting the roof tiles of Hiji-sama’s home in warm rust and lavender. Mint Blossom rests beneath the persimmon tree, her engine quiet now, ticking with the cooling rhythm of a machine that still believes in purpose.

The deliveries are done.
The ramen found its missing salt. The ladle stopped whispering curses. The goats, reluctantly, came down from the roof.

And the road? The road carried you through more than errands. It carried you through someone’s story—sometimes yours, sometimes another’s. Maybe even Mint Blossom’s.

Hiji watches from the doorway, wrapped in his spirit-sick quilt. He lifts a cup of tea in silent thanks. The steam curls upward like an old road winding through memory.

Far off, you can just hear the clang of swords, the barked orders of rangers leaping into action. Their tales will fill the taverns tonight. Grand ones. Loud ones.

But in this quiet pocket of the world, the tale that matters most is told in soup returned to warmth, in a door fixed before it splinters, in the simple knowledge that today—just today—things were mended, not broken.

And that sometimes, carrying the ordinary is the most extraordinary thing of all.