The Last Sons
Welcome to Deadlands
Arrogant gunfighters draw shootin’ irons at the slightest provocation. Jayhawkers, Bluebellies, and Rebs murder each other over tiny plots of Kansas soil. Soldiers massacre Indians. Indians butcher miners. Sisters kill brothers, and vice versa. Everyone knows a stranger is never to be trusted. And it isn’t anger that’s the cause of all the fighting—it’s sheer terror.
Welcome to the Heart o’ the West, amigo. This is the house that War built.
Warfare is good for all the Reckoners. It tends to generate huge amounts of fear, and with telegraphs commonly available that fear can spread farther and faster than ever. It creates large numbers of corpses that might come back Harrowed, or as walkin’ dead, ’gloms, or some other disgusting abomination—all of which ratchet up the Fear Level even more. Warfare spawns disease, poverty, hatred, intolerance, and a whole mess of delicious fright. The Reckoners feed on it like candy, and use the crumbs to spark more unnatural monsters.