D ystopia Rising: Echoes of Celluloid Dreams is a regional source book to be used

in conjunction with the Dystopia Rising table top gaming system. This book is
designed to provide further details in regards to the territories of Lost Angels
and the big Fallen Coast, the Pureblood strain, territorial threats, as well as the
Telling Vision religion. This book is not intended for use as standalone content,
nor is any of the content representative of actual places, people, or organizations.

A supplement book for the Dystopia Rising Table Top game for Vegasia and The Big AC
Copyright Eschaton Media Inc. and Dystopia Rising LLC 2012

Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)

Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Introduction 4
Dystopia Rising Chapter 1: Flesh 7
an Eschaton Media Production
7 Pure Bloods
Original Concept 14 Solestros
Michael Pucci 18 The Church of the Telling
Visions
Executive Producer Chapter 2: Blood 30
Ashley Zdeb
31 New Advantages
32 Alcohol, Brews, and Drugs
Writers 33 Addiction in the Wasteland
Michael Pucci 34 Creatures of Sans Califia
Ian Powell Chapter 3: Bone 40
Megan Jaffe
R.M. Sean Benjamin Jaffe 41 Lost Angels
42 The Inner City
51 Wetside
Additional Materials 58 The Hills
Matthew Volk 68 The Sans Califia Archipelago
Ericka Skirpan
Kat Schonheyder

Editing
Megan Jaffe
Clinton Rickards
Andrea Vasilescu
Shoshana Kessock
Kat Schonheyder

Design and Layout

Matthew Volk

Artists
Cryssy Cheung
Joseph Corsentino
Richard Sampson
Andrew Scott
Ralph Atanasia
Zach Herschberger
Matthew Volk
Joshua Jaffe

Cover Artist
Cryssy Cheung

Copyright 2012 Eschaton Media Productions

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, mechanical, electronic,

photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of Eschaton Media Productions

All illustrations and images are property of Eschaton Media Productions or used under the allowed rights of public domain.

Dystopia Rising is a registered trademark of Dystopia Rising LLC, and may not be used without written permission of Dystopia Rising LLC.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

3
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 B efore the dead walked, it was “rich” and “poor”. Before the bombs fell it was “rich” and “poor”.
Even after all that, with the world over, and just beginning to stagger to its feet again, like a
broken drunk, something amazing happened:
Nothing changed.
What were we, retarded? Did we honestly believe that the mother fucking END OF DAYS would
change the social strata? Not a chance. Not a fucking chance. The City of Fallen Angels didn’t
move an inch.
The rich held what they had, clutching it tight to their chest. They kept their proud Pureblood
names, kept their motherfucking homes on the Hills. Then they fenced themselves in, with all
their credits, sleeping on beds of fucking cash. They built giant walls, lining them with guards,
turrets, and razor wire. At first, they said it was to keep out the walkers, but everyone knew the
truth. It was to keep out the poor. Keep out the dregs. We weren’t good enough for their ritzy
city. We had been touched by the wastes, the infection. Hah. What those fucks really feared was
that we were touched by poverty.
Inside, a bustling mecca formed, thriving commerce and all that shit. The Purebloods bought
jewels and gems, clothing and makeup. Status became king, and the more shit you had, the more
power you had. When you had all the fucking swag, that’s when they knew you were legit. They built
buildings of mirrored glass, had power and running water. They had a paradise designed to keep
their big money deals and big businesses safe. Their purity was saved. Yet with all the glitz and
glamor, they never saw themselves becoming the zombies.
From their hill they cast judgment down on us. We were the workers, the backs on which they
had built their fucking empires. They made rules, and made deals, that not only affected us, but
murdered us. Killed us. On their hill they lost touch with reality, and lost touch with their
humanity and lost touch with their sanity. What’s a gold grill gonna get you other than jumped?
You think a fucking zombie gives a fuck about your gold chain? They may have been safer, wealthier,
and better fed, but they certainly were not “pure.” They’re a fucking disease.
Down here, it’s hard. The dock workers at Wetside work to make trade and commerce thrive. Men
and women lifting crates and shit, running routes for the big dogs up in the hills. Some scrounge
the remnants of the dead city below us, using boats and rafts to make a living. They paddle out;
motors ain’t worth it because the dead can hear them. It’s a risky business, buildings can collapse
and drown your dumb ass. Even then, picking from the scrap, you can still get jacked up. The
gangsters down there ain’t act like they from round here, suckin’ on that Pureblood dick, hopin’
to get paid.
There’s the “Ushers,” men and women in tattered red suits who give tours of the Holy Wood to
those fucking Telling Visionaries. They claim the palaces of their prophets are somewhere beneath
the water. They say deep in the black, their prophets still speak. They creep me the fuck out.
Then there’s us, who live in the inner city. My crew and I, we work for our lives. We fight
the undead every day, we secure our home block by block. We hustle when we can, some of my crew
have run guns or run chop shops. I decided I was going to get educated, went out and learned how
to stitch a motherfucker up. My boys were getting sick, and when you’re living in murky fucking
water, and dirty destroyed streets, the smallest fucking cut can kill you. I don’t do it for the
cash out here, nah, I do it for my family. My brothers.
My crew does what we can to get creds though. We ain’t looking for swag, just some fucking
food. Maybe weapons. But when it comes down to it, credits don’t mean as much down here when a
zombie can fucking kill you in your sleep.
We still kill each other for them anyway. The Sangres, the Lakers, the Water Rats, the Wyld
4
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Stallyns; these men will kill you for your food. They’ll kill you for your credits, and I’d murder
them right back to keep my crew running. A good spot to rest your head is worth killing for, and
my boys are my family. Fuck, man, I’d kill my fuckin’ family if it meant I could keep my spot. We
got a good set up down here in the Stay Please, and we ain’t going nowhere.
I know the truth of the matter is, it’d be better if we work together. If we could bury the
hatchet, make it all work, we could hold off the dead better than ever. We could build a city,
build a fucking ladder, climb out of the fucking pits and murder those fucking Purebloods in their
fucking palace.
But as I was saying. “Rich” and “poor”. And nothing changes.
-Doctor D, Leader of the Death Row gang, and local historian

Welcome to the brutal islands
of the Sans Califia Archipelago,
the shattered remains of the
sunny coastal lands of lofty
ideals, dreams of fame, and
beauty in a bottle. When the
fall came, the golden republic
wasn’t spared the indignities
and horrors of destruction and
the walking dead. For all of
their advances in technology
and social change, when the zed
came, they just as quickly turned
their weapons against their own
population as the rest of the
nation in peril. Quarantines
couldn’t keep the situation
under control, and while
televisions and radios blared
with warnings for evacuations
and for folks to remain calm
and stay indoors, the cities
of San Diego, Los Angeles, and
Sacramento were shelled to try
to stem the growing tide.
In only a matter of days,
the toll from this extreme use
of force manifested in the form
of trembles from the earth
below. The earth’s crust heaved
and like an unruly horse trying
to buck its rider, and shook
the foundations of the cities
of man. The ground cracked
and split, allowing the ocean
to rush inland as volcanic
eruptions spewed acrid black
smoke blotting out the skies.
Stories tell of survivors
taking to bomb shelters and
safehouses only to be trapped
and flooded out, or worse, veins
of magma overtaking underground
tunnels and burning alive those
who sought refuge there. Others
talk of great silver birds that
carried people from rooftops and
ascended into the sky in a flight
to safety in the high hills and
newly forming highlands that
stood well above the sea’s
rage. There are tales of those
that fled into the arms of
benevolent or not so benevolent
saviors whose gates compounds
and communities had resources,
security, and space to spare,
hoping to weather the storm and
see how things would pan out.
In the wilds inland, where
great expanses of pleasant
valleys and windfarms once stood,
massive inland seas formed. The
great forests and mountains that
had been tourist destinations
before the fall stood strong
against the apocalypse. Though
their massive boughs shook and
many of the great woods burned
in the aftermath, the old growth
remained, and from those ashes
new forests grew again, and
slowly began to reclaim the
land, restoring it once more to
it’s natural state free of man.
This is the Sans Califia
Archipelago as it stands today.
The few remaining settlements
scattered along the coast and
islands are ruled by a vicious
and clever upper class of
Pure Bloods and their allies
who control the precious few
resources and industries left
in the region, while other
survivors do their best to
please the upper crust in the
hopes of getting table scraps
from their opulent lives.
The Church of the Telling
Visions has incredible numbers
of devotees in this region,
feeding the Pure Bloods in their
need to one up their neighbors
and emulate the fashions and
luxuries of the old world
the visions bear witness to.
Countless pilgrims travel from
the wastes in the hopes of
finding the mystical lost lands
of Bell Aire, stopping over at
the great Holy Wood sign that
stands overlooking the ruins of
Lost Angels, the largest hub of
civilization in the region.
Meanwhile, amidst these ruins
has arisen a unique Strain of
Humanity, the Solestros. These
children of the sun have become
a linch pin of Califian society,
living as go betweens for the
Pure Bloods and emissaries to
the rest of society.

Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)

Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 “They call me “The Money.” was a luxury available to almost other Strains often view rules
-Maggie Fallone, of the all of the first world, but for and civilization as a luxury to
Aysea Fallones the Purebloods, it’s a matter be indulged where one can, the
of survival. He who dies with Purebloods literally need them

T he truly wealthy don’t swim

through cash or roll around
in coin. That’s what the poor
the most toys, wins, the saying
used to go, but it’s become very
true. Death is inevitable, but
to survive. Hence, they have
to be able to create it. The
gold and jewels of the past are
dream of doing, when they shiver the family lives on. And that so much pretty junk. Bullets,
in their hovels or contemplate family’s wealth, status and scrap, food, clean water- these
their swill for dinner. Once influence should- nay must- be are the new resources, and the
money keeps coming after money, maintained. might of the pureblood lie in
once a certain price point has their reserves of these things
been reached, money is no longer What Makes a as well as the massive amount
really an item to be passed back Pure Blood? of charisma, manipulation and
and forth. It has become a force “In the wastes, one fears the chutzpah it takes to convince
that makes problems just go undead, starvation and madness. the stronger, deadlier denizens
away. Enough money, and even the However, those Pure of Blood of the waste that these reserves
end of the world becomes a mere fear what would happen if the are best left in the hands
inconvenience. money ran out, if their colors of the Purebloods and not in
The Purebloods come from many are faded, or if the starving those the strongest raider. The
backgrounds, many enterprises, masses of the wastes ever got Purebloods, more than any other
many industries; but the one jealous enough to rebel. But Strain, have got to be smart and
thing they all have in common they feel this fear from gilded lucky, lest they be, at best,
was enduring wealth. A safe cages, made as much to keep broke. A broke Pureblood is
and comfortable place to sleep their precious familial lines either the craftiest, deadliest
at night, fresh food and clean in as to keep the wastes out.” thing in the waste, or a dead
water, and above all, protection - Rosemary Banks-King man. There is no middle ground.
from the menaces of the wasted of Beacon Hill
world, these are all things History
that a Pureblood has never Before the fall of man, the Any survivor of a terrible
had to do without. Of course, one percent held sway. Now money catastrophe will tell you that
there are hazards even in this and power are just another means when things hit their worst,
luxurious existence- social to an end that can just as easily cash rapidly becomes useless.
currents with deadly undertow, be taken as it can be bought. The trick to staying rich
the machinations of one’s own When there are rules, money in a scenario like that is
family, and the ever present means something. In anarchy, commodification. The landscape is
concern that the poor will wise it’s useless. Therefore, it’s dotted with the abandoned shells
up and rise up. To be stripped in the Purebloods’ best interest of well appointed apocalypse
of one’s wealth and influence (more than any other Strain, in palaces, reinforced and sealed
would be worse than death for fact) to carve out niches of up, sometimes with the skeletal
the Pure. Before the Fall, civilization from the wastes. remains of their former charges
keeping up with the neighbors Simply put, whereas the still trapped within. Most
7
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 are filled with stacks of
dollar bills, pesos, euros, or
whatever, mouldering away and
crawling with silverfish. When
the world falls apart, money
has to be more than just paper.
When the going got tough,
the toughest kept working. From
their seats of relative safety,
they used whatever dying means
of communication they could to
move their wealth into whatever
resources they knew would be
valuable- farmland, food, clean
water, weapons, and medicine
were all popular
choices, but
other things
rapidly gained
value in ways
no one could
8
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
expect. Drugs, for example,
became tremendously valuable,
as did condoms. One small family
paid their way to salvation
by hoarding typewriters, and
another did so with a warehouse
full of batteries. As these
oligarchs started communicating,
they rapidly realized the only
way that they would survive
with their privilege intact
was through consolidation, and
soon arranged
marriages became
very popular
among the
wealthy
and walled-in. The rise of
the great Pureblood houses
had begun. As the bigger more
powerful families absorbed the
smaller ones, the Purebloods
maintained their lineage
though long, hyphenated names,
and the highest honorific of
“namesaking”- a child would
be named for a particularly
wealthy Benefactor or Founder,
like “Warren” or “Elizabeth” or
“Jay-Z.”
The vast majority of
Purebloods started to assemble
into families, not unlike the
great organized crime syndicates
of old. Organization, in fact,
was critical to their survival.
In order to maintain wealth, one
must maintain a civilization
that values it, so it was
critical to the survival of the
Purebloods that they establish
towns with rules, and economies
that they could control. This
was not always a bad thing,
and in fact, many survivors owe
their lives to a Pureblood’s
largesse. Most Mericans,
Remnants, and Accensorites can
trace their lineage to someone
who spent some time working on
a Pureblood’s compound.
Evolution
In some ways, the Purebloods
have evolved the least of all
the Strains. Radiation and the
Infection has sullied most of
the strains to the point that
they can no longer be called
even near human. The resilience
of Retrogrades, the fighting
capabilities of the Yorkers, the
adaptation to one’s surroundings
of any number of other Strains;
all these are survival traits
that do not manifest within
the Pure of Blood. However, to
say that they are completely
unevolved would be untrue. While
 not all Pureblood families look
alike, a Pureblood will still be
distinct from other strains due
to their appearance, charm, and
a je ne sais quoi only displayed
by those who still know what
that phrase means.
The Pureblood, of all the
Strains, take the most active
interest in their genes-
in propagation, selection,
and pruning. Physical
attractiveness, quickness
of wit, and acquisitory
bloodymindedness are all traits
honed to a peak over the last
generations. In addition,
the only reason that the
Pureblooded have not fallen to
the inbreeding which afflicted
nobility before the fall is
ruthless culling, through
procreation arrangements and
when necessary through outright
murder.
Identity
The deepest, truest self-
knowledge, which all Purebloods
have, is that they are simply
better. More attractive, more
intelligent, more accomplished,
more civilized. They are bred to
be leaders, and the fallen world
does not allow for weakness or
failure to be rewarded, so they
reason that surely they must be
a cut above the rest.
While this sounds callous,
many Pureblood actually have
a great deal of concern for
those under what they consider
their care. Noblesse oblige
is not a lost concept, a
prosperous settlement is often
a happy settlement, and a happy
settlement is unlikely to
rebel. However, control must be
maintained, and even the most
altruistic Pureblood can be
quick to clamp down on unrest.
There are, of course, many
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
Pureblood who have an almost
sociopathic disregard for those
they view beneath them. They
view the other Strains as little
more than beasts, disguise it
though they will in order to get
what they need.
Regardless of how they view
the other Strains, the Pureblood
have an absolute interest in
appearing well before each
other. Clothing must be clean,
colors bright, whites white.
Hair is groomed and well-
kempt, hands free of stain and
callous. And whatever labors the
Pureblood may perform to keep
their business going, before
other Purebloods no effort may
be shown. After all, if you have
to work for it, you obviously
weren’t born into it.
Customs
Marriage is second only to
investments in importance to
the Purebloods. The cutthroat
nature of Pureblood society
means that the Blood tend to
marry young, and more than once.
Familial infighting, intrafamily
sabotage, prole uprisings, and
the ever present threat of the
undead, means that often times
one spouse will outlive the
other. As a result, the rules
governing House Names are many
and incredibly convoluted.
The Lineage League exists, at
least in part, to keep track of
the twisting lines of birth,
alliance and loyalty, but that
work absolutely requires an
understanding of at least the
most central of these customs.
Hyphenation is the primary
means by which Pureblood families
proclaim alliances by marriage
(or indenture, but naturally
that isn’t something openly
discussed). Male or female,
most of the Haves maintain
their birth name throughout
their lives – at least if it’s
prestigious enough. When they
marry, they take their spouses
Name as well – so a husband and
wife might be known as Banks-
Rockafella and Rockafella-
Banks, respectively. When a
spouse succumbs to the pitfalls
of such a ruthless existence and
joins the undead, the widow or
widower has a number of choices.
They may abandon their married
Name, generally in favor of
another – this usually happens
if the married Name they’ve
taken has lost prestige or
simply isn’t worth the keeping;
they may keep the married Name
to bolster their worth as a
potential spouse and ally, and
then add an additional Name upon
a subsequent marriage - perhaps
making them a Banks-Rockafella-
Kennedy; they may discard their
birth Name and keep only the
married one – assuming that the
House they married into allows
it, or can catch them at it.
It’s absolutely true, and
absolutely not mentioned, that
just after the Fall, some proto-
Pureblooded families claimed a
more noble or prestigious name
to add weight to their House
claims. There are, as a result,
some Houses with hyphenated
names who didn’t earn them
through accepted means. Most
truly ancient Houses, however,
know this affectation for
exactly what it is – a sham.
There are also those Blooded
who will discard their names
out of shame, or in an effort
to hide their actual identities
when fleeing into the Wastes for
whatever illicit reason.
Meanwhile, while it is a purely
Shattered Coast convention,
some western families will
signify a full Household merger
9
 by combining surnames without
hyphenating, harkening back to
the old world custom revered
by the Telling Visionaries
in merging two powerful Pure
Blood families into one amoebic
entity. True, before the Fall
these portmanteaus were formed
from given names - Benniffer and
TomKat have been found in the TV
scriptures – but that practice
is now considered passé,
since family Names hold brand
recognition given names cannot.
The Westdashians, Jayknowles
and Stewinsons have survived
long after their ancestors
disappeared.

