Pull up a log next to the campfire and take a load off.

You don’t look like you’re from around these parts … not even from Cascadia, an’ that’s a rare sight nowadays with all the danger of travelin’.

Let me tell you a tale I heard about this old Urth when I was just a lil’ rascal.

Now, I say old, but maybe it’s a new Urth — hard to tell. These things come and go like the seasons.

Anyhow, in that time — past or future — mortal beings had themselves quite the civilization. They had technology that’d make your jaw hit the ground. Them folks was mighty pleased with themselves alright. Some even say it was a paradise.

But paradise don’t last.

Them mortals started pokin’ their noses in things they ought not have.

They started figuring out the hocus pocus of things — everything. Magic that made them seem like demigods to normal folk.

Now the gods that existed then, if you believe in such beings, some decided they didn’t like that. None at all. They thought to themselves that mortals shouldn’t have that kind of power. This ol’ trapper reckons they were probably right. Some of those mortals reached too far. Tryin’ to be gods themselves.

Well … them old gods weren’t having it.

There’d been arguin’ among the deities at first over the proper course of action.

Bad omens were ignored.

Warnings fell on deaf ears.

Weren’t long before those gods and upstart mortals were in a full-on dust-up with all the regular folk caught between. That kind of war don’t leave much behind.

Some say that’s where the deadlands came from — and the monsters, too. When things finally settled, some thought the world was beyond fixin’. Civilization gone. Technology lost. Magic forbidden.

Those folks that were left though, they were survivors: full of grit and mighty resourceful. They could get along without magic. They didn’t want it nohow.

They rebuilt, little by little. The Republic of Pacifica formed in Cascadia, tryin’ to bring back a little order and sense to the world.

That was a long time ago. Scholars aren’t even sure how long — if you trust ‘em.

Now, how much of it’s true? Couldn’t say. I’m just an old trapper relayin’ stories passed around the fire. But I do know two things:

For the first time in a crow’s age, we’re expanding into the wilds that grew up while the people were down.

And there’s still strange things out there.

Critters that don’t belong. Lights in the sky. Shadows in the deep. Folks disappearin’ and comin’ back none older than when they left. They’re never quite the same after that — like they seen too much.

We call it The Wyrd now — all that strangeness and mystery out there.

And if it brushes up against you?

Ooo-ee … it don’t let go easy.

I would know — but you don’t wanna to ask how.