Sleipnir
The Eight-Legged Norse Horse
"You know, those of us who have been here know the West was always wild, but not like this. There were always deserts, always bears and mountain lions and flash floods— but the real monsters, those are new.
The old timers'll tell you it was a man from out East who started it. He came out here from Maryland, they say, looking for a fortune. He hopped on the train and thought he’d find it in the mines— building mineshafts, hiring pit ponies, hiring men to work ‘em. He sought gold, he sought coal… he found it at first. But the veins dried up real fast. The money stopped coming. Well, he didn’t know how to cut his losses— and they say you can teach a poor man to be rich, but you can’t teach a rich man to be poor. And he’d do anything to keep from being poor, including making a deal with the devil himself. They say he sold his soul to him… his own, and the souls of the twelve men working in the mines that day.
When that mineshaft collapsed and Satan took those twelve men, well… Hell really did break loose. Nearly indescribably monsters started crawling out of the ground: Out of cracks in the sandstone cliffs, out of the mines, out of caves— anywhere they could get out. They’d come into town, drag folks down into the ground with them. They’d destroy fields, kill livestock, raze towns given the chance, and oh, it changed the face of the west. They brought witches and magic of all kinds with them.
Everyone manages our new world a little different. Some embraced the witchcraft. They make charms and potions and elixirs to help or harm others. Some threw their lot in with the devils and the undead, taming shambling corpses or making pacts with demons. The government opted to send the army out here, hoping to handle it that way. They stationed officers and soldiers in larger towns, and in outposts, and sometimes it helps, but sometimes it doesn’t. Some folks didn’t do anything special at all, except decided someone had best do something about the packs of skeleton outlaws and hellhounds, and it might as well be them.
That’s the west we live in now. We live in a world where rough riders accompany travelers, run supplies, and protect towns from demons, walking skeletons, corpses and monsters beyond name... There’s plenty of danger to go around. Anything outside a military outpost, city, or particularly well-guarded town is subject to the horrors that lay just below the surface.
Now, there's a little town called Grafton out on the river, situated between enormous sandstone cliffs and bluffs. Pretty little place, I'll tell you. Problem is, it's sitting at the mouth of this mighty red-walled canyon, and that canyon is just full of cracks in the walls. Deep cracks. Bleak, dark slot canyons that go into the sandstone for miles, where creeks pour out and meet the river. And Grafton's not exactly the most well-suited town for times like these. That's a cattle town, a goat town-- they hunt, sure, but it's just a sleepy little farming town and that's all. So naturally, they called for help when their goats started to disappear, or turn up dead. Then a few cattle. And occasionally, a person would go missing. No one's sure just yet what's responsible for these disappearances and deaths, but it's about time some folks look into it."
Not Yet Started. Character Sign-up can be found HERE.
The old timers'll tell you it was a man from out East who started it. He came out here from Maryland, they say, looking for a fortune. He hopped on the train and thought he’d find it in the mines— building mineshafts, hiring pit ponies, hiring men to work ‘em. He sought gold, he sought coal… he found it at first. But the veins dried up real fast. The money stopped coming. Well, he didn’t know how to cut his losses— and they say you can teach a poor man to be rich, but you can’t teach a rich man to be poor. And he’d do anything to keep from being poor, including making a deal with the devil himself. They say he sold his soul to him… his own, and the souls of the twelve men working in the mines that day.
When that mineshaft collapsed and Satan took those twelve men, well… Hell really did break loose. Nearly indescribably monsters started crawling out of the ground: Out of cracks in the sandstone cliffs, out of the mines, out of caves— anywhere they could get out. They’d come into town, drag folks down into the ground with them. They’d destroy fields, kill livestock, raze towns given the chance, and oh, it changed the face of the west. They brought witches and magic of all kinds with them.
Everyone manages our new world a little different. Some embraced the witchcraft. They make charms and potions and elixirs to help or harm others. Some threw their lot in with the devils and the undead, taming shambling corpses or making pacts with demons. The government opted to send the army out here, hoping to handle it that way. They stationed officers and soldiers in larger towns, and in outposts, and sometimes it helps, but sometimes it doesn’t. Some folks didn’t do anything special at all, except decided someone had best do something about the packs of skeleton outlaws and hellhounds, and it might as well be them.
That’s the west we live in now. We live in a world where rough riders accompany travelers, run supplies, and protect towns from demons, walking skeletons, corpses and monsters beyond name... There’s plenty of danger to go around. Anything outside a military outpost, city, or particularly well-guarded town is subject to the horrors that lay just below the surface.
Now, there's a little town called Grafton out on the river, situated between enormous sandstone cliffs and bluffs. Pretty little place, I'll tell you. Problem is, it's sitting at the mouth of this mighty red-walled canyon, and that canyon is just full of cracks in the walls. Deep cracks. Bleak, dark slot canyons that go into the sandstone for miles, where creeks pour out and meet the river. And Grafton's not exactly the most well-suited town for times like these. That's a cattle town, a goat town-- they hunt, sure, but it's just a sleepy little farming town and that's all. So naturally, they called for help when their goats started to disappear, or turn up dead. Then a few cattle. And occasionally, a person would go missing. No one's sure just yet what's responsible for these disappearances and deaths, but it's about time some folks look into it."
Not Yet Started. Character Sign-up can be found HERE.
