The Quad of Exitlight

A Liminal Americana RPG Setting

Along the endless highways of the Gulf Coast, where Interstate 10 hums with the weight of forgotten dreams, there lies a mythic quadrangle known as The Quad of Exitlight. It’s not a place you find on a map, but a state of being—a constellation of four Drift Points that manifest for those who drive too long, love too hard, or lose too much.

Each node is a slice of haunted Americana: a Waffle House where souls reckon, a Denny’s where time loops, a La Quinta where regrets rest, and a gas station where choices burn under neon. In The Current, the unseen river of fate and memory, these places are thresholds, snares, sanctuaries, and crossroads, drawing lone travelers into their orbit. Here, the mundane is mythic, every booth a confessional, and every stranger a mirror.

Players enter these nodes not to conquer, but to confront, trade, or unravel the stories they carry, guided by the hum of fluorescent lights and the whispers of those who came before.

---

The Quad of Exitlight is a setting for stories of transition and transformation, where the rules of reality bend like heatwaves on asphalt. Each node—The House of Waffles, The Loop at Denny’s, La Quinta del Ocaso, and Zero Dark Pump & Pantry—offers unique encounters, flavored by grease, regret, and the surreal pulse of David Lynch’s dreamscapes. Thin Wall Events, when the boundaries between realities flicker, might let players meet echoes of themselves or strangers from other nodes, trading secrets or burdens.

Whether you’re a trucker seeking absolution, a poet chasing a half-remembered song, or a drifter fleeing a past that won’t stay buried, the Quad is both refuge and reckoning. Roll the dice, choose your booth, and let The Current carry you through a night where every choice leaves a mark.

---

Four Scenes from the Quad of Exitlight

The House of Waffles: The Forklift Prophet’s Warning

The fluorescent buzz of the Waffle House cuts through the Gulf mist as you slide into a sticky booth. Across the counter, a man in a reflective vest scribbles on a napkin, his fingers stained with barbecue sauce. He calls himself the Forklift Prophet, and his eyes don’t blink when he slides the napkin toward you. It’s a map—no, a warning—scrawled in your own handwriting, naming a place you swore you’d never return to. Delores pours coffee without looking, her voice low: “Sugar, you gonna listen to him, or keep running?” The jukebox hums a song you haven’t heard since you were a kid. Outside, the neon sign flickers, and you feel the weight of a choice you haven’t made yet.

d6	Who’s Sitting at the Counter When the Walls Go Thin?
1. The Forklift Prophet	Utters visions in condiment stains and fry baskets. Leaves a prophecy in your handwriting.
2. Echo-You (Third Shift Version)	Chain-smoking, bitter, and tired. Offers you a key you forgot losing.
3. Delores Prime	Knows your name, your regrets, your unfinished conversations. Says nothing unless you ask the right question.
4. The Disappeared Regular	Their coffee’s still hot. They look familiar. You might be their unfinished story.
5. The Receipt Burner	Shreds old paper slips with strange dates and impossible totals. Offers you one to keep.
6. The Griddle Whisperer	Hears voices in the sizzle of bacon. Hums a tune you dreamed once. The eggs spell something out.

The Loop at Denny’s: The Waitress Who Knows Too Much

It’s 3:12 AM at the Denny’s, same as it was an hour ago. The waitress, name tag reading “Marge” (or was it “Marie”?), sets a plate of pancakes you didn’t order in front of you. “You always get these,” she says, her smile too wide, her eyes too old. The booth behind you is empty, but you hear your own voice whispering a conversation you had years ago—or maybe tomorrow. The menu in your hands is blank now, except for one item: “Regret, $0.00.” You glance at the clock. Still 3:12. Marge leans close, her breath like cold syrup: “You can leave, hon. But you’ll be back.” The door’s right there. Why can’t you move?

d6	Who Do You Keep Meeting Again?
1. The Waitress Who Knows Too Much	Greets you like it’s your third visit. You’ve never been here before. Or have you?
2. The Booth That’s Always Occupied	Someone sits with their back to you. You never see their face. But their drink is your favorite.
3. The Child in the Paper Hat	Asks riddles with punchline answers. Every answer matches something in your life.
4. The Empty Menu	No prices. No items. Just memories of meals you’ve had and ones you regret not having.
5. The Whispering Syrup Bottle	If poured, it murmurs a phrase from someone who’s gone. If consumed, you’ll forget something else.
6. The Looping Busboy	Drops the same plate every five minutes. You’ve timed it. He looks sadder each time.

La Quinta del Ocaso: The Bed That Breathes

The La Quinta’s front desk clerk hands you a key to Room 113, though you didn’t ask for it. The hallway smells of damp towels and static, and your door creaks open to a room that feels too familiar. The bed sighs when you sit, a slow exhale like someone letting go. You lie down, and the ceiling ripples, showing you a memory you buried: a face, a fight, a road you didn’t take. The TV plays static, but a voice inside it says your name, soft as a lullaby. There’s a note on the nightstand: “You don’t need to see yourself tonight.” You check for a mirror. There isn’t one. The bed sighs again, and you wonder if you’ll wake up as you.

d6	Who Checks In After You?
1. The Bellhop Who Dreams of the Moon	Offers no bags, just burdens. Yours weigh less after speaking with him.
2. The Night Clerk with a Record Player	Spins forgotten songs. Asks, “Do you want to hear the one they wrote for you?”
3. The Bed That Breathes	Not a person, but it sighs when you lie down. You dream of a room you never left.
4. The Mirrorless Room	You’re sure there was a mirror earlier. Instead, a note: You don’t need to see yourself tonight.
5. The Towel That Wasn't Yours	Monogrammed with someone else’s initials. You remember holding them when they wept.
6. The Exit That Wasn’t There Before	Leads to a hallway filled with doors. Each labeled with a different version of your name.

Zero Dark Pump & Pantry: The Pump That Sings

The gas station’s neon sign buzzes “Open” as you pull into Zero Dark Pump & Pantry, though the highway behind you feels like it vanished. Pump 7 hums a melody—your mother’s favorite song, the one she sang before everything changed. You grip the nozzle, and the air shimmers, showing you a vision: a life where you turned left instead of right, stayed instead of left. The fuel smells like rain and regret. A cashier, maybe named Ray, watches from the window, his eyes reflecting headlights that aren’t yours. “Keep pumping,” he calls, “but you gotta pay for what you see.” The melody grows louder. The tank’s full. You’re not sure what you’re filling.

d6	Who’s Under the Neon When the Walls Flicker?
1. The Hitchhiker Who Wasn’t There	Stands by Pump 3, thumb out, face half-hidden by a hood. They ask for a ride to a place you’ve never heard of but feel you should know. If you offer one, they’re gone—but your passenger seat feels heavier now.
2. The Cashier Called Ray (Maybe)	Leans on the counter, counting change that isn’t money. Offers you a “deal”: a forgotten memory for a tank of gas that’ll take you somewhere you’re not ready to go. Their smile is too sharp.
3. The Vending Machine Saint	A figure in cracked plastic casing, glowing faintly. Insert a coin (or something you value), and it dispenses an item from your past—a toy, a letter, a regret. Taking it means leaving something behind.
4. The Radio Preacher	Voice crackles from a busted speaker, preaching about roads not taken. Names you specifically. If you listen too long, you’ll know where to find what you lost—but you’ll owe the station a favor.
5. The Tire-Track Oracle	Patterns in the gravel lot form a map of your life. A stranger in a trucker hat points them out, but only if you share a secret first. The map changes when you look away.
6. The Pump That Sings	Pump 7 hums a melody you loved as a kid. If you fuel up, you see a vision of a choice you didn’t make. If you touch the nozzle, it whispers what you’ll lose if you keep driving.