Deadlands - The Game

This is where the game is beginning.

The sun begins its slow descent over the twisted plains of the Weird West, casting long, eerie shadows across the land. Somewhere in the distance, the low whistle of a steam engine fades into the howling wind. Life in the West was never easy, but lately, something darker has begun to fester beneath the dust and grit of the frontier. The dead don’t stay buried, and the living aren’t always what they seem.

Each of you has lived a life on the fringe, never quite fitting into the world you walked through. Fate has been a cruel mistress, throwing more than your fair share of trouble in your path. Yet, no matter where your journey has taken you, there’s been one constant: Texas Ranger Larson.

Larson is no ordinary lawman. He’s seen the same strange things you have, and his fight against the evils of the West is relentless. You’ve each crossed paths with him before—whether it was helping him hunt down a haunted outlaw, clear out a nest of ravenous wendigos, or decipher an ancient map etched with symbols that make the skin crawl.

But now, things feel different. There’s a storm coming, a reckoning that feels bigger than anything you’ve faced before.

One by one, you each receive a telegram.

From: Texas Ranger Larson
"Need your help. Urgent matter in Grassy Knoll. Strange happenings I can’t explain. Meet me at the local saloon. Come armed and ready for trouble. Don’t trust anyone you don’t know. – Larson"

The message is brief, but the urgency bleeds through every word. Grassy Knoll is a small, nearly forgotten town, nestled in a valley between jagged hills that seem to whisper when the wind blows just right. It's not the kind of place anyone goes unless they have no other choice.

The train ride there is long, the landscape bleak, but as you near the town, the air grows heavy, as if the land itself is waiting—watching.

The saloon stands at the center of Grassy Knoll like a lone sentry, its windows casting flickering lamplight onto the dusty streets. The town feels too quiet, unnaturally still. Something is wrong here.

Larson isn’t the type to rattle easily, but the fact that he’s called on all of you—together—means this is no ordinary case. And as the night creeps closer, you can't shake the feeling that you're walking into something far bigger—and far darker—than any of you can imagine.

Civilian clothes apart from the long coat which is Confederate issue with all the insignia and marks of office removed