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Western, Low Fantasy, Alternate History, Mystery
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The year is 1888.

Times are changing in Europe. The world hurtles towards the 20th century with great advancements in industry, culture and technology. Across the Atlantic, however, progress is a little slower.

They say that the new world was discovered when sailors followed a hot, red streak across the sky that sent storms of ash raging all across the world. Four-hundred years on, this shattered continent is still untamed. The air here is thick with stories of folk who’ve witnessed things that defy reason; rivers running red, whispering woods, and dead men walking. Populated by creatures twisted by otherworldly influences, and etched with eldritch ley-lines, the American frontier is a place where European order doesn’t quite apply.

The people who have carved out lives in this rugged continent have learned to survive: but survival here means more than just battling the elements. It means confronting the unknown. There's plenty of work available, thanks to the abundance of untapped resources, but none of it is easy. Outside of major colonial settlements, wealthy industrialists known as Barons hold most of the power, employing labourers to tap into the fat of the land, and mercenaries for protection. In the frontier, progress is a double-edged sword. For every mile of track laid by the Barons, there’s a cost -- a price paid not just in sweat and toil, but in the balance of forces that have long governed the land.

Whoever you are, you're a soul making your way through the lonesome west. Perhaps you live in a cowtown on the frontier, or maybe you're a city-slicker setting out into the unknown for the first time. The frontier is a diverse place. While there are plenty of labourers working on a Baron's dime, there are mercenaries, outlaws, lawmen, prostitutes, trappers, monster hunters, gamblers, cowboys, doctors, preachers, and all manner of people. All of you, whoever you are, have two things in common. The first, you have been called by something. Something inexplicable. The sky cries out your name, beckoning you further west than you've ever been; where it's said that a raging storm never ends. Where only the natives have ever really returned from. Where skin-walkers and wendigos dwell. But also, where miracles are said to come true.

The second thing you all have in common: you're in need of a god-damned miracle.