Houses of the Pureblood much like corporate headquarters even as they

While many of the Houses below have branches
located across the Merican Continent, each one
has a primary base of operations where the Head
of House sits.
Whether suing for things like marriage
alliances, new investments, indenture
acquisitions, or a change in lawn chairs, it
is the responsibility of the acquiring party
to petition the Head (or Heads) of House for
review and permission. For those fortunate (or
unfortunate) enough to have sizable houses, they
may find these requests substantially delayed
by the need to send these missives to far-away
bases of operation – compounds that function
10
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
serve as homes and households. Normally these
requests are not utterly impossible to submit,
however. What’s all that currency for, if not for
bribing postmen and hiring extra guards?
House Beckham
Stead: Lost Angels
Industry: Entertainment
A smaller house, the Beckhams have a great
deal of clout on the Hill, but not much elsewhere.
However, they’re attractive and likable, and
most ‘Bloods want a Beckham at their party. One
thing is certain – members of House Beckham are
always, always perfectly dressed. They make their
 livings marketing the couture of the Wastes, House Laine
and everyone looks to the Beckhams to set the Stead: Lost Angels
Season’s fashions. For a Blood with Beckham in Industry: Sex, Entertainment
their name to appear in public in any way other Winners of the “Tenderloin Wars,” the savage
than impeccable is an affront to the House; battle to dominate the realm of Pornography in
lesser members and allies-by-marriage have been the Ruined Earth meant seizing control of one
be disowned for the simple sin of not knowing of the last working printing presses. When the
how to properly tie a Windsor Knot. internet went down, it took much of the sex
industry’s old power structure with it, and
House Daley the oddly Matriarchal House Laine has usurped
Stead: Ironworks control with “Shelter Sheets” magazine and the
Industry: Politics, Crime resurrection of the concept of one-off Tijuana
Less a house than a power machine, House Bibles.
Daley is a laser-focused influence machine with
one goal: Maintain control of the Ironworks House Murdoch
at all costs. The Chancellor has been a Daley Stead: Old York
for as long as anyone can remember, and there Industry: Politics, Media
will continue to be a Daley in the chair for a Arguably the biggest and most powerful House
long, long time. Any challengers to the House’s on earth. House Murdoch wasn’t always the richest
sovereignty usually find themselves on the in the world, but they had been preparing for
business end of the Ironworks’ war machines. the apocalypse for decades before the first zed
bit flesh, according to their way of telling
House Bellagio it. Miserly, cruel, furiously xenophobic,
Stead: Vegasia and callously greedy, House Murdoch maintains
Industry: Gambling, Politics, Crime control though fear, and their reach and power
The Lords of Vegasia, a considerable chunk is unparalleled.
of the Casino Commission are members of House
Bellagio. Supposedly a hybridization of House House Koch
Wynn and House Binion, named for the hotel where Stead: Three Rivers
their marriage took place, the hand of Bellagio Industry: Construction, Weapons, Politics,
stretches all the way to Aysea, where they still Farming
maintain control. Jack-of-all-trades who are adept in the
business of making business, House Koch is a
House Vanderbilt juggernaut. A subtle giant, House Koch has more
Stead: Old York liquid capital than any other house, but they
Industry: Politics remain quietly neutral in most political matters.
The bulk of the Affiliates and the Highest- The enemies of house Koch rarely know they’ve
ranking members of the Empire State Syndicate made an enemy before it is too late.
are scions of this House. After subsuming House
LeFrak and House Bloomberg, the Vanderbilts have House Pitt-Jolie:
started to turn their attention south to Aysea. Stead: Lost Angels
Industry: Entertainment
House Fischer Named for a Holy-wood Visionary Super Couple
Stead: Ironworks possessed of what is estimated to have been about
Industry: Construction, Weapons 50 adopted children, this house survived not only
The Largest of the Apocalyptic “New Money” on the combined monetary might of its heads but on
houses, legend holds House Fischer was established the sheer number of loyal decendents they could
by a humble plumbing supply magnate who shrewdly claim. Knowing a winning script when they saw
parlayed his modest wealth into an empire of weaponry one, the House has maintained the tradition of
and resources. The Fischers are particularly adoption. House Scouts scour the wastes looking
adept and cunning, and have found themselves a for promising Pure Bloods with a lesser Name or
comfortable position in the Ironworks. without a Name at all, presenting their findings
11
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 to the Heads – usually a male and female pair. the music they play, the bloodthirsty Purebloods
Thanks to the variety this House boasts, they of House Villareal do not ignore a slight and
need no business focus, and instead find success never let a doublecrosser live.
in almost anything they decide to set their
minds to. House Turner:
Stead: By-God-Georgia
House Rothschild Industry: Poltics, Media
Stead: Appaloosas Existing almost solely to provide
Industry: Politics, counterbalance to the extensive control of House
House Rothschild existed before the fall and Murdoch, the rivalry between the two Houses is
it continues after it. The oldest of the old legendary. Both seek to maintain control of what’s
money, the Rothschilds can trace their lineage left of the media (mostly print and radio), and
(and bank records) back for centuries before the through that local politics. House Turner’s grip
fall. While at that time, their stock and trade is slowly tightening on House Murdoch’s neck.
was banking, now it is secrets. There is little Most Pureblood have already begun choosing sides
that the Rothschilds don’t know, and littler in what they see as an inevitable war.
still what they would be willing to tell you for
free. House Walton
Stead: Lone Star
House RockaFella Industry: Construction, Weapons, Farming, Drugs
Stead: Lost Angels/Old York Affectionately known as “the Merican house,”
Industry: Entertainment the Walton’s laid back attitude and folksy
The combined houses of Seanjohn and House charm gained massive political power when
Dogg joined forces under House RockaFella and they consolidated House Bush in recent years.
aided the other Lost Angels houses against House Particularly adept at convincing local types-
Villareal in the last Siege of the city, and are especially Mericans- of their desire to act in
a major force on the Hill. RockaFellas are known the better interests of the “average man,” the
for their bravado and outlandish clothing, which Waltons usually have a great deal of sway at the
they collectively call “swagga.” grass-roots level.

