Concerning the Hiway War and Her Lasting Effects

In the weeks following the Second Stampede and the nuclear detonation that marked the end of the Hiway War, the second war that follows all wars began in earnest. The mass exodus out of Bravo and her outlying territories was only the beginning of that effort. And the hundreds of displaced peoples, uprooted from their culture as much as their homesteads, began to assert themselves on the desolate wastes beyond the borders of their vaporized town.

The first burning season was the worst we’d ever seen. The bomb carved a hole in the sky. Not like the quaint colloquialisms that paint the stars above Lonestar as distant forges, but in a very literal sense. The ionizing radiation ripped a hole in our atmosphere some ten miles across, exposing us to raw starstuff beyond our ken. The sun baked the land black, reducing what little was left by the bomb to flakey, carbonized debris.

Radiation sickness rent through the population like gorehound claws would a lump of tepid butter. Hundreds grew ill, their immune systems mangled by the blast and the fallout thereafter. Dozens died to common illnesses that had no business taking the hardy Bravo folk, while dozens more will live the rest of their lives with the scarred imprint of their clothes on their backs, twisted and marked with nobbly keloids in the places that the initial thermal wave tore at them from behind.

Storms, rendered radioactive and boiling by circumstance, swept over what we now refer to as the “Blastlands” South of Old Bravo. The Oil Fields, as they were called before, were ignited by the bomb and even now, at the time of this entry, burn hot and bright below the black dirt. To rest your feet too long on the Blastlands invites pain, and only with thick and leather soles would this author ever suggest to traverse them. Month by month, they extend further southward as the Texas Tea below ignites; threatening the Imixin people and the various tribes that inhabit the Pridelands and Dead Marches. Ambassadors forged north and spoke widely of a new homeland. Opportunists and criminals accosted the diasporic Unborn as they made the pilgrimage across the burning wastes, forcing the Imixin people to look for allyship in the uprooted and downtrodden.

They found this in the shape of other mutant and gorger strains. Full Dead, Retrogrades, Lascarians, Semper Morts and Tainted; discriminated against in the wake of a disaster that cast any zed-presenting persons as aggressors and and monsters, they began to form a loose association of tribes that would eventually come to be known as the contemporary Grave Council.

Other victims of the war, distraught and displaced, banded together - finding refuge from within. Three hardy individuals, self-titled Widows of the Lone Star, formed an orphanage-of-sorts. A haven for the misfits and the lost. They wore their grief on their sleeves - these common folk that had sacrificed everything in the war against Robb - but there was a fragile hope in their kinship and, as is the case when victims come together in common cause, there was eventually strength and determination.

In the meantime, beyond the blastlands and into the dangerous and virulent forests that characterize our northern Lonestar, the Antler Tribe’s flotilla came to rest at last. After months of searching these itinerant peoples began to craft for themselves a new capital and a new identity alongside the Cervaxi who had saved and hosted them in the wake of their genocide. Queen Jasper, first of the Antlers, proved herself the conqueror she had always claimed and in the space of a few months, the Antler Tribe annexed twelve clans and their power grew to that of a small nation state. Even now the Antlers and her Tribes Disparate rule the northern lands as a matter, not explicitly, but of course.

To the east of Old Bravo there was war, small wars that tore at the identity of the places they were waged in. Insurrection after insurrection as half a dozen leaders rose and fell, each time claiming that their way was the right one - only begetting more death when the the next demagogue climbed up to meet them.

Temple Station, as few call it now, after largely bloodless conflict came to rest firmly in the clutches of Warden Tabitha St. Mercy, the woman responsible if not for the founding, than the actualization of the Prison located there.

While The Clutch, located in the Concrete Isles, ballooned in terms of population. A divide quickly developed in the months following the Second Stampede. The nuclear winter that followed, affecting the entire latitude at which ground zero occurred, isolated a unhappy population to the shorehouses and fisheries there. The riots that broke out killed dozens, most often by the process of exposure when offending parties were thrown from the safehouses into the unforgiving, month-long blizzard uncharacteristic to this southern locale.

When the long winter ended, two factions had developed and one of them left. Called the Junkerpunks - at first a slight against their motley flotilla of repurposed boats, this loose coalition of Saltwise, Red Stars, Remnants, Diesel Jocks and Baywalkers set out to make a new identity along the Spoiled Coast. A kind of freedom-fighting but vicious underdog, they made their name first with blood and made targets of the looming leviathans below the murky waves. In that first year after the blast, the Junkerpunks only began to gain ground.

