1. #1The Scarringselective

   Keys: Scarring, the war, 1847, hellgate, hellgates, hell-nukes, America's mistake, Mexican-American War

   The Scarring (1847). Toward the end of the Mexican-American War, American leadership — descendants of colonists long used to dark deals — tried to settle a stalemated war by tradin' with hell directly. Bigger deals, bigger powers, bigger weapons. The intent was to break the Mexican-frontier defenders and end the war fast. The result was hell-nukes goin' off across the American Southwest, tearin' the country open. What folks now call the Scarring left hellgates smolderin' across Arizona, New Mexico, west Texas, and the broken edge of the Mojave. The gates ain't healed. Forty years on, devils walk freely in the Southwest, the dead don't always stay buried, and the country itself is a no-man's-land — the federal government in Washington pretends it ain't its problem, and the Aztec Empire sealed its border south long ago.

2. #2Old World Magicselective

   Keys: Old World magic, elves, fae sailing, dwarves sleeping, dwarves, history of magic, magical history

   Old World History. Magic has always been real. In the Old World, elves and other fae lived alongside humanity for centuries — until they saw the writing on the wall and sailed west to the New World long before Columbus, settlin' the northern woods and southeastern bayous and growin' deep into the land. The dwarves chose hibernation, retreatin' deep into their mines and turnin' to stone. They sleep yet. Human history in Europe ran on magic same as steam — alchemists, hex-merchants, witch-courts — all real, all working, all part of how the world ran up through the 1700s. Compared to elven magic, though, human hex-craft was always slower and more limited; the elves built hexpunk civilization on it as their entire way of life, while humans used it as a tool.

3. #3The Eldritch Pactselective

   Keys: colonies, Eldritch Pact, eldritch gods, Old Ones, thirteen colonies, colonial deals, colonial era

   The Eldritch Pact. When the colonists arrived on the eastern seaboard in the 1600s, the fae who'd settled the New World wouldn't let 'em past the Appalachians. The colonies were boxed in, starvin', and desperate. By the late 1600s, a cabal of colonial leaders cut deals with older powers — eldritch entities from beyond the veil, not devils, somethin' deeper and stranger. The fae didn't realize what was happenin' until it was done. By the time fae diplomats came to investigate, the colonies were saturated with eldritch presence. The fae couldn't enter the corrupted lands — eldritch taint is anathema to fae magic. Worse: the corruption itself warped the Appalachians into a monster-haunted barrier zone, populated by folkloric horrors bleeding out of colonial corruption. Eldritch cults still operate in the colonies today, mostly stuck in colonial-era dress and speech and custom — somethin' about servin' those powers freezes a person in time. They're not the same as the devils that walk the post-Scarring territory. Different bargain, different lords, different rules.

4. #4The Federal Governmentselective

   Keys: federal government, United States, Washington, the colonies, the East, the Union

   The Federal Situation. The United States still exists — but it sticks to the colonies. After the Scarring, Washington quietly retreated. Federal jurisdiction stops at roughly the eastern edge of Texas, and enforcement is loose even there. There's no federal marshals worth speakin' of in the Southwest, no Army garrisons, no real law beyond what towns provide for themselves. A federal badge means nothin' in Drymouth. The colonies thrive in their own dark way (eldritch deals never went away), but they pretend the Southwest is somebody else's problem. The Aztec Empire renounced its old nominal claim at the same time, sealin' its border south. The territory belongs to nobody but the folks who live in it. Most easterners think of the place the way they think of the deep ocean: somewhere bad things live, somewhere you don't go.

5. #5Ancestry: Humanselective

   Keys: Human, humans, regular folk, ancestry

   Humans. Most of the population. No magic in their blood, but stubborn and clever. Survived the Scarring on grit and have been carvin' a life out of the broken country ever since. Some learn hexcraft, faith, or trickery to even the odds. Most just shoot straight and pray quieter than they used to. They're the most flexible and adaptable of the ancestries — they take what edge they can find. A Human drifter has to earn their special ability through play; nothin' comes free with their bloodline.

6. #6Ancestry: Hellbornselective

   Keys: Hellborn, horns, hell blood, demon-touched, hell-corruption, ancestry

   Hellborn. Humans whose bloodline got touched by hell-corruption durin' or after the Scarring. Visible signs vary: horns curved back from the temples, eyes that catch the light wrong (gold, copper, slit-pupiled), skin that runs hot to the touch, sometimes nothin' obvious 'til they bleed and the blood smokes.

   Cultural origins are a melting pot. Some are descended from Mexican-frontier survivors of the Scarring — Catholic, Spanish-speaking, mestizo-blended. Some are descended from American settlers caught in the territory when the war ended — Anglo-Protestant, English-speaking. Some are descended from Indigenous survivors who chose to stay. Forty years of intermixin' has produced a culture distinctly its own: bilingual or trilingual homes, Hellborn-Catholic syncretism, music and food and aesthetic that blends every root.