House Schueller House Winfrey

Stead: Pennsyltucky
Industry: Technology, Weapons
Even the Ruined Earth is not safe from the
commodification of hatred. Out of the humble
beginnings of a retail chain of sporting goods
shops in the southeast arose house Schueller, a
well-oiled engine of fascism. The original family
cleaved to a racist and totalitarian ideal, which
has now expanded to the systematic oppression of
all “lesser strains”- in particular, the Iron
Slaves, Retrogrades, and Lascarians, but any
non-Purebloods are better off toeing the line.
House Villareal
Stead: Pridelands
Industry: Drugs, Crime
The most feared of all the houses, House
Villareal is synonymous with terror. The
bloodiest and most savage Purebloods, the
Villareal are feared along the entirety of the
western seaboard. Known as “Narcocorridos” for
12
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
Stead: Ironworks
Industry: Politics, Media, Entertainment
The face of the Ironworks, House Winfrey
maintains relations with every major city. These
ambassadors are always women, even in places
where women are generally not welcome, because no
one is dumb enough to turn down a Winfrey. Shrewd
and cunning, the Matriarchy of House Winfrey
sits at the Chancellor’s ear. The Winfreys
maintain their fortune by producing some of the
most exceptional Iron Slaves on the continent –
well bred, well taught, capable of being self-
sufficient, and above all, utterly content with
their roles. How the House accomplishes this is
simple. A few times a year, the Heads of House
announce a give-a-way. They choose deserving
Iron Slave pairs to receive a fantastic gift: a
full home makeover, brand new clothing for every
member of the family not of purchasable age,
exemption from breeding for a full year, and
their very own Iron Slave to help with chores
 and upkeep. These give-a-ways make the House
so popular that, even if a Slave never wins a
give-a-way, the hope is enough to sustain them
for their whole of their usually short lives.

Boughs & Branches

of the Family Tree
While these are the largest and most
influential houses, countless others exist,
vying for power and wealth in the shadows of
these titans. Here are some more recognizable
Pure Blood lines of the wasteland.

The Lost Angel Westdashians - King’s Court and

Telling Visionary publicity experts, with a
branch in Old York

The Gates Family – Sainthood Mad Scientists

and Techno Savants of the Rust Coast with
considerable talent for innovating towards
adapting new technologies

The Heinz, of Three Rivers – Nuclear Family

moguls built on the canned food industry and
supply-side scrap trade, served by several
lesser fammilies such as the Mellons and
Carne-Gese. Deeply influential in the Eastern
Ironworks. 

The Genovese Line – Iron Works: Powerful

remnants of the Old World mafia, Nuclear Family
and Final Knights in heavy rivalry with the
Gambino family – and heavy alliance with the
same against the Odessa family.

Kashoggi – Decended from Yakuza tradition,

based primarily in the Pacific Northwest but
with considerable ties to certain ancient
expatriates of the South West and North East.

The Gambino Family – Old York & Aysea: Powerful

remnants of the Old World mafia with a Fallow
Hopes flair, strongly allied to and rival with
the Lansky-Jonsons. Both ally primarily to work
against their joint rival, the Odessa family. 

The Kennedy’s – Beacon Hill: Sainthood and

Nuclear Family politicos extraordinaire with a
flondness for “seed investments”.

13
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 “I drank with this lady, once, from very far away to the east. She talked about another ruined
city, another people deserted and abandoned by those who have. She raged at betrayals by those long
dead, and she pointed at our city, and she said “don’t you see? Up in the Hills, it’s them, it’s
the same motherfuckers! They’re so safe, so fucking pampered, while you live out here in the shit!”
I nodded, as she expected me to, and bought another round. She didn’t understand, but it wasn’t
her fault. Those up in the Hills? Sure, they dance, and drink, and take the lion’s share of our
labors, yeah. They waste water on decoration, labor on fashionable nothings, and lives on their
safety. But in the end, they’re trapped. Even when they travel, they can never truly survive
without shelter, and they are prisoners of that. They cling to the city of before, and all of
their cred isn’t going to bring that back.
We live in the real city. The sun, that sears and blinds them, just shows us the way. This
city, which seems a burnt out ruin to them, is our home, hard-fought and hard-kept. We know the
Fallen Angel, we know the deserts that surround her. This is our home.”
- Tomas Alejo, Bartender

What makes a Solestros?
Even before the fall, this was a land of
sun and heat. Air-conditioned houses and cars
once kept the swelter at bay, but when the
coast shattered in the fall, only the richest
Purebloods could achieve such luxurious shelter.
Many died gasping of thirst and baking to death
on crumbled tarmac and harsh sand. Those who
survived, though, passed that endurance on to
their children.
To the untrained observer, a Solestros looks
like a normal, if somewhat more weathered, person.
But the Solestros have become as specialized to
a harsh environment as any Strain which shows
its changes more openly. A Solestros is able to
function at high temperatures and under deadly
ultraviolet that can and do kill other Strains.
To them, the searing days and arid nights in the
Fallen Angel are business as usual.
With their ability to withstand the
environment, the Solestros have fallen into
a position as go-betweens for the Purebloods
of the Fallen Angel Hills and the rest of the
world. Caravans from Vegasia, drive trains of
the Dieseljocks, barges from the coast, even
Natural Ones from the northern forests; if they
want to get anywhere in Lost Angel, they have to
talk to a Solestros first.  Due to circumstance
and necessity, Solestros tend to be facilitators
par excellence.  closed their doors to the outside world.  Many of
The Purebloods, of course, view this as their
14
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
just due. While some Solestros chafe under this
arrogance, many just nod and smile. As much as
the Purebloods power the businesses with their
influence and cred, they also need the Solestros,
for their endurance and their savvy. And when
things get really ugly? Every now and again, on
the road into Fallen Angel, you can see a very
well-dressed corpse staked out, mummified by the
sun and wind. This is known to the Solestros as
“working on their tan.”
History 
When the fall of man came, the Californian
dream nearly became the myth of a new Atlantis. 
The heavily populated cities became massively
infected, and the military response was ground
pounding bombardments to destroy the millions
of undead.  Much of the land was split by the
resultant severing of the San Andreas fault.
Califia was decimated in the fall of man, and
entire sections of land off the coast either
sunk beneath the waves or became islands lost out
to sea.  Water rushed into new rivers and bays
formed by the seismic shifting of the shattered
coast, and the remains of the city of LA became
a peninsula out into the sea.
As the Shattered Coast faced its end of days,
the residents of the area huddled together and
the mansions became locked down fortresses. While
 the city streets were initially
overrun by looting, undead, and
rioting, the richest families
in LA and the surrounding
territories remained safe in
their compounds and mansions
away from the mass populace.
It took the unlikely
unification of the LA street gangs
and localized police and military
units to clear out territories
of the cityscape. These strange
bedfellows managed to take and
hold some ground against the
undead threat. Once the zed were
beat back to a certain degree,
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
buildings still needed to be
stabilized. Most structures
still standing were cracked and
crazed from the seismic shifts;
a lot of backbreaking work in an
increasingly harsh sun had to be
done to keep a roof over one’s
head. Thousands died of sheer
exposure. Fresh water was hard
to come by, often needing to be
distilled from saltwater. While
the Purebloods stayed walled up
in their citadels and kept their
resources to themselves, the
Solestros were born to survive
in that harsh crucible.
Culture
The Solestros survived only
through community, normally
disparate people reaching out to
one another in an extremity. It
is not surprising that Solestros
fiercely defend their home from
outside threats (be they rival
families, gangs, or undead
menaces). The neighborhood, the
block, the space they consider
theirs is something to which
they will brook no insult. Even
the Purebloods know better than
to talk smack, at least in a
Solestro’s hearing. Willing to
fight and die to the last, the
Solestros have a loyalty that
is uncommon in the modern post-
apocalyptic age.
Solestros are also well
known for their pride in their
family.  It is common for the
Solestros to have celebrations
for family events that are as
large, if not larger, than
celebrations that occur on
religious holidays.   Under most
circumstances a Solestros child
is born into a broad family unit,
with many siblings, cousins,
aunts, and uncles who raise
the child almost as much as the
parents themselves. With such a
closely knit family community,
it is no surprise that the
social circle of the Solestros
are often defined by what is best
for the family’s future. Younger
Solestros commonly look to date
members of families and cliques
who are of good standing with
their own family, and it is all
but unheard of for a Solestros
to be interested in someone from
a family with bad relations.
When a child is born in a
Solestros community, it is common
for the family and the friends of
the family to all come together
for a celebration. During these
15
 celebrations no expense is spared
on food, drink, or gifts for
the newborn. These celebrations
mark not only the wealth of the
different families, but also
signify a desire for future
ties and relations between the
gift presenting family and the
receiving family. At the times
of birth it is common for cliques
who have been in poor standing
to make large gestures of gifts,
with the hopes that there can
be peace in future generations.
In the instance that a family
wishes to express open warfare
and feuding with another family,
there is no insult greater than
taking action to disrupt or harm
16
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
a Solestros family during the
celebration of a birth.
Solestros, as a whole, do not
choose to travel very far from
the Fallen Angel, Califia, and
Vegasian territories. The colder
weather, distance from their
families, and lack of dense city
populace cause Solestros to shun
moving away from the Shattered
Coast.  While Lost Angels may
suffer from tens of thousands of
undead that must be fought on a
daily basis, it is the opinion
of many Solestros that it is
better to die fighting for your
home in the Fallen Angel than
dying of cold and exile out in
Old York.
Evolution
After the fall of man, the
smoke from a million burning
cities and factories finished what
centuries of industrialization
began. The ozone layer is now
almost gone, and the sunnier
the region, the more brutal the
rays. Unshielded human flesh can
burn within minutes. There is
also precious little fresh water
in the region of the Shattered
Coast, and desalination is an
arduous process.
Only those who had some small
ability to survive the deadly
rays and the choking thirst lived
 to procreate. The Solestros are
born of those survivors. They
can live on amounts of water that
would drive another strain to
deadly thirst, they can tolerate
heat that would turn another
strain into a crisp. While even
they avoid the noontime blaze,
a Solestros can stand without
shade in the most brutal heat.
The age of a Solestros is often
difficult to guess; their skin
weathers early. They are leathery
people; fleshiness comes from
water they no longer need in the
same way. Their eyes are oddly
pale and glinting, seemingly
bleached by the sun. Their hair
runs the gamut from blonde to
brown to black; redheads are
unknown.
Identity
Solestros are proud of their
homeland and their people. They
are the children’s children of
survivors who lived through
infection and war, with the very
earth and sky conspiring against
them. Even though the Fallen
Angel is still a warzone of
undead and ruin, the Solestros
would never give up to flee to
easier times.
The Solestros are not much
for blatant outward wealth
display-it’s likely to get
you killed and rolled, and the
shining can give away position-
but under their clothes and
inside their houses are often
adornments and luxuries that
would make a Vegasian gape and
a Pureblood blink. Even without
skimming off the top, working
for Purebloods still generates
cred, and the Solestros take full
advantage. Their settlements
and homes may look like a ruin,
but inside a riot of color and
eclectic taste awaits. Even a
Rover may be impressed when a
Solestros really rolls out the
hospitality.
Most Solestros wear dark
makeup around their eyes to
further reduce glare, some in a
manner like the kohl of a long
forgotten people, some like the
sports warriors from the Telling
Visions. Clothing is loose and
light, and full of pockets. They
enjoy brightly colored clothing
that makes their Pureblood
neighbors wince, though it
quickly bleaches out in the
sun. Colors are particularly
important when moving from
territory to territory- to be
wearing the wrong color on the
wrong block invites anything
from a beat down to death.