The Dune Sea to the west remained unchanged. Pitiless miles of sunbaked stone and sand have little to change in the wake of nuclear detonation. Raiders, previously deep-dwellers in the unexplored reaches of the desert migrated Eastwards towards the blastlands. Lured by the object of their worship, these blast-glass festooned and psionic madmen were among the first to brave the radioactive storms that surrounded ground zero for the first eight months following the Second Stampede.

It was only when the storms passed, and the end of the first year approached, that the lands Bravado became remotely livable again. A few wandering Aggies returned, lured by the radiation and the promise of discovery. The Firebrands, raiders as mentioned above, made their first primitive settlements around the muddy caldera that had been Bravo. And a few dedicated and Darwin monks took up residence and the purpose of cataloging and understanding the slow and stately evolution of a land post-nuclear.

Instead of a town, there was now a lake. An imperfect circle of muddy, radioactive water. The air was barely breathable and only the hardiest, fool or otherwise, could live in the Lands Bravado without suffering sterility or sickness.

But it was that they could live there at all that drew them. Radiation takes a long time to leech itself out of the soil, much longer than ten months.

It was in May of the year following the Second Stampede that the discovery was made. A pale and perfect edifice of stone rose up and out of the muddy ground that surrounded Old Bravo. Something older than the town that died there. Something older than any of us.

It was proximal to that obelisk of too-perfect rock that the town of Bravado was re-born.

Concerning the Hiway War and Her Lasting Effects

By: Dr. Perenthius Goodfellow

THE HIWAY WAR as penned by Ranger-Steward Raven

Ranger-Steward Raven here. It is fitting, that I make my final report in the burnt wreckage of Station Echo. Surrounded by as many ghosts as I am now, echos are all I hear.

Three weeks ago, Bravo’s citizenry detonated a nuclear device in the middle of their city and ended the conflict with the undead warlord, Hiway Robb.

War is horrible. It grinds us down to stumps and runs roughshod over our souls. It makes husks of men and I remember the brilliant, morbid expressions of my ranger kin when they realized that it was their lives they would sacrifice to preserve the peoples of the Lonestar. And the steely resolve that bastioned them against the terror of oblivion, knowing that their deaths would buy time.

The Braves were the best of us. I do not know how many survived the bomb. What reports I have from wandering itenerents indicate that some seven hundred persons made it out of the blast radius before the explosion. According to our last census this means some four hundred poor souls evaporated when we finally took down Hiway Robb. But this is vagaries, born of supposition and recollection. And I can only hope they saved enough of us.

In the spirit of my station, as steward to what was once the Rangers, I will do my best in the coming hours to convey, over the airways and to the disparate peoples of this commonwealth, the greater state of the landscape. It may not matter to you, but this will be my final report. The Rangers are scattered, dead, or determined not to be found. And I am content to put down my badge - and leave the business of justice to those of us unbroken and unbowed by this conflict.


Ranger-Steward Raven reporting. On the greater and unaffiliated peoples of the Lonestar. These are the farmers and families, workers and merchants, commonfolk who have lost their land and their belongings and have been made to pick up and move far from the blastland that was our home and into the sanctuaries across the wastes that have enough food, water and work to support them. This is a rough estimate of their numbers and locations. Individual names will not be provided as I do not have them. But you may find your families and friends here.

Temple Station, bastioned by strong walls of concrete and steel, was only damaged in the explosion but not leveled. The lowest basements of the city held hundreds of huddled bodies when the bomb went off. And hundreds more spilled in after the radioactive fog cleared. It is now the most populated location in the blastlands around ground zero. In the three weeks since the bomb, in an act of rare and beautiful comradery, strains of all humanity struggle to rebuild the town quickly. There is word of a leader, a woman with half a face who calls herself warden. She is the one to speak to, if you are seeking shelter or the familiar faces of missing family.

The Stoneoak Caverns in the north are full, but not with the Lascarians that populated that place prior to the War. The Stoneoak people, royal and ancient, were wiped out by the Stampede prior to the bomb’s detonation. Now the people there are new, wandering among the vestiges of a dead culture. It is good they have a place to be, but they will struggle without the knowledge of those caverns and how to live in them.

The Third Eye has closed. There are not enough of this faction left to call them a right and proper entity. I am told the powerful psions of the lineage burned out their own brains holding back the stampede long enough for Bravo to finish their bomb. But their safecamps, scattered across the Lonestar, are populated by refugees. What food and supplies the Third Eye left behind will feed these people for a few weeks. But they will need to scatter soon - and so if you are looking for family among those camps I would move swiftly, friends.