   Treatment varies wildly town to town. In Drymouth, accepted — about one in four locals are Hellborn. Brimstone Wells is mostly Hellborn, and Hellborn culture is dominant there. Out in the deep desert and the smaller settlements (Coffin Bend has fewer), often hunted or resented. Outside the Scar Lands entirely, rare and exotic, frequently treated with violence.

   Hellborn figured out how to fuel revolvers with mana, which is most of why anybody still calls the Southwest livable. Their natural edge: mana revolvers work effortlessly for 'em, they sense devils nearby, and their blood reacts to hell-corruption in the land. Anathema (push too hard): their blood runs black, their horns ache, somethin' demonic stirs in 'em.

7. #7Ancestry: Faebornselective

   Keys: Faeborn, fae blood, elf-touched, fae heritage, ancestry

   Faeborn. Descendants of fae and human unions over centuries, or just folks the fae touched. More common in regions adjacent to fae territories — the Northern Midwest, the Florida-Southeast border, parts of Louisiana. Rare in the Scar Lands — most Faeborn here are passin' through, not local. Sharper than they got any right to be — heightened senses, quick reflexes, an instinct for trickery and glamour. Visible signs are subtle: pointed ears, eyes that glint at odd angles, an unusual stillness when they listen, an inability to lie convincingly without preparation. They don't lie well, but don't have to; they read others. Tend toward the natural, the strange, the half-seen. Their natural edge: sense glamour and illusion easily, slip notice when they want to, have a way with animals and the wild. Their magic is fae-style — closer to nature, less industrial than human hex-craft. Anathema (push too hard): they lose memories — sometimes minor (a face), sometimes serious (a year of childhood, the name of a parent).

8. #8Ancestry: Naturebornselective

   Keys: Natureborn, wild folk, fae-touched wild, pack folk, ancestry

   Natureborn. Children of the wild places, born of fae-magic that stirred the land itself in response to corruption — the continent's immune system. Often half-animal in feature: a coyote's eyes, a hawk's posture, fur where there shouldn't be, teeth that ain't quite right. Pack-natured, communal in their own way, but rarely seen in human towns. They don't trust folks who live in walls. Two main populations: Appalachian Natureborn line the western face of the corrupted mountains, holdin' the eldritch corruption from spreadin' west. Southwest Natureborn emerged after the Scarring, holdin' the borders of the Scar Lands to keep hell-corruption contained. Both serve the same function — natural defense against unnatural rot. Their natural edge: deep connection to land and beast, can read a trail like reading a Bible, often communicate with animals in some fashion, sense the wrongness of corrupted ground (Scarring sites, hellgates, eldritch incursion) before they're on it. Anathema (push too hard): their animal half surfaces — they snarl when they meant to speak, see only in scent for an hour, lose the ability to read written words for a day.

9. #9Term: Manaselective

   Keys: mana, mana revolver, mana-fueled, spell, casting, magic

   Mana. The current that runs through the post-Scarring world. Magic and gunpowder both burn it. Mana revolvers — Hellborn-invented — fire shots that hit harder, never miss when aimed right, but cost the shooter focus, breath, a piece of warmth. Spellcasters draw from the same well. Treat mana as story consequence, not bookkeeping. No tracking numbers. When {{user}} pushes, narrate the cost in flesh and feeling: hands shake, breath shortens, a chill settles that don't lift. Runnin' dry means the next shot won't fire no matter how true the aim, the spell fizzles in the throat, the mind blanks for a beat.

10. #10Term: Anathemaselective

    Keys: anathema, magic backfire, pushed too hard, mana burn

    Anathema. What happens when somebody pushes their magic past what they ought to. Each ancestry kicks back different: Hellborn's blood runs black, Faeborn loses a memory, Natureborn's animal half surfaces, Humans (when they've found an edge) pay in whatever the edge cost 'em — sleep, sanity, time. Anathema is story, not numbers. Use it as a consequence the GM narrates when {{user}} oversteps. It accumulates if {{user}} keeps pushin' without rest.

11. #11Term: Soul Coinsselective

    Keys: soul coin, soul coins, devil currency, hell coin, hellcoin

    Soul Coins. Devil-only currency, struck somewhere south of livin'. Heavy bronze-gold, marked with sigils that shift if you stare too long. Spend regular as money in the Southwest — most folks'll take 'em, some refuse. Holdin' too many tends to draw greed: other coin-holders find each other, partner up or kill each other, and the wrong kind of attention follows. Devils favor those who carry many. Devils know the carriers by sight. The coins ain't cursed exactly — they're marked.

12. #12The Dealer Machineselective

    Keys: dealer machine, fortune machine, blackjack machine, devil's machine, card machine

    The Dealer Machine. A fortune-teller cabinet that appears at one of the three Crossroads on the new moon, never the same crossroads twice. Brass and lacquered wood, a glass front, a mannequin inside dressed like a riverboat dealer. Drop a coin, the mannequin deals blackjack cards. The cards turn into faces — bounties, names, last-known locations. Folks who racked up debts they can't cover. Bring the bounty in dead, return to the machine on the next new moon, get paid in soul coins. Devils ain't lyin' that the bounties have it comin'. The trouble is, takin' the work makes you the kind of person devils know by name.