Solestros Survivor
Creation Rules
Advantages:
Born of the Sun Kissed Shores: Solestros are uniquely suited to the harsh sun and baking heat of
their surroundings. A Solestros survivor gains +3 Dice when making any Endurance based Survival
skill checks to resist the effects of scorching hot environments and hazards.
Always Get a Cut: Solestros are talented at trading, selling, and making money via deals.  For
every day spent in a reasonably sized settlement, the Solestros gains 3 units of the local currency
as they work to wheel and deal on the side. This is in addition to any currency earned through
role play and in game activity.

Drawbacks:
Chip on their Shoulder: Solestros are proud of their savvy, and do not suffer insults or being
made a fool of well. Whenever a Solestros critically fails an Wiles related Survival Skill check,
for the next day they suffer a -2 die modifier on all Survival Skill checks.
Frost Bitter: Due to their desert specialization, Solestros are extremely susceptible to the
cold. In cold environments, Solestros become sluggish and receive a -2 to Endurance or Agility
survival Skill Checks. In temperatures below freezing, Solestros suffer -2 Dice on all Survival
Skill checks.

17
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 18
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)

The Church of
the Telling
Visions
“It’s time ...to play the music.
It’s time to light the lights.”
- Monsignor Pennzoil Donahue,
30 Rock Monastery
E cclesiastically, we are told
of a form of prophecy that the
Staff Writers call “foreshadowing”
on a great many occasions, and I
believe we have received a great
gift of it in the bittersweet
events that played out for us
this past evening. For those of
you who missed the sequence of
events, I feel it is important-
nay, crucial, that I re-iterate
them for you, regardless of your
faith or even lack thereof. The
message is simply too important,
specifically to those of my creed,
but should not be lost on anyone.
Lo, even the avowed heathens of
the Red Star have hearkened to
these words, and found meaning
in them.
My knowledge is spotty and
lacking in fine detail, as I
learned the tale while barely
recovering from grievous
injuries of my own. Suffice it
to say, a few of ours found
a capsule not far from camp
which contained a man who
was critically injured. Upon
bringing him back to town and
treating him, we learned he was
indeed from Outer Space; he was
one of the last survivors of a
massive station, over 700 people
in close, cramped quarters.
Upon the realization that
the world had undergone the
Great Catastrophe, the Spacemen
turned their concerns inward,
having given up on any contact
with the dead world below. They
19
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
grew rice and soy, recycled
their water, and cannibalized
unnecessary devices for parts
to keep their life systems
running. They collapsed into
the welcoming arms of cold,
hard logic, and survival above
all else, eschewing religions,
spirituality, and eventually
hope.
Eventually, they gave in
and committed the greatest of
all blasphemies, dismantling
their communications equipment-
The Relay Satellites. Their
connection to the Signal itself,
regardless of belief, was their
only tether to the greater
world.
What become of these sky-
bound prisoners?
Madness.
A plague of insanity overtook
them, growing so violent that
the Major rebuilt an escape
pod to take his chances on our
Ruined Earth instead of staying
to face his neighbors. And upon
arrival, he was stunned to find
people, dozens of people, alive
and willing help. Overwhelmed,
he succumbed to his wounds and
died, unable to adapt to the
surface of his species’ former
home.
In short, a group of people,
safely isolated from our
travails, assumed against hope
that there was no outside line
to communicate with and gave
up on the Signal- any signal.
Isolated and alone, they went
mad until the last survivor came
to us, a stranger in a strange
land, no longer able to survive
among his own kind, and died.
This all happened. This is all
truth. That makes it no less of
a parable for us and ours.The
moral of the story is simple-
giving up is death. To lose Hope,
even for the best of reasons, is
to give up on the spirit- be it
the Signal, Jesus, The Light,
Jahweh, The Seasons, or even the
simple promise of your fellow
Comrades. However you identify
it- is to lose the ability to
live among humanity. In these
dark times, do not lose sight of
this message from the sky.
I dedicate this message to
the memory of Meredith, Jessup,
and Jezebel 316, among the
countless others who died for
me and you. Remember it all.
Who are the
Telling Vision?
“Too often are we grandstanding
and hogging the spotlight. Too
often are town politics and
personal gain bringing static,
not only to our Signal, but to
those who tune in and mistakenly
believe those things to be what
the Church stands for. ”
- Saint Ben Richards-Arnold
Schwarzenegger, Keeper of the
Scrambled Channels
From an outsider’s
perspective, The Telling Vision
seems less serious than other
religions like the Sainthood
of Ashes or the Cult of Fallow
Hopes. This could not be
further from the truth- the TV
see themselves as guides and
teachers who must lead the world
back to a time when everything
was safe and pure, and they have
physical evidence that this
time must have once existed.
“The faith of yesterday
told us of what would come. The
great telling visions warned us
of storms, provided us morality
plays, and told us to expect
the great apocalypse. Guides
were provided for us all, and
the great saints of Sang-Sum,
19
 R.D.A., and Soney did lay
warnings before us. We did not
listen to your great words, so
now we wait on station break.”
Historians and archivists
have slowly pieced together
a shattered history of the
the Telling Vision. According
to them, Showrunner Father
R. Clark, the first visionary
of the Church of the Telling
Visions, wrote his visions not
on earthly paper, but instead in
the air itself. Such was the act
of one blessed by God, or “The
Sponsor”, and it is said that
most of the world worshiped the
Telling Visions.
They say that the first
Priest of the Church of the
Telling Visions adopted the
name “Father Ramirez Walken”,
and began to speak of a time
when the Telling Visions would
teach us how to live our lives.
Now that the light has gone from
the Telling Visions, it is the
Showrunners’ duty to stay tuned
until the Sponsor is back ‘on
the air’.
To this end, Father Clarke
appeared somewhere in the
midwest, but he often claimed
to be on the last leg of a holy
pilgrimage to the West, where
all of the greats had gone
before. He spoke of a mythical
land of Kalifornia, where all
were rich and healthy and
beautiful. That was his end
point- He and his followers
marched for Kalifornia, to the
gilded kingdom of Bell Air.
Wherever he went he gathered
followers, and they retold his
fantastical stories of loose
cannon cops on the edge, spunky
girls making it on their own
in the big city, brave pioneers
boldly going where no man had
gone before, the wacky adventure
of a mismatched couple forced
20
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
to live together in the suburbs
and a host of other things.
On the Nevada Coast, Father
Clarke gave his last and
greatest Sermon of all to a
rapt audience of over a thousand
followers whom he had picked up
from as far away as Old York,
the Ironworks, The Pridelands,
and even the Far Shores of
Europe. And on that sunlit
beach he revealed his greatest
secret: the stories he’d been
telling all along where not his
own. They belonged to the air,
to the Great and Holy Sponsor.
He told of the Telling Visions,
boxes he’d seen that spoke the
words of the Most Holy Signal,
the Most Perfect Voice of the
Sponsor himself. He explained
that these Telling Visions were