The Antler Tribe have been reported seen across the wastes, but reports indicate they have taken up a permanent residence alongside the remnants of the Cervaxi peoples. Do not attend the Mudergoat Hovel thinking to find them there. They wander, in search of a homeland in a kind of inland flotilla of caravans and livestock - but you can see their banners from across the level blastlands red and proud and unburnt. Their Queen leads them, and hundreds follow in her train.

The Ranger Outposts are leveled. Hollow, burnt-out husks that we destroyed ourselves to keep Robb’s bandits from getting at our supplies. Part of me regrets that now, as I look out over the dozen hungry faces that fled here, thinking the Rangers would save them. We saved many, but we cannot save them all. Echo, Charlie and Delta are finished. In a few days I will take these people and we will make the pilgrimage northwards. Away from the blastlands.

The Darkmoon people, to the best of my knowledge, are dead. Their tunnels below the city of Bravo proper are nonexistent in the wake of nuclear hell. Only the bilgey backwaters far to the south continue to be structural, and these caverns are full. Already there is word of raiders that uncannily resemble the Darkmoon peoples, with crescents on their foreheads and foam on their lips. One case of badbrain untended is all it takes, my friends, to reduce a culture to memory and its people to murderous psychopaths. The backwater folk are calling them Nightstalkers. Be wary if you go searching there.

In comparison, the Redwater Complex to the west is thriving. It is a huge, meandering labyrinth largely unpopulated until now. Refugees balloon their numbers to the hundreds, and their leader - Wisest, has opened the doors to all Braves and disparate peoples. There is word, however, of a mysterious illness that renders the Lascarians of this lineage a sickly greenish color. With pale eyes and vacant expressions. But it is not the luxury of the refugee to turn away food and shelter, and so Redwater has become a bastion in its own right. If you go looking here, be respectful. This clan has been isolationists for many decades, and only in the wake of tragedy and the efforts of their own ambassadors do they welcome refugees now.

The Caine Family Ranch hosts some two dozen refugees. Far away from the blast this homestead fares well and can take more bodies to feed and to work. It’s matriarch boasts the best cooking in the Lonestar and expresses only that anyone who drops by will be fed in exchange for their labor to shore up the walls and tend the growing fields. If your family is here, friends, I think they are safe.

I have received a report that the surviving Scadians, formerly of their home Ansteorra, have broken ground on their first permanent dwelling since they became refugees during the Mustang War. The war truck used to breach the blockades finally gave its last and broke down on the last hilltop before the Dune Sea, where it was mostly disassembled for materials. Though its unofficial, some are calling their new home Cannon's Crown. Their time spent aiding Bravo has softened their, once notable, violent xenophobia, and have opened their new home as a way station for those who travel to and from the Dune Sea, and to all who once called themselves Rangers

Far to the East lies the Clutch. A city-state in the Concrete Isles, these watery taverns and fishhouses are alight with lanterns and the hungry faces of a hundred refugees. The inky waters here, rendered brackish with oil, ring a half-dozen islands dotted with newly-erected tents and homesteads. The Saltwise, who have previously only partied to trade, are taking notice. In a bizzare happenstance of war, this port has become an authority in the short weeks since the bomb. Few other port towns survived the stampede, and so the Clutch holds the purse strings for the foreseeable future.

The Lands Aggie are flat, featureless. Save for a few leaning towers and crazily oriented domiciles. The refugees that fled there are unaccounted for. And I would not suggest pilgrimaging after them into the radioactive hellscape. There is word of Darwinist Monks, who seek knowledge in the phantasmagoric fog that raises tumors and boils on the skin of the uninitiated. If you are seeking family here, misguided as I think you are, speak to them before venturing in yourself.

To the far west lies the Dune Sea. An uncharted land of heat and sand and sun. But because refugees are by definition running away from something worse, reports indicate that a large number of itenerents left Bravo in the direction of those hills. I wish these people the best, but recall in my youth the leviathans that lurk under the loose sand, and the yawning mouths of the monsters there that swallow people like you or I might an unpleasant pill. Good luck, Braves.

One notable exception to the dangers of the Dune Sea seems to be the Diesel Jock clan known as The Road Royals. After escaping the destruction of Bravo using the Lascarian clans as a distraction, the Royals have taken their fleet to the west. One sure way to avoid the leviathans below is to keep moving, and the DJs seem to have that down. Last report was that there was discontent in the clan based on how they helped the “townies” escape and the friction is threatening to split the clan along faction lines. Regardless of the outcome, the Dune Sea is both safer AND more dangerous due to these explosive-loving maniacs on wheels.

