Carved by the Garden – Play Through Pt 1

If you’ve been reading my blog or following me on social media for any amount of time, you likely are already aware I am a big fan of Cassi Mothwin and her games. You can read my review of The Sticker Game here and my playthrough of her dark academia horror game Tangled Blessings here.
So when she announced she would be putting out a folk horror solo ttrpg I was THRILLED! More than thrilled. I based my mini D&D5e campaign partly on her work in What Crooked Roots – a folk horror supplement for Dungeons and Dragons. I love the genre and bringing that genre into the gaming world makes me so happy.
Of course I grabbed Carved by the Garden as soon as I could – btw if you are also a Mothwin fan, you should join her Discord and Patreon so you know when more of her work is coming out as well.

Content Warnings

Carved by the Garden is a folk horror game. It includes themes of violence, sacrifice, murder, suicide, drowning, hanging, burning, stalking, animal death, memory loss, and more.
The following playthrough includes many of those as well as sex with dubious consent, pregnancy, unhealthy romantic bonds, suggested parental abuse and abandonment, and more.
Reader discretion is advised.

The following is recorded from the found partial diary of Miss Braemel “Brae” Codrin, a local herbalist and daughter of the late Ranger Lloyd Codrin. It was found on a makeshift stone altar among such items as a bundle of rose briars, a human bone, a stone with what appears to be blood on it, and a knife with a bone and antler handle.
The body of Brae Codrin has yet been recovered.

June 20, 20–

These woods are some of the most unusual and untouched known. Mama hates them, I think. She blames them for Papa’s death despite the fact he died on the road about a mile and a half from here. At the time, the woods sat on one side of the road but now loom over it and sprawl several yards beyond. Just as they now encircle our home when, before I was born, this was one of several farms that abutted the forest then stretched with gardens and fields in sunlight.
I know she hates it but I have found and believe I will continue to find the herbs that I otherwise would only have access to ordered from websites and then they would be dried and their freshness and strength speculative.

That is what I tell Mama…that is what I tell myself.
The woods are dangerous but I know how to stay safe. I learned a lot from Papa’s journals and from other people in the area that have to enter the woods for their work. Jakob, in his work as a ranger, has taught me a great deal as well…even if he also tends to agree with Mama in his worry about the amount of time I spend there.
But…I love the woods. I know it sounds weird but…I also feel the woods love me…

Summer Solstice, 20–

The woods were hot and I thought it would be good to go for a hike. I thought it would be like any other day…any other hike…
I just wanted to see if I could find that patch of St. John’s Wort.
Intentions in the light of day seem like a long time ago even though it was just this morning.

It wasn’t far on the path when the pain began. A strange irritation along the scar on my chest. I rubbed my skin through my t-shirt and kept trekking.
I don’t remember how I got it. I’ve had it my whole adult life. Mama won’t talk about it and I don’t press her – anything to avoid arguing about the woods. Jakob asked me about it the first time we had sex, running his course fingertips over the line that stretches the length of my sternum. I told him I didn’t remember and there was that look in his eyes…like he doesn’t believe me or, if he does, he is afraid of it being true. Its the same look he gets when I tell him the strange things I see in the woods. I’m not sure which is worse – that look or Mama’s grim silence.

The pain sharpened. That was when I started to hear them.
Strange voices, chanting. It didn’t come from any particular direction. All around me flowed the chanting, so soft I could barely make it out but so persistent I couldn’t ignore it even if I didn’t understand it.
Then…there was nothing but the pain. The whole world was pain and chanting.
Finally, I screamed. It took a moment for me to realize it was me screaming. The sound was guttural and feral and fierce and agonizing. It didn’t sound like me at all but it was. Through the screams, through giving over to the pain – I understood the chanting.

Bow to the Old Gods. Provide for the Old Gods.

I awoke later in the day. It had to be a few hours. The first thing I noticed was that the pain was gone. Then that my hands were sticky.
There was a knife in my hand…and blood – on the knife, on my hands, on my face.
My shirt was open and the scar was now a shallow wound.
Before me, just a few feet from where I lay, was a deer. Dead. Its hard was placed on a rotting log next to it.
I dare not ask if I did this. I fear I know the answer.
I also fear…I now know at least part of what happened to me and how I got my scar.
Visions…dreams of cloaked figures, chanting, a shadow with antlers, of pain and being opened and emptied then filled…with darkness…with Him.
Then…blood, the bright fearful eye of a deer…the Antlered One, coming to me, taking me, making me His…no. I was already His. I was always his.

I stumbled away from the deer, tripping over thick roots and into mud. Mud and blood…
I rinsed myself in a nearby stream but when my hands came away they were stained.
My skin was black from fingertip to knuckle and then trailed black through my hands and up my wrist and arm. No amount of scrubbing could wash it away. I was marked.
Admittedly…part of me likes it. Like my scar. Its proof that what I saw, what I experienced, was real. He is real. I am His.

Drying off, looking at my new skin, my scabbing cut, the knife with the bone and antler handle…I made my way up to the tallest part of the woods to look out over the trees.
From there I saw trees moving. Large trees. It was as if they stood up and decided to root elsewhere. The sounds of roots ripping from the ground, branches cracking and knocking against trees around them. A cacophony of forest noise.

I watched them leave until my weak human eyes could follow no longer and the setting sun sent me home. I am unsure of where they intend to root. With their absence lingered the knowledge. Parts of these woods will never accept me – human as I am. Even with my marked skin, my wound…the wet remnants between my thighs. I am not a part of this woods wholly.
I accept this. I cannot grumble. I can only feel gratitude at being allowed to witness…to be chosen by Him.

Enjoying the Playthrough?

What you just read was the result of 3 card pulls – the 8 of Diamonds, Knight of Diamonds, and 9 of Clubs. I admit that later card pulls and journal entries made me go back and make a few edits to better match where the story is headed (and no, I didn’t go in intending to create a horror romance but here we are).

Carved by the Garden is one of my favorite solo ttrpgs. I love folk horror and this really hits the spot.

If you are enjoying the game and want some other media that scratches that itch, I highly recommend reading The Twisted Ones by T. Kingfisher.
Between this game and that book, I have a hard time looking out my windows at night – did I mention I live on the edge of a woods?

Want more?

Be sure to get your own copy of Carved by the Garden and see what awaits you in the woods.
Want to support these playthroughs and reviews? Perhaps get access to NSFW playthroughs? Get early access to horror ttrpg podcast episodes? Or play my games? Join my Patreon.

Want more of my horror ttrpg playthroughs? Check out my playthrough of another Cassi Mothwin game, Tangled Blessings.
Or my small town horror playthrough of Little Town.

Part 2 of my Carved by the Garden playthrough, coming soon.