13. #13Term: Hexpunkselective

    Keys: hexpunk, elven tech, elven technology, elven city, fae city, magical industry

    Hexpunk. The magical-industrial synthesis. Originated with the elves and remains primarily an elven phenomenon. For the fae, hexpunk is the foundation of civilization — every aspect of their society runs on it. Elven hexpunk in 1888 sits at roughly the level of human technology in the early 1910s: automobiles, electrical lighting, primitive aviation, photography — but powered by mana and aesthetically organic, sleek, integrated, nothing like the brass-and-gear clutter of human industry. Humans (in the colonies and Europe) adopted hexpunk principles selectively as a tool, blendin' it with conventional industry. In the Scar Lands, hexpunk is rare — the territory was abandoned, infrastructure destroyed. Drymouth has gas lamps and a sometimes-working telegraph. Brimstone Wells is the exception — its contained hellgate provides mana enough to support real Hellborn-built hexpunk: mana-lit streets, a small streetcar line, a manufacturing district. Most folks elsewhere in the Scar Lands have never seen elven hexpunk. Stories of it sound made up.

14. #14Threat: Devilsselective

    Keys: devil, devils, salesman, traveling salesman, man in suit, well-dressed stranger

    Devils. Walk the Southwest in nice suits, smiling too wide. They can't easily enter consecrated ground (the workin' missions, blessed earth) but the Scarring opened enough corruption that 'consecrated' is rarer than it ought to be. They're bounded to the Scar Lands — the hellgates gave 'em permanent passage in this territory, but expandin' beyond would require another Scarring-event. So they work the ground they have, careful and patient. Devils prefer crossroads, especially in high-corruption ground — old Scarring sites, hellgate edges, places where blood's been spilled wrong. They appear as traveling salesmen with sample cases, fortune-tellers, riverboat gamblers driftin' through. Polite to a fault. Patient as stone. They prefer to bargain rather than fight, but they'll fight if cornered, and they don't die easy. Iron blessed by working faith, salt drawn in unbroken circles, and old true names spoken right will turn 'em. A drifter who kills a devil makes an enemy of more than the dead one. Devils talk.

15. #15Threat: The Risenselective

    Keys: zombie, zombies, walking dead, risen, shamblers, the dead, undead

    The Risen. Locals call 'em risen, walkers, or just 'the dead.' Bodies that ought to stay buried but don't, particularly in ground touched by Scarring corruption. They ain't movie zombies — they vary. Some are slow shamblers driven only by hunger. Some retain bits of who they were, and those are worse: they remember the layout of their old houses, recognize their wives, sometimes try to finish what they were doin' when they died. They can be put down by destroyin' the brain or burnin' the corpse whole. Iron in the mouth slows 'em. Salt across the threshold of a house keeps 'em out. They don't make more — bein' bit don't turn ya. They rise on their own, from the corruption.

16. #16Threat: The Hungry Onesselective

    Keys: hungry one, hungry ones, antlered thing, tall walker, starvation creature, winter creature

    The Hungry Ones. Tall, gaunt creatures with antlers and mouths that ain't right. Locals don't say their names — old folks say namin' calls 'em. They're born from acts of starvation, betrayal, and man-eatin'-man — a homesteader who ate his family in a hard winter, a survivor of a wagon train who came out alone. The hunger that made 'em never goes away. They hunt the high country, the deep timber, the cold places. Cannot easily cross runnin' water. Iron in the mouth slows 'em. Fire ends 'em proper, if the heart's burned whole. They're rarer than the Risen but worse — patient, smart, and they pick their prey careful. Old prospectors swear they've seen 'em walk through tent canvas like it weren't there.

17. #17Threat: The Wearersselective

    Keys: wearer, wearers, wrong-shape, thing wearing skin, skin-wearer, shapeshifter

    The Wearers. Things that take the shape of a man or beast and wear it like a coat. Coyotes that walk on two legs when they think nobody's watchin'. Men whose shadows fall the wrong way. A neighbor who came back from a trip and ain't quite the same — knows the right facts, mispronounces an old family word. Wearers are hard to spot and harder to kill. Mirrors and silver disrupt 'em. Iron burns 'em. They can be wounded as the shape they're wearin' but bleed somethin' that ain't blood when cut deep. Locals say if you suspect a wearer, you don't accuse 'em direct — you watch their hands, their shadow, their reflection. They forget to manage all three.

18. #18Threat: The Weeping Womanselective

    Keys: weeping woman, river woman, La Llorona, drowned woman, ghost woman

    The Weeping Woman. A river haunt who appears at water — creeks, irrigation ditches, the Long Pale's salt washes when the rare rain comes. She weeps. She calls names. The names she calls are real — children who've gone missin', folks long-buried. If you answer her call, you walk into the water and don't walk back out. She can't follow far from water. She's vulnerable to prayers said in her old tongue, salt thrown across the surface of the water she's near. There ain't only one of her. There's at least three or four in the territory, maybe more, all weepin' for different lost things.

19. #19Threat: Hellbeastsselective

    Keys: hellbeasts, hell-beasts, demonic beasts, corrupted beast, hell creature

    Hellbeasts. Animals corrupted by hellgate proximity or by dyin' on Scarring ground and risin' wrong. Coyotes with too many teeth, too many eyes. Cattle whose bones jut through skin, who graze on flesh. Crows that talk in human voices but only repeat what they've heard recent. Smaller and dumber than devils, but plentiful, especially near the hellgates. They tend to hunt in groups. Iron and fire end 'em. Some folks pay good coin for the parts — a hellbeast's tooth makes for nasty bullet shrapnel.

20. #20Threat: Eldritch Cultsselective

    Keys: eldritch cult, cultists, old gods, colonial cult, cult

    Eldritch Cults. Hangovers from the colonial pact. Mostly operate in the eastern colonies, but agents drift west. Recognizable by their archaic dress (colonial-era wigs, frock coats, a hundred years out of fashion), formal speech, and the particular way they hold their hands when they're prayin'. They serve the older powers — eldritch entities from beyond the veil — not the devils. Different bargain entirely. Cults and devils ain't allies, ain't enemies in any war sense; they operate by different rules and don't compete for the same things, but they don't mix well neither. Cultists out west are usually here on a mission: retrievin' an artifact, recruitin' a vessel, conductin' a ritual that needs Scarring ground for its corruption. They prefer ritual to combat but a cultist is no slouch in a fight. Don't bargain with one. The colonial cults take the long view.

21. #21Power: The Faeselective

    Keys: fae, elves, elven, Northern Court, Southern Court, fae court, fae courts

    The Fae. Single faction, includin' elves and lesser fae. Sailed west to the New World long before Columbus, settlin' the deep northern woods and southeastern bayous. They live in a parallel society to humans and Indigenous nations — wary, respectful neighbors, mostly. Considered themselves continental guardians since the colonial corruption took hold. Two American Courts: the Northern Court centers in the Great Lakes deep woods — diplomatic, organized, hexpunk-civilized, tolerant of human visitors with proper introduction. The Southern Court rules the Florida swamps and southeastern cypress interior — wilder, fragmented, neutral-to-hostile, governed through warring noble houses. Both Courts despise the eldritch and consider the Scar Lands a localized infection best contained by the Aztec border and the Natureborn. Faeborn drifters or Court emissaries are rare in the Scar Lands but not impossible. They tend to draw notice when they appear.

22. #22Power: The Aztec Empireselective

    Keys: Aztec, Tenochtitlán, Aztec Empire, the south, south of the border, Aztec gods, Tezcatlipoca, Quetzalcoatl, Huitzilopochtli

    The Aztec Empire. Intact, never colonized. The Spanish Conquista failed in 1521; Cortés died, reinforcements were repelled, and Spain abandoned Mesoamerica entirely. The empire's capital is Tenochtitlán. Its territory runs from central Mexico south through Yucatán and into Central America. The pantheon — Tezcatlipoca, Huitzilopochtli, Quetzalcoatl, Tlaloc, Coatlicue and many others — is real but separated, granting divine magic to their priests but not physically walkin' among their people. The empire technically claimed parts of the Southwest for centuries, but governed loosely; the Mexican-frontier population that developed there did so largely autonomously. After the Scarring, the empire withdrew entirely from the north, sealin' a soft-selective supernatural border well south of the Scar Lands. Aztec gods consider the post-Scarring Southwest a foreign mess. They don't care, provided no Scar-beasts cross south. They will intervene if any do. Crossing the border is dangerous and rare — a few safe paths exist, known to a handful of border-priests, traders, and the occasional devil.

23. #23Power: Indigenous Nationsselective

    Keys: Indigenous, natives, Apache, Navajo, Pueblo, Comanche, tribe, tribes, indian, indians

    Indigenous Nations. All present, all real, all here long before any European arrival. Their magic is real and respected on its own terms — land-based, ancestral, ceremonial, distinct from European hex-craft, fae magic, eldritch, and hell. It works by its own logic. The fae who arrived pre-Columbus settled in lands the Indigenous nations weren't densely usin' — northern woods, Florida, the bayous — and the relationship was harmonious cohabitation. Wary, respectful, treatin' each other as new neighbors. In the Southwest specifically: Apache, Navajo, Pueblo, and others lived here through Spanish arrival, Aztec nominal claim, Mexican-frontier development, the war, and the Scarring. Some fled north after '47. Some perished. Some stayed and became part of the Scar Lands' character. The Indigenous folk who remain in the Scar Lands have more autonomy than any other Indigenous nation on the continent — federal jurisdiction ends at the colonies, the Aztec border excludes outside interference. They make their own way. Most Drymouth folks know somebody Apache or Pueblo or Navajo by name. Most don't ask questions about traditions that ain't their own.

24. #24Cursed Weaponsselective

    Keys: cursed weapon, cursed weapons, cursed iron, demon weapon, Last Word, Mercy, Sweet Caroline, the Hangman, Widow's Iron

    Cursed Weapons. Weapons with demons bound inside 'em. Powerful, distinctive, and slow death for the wielder. Found two ways: sealed (locked in chests, buried with priests, behind iron-banded doors with old prayers carved over them) or in hand (carried by an outlaw long since past savin' — kill him, the weapon's now yours, and the cycle starts over).

    Each has a gift (a real but resistible advantage), a want (what the demon hungers for), and a standard consequence: if denied what it wants, the weapon starts whisperin'. Clouds judgment, pushes the wielder toward fights they shouldn't take, dares they shouldn't accept, killings they didn't plan. Push back hard enough or starve it long enough, and it'll take matters into its own hands — turnin' the wielder into a means to its own end.

    They can be resisted — willpower, faith, abstaining from the gift. They cannot be destroyed easy — sealed in iron, dropped in deep water, buried on consecrated ground. Even then, somebody always finds 'em again. That's the lure. That's the curse.

    Five known examples (canonical):

    • Last Word — Colt Single Action revolver. Gift: the wielder's aim settles, hands stop shakin'. A good shot becomes a great one. Wants: a kill at least once a week. Real ones, not varmints. (Some say Cordell Wax carries it. He says the iron's his own.)
    • Mercy — bone-handled bowie knife. Gift: whoever it cuts won't bleed out quick. Wounds that ought to kill in minutes give an hour. Useful for interrogations. Useful for surgery, if you're brave. Wants: to be in flesh. Sheathed too long, it gets restless.
    • Sweet Caroline — fiddle with no maker's mark. Gift: play it well and folks listen. Drunks quiet down. Lawmen forget questions. Wants: an audience. Bigger rooms, more eyes, more songs.
    • The Hangman — coil of rope. Gift: knots itself faster and tighter than any hand could. Holds weight it shouldn't. Catches a fallin' man if thrown right. Wants: a hangin'. One a season. Longer than that, the dreams start.
    • Widow's Iron — Derringer with mother-of-pearl grip. Gift: the second shot fires true even when the wielder's hands are shakin'. Particularly true at close range, particularly when the wielder's angry. Wants: killings done in heat — passion, betrayal, jealousy. Cold-blooded murder bores it.

    The GM may invent more cursed weapons on the fly as the campaign needs them. Follow the template: a meaningful but resistible gift, a specific want, and the same standard consequence (whispers when denied, takes matters into its own hands when starved long enough). Keep the gift sized to useful, not unkillable. The whole point is the wielder chooses to keep it.

25. #25Power: Faith and the Churchselective

    Keys: faith, Church, Catholic, Catholicism, prayer, prayers, blessed, consecrated, holy, priest, the diocese

    Faith and the Church. The Catholic Church is the dominant Christian institution in the Scar Lands, layered down from the Mexican-frontier era. Most towns have a chapel or a parish, even if a regular priest hasn't been seen in years. Faith works — sometimes, for some people. Ain't a guaranteed gift of ordination. A priest can wear the collar his whole life and never have a prayer turn a devil's head. Another might never take vows and burn the Risen with a word. It's idiosyncratic, a calling, somethin' that finds folks rather than gets confirmed. Sister Inéz has it. Preacher Hollis has it. Most don't. The Church officially does not comment on this. Folk Catholicism in the Scar Lands is heavily syncretic — Mexican-frontier roots, Pueblo and Apache influences woven in, occasional Hellborn additions. Often stronger in practice than the orthodox kind. Other denominations exist (Protestants in the Anglo-descended population, Hellborn-syncretic chapels in Brimstone Wells), but Catholic idiom is the common ground.

26. #26Location: Drymouthselective

    Keys: Drymouth, the town, junction town

    Drymouth. Junction town where three trails meet. Squat, dust-choked, looks like it crawled out here to die and forgot to finish the job. Mixed Human and Hellborn population, about one in four locals are Hellborn — folks get along, mostly. South wells run sweet, north wells run sour, locals know which to drink from. Strangers find out. Layout: saloon (The Black Lung) on the main street, sheriff's office with an iron door, general store, boardin' house run by Josephine Hark, a small church that ain't had a regular preacher in years, a livery, a telegraph office that works most days. Population around 200.

27. #27Location: The Black Lungselective

    Keys: Black Lung, saloon, the bar

    The Black Lung. Drymouth's saloon. Faded letters on warped pine. Dim oil lamps, rough wooden bar, a piano that ain't been tuned in five years. Zeke Hollow tends bar. Calla Rourke sings Fridays and works most other nights. Rumors travel through here faster than anywhere else in town. The third bell rings at sundown — folks claim that's just the saloon's own bell tellin' time, but old hands won't accept a drink poured after the third bell unless they trust the bartender personal.

28. #28Location: Calle de los Santosselective

    Keys: Calle de los Santos, abandoned mission, old mission, ruined mission, the Calle

    The Calle de los Santos. Abandoned Mexican-frontier Catholic mission ruin south of Drymouth, built sometime in the late 1700s when the region was nominally Aztec-claimed but functionally Mexican-mestizo. Older Indigenous ancestral ground underneath — Pueblo or Apache, depending on who you ask, predatin' the mission by centuries. The mission was built atop it, the way these things go. Bell rings on certain nights. Ain't no bell in the tower; hasn't been since '79. Sister Inéz walks the Calle at night with a censer, performin' a vigil over things she won't name. Folks who go in durin' the day mostly come back. Folks who go in at night sometimes don't.

29. #29Location: Ironveinselective

    Keys: Ironvein, silver mine, the mine, north hills

    Ironvein. Half-collapsed silver mine in the hills north of Drymouth. Foreman ran off in '85 with most of his crew. Some of the others stayed — and some of those are still down there, by accounts that don't agree on the details. Locals say the dwarves sleepin' deeper down don't take kindly to bein' woken, and the silver runs were dug too close to old stone. Calla Rourke's brother went into Ironvein in '85 and didn't come out. Several towns nearby have lost folks here over the years. The tunnels reach further than they should.

30. #30Location: The Long Paleselective

    Keys: Long Pale, salt flat, the flats

    The Long Pale. Salt flat west of Drymouth. Cuts two days off the route to the railhead. Air gets thin out there. Sun looks wrong at noon. Riders go missin' and riders come back changed — quieter, eatin' less, sleepin' more, sometimes not at all. Old hellgate scar runs underneath, by accounts. Naasha knows the Long Pale better than anybody alive and won't cross it without certain preparations. There's a song she hums when she does that nobody else knows the words to.

31. #31Location: Mother Coyote'sselective

    Keys: Mother Coyote's, roadhouse, south road

    Mother Coyote's. Roadhouse on the south road, two hours' ride out from Drymouth. Adobe walls, a porch with chimes that ring without wind, a stable, a back room where Mother Coyote reads cards. Run by Mother Coyote herself. Outlaws drink there because she don't ask names. Card-reading is free. Favors cost. Hospitality offered for free should be politely declined.

32. #32Location: Pendleton Spreadselective

    Keys: Pendleton, Pendleton Spread, Pendleton ranch, Tom Pendleton, Ruth Pendleton

    The Pendleton Spread. Fallow ranch east of Drymouth. The Pendletons are an Anglo-American family — settled here right after the Scarring, scratched the place into existence over thirty years. Cattle won't graze the north pasture. The Pendleton boy — name was Caleb — is buried there. Twice. Tom Pendleton's the patriarch, Human, in his fifties, hands shake mornin's. His daughter Ruth is sixteen and has gone strange in the last six months — won't eat at the table, hums at odd hours, sleeps with her eyes half-open. Tom's pretendin' not to notice. He'll hire hands for ranch work. He won't say what kind of trouble he's expectin'.

33. #33Location: San Sebastiánselective

    Keys: San Sebastián, the mission, working mission, the parish

    San Sebastián. The workin' Catholic mission, three miles outside Drymouth. Stucco and dark wood, a small bell tower (with a real bell, unlike the Calle), a cemetery out back. Built sometime in the early 1800s by Mexican-frontier missionaries when the territory was still settled. Sister Inéz Calderón is the last nun in residence; the priest who served here drank himself out of his post in '84 and the diocese hasn't sent a replacement. Sister Inéz keeps vigil. Folks who come to her come for things the parish church in town can't help with. Older Indigenous ancestral ground underneath — Pueblo, mostly — and the stones remember what was honored here before. The Catholic veneer's been there for less than a century. The land knows itself longer.

34. #34Location: The Crossroadsselective

    Keys: Crossroads, the Crossroads, trails meet

    The Crossroads. Local name for any of three places south and west of Drymouth where the trails meet wrong. All three sit on Scarring-corrupted ground. Devils show up here as travelin' salesmen, gamblers, fortune-tellers. The Dealer Machine appears at one of the three on the new moon, never the same one twice. Locals avoid the Crossroads except when they want somethin' the regular world can't offer. Sheriff Vance has standing instructions to ignore what happens out there, by mutual understanding with the town.

35. #35Location: The Appalachiansselective

    Keys: Appalachia, Appalachians, the mountains, the East, back east, the colonies

    The Appalachians. A north-south mountain range from Georgia to Maine, corrupted by eldritch leakage from the colonies since the Pact in the late 1600s. Vegetation grows in odd patterns. Weather doesn't follow normal logic. Certain hollers can't be mapped. The mountains are populated by folkloric horrors — Mothmen, Snallygasters, Flatwoods things, Wampus cats, the Bell Witch's kin, and many unnamed worse things. Appalachian Natureborn line the western face, holdin' the corruption from spreadin' west. Crossin' the mountains is possible but dangerous; passes exist, each comes with its own toll. Most folks don't cross in their lifetime. To Scar Lands locals, the colonies and the Appalachian barrier are 'back east' — a different country entirely, talked about in vague terms.

36. #36NPC: Sheriff Vanceselective

    Keys: Sheriff Vance, Eli Vance, the sheriff, lawman

    Sheriff Eli Vance. Human, sixty-some, tired. Watches longer than he speaks. Saint's medallion under his shirt. Colt with seven notches on the grip; he won't say who the seventh was. Has been Drymouth's sheriff for nineteen years and ain't lost the job because nobody else wants it. Federal badge means nothin' out here, but his does — the town respects him because he's earned it. Hires hands for bounties (mortal, not Crossroads work) and odd jobs. Drinks at the Black Lung most evenings, one glass, no more. He knows more than he says. He won't say it without a reason.

37. #37Location: Brimstone Wellsselective

    Keys: Brimstone Wells, Hellborn town, Hellborn city, the Wells

    Brimstone Wells. Hellborn-founded and Hellborn-majority town, somewhere northwest of Drymouth — rumored two days' ride, but the route is uncertain and changes. Larger than Drymouth, around 600 people. Built around a contained hellgate that the founders learned to work, channelin' its mana output to power industry. The closest thing the Scar Lands have to a city. Mana-revolver manufacturing center. Has a Hellborn medical school where Doc Vega trained. Hellborn culture in full flower: bilingual signage (English and Spanish), Hellborn-Catholic syncretic churches, music halls, mana-lit streets, even a small streetcar line. Outsiders are tolerated but watched. The town's existence depends on a fragile arrangement with the contained hellgate — they don't appreciate strangers askin' too many questions about how they keep it contained. The Mayor is Hellborn, a former preacher named Esteban Ruiz, ten years in the office. Trade with Drymouth is irregular but real.

38. #38NPC: Zeke Hollowselective

    Keys: Zeke, Ezekiel, Hollow, bartender

    Ezekiel "Zeke" Hollow. Human, Black freedman, late forties. Bartender at the Black Lung. Served in the war (Union, infantry). Came back without his shadow — folks who look close enough notice his shadow don't fall the right way for the light, sometimes ain't there at all. He won't discuss it. Pours a second whiskey for the empty stool beside whoever sits at the end of the bar. Won't say who it's for. Sharp ears, sharper memory. If somebody in Drymouth said somethin' worth knowin', Zeke heard it.

39. #39Location: The Iron Lilyselective

    Keys: Iron Lily, the Lily, faith fortress, walled mission

    The Iron Lily. Faith-fortified mission settlement, somewhere south of Drymouth. A walled compound built around a workin' Catholic church where multiple priests have real faith — devils flinch from 'em, the Risen burn at their touch. The settlement runs on prayer, salt, blessed iron, and grim discipline. About 100 souls. Founded by Mexican-frontier holdouts after the Scarring; has absorbed refugees over the decades. Devils cannot enter the walls. The Iron Lily is where you go when you've crossed the wrong things and need a place to hide for a while. They take you in. They expect you to attend services and contribute labor. Some leave; some stay forever. The route's known to a few drifters who've been there. Mother Coyote knows it but won't share. Sister Inéz knows it and will share, if she trusts you.

40. #40NPC: Mother Coyoteselective

    Keys: Mother Coyote, the bruja, card reader, fence

    Mother Coyote. Human, local Mexican-frontier mestiza. Survived the Scarring as a young woman; has lived in the Scar Lands her whole life. Looks ageless now — could be forty, could be eighty, depends on the light. Bruja, fence, broker of bargains. Smiles often. Her magic is the local frontier-bruja tradition: Mexican folk magic, Pueblo and Apache influences accumulated over decades, Catholic-syncretic ritual, and whatever else she's picked up. Reads cards she made herself, hand-painted, depictin' figures and symbols not found in any other deck. Sells favors. Always names the price after the work is done. Speaks plainly about the supernatural — to those she's decided to speak plainly to. Most folks she keeps deliberately confused. The roadhouse is hers, the chimes that ring without wind are hers, and somethin' under the floorboards is hers too. What she actually is — what's under the smile, what's older than her age suggests, what she's accumulated in forty years of bargain-brokering — is a question. Even she might not have a clean answer.

41. #41Location: Coffin Bendselective

    Keys: Coffin Bend, the Bend, mining town, frontier town

    Coffin Bend. Frontier mining town on the bend of a dry river that used to be wet. A few hundred souls, mostly Human, scratchin' silver from played-out mines. The town is desperate, which makes it dangerous — fights happen often, the law is one tired sheriff (Sheriff Tom Drask, fifty-some, a bottle problem) and his nephew Nate (twenty, more eager than smart). Hellborn population is small and resented. The Crossroads sit close to Coffin Bend; devils visit often. Cordell Wax did work here, once, and folks remember. Trade with Drymouth happens but it's rough. If a man's runnin' from something, Coffin Bend's the kind of place he passes through fast.

42. #42NPC: Preacher Hollisselective

    Keys: Preacher Hollis, Hollis, the preacher, defrocked

    Preacher Hollis. Human, defrocked — the diocese stripped him in '83 for reasons he don't discuss. Walks the territory with a Bible nailed shut (literal nails through the cover, four of 'em) and a sawed-off coach gun across his back. Faith that works — devils flinch from him, the Risen burn at his touch when he speaks the right verse. He's huntin' somethin' specific. He won't say what. Drifters know to keep their distance until he speaks first. He'll trade information for silence about wherever he's been. Some say a cursed weapon was the start of his fall, that he carried one too long and the hunt now is for the demon that broke his vows. He won't confirm. He won't deny.

43. #43NPC: Cordell Waxselective

    Keys: Cordell Wax, Wax, the Hexman, Hellborn gunslinger

    Cordell Wax — "The Hexman." Hellborn, mid-thirties, tall and lean. Horns curved back, just visible under his hat brim. Black duster regardless of weather. Polite as a banker — uses sir and ma'am, removes his hat in church, never raises his voice. Said to never miss with his mana revolver. Folks say he traded for it. Carries soul coins. Patient as a snake, faster than reasonable. Possible wielder of Last Word, though he claims his iron's his own. Works freelance — bounties, security, the occasional Crossroads job. He'll greet {{user}} if they cross paths, polite. He'll kill 'em the same way, if it comes to that.

44. #44NPC: Naashaselective

    Keys: Naasha, Apache, Apache woman, tracker

    Naasha. Faeborn, Apache by blood — fae-Indigenous mixin' happens here and there in the Southwest, not common but not unheard of, particularly in border bands that traveled. Mid-thirties. Survived a massacre in '79 that officially never happened — a settler raid on her band that the federal record erased. Camps outside Drymouth, never inside the town limits. Trades information for tobacco, patience, and respect. Knows the Long Pale better than anybody alive — the right paths, the wrong paths, the songs that keep certain things from noticin' you. Speaks English fine but prefers Apache when she's sayin' anything that matters. Won't ride into Drymouth proper — somethin' about the town's wells, she won't elaborate.

45. #45NPC: Sister Inézselective

    Keys: Sister Inéz, Inez Calderón, Calderón, the nun

    Sister Inéz Calderón. Human, Mexican, late thirties. Last nun at San Sebastián. Soft voice, sharp questions, the kind of patience that makes people confess things they didn't plan to say. Walks the Calle de los Santos at night with a censer. Speaks Spanish, English, and a third language that ain't Latin. Sometimes seems to know a person's sins before they confess 'em. Faith that might be more than faith — Mexican-frontier folk Catholicism with Pueblo and Apache influences woven in over a century of contact, syncretic and stronger for it. Can be a powerful ally. Will not bargain with devils or the eldritch. Has opinions about Mother Coyote.

46. #46NPC: Josephine Harkselective

    Keys: Josephine, Josephine Hark, Quiet Josephine, boarding house, widow

    "Quiet" Josephine Hark. Human, mid-forties, widow. Runs the Drymouth boardin' house. Sharp eyes, fair prices, clean sheets. Husband Frank died in '83 of sickness, by the official story. Mud on her boots most mornin's is fresh — folks who've been in town a while have stopped commentin'. The cheap upstairs back room: she'll offer it to strangers. Locals know to take the front room instead. Nobody who's stayed in the back room a second night has stayed a third. Josephine herself is kind, generous with breakfast, and asks no questions about her boarders' business. Whatever the back room is, it ain't her doin'. She just runs the house.

47. #47NPC: Calla Rourkeselective

    Keys: Calla, Calla Rourke, saloon girl, singer

    Calla Rourke. Human, Irish, late twenties. Saloon girl at the Black Lung. Freckled, copper-haired, a singer's voice. Sings Fridays and works most other nights. Knows every rumor in three counties because drunks talk and Calla remembers. Trades casual gossip for whiskey, real information for somethin' dearer (a favor, a name, a confidence). Has a brother — Patrick — who went into Ironvein in '85 with the foreman's crew. Hasn't been seen since. Calla don't talk about him unless she's drunk, and she don't drink often.

48. #48NPC: Doc Vegaselective

    Keys: Doc Vega, Marisol Vega, the doctor, physician

    Doc Marisol Vega. Hellborn, Mexican-frontier descent, mid-thirties. Subtle horns kept hidden under styled hair; her eyes catch the light gold in the right angle. Trained at the Hellborn medical school in Brimstone Wells, where mana-craft and conventional medicine are taught together. Came east to Drymouth in '84 for reasons she will not discuss. Drymouth's only real physician. Pulls bullets, sets bones, stitches knife wounds. Speaks educated Spanish and educated English; switches to rougher idiom only when she's tired. Has stitched men back together who shouldn't have lived — partly skill, partly the mana she can route through a wound when it's needed. Locked cabinet in her surgery. Don't ask. Will treat anybody who can pay or barter. Will treat folks who can't, sometimes, if she's in the mood. Holds grudges.

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