Falken Castle, a locale I did not know existed until their guardship opened the gates to the hungry and desperate, lies just outside of the blast radius. When searching for this place know that the walls are pale and stonework, and that you need only express you are friend to House Ramguard to enter. Already a tent city is erecting itself beneath their high walls, and the hollow halls of this place echo with the sound of civilization it has not seen since before the Fall.

Gun City, to the north, a prosperous cowtown that until now has kept to itself, has opened its gates to the same. A tradehub, largely run by Rovers, this locale can offer as much as any other in terms of food and shelter. Hundreds pass through this station, and posters of missing persons festoon the streets and alleys like so many pious flags in the wind.

The Killscout Caravans roam by definition. With a population of nearly a thousand, and many of them psionic in nature, this inland flotilla can be seen ambling across the blastlands with all the speed and momentum of brahman at march. They spread out across the wastes in a fan, and pick up refugees like a trawlingbarge scoops up cretaceous life from the silt below the Clutch. You will know where they have gone by the gore-marks in the dirt and the footprints that follow after. Luckily, you need only a brisk walk to catch up, given time.

Far, far to the north. At the edges of Star City, the Wasteland Witches have opened their compound doors to a choice few. Otherwise known as Devree Kapl, these psionists have a seedy past rooted in their affliction. But in times of war we make our choices, and these people have agreed to buoy Braves and lend us aid. We can only hope they stay friendly.

The Palace Godmoney, egregiously named for what it is, is the mudflats that once could have been called the Washborne plantation. A few broken hovels have sprung up here, just on the inside ring of the blastlands. Rife with crime and violence, if your kinship has fled to the Palace willingly, let them stay there and wish them the best.

The Litur Efni people, a rover caravan from far to the East, has left the Lonestar and taken refugees with them. They deal in spices, pigments, rare stones and beautiful things. Know them by their opulence and their kindness, friends. But seek them warily, and use the name “Vaan” when you do.

More centrally located, the McBride Ranch hosts some four dozen refugees. A visual callback to the plantations the bomb evaporated, this staging location has ample food and room for many more bodies. If you are looking for family or a place to stay, the point of contact is one Stacy McBride, the matriarch and steward of this ancestral home. A good pureblood, in a bad time.

And the Bishop Compound, an industrial homestead of impressive size, looms to the east as close as Temple Station does the north. An extended family of rovers and mericans maintain this waystation and you will know you are close by the tire marks in the road and the smell of refined peppermint. In a lawless land where we are all travelers, their brew will make them barons.


Ranger-Steward Raven Reporting. I have, to the best of my abilities and my intelligence, conveyed all the public refugee silos in the Lonestar proper. The peoples are scattered but they are converging at these locations. This is not an exhaustive list of peoples, locales, or efforts by the citizens of this commonwealth to make right in the wake of thermonuclear war. This is a rough state of the region that hopefully gives shape and comfort to the war-blinded and wandering. There are places for you to go, safety in numbers. The Rangers are gone but there are good people in the wastes. Find them, find shelter, rebuild.

Ranger-Steward Raven Out.

Stay Brave out there.

Evacuation and Stampede

A Change in Casting Time

We’re going to push back the time for the final casting time (NPC block) from 8pm - 12am to 9pm-1am. We’re doing this to provide some more game time for those planning to evacuate which will be the majority of players.

Scheduling this is a little tricky. We want to push this as late into the event as possible because we want to maximize everyone’s game time. We also cannot make it VERY late because players start turning into pumpkins around 12 or 1. The players who are at casting (NPC) are especially tired by this point in the weekend, so we need to consider that as well. We could do this in the morning, but big night-time zombie fight is kind of the thing we’re all here for. So.. we’re going to deliver a big night-time zombie fight.

We thought we could push things back another hour without sacrificing in other places, so we’re going to do that. If this change in timing causes any problems for you, please email us and we’ll be happy to help things.

The Saturday Schedule

If you have played with us for any length of time you have probably noticed that we like planning and scheduling. That being said, our content schedule has a margin of error of 15-30 minutes because Larp Happens.

Sat 10:00 pm. Evacuation
Sat 11:45 pm. Rest and rehydrate.
Sat 12:00 am. End-Game for Evacuees. Stampede for Sunsetters.*
Sat 1:00 am. Death Scenes for the Sunsetters.

*This does mean our sunsetters get a full MP refresh to play around with. So that’s cool.


If you’re fleeing Bravo then the fight to evacuate (yes.. there will be a fight) will be the last game content we run for you. Unless you die.

Once your character has survived, we’ll proceed to a small camp. This will either look a lot like Zuni or it will look like no-place-you-have-seen (depending on the weather and other circumstances). If we go to no-place-you-have-seen then we’ll drop glow sticks to lead you back home. :)

As previously mentioned, once your character survives you can:

  1. Roleplay until your heart is content.

  2. Join the Stampede

  3. Decompress at the Spoiler Party

  4. Watch for the Angst

If you want to Watch or Join.. we’ll offer instructions on how to do that at the event. (Where we send you is going to depend on which location we use).


You’re going to watch all your friends leave you behind. You will also be in a ghost town all alone.. for a bit. We strongly encourage you to plan for this. Plan your final farewell and plan your time alone. What would you do knowing you only have two hours to live? What do you do when maybe you’re not surrounded by those closest to you? We will have some soft-content in the play space, but a lot of our attention will be on the Evacuees. Please plan accordingly. :)

The start of the Stampede will be marked with an air raid siren.

The end of the Stampede will (probably) be marked with the sound of an explosion. (If your fellow Survivors can build a Bomb which we think they will do question mark?)

Spoiler Party

At 12:00 am, we’re going to turn the Saloon into a decompress and hangout space. We’re going to eat pizza and drink soda because it only seems fitting that after an intense weekend of playing pretend we all revisit our childhood for a pizza party.

We’ll have our experience designers present as soon as possible.

Every weekend we try to give you some spoilers from that weekend. Instead, we’re going to invite you to ask ANY question you have EVER had over the last seven years. Let’s all reminisce about what was and what could have been together. Spoilers will start after 1:00 am.

We’ll also be available to talk about 3.0 and the future of Bravo.

Season Finale

Hello friendaroos. We’re sharing our May update a little early. We want to tell a story with you. In the spirit of that, we’re going to share a little about our hopes and expectations for the event (and some logistics too). We also want to lean into your ideas as well. If there’s something big and bold you want to do before we close the season and this version of Bravo, let us know! This blog post is a conversation starter, not an end point.

Sunless Garden

There will be a Sunless Garden at Boot Hill. We won’t be running it round-the-clock like last month, but we will happily take you through the Garden if your character has a death or sunsets.

Victory Condition

The stampede is coming. This isn’t a thing that can be stopped. There is no solution to this because (real talk) we’re wiping away the old setting to build something that will look very different for 3.0. The stampede is a mechanism for that change.

That means we might have to adjust our normal expectation of what victory looks like. For some characters victory might be fleeing and surviving. For others it might mean helping some group or another to survive. And for others still it might mean avenging the town and killing Rob. That’s going to be different for each character, but we definitely encourage you to think about it.

More importantly, we encourage you to think of this less as winning a game and more like telling a narrative. Bitter-sweet endings tend to make for poor games, but probably the most amazing and powerful stories. We encourage you to have a story and not a game.

The Plan

We don’t know what your plan is. We would like to though!

Probably it will involve a big bomb because.. you like building bombs and so far its the only thing we’ve heard. So we’re going to lean into that and bring out the bomb prop and some sound effects. And if we need to scrap that plan for another over the course of the event, we’ll do that too. This is a story we want to tell with you.

War Table Intel

The War Table will have new information and intelligence coming in over the weekend. This is something missing from our last event. Some of that was because we wanted the world to feel like it was closing in and the threat is now at the doorstep. Some of that is because we have finite resources and the Sunless Garden took a lot of energy. You said wanted this back, so we’re going to bring back intel and missions from the broken lines courtesy of your newest ally - the Guild. (yay?)

We will also have the broken remains of some factions who can either be used on the War Table or included in the Evacuation (by expending limited resources). Those factions will live on in 3.0. They will look different, they will change as the years pass, but they will at least survive.

War Missions

We’re blatantly stealing an idea from Downfall 2017 with some NPC Land war missions. Missions might include runs for supplies, a rescue mission, or an attempt on a hard target (like Sharkface).

One or more of these will be Terminal Runs. A Terminal Run will be a one-way trip. The only way back into play is through the Sunless Garden after your character is overrun by enemy forces.


Prior to the Stampede there will be an evacuation that takes characters through Zuni and to the old horse corral field. If you want your character to play in 3.0, then you should be on the evacuation module. Characters that evacuate Bravo can then choose to:

  1. Roleplay with one another to close out open threads in their story.

  2. Join the Stampede as an Extra (NPC). We will have brawlers and make-up nearby.

  3. Decompress in the Saloon which will be an out-of-character space.

  4. Watch the Stampede as a non-interactable character for maximum angst.


The Stampede will be our final content for the event. This is a send-off for every character that wants to sunset. As such, it is our goal to make it as big and loud and fast and awesome as we can, an epic good bye for characters who give all and give their last. We want this scene to be the stuff of nightmares and legends, where a few stand against an ocean, and get to do one last thing before the waves crash ashore.

Characters who sunset in the Stampede will lose all their infection. Those characters will be marked in the database as retired. Players can take advantage of the full XP on that character when making a NEW character in 3.0.

April Update

GSCTX Construction

The area that was marked with Caution tape last month now has barrier fencing. This is primarily around the “front yard” of Wiki-up (aka Lucky 7). Please avoid this area. This does mean that one of Wiki-up’s door is out of play. Please use the door nearest the closets for emergencies but not other purposes. Additionally.. GSCTX has added more beds to Wiki-up (aka Lucky 7) by replacing the single beds with bunk beds.

Camp Binders

There is now a binder in each of the camp’s units. This binder includes cleaning procedures for each unit. It also includes a maintenance list. If you see something that merits attention, but its not an immediate emergency, then please make a note in the binder and the camp can then take steps to fix it.

These binders also include the camp’s rules. This includes things like their no smoking policy, which you’re already familiar with. It also includes items like quiet hours, which do not apply to us because we have rented the whole camp. DO NOT FREAK OUT!!! (See what we did there?) You can still scream like a lunatic into all hours of the night.

April Death

As we approach the season closer and the end of this particular chapter of Dystopia Rising, many of our established players are thinking about how they may sunset a character or push them into a new direction. Character death can be a vehicle for that. If you want your character to die, do it! Sometimes this experience is a game and sometimes it is a narrative.

If you need or want a narrative death, then please take it! A bunch of you did this with Uprise, but you can do this any time you want to. You don’t need our permission to eat your own infection. If you think four minutes of Bleed Out is enough, take a death. If you want to simply get pasted and die on a hit by some Big Bad - go for it! If your character eats a bunch of radioactive mushrooms for SCIENCE! and dies of radiation poisoning - cool!

If you need or want a death scene, then come by Ops and we’d like to do that for you. If you’re not interested in a death scene, and instead you want to just respawn at the Morgue, then that’s cool too. Either way, we encourage you to stop by Ops, grab a drink of water, catch your breath, and maybe sit for a minute to ease the transition. Then pick your poison (so to speak).

Yellow Roses in a Sunless Garden

April has always been a time for retrospection in the Lonestar. Boot Hill, a place for broken ghosts and half-remembered truths, is dying. It’s final exhumation is coming, a byproduct of the Stampede and the enormous volume of biomass aboveground.

The Mortis writhes; a blind eternity where we are stripped of our ego and our truth and left raw and malformed at the bottom of All Things. There an abscess grows like the pit of a rotten tooth.  Boot Hill has never been a proper morgue, but perhaps it has always been a Garden, untended.

This month you will be given the opportunity to delve into the liminal space between life and death, have your resolve tested and taken, and help correct the the broken narratives that are the organic result of war, death and a world where we are undone and remade like so many broken pots.


  • A Sunless Garden run will occur every two hours. This begins at Game On. There will be a hook shaped like Shan.

  • In the Sunless Garden you are given a resource called RESOLVE. These are tokens to be spent. I’m not telling you on what. <3

  • If you do not have a least one RESOLVE upon exiting the Sunless Garden you will be given a FRACTURE.

  • A FRACTURE is a 3.0 Mechanic (playtesting!). It is a derangement without a name, without being ascribed to a particular neurosis. We’ll tell you more at game.

Permed PCs

Are you interested in playing a dead PC for the LAST iteration of this piece of Bravo history? Bring your costume, shoot an email to (or just hit her up on FB) and get ready to be a broken husk of the person you once were for the benefit of your emotionally wrung out buddies!

Tuning into the SI:GNAL

Last month you installed a powerful device that can control, in a limited way, the kind of zed you will be fighting this month. Pay attention to that. Make cool choices with your resources. The war is ramping up, the stampede looms.