the keys to the ideal lives that
the people of the world before
had lived, and that only by
returning to the Signal could
we return to order and clarity.
He then mounted his horse and
rode West into the sunset, and
was never heard from again.
The first signs of the Telling
Vision as a faith appeared
in the big cities- Old York,
Londontown, the Ironworks, and
above all Vegasia. Father Clark
was rumored to have come from
near Vegasia, and followed the
Vision out west into the Nevada
Bay, which had been his plan all
along. However, there are rumors
that he’s still out there,
broadcasting to this day.
As for the Vision, word
spread quickly. The stories
they told resonated on a
primal level with the
great unwashed, and
they liked having
a context for
the old lunch
boxes, action
f i g u r e s ,
posters, and t-shirts they
had found. The ruined pop
culture gave the survivors a
sense of identity and history,
inaccurate though it may have
been, the reality of it was
largely irrelevant. Knowing
that, for example, a T-shirt
with a big blue S on it meant
that the wearer stood for Truth,
Justice, and the Merican way
elevated the items from junk
and scrap to religious icons of
limitless value. As Visionary
missionaries began to move out
from the big cities, they brought
their stories with them, and the
stories, while
often goofy, mis-
remembered, and
cheesy, brought
something much
more valuable: hope.
The Stories of the
vision were more than
a bizarre and comical
throwback to those early
survivors. They were a
mismatched quilt of an
idea, an approximation
of what life had been
before the Fall of
Man. The Vision are
deadly serious
about this to
this day.
 Guiding Tenets:
There is the Alpha
and the Ohm-mega. The
Signal is the beginning
and the end.
In the beginning, the Sponsor
spoke the Word. But the Sponsor’s
voice is glorious and perfect,
and too resonant for the frail
human shell. Hence, a translator
had to be created. It took
years for the first vision to be
created, and the ages and ages of
pre-TV history are punctuated by
war, misery, and death.
Once the Telling Vision
was invented, it was the dawn
of a new age: a car in every
garage, a wife in every house,
a turkey in every oven. Men were
smart, strong, and well-dressed.
Women were pretty, obedient and
blonde. And during the time when
we all tuned in, from the Era
of the Beaver to the era of the
Fresh Prince, all was right with
the world. But soon, people were
distracted, filled with ideas of
somehow people knowing better
than the vision. Some people even
suggested that books replace the
Vision, a massive step backwards
in civilization. As home taping,
internet, and video games began
to cloud the Word, society fell
apart.
Simply put, the Signal is,
was, and and always has been,
but not until the Advent of the
Telling Vision Box could we
interpret it. And without it’s
guidance, we are lost sheep.
Collect the lost relics
of the Telling Visions,
and always quest to find
the signal.
The markings on everything
speak of the Vision. Just before
the fall of man, the great
religious sacrament called
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
“Merchandising” ensured that,
were Sponsor’s message strong
enough, it would have to stretch
beyond the Vision. The oldest
Visions are the most holy, of
course, but as the time passed
and the Signal grew diluted, more
and more Merchandising became
necessary, and Visions moved to
toys and shirts and games and
restaurants and billboards and
cars and every other possible
thing. As time moved forward,
the more Merchandising a Vision
had, the more sacred it was, so
something like the Pokiemans
were almost as sacred as the
Star’s Wars, which were almost
as sacred as the Dukes of Hazard,
which were almost as sacred as
the Honeymooners.
Destroy those who
would impede the great
Signal.
This goes without saying.
The signal does not need us, we
need the signal. But there will
always be those who fall prey to
madness, despair, or heresy, who
insist on blotting out the Word
and the Voice in favor of some
other, lesser thing. This can
take many forms: other faiths
threaten the signal- those in
the Kings Court would switch
off the screen and turn up the
volume, the Tribes would burn
down out great Signal towers,
and the Final Knights would raze
the whole damned world. The most
insidious, however, are often
the Showrunners themselves, who
serve their own glory before the
Most Holy and Perfect Voice.
The Signal comes before the
individual... always.
Do not allow others to
witness your prayers
without having them
pay-to-view.
This is an oft-misinterpreted
tenet of Clarke’s vision.
Paying-per-view is not always
a cash transaction. Rather,
in revealing the glory of the
Vision, either through prayer,
imagery, or Visions on the box
itself, must somehow benefit the
Signal in some way. Revealing the
glory to a new convert, or using
a prayer to aid one who would
somehow benefit the Sponsor’s
voice all count. Even in cases
wherein more conventional barter
comes up, the trade of a prayer
for a meal, supplies, or even
a story or another prayer are
all valid. The Sponsor loves a
market of ideas.
Every member must carry
a piece of “Holy Wood”
upon them as a sign of
faith.
The things touched by the
great sacrament of Merchandising
are the most common things
imbued with the holy power of the
signal, but not the only ones.
A stuffed toy, a plastic figure,
or a lunch box are all holy, and
certainly fill the requirements,
but there are those who seek
items that cleave closer to the
preservation of the vision on
the whole. Of these sorts of
items, things like cathode-ray-
tubes, channel clickers, and
even sacred couch-cushions, the
most coveted (both because their
delicate paperback condition
and their crystallization of
a single week in the Vision’s
past) are the sacred TV guides.
Of course, topping the list of
sacred items are the Vision
Boxes themselves, although
the ones that still work are
21
 vanishingly rare, and usually
huge. There are those who will
lug them around in massive
wagons or pushcarts. Rumors
still persist of some sort of
tiny Vision boxes that somehow
fit in a pocket, but there’s
debate as to the veracity of
this claim, and should these
miniature devices exist, surely
some elements within the Church
would see their very existence
as heresy.
Respect the merchants,
and head the words of
their Sponsors.
The Sponsor loves a free
market. There’s an oft repeated
phrase among the Vision, “Trade
between people is all that
separates us from the undead.”
And like it or not, even the
Red Star must concede that some
form of trade is fundamental
to society. Every creator has
a product, and encouraging a
people to buy that specific
product is the fundamentals of
advertising. To the Vision,
this is a sacred rite, and
Advertising is a beautiful,
life-affirming thing. Rather
than avoid advertising, the
Vision believe it should be a
creator’s chance to reveal their
cleverness, creativity, and
dedication to their craft. The
Vision love a good commercial,
and will sometimes reward those
who come up with particularly
beautiful or creative ads with
gifts of blessings, prayers, or
even a few moments of sacred
airtime in a sermon or show.
Watch and follow the
stories of the Telling
Visions, and learn from
their enigmatic ways.
This one seems obvious.
Adherents of the Vision must
take this deadly seriously.
Visionaries don’t just watch
television, they study it. They
learn every single nuance of
their favorite shows, studying
every color, every gesture,
every facial expression to
learn every single last aspect
of what their Vision is trying
to tell them. There’s a level
of religious obsession with the
Vision that can be strangely
useful, inasmuch as it teaches
a level of familiarity with
Pre-Fall culture and technology
that other religions lack.

Rites & Traditions
Theology:
“The Signal is, was, and has always been. When
we, we people of the viewing audience, developed
to a point that we could create the necessary
technology to listen, we enjoyed a golden age.
When we tuned out, the world came apart. Pick up
the remote.”
- Father Showrunner Taka Sena
events of the world and decides if they are
entertaining or not. 
When the people took the Signal in vain,
ignored it’s teachings, and tuned it out in
favor of books and bureaucracy, the world they
had been given was torn away, leading to the
devastation we now know.
To sum up, the Sponsor speaks the Signal.
The Sponsor is the closest thing to God, rarely
spoken of in his own form, because he is too vast
and too powerful for us mortals to understand,

T heology of the Vision is deeply complex, but

can be summed up thusly: In the beginning,
there was the Most Holy Sponsor, and he spoke with
His Most Perfect Voice, the Signal. The Signal
always existed, but the old world eventually
developed the technology to tap into it, bringing
about a Holy Golden Era of floor wax and breakfast
cereals and dating games and all other manners
of luxuries and amenities we can only dream of
now.  It was Bell Air* on Earth. There were no
Retrogrades or “ugly folk” and the zombies were
few and far between, and only attacked sexy teens,
for the most part.
“The Viewing Audience” is the most complex
theological idea they have. It’s technically
the masses, but also simultaneously a sort of
ethereal council of judgement that weighs the
22
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
and his goals and ideals are beyond our ken.
The Signal reaches us, and we interpret it. TV
members speak of the Signal, debate it, channel
it into healing and Holy Power, and generally
base the religion on The Signal itself. The
Viewing Audience interprets their actions and
determines if we have entertained and (in the
instance of a Very Special Episode) taught as
well.
Even divorced from it’s bizarre Theology,
The Philosophy of the Telling Vision is deeply
nuanced and steeped in harsh moral relativism.
Many people cast a dim eye on the TV due to
this fact. Simply put: The Telling Vision are
not good, and they are not evil. They conflict
with a dark version of their religion called
the “Nemesis” who venerate all of the villains,
 monsters, and horrors of the old shows but they
are not enemies per se. Both sects know that the
world is a story, and a hero needs villains, so
they’re not above providing some to keep drama
going.  with them. Beyond the staple ‘Telling Visions
This is considered the deepest-held secret
of the faith. They know that the world exists to
entertain and teach “The Viewing Audience”, and
they believe that as the Holy Chosen, they are
writers and directors in the lives of others- in
short, a religion of meddlers. Each member of
the faith selects a “protagonist” or two whom
they try to “write” into being a hero. Of course,
when necessary, they’ll create antagonists as
well. The Holy Imperative of the Vision, beyond
doing good works, or even survival, is to spread
the Signal by creating the best possible story.
*Since California shattered in the Fall, it
has become an afterlife to the Telling Vision
theology. It’s where cowboys go at the end of
the story, where everyone is rich and beautiful,
and there is no pain, only drama to keep things
interesting.
Customs & Organization:
The Showrunners:
The Church is guided on the path of Genre.
For example, most “general TV” followers are
rather roughshod, but some might be focused on
news, sports, cartoons, or commonly and others
a sort a “Golden Era” sitcom focus: The Facts
of Life, Happy Days, Prefect strangers, etc.
Generally, priests are held to to a higher
genre standard than the others, so if you’re a
priest, you must choose a Genre, but a layman
probably won’t be expected to do so.Laypeople can
identify as one Character, for example Batman,
Bo Duke, Mary Tyler Moore, or Ted Koppel, and
focus exclusively on that characters’ nuances.
Below Them, dozens of priests share the duties
of “Directors of Programming,” who coordinate
the “Showrunners,” which is the TV term for
“Priest.” Laypeople within the faith are called
“Productions Assistants” or “Viewers Like You”
and are very valuable as advisors to the clergy,
and will often be asked how things “test with”
them, as in: “How does this Test With a Viewer
Like You?”
Members of the TV are often consulted on
questions of old-world pop culture and on “meta”
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
elements of the world (“Is this where I, as a
protagonist, should make a choice?”) Faithful of
the Church of the Telling Visions usually have
a lot of scavenged religious icons that they
Guides’ and larger “Oracle Boxes,” members of
the faith can adorn themselves with the icons
of saints and saviors that used to speak to the
masses through the Telling Visions. Much can be
learned from an individual depending on which
icons they carry.
There are a lot of priests in the Telling
Vision. In fact, a large ratio of the TV are
priests, which some have taken as evidence that
they are more devout than the other faiths. Others
may meet and gather less along religious lines,
but the Telling Vision travels together and fights
together as often as not.
Showrunners are expected to broaden their
understanding of the Vision. Every Showrunner
has a Channel: Westerns, News, Sports, Primetime,
Sitcoms, 60’s, Reality, Talk Shows, or After-
school specials. They’re expected to have as
near an encyclopedic knowedge of that genre as
the situation will allow, and to foster elements
of that genre in the world. So, a priest of the
Old West would be expected to head to the Western
desert, to dress the part and carry pistols, and
to know as much as possible about every Western
show from Bonanza to Deadwood.
However, the most sacred rite of the Telling
Vision is The Viewing. In a world where Telling
Visions are vanishingly rare and old scriptures
even rarer, how does one watch TV? The Vision must
watch the world and the people around them. Every
Showrunner, and at least most of the Laypeople,
are expected to “choose a Protagonist.”
Protagonists can be anyone, but they are most
commonly people not of the Vision themselves.
They are the main character of a new show that
the Vision will begin to watch and promote.
There are no cameras or recordings, the “show”
is simply a set of circumstances in the Vision’s
mind, although several Visionaries can come
together to form a “crew” and really mess with
a single protagonist. Once a Protagonist is
chosen, either in the Newfall season or in the
Midseason Replacements, the Visionary actively
begins to meddle in the protagonist’s affairs
according to a rather loose set of simple rules:
23
 1: Make the Protagonists’ life interesting: A
Protagonists’s life is never boring. In fact,
the Vision actively works to make sure that every
aspect of the Protagonists’ life would be good
TV. This, of course, includes action-packed wild
chases and daring escapes, fights to the death,
etc, but also wild, passionate romances, heart-
rending emotional twists and turns, and punchy,
snappy dialogue. It’s very important to note
that this is not always bad. A recently-selected
Protagonist can expect to be terrified a lot more
often then a normal person, but they’re going to
enjoy grander rewards, as well.
2: Do not interfere directly with the
Protagonists’s choices or decisions: Ultimately,
watching a show, even one you’ve created, is a
passive exercise. Forcing the Protagonist into a
situation is essentially a Spoiler, and a major
sin against the Sponsor. The Visionary can NOT
directly force a Protagonist to do anything,
ever. However, they can certainly stack the odds
in favor of a certain outcome.
3: Teach the Protagonist so that he may grow
between Seasons: The Protagonist must begin to
learn life lessons. These are not confined to
simple bits of good advice, but to grand and
exhaustive character studies that will explore
the protagonists’s every flaw in embarrassing
detail before ultimately eliminating them and in
general making the Protagonist a better person.
4: The Show may not be cancelled: The Protagonist
may be threatened, terrified, cajoled, tempted,
and seduced, but they must not die. This is vital.
The Visionary will never put the Protagonist in
a situation he doesn’t think the protagonist
will survive, and should it come to it, must put
their own life at risk to prevent “cancellation
of their show.”
The bond between Protagonist and Visionary
is a strange one. Protagonists who are aware of
the rules must come to terms with the fact that
they have a sidekick who is going to make their
lives hell, but will die to save them should
things ever come to it. They will often try to
work with their Showrunners, and some will play
up their difficulty with relatively minor threats
and situations so as to prevent the Showrunner’s
escalation.
24
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
It’s important to remember that even though
they may lead Shamblers to your tent and tell
your dates about each other, the Showrunner is
ultimately on the protagnists side and wants
to see him succeed. If the main character is
miserable all of the time, well, that’s bad TV,
so as often as not, a Showrunner will provide a
financial windfall, a pretty new love interest,
or even just a friendly pep talk to keep them
going.
It’s a strange responsibility to know that
someone is religiously obligated to indirectly
mess with you, and yet keep you alive no matter
what, leading to some strained relationships.
Unaware protagonists live out an even stranger
set of circumstances, usually slowly becoming
dimly aware of a Truman-show-like facade around
their exploits as their lives slowly escalate
and become more and more melodramatic. Sadly,
more then one Vision has died at the hands of an
angry Protagonist, but more often than not the
bond becomes one of a bemused friendship. After
all, the Visionary is willing to die for them,
and for those who know the Vision well enough to
understand what is going on, it’s the highest
honor that the religion can bestow an outsider.
Protagonists are generally attractive,
younger, and interesting in a way that makes
their situation unique. A hotshot gunslinger
or traveling doctor is a more likely choice
than a hapless farmer or sleepy bureaucrat.
Purebloods, Remnants, and Mericans tend to be
popular choices, but even Retrogrades and Red
Star are not unheard of. However, above all,
a Protagonist is interesting. One who seeks to
escape the notice of the Vision would be wise to
keep their head down and keep quiet.
The Special Holiday
Episodes: Holidays
The Newfall Season:
As much a harvest festival as a religious
observance, the Newfall Season begins as the
leaves start to turn and the air grows cold. The
Visionaries see this time as the beginning of a
new TV season, and will reinvent themselves. Some
will attempt to curry favor with new Protagonists,
and others will cut ties with old Protagonists
that have grown stale, died, or reached a
happy conclusion (an oft sought but rarely
achieved brass ring for the hapless Protagonist.
 Selecting a Protagonist is done
by offering the individual a
piece of Holy Wood or similar
relic. If they accept, they’re
now a Protagonist until the
next season.
This is Halloween:
In the early Autumn, as the
moon grows full, the Vision will
head to designated “Pumpkin
Patches” for await the arrival
of the “Great Pumpkin.” This
is an elaborate ruse- pumpkin
patches are well stocked with
hooch and food, and all manner
of entertainment. But for this
one night, the Cult of Nemesis
is allowed - no, encouraged -
to just go absolutely bughouse.
For them, it’s a competition:
the collection of screams. The
monstrous Visionaries engage in
a massive, all-out contest to see
who can gather the most screams
to terror and wails of despair.
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
They’re expected to sow as much
fear and dischord as possible,
and the bizarre secret of This
Is Halloween is that this is the
one night they’re not supposed
to murder anyone. Tonight is
about fear alone, and murder,
while technically allowed, is
considered cheating by many.
Of course, the exception to the
rule is in the instance that
someone figures out this fact-
anyone who does is as good as
dead.
Sweep’sweek:
In Late November and May comes
Sweep’sweek, a nightmarish time
for those close to the Vision.
As the seasons draw to a close,
the Viewing Audience is expected
to pay extra-special attention
as everything is pushed to the
brink. The Visionaries are even
more chaotic and unpredictable
than usual. In their desperate
bid to create must-see TV they
will almost always opt to make
a bad situation worse. It’s an
especially harrowing time for a
Protagonist.
The Midseason
Replacements:
In the sad circumstance
of a Protagonists’ death, the
Visionary is often lost and
Despondent until the Midseason
replacements. Just as winter
turns to spring, the Visionary
will call for a special Reunion
episode, where the Vision will
say some final words and invite
others from the Protagonists
life to do the same. The
Visionary is now free to choose
a new Protagonist and start a
new show to watch.
The Happy Holidays:
In Winter, The Happy Holidays
are a time of friendship and good
cheer. The Vision’s exploration
of the Happy Holidays could fill
volumes, from the 34th Street
Miracles to the Angels of the
Wonderful Life. There are
series of careful rites that
begin with the selection of an
evergreen tree, which is then
chopped down and decorated with
scrap. As the moon grows full,
there’s a night of revelry that
includes a massive exchanging of
elaborate gifts and a prayer to
a benevolent and central entity
called “Santa Claus.” Santa may
be the single most powerful figure
in Vision theology, stretching
across every genre and nearly
every show.
This is a good time for the
Vision. They remind the people
of the importance of hope,
family, and good will towards
men and women. No matter how
crazy them seem the rest of the
year, the Vision bring people
together in the Happy Holidays.
25
 Major Sects & Leaders:
The TV are one of the most cohesive religions
in the world. They are organized top-down by
a cadre of powerful priests hand-chosen by
Father Clarke, referred to as the Network Execs
or Station Heads. The core are well known, and
organized by time zone. They meet yearly at one
of their four massive Churches.
Head of Network Programming West,
The High Paramount Fox Metrogoldwyn
of The MGM Grand, Vegasia
Fox, a jolly and clever Vegasian, has the
bearing and appearance of a favorite uncle.
He’s stocky and broad shouldered, generally
well dressed, with eyes that appear to always
be smiling. His long green coat tails and top
hat complete the “Wizard of Oz” image. His
demeanor isn’t just a ruse. He really is one
of the kindest, friendliest old guys you could
meet, making it all the more unexpected when his
ruthless side surfaces to protect his beloved
Church. Fox is easily the most benevolent of the
Station Heads, a good guy who genuinely wants to
see everyone happy and well fed, and entertained
in front of a good show.
Head of Network Programming Mountain,
Station Director Ubu Kilroy Cannell
at Second City Studios
Cannell is a Pureblood and a Bureaucrat “who
plays the game” at the Ironworks as well as any
of the high-ranking members of Chancellor Daley’s
inner circle of high-stakes ironworks politics.
As the deputized minister of internal propaganda,
Cannell manages both responsibilities with
aplomb, but he feels that his greatest creative
urges are being thwarted by his situation, and
it’s bothering him. He realizes that he’s part
of a massive evil empire of slavers, and secretly
has begun deadly tryouts to assemble a team of
heroes to organize the inevitable rebel alliance
that will take the Ironworks down.
Head of Network Programming Central,
Station Director Father JR Bob Dobbs
of The Central Compound
The manic Accensorite called “Father Dobbs”
by his friends is much more hands on than the
other station heads. A master of disguise,
considered by many one of the best actors in the
world, Father Dobbs can be literally anywhere,
26
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
and more disconcertingly, anyone! There’s a
frenzied electricity to the Station Head that is
always barely contained, and usually is the only
giveaway to his position. When not acting, Father
Dobbs is a frenzied whirl of energy and ideas,
and he frequently travels around the country,
insinuating himself in various situations,
escalating them to insane levels, then gathering
the local Vision to aid and watch the results.
His agenda is unclear, but there’s definitely a
method to his madness. Father Dobbs is planning
something, and it’s going to be big.
Head of Network Programming East,
High Monsignor Pennzoil Donahue of
Network Standards and Practices at
30 Rock Monastery
It’s been said that all of the monks of 30
Rock could eat for a year on just one of Monsignor
Donahue’s breakfasts. Possibly the heaviest
living Retrograde, the Monsignor can no longer
move his legs and requires his manservant, Father
Lurch-Benson, for even the simplest tasks. The
Monsignor’s mind is still razor-sharp, though,
and politically, he more than holds his own
against the Yorkers, Reds, and Purebloods of the
Heights. Things have gotten strained recently,
and rumors have started to spread of cruel
Nemesis rituals and the endless gluttony of the
Monsignor taking a more savage turn...
The Many Channels of the
Vision
The Nemesis:
Perhaps the most famous, and most antithetical
religious sect within the Vision, the Nemesis
embrace villainy in all of it’s forms. While
certainly couched in the Genre of horror, you’ll
find adherents of Captain Hook rubbing shoulders
with Mean Girls and Schrutes among the Kreugers,
Voorhees, and Draculas. The sect is supported
by a bit of Clarke’s writing that describes the
“Beast of the Late Late Show,” a horror-movie
monster that terrorizes humanity before the end
of the Broadcast day.
The Nemesis, however, adheres to some very
stringent rules. The Nemesis almost never hunts
the Vision - it’s a waste of their time to do so.
The Vision simply already know what the Nemesis is
there to teach, and they are evangelists through
fear. Both camps make a big show of enmity for
 outsiders, so as to maintain the illusion.
Nemesis do take protagonists, but this
relationship is rarely as nuanced as that of
a normal Vision. Nemesis Protagonists are, for
all intents and purposes, cursed, and while they
won’t die, it’s open season on everyone and
everything around them, usually culminating in a
pitched battle from which one does not survive.
Nemesis protagonists are usually selected along
the criteria of being pretty terrible people. If
they prove that they’ve genuinely been tested
into a better individual, the Nemesis will move
on and leave them alone, or even defend them from
other threats for a time. On the rare occasion
that the Protagonist truly breaks down and loses
it, well, he’s welcome to join.
The simple fact is that a hero is only as
good as his villain, and nowadays humanity needs
all of the heroes it can get. This principle
of martyring one’s own ideals and purity for
the greater good cleaves dangerously close to
Final Knight doctrine. More than one Nemesis has
slid down this slippery slope, leading to some
epically gory and spectacular confrontations
that left very, very few survivors indeed.
The Nielsens:
The Nielsens technically don’t exist. No one
has ever claimed to be a member of the sect, and
never announce themselves, even to the Station
Heads so far as anyone knows. Something of an
official “Internal Affairs” of the Telling Vision,
these 100 agents move across the wastes, sniffing
out heