The Land Of Rifts And Tears

Reason and sense have abandoned this world, madness roils at its core as those few left on the planet fight over the scraps of what remains of the world gone mad.

Who knows when the rifts opened? Who even cares? The world that once was is gone and all that’s left are the remains of their accomplishments both architectural and technological.

Guns that fire lasers, giant birds made from steel and metal men are all wonders that the survivors of today have attempted to salvage from the bones of long dead cities.

The wasteland is no place for people, doubly so for the civilized, if the bandits don’t descend upon you like hyenas the monsters will get you; the beasts that dragged themselves through those damned portals to world’s innumerable.

Then there’s the mist, a mutagenic miasma that manifests out of seemingly nowhere and changes any foolish enough to step inside.

Some folk step out of the mist for the better; bigger, stronger, some even have powers that make no logical sense at all but not everyone is so lucky.

Some folk step out of the fog ruined; horribly deformed both in body and mind, subject to hallucinations of all flavors, spouting on about who they USED to be. And they’re the lucky ones.

Some folk when they step out of that fog and they just ain’t human no more, not even the barest hints of their old mind left in them, they’re just animals now.

There’s a few hold out settlements dotted along the waste but to call it civilization is a bad joke, hell you might be safer out in the dusts, at least there you know where the monsters around you stand.

The wastes are a fiery crucible where the weak return to the ashes and the strong rise to exert their power across the land giving rise to legends and boogeymen that date back to the beginning of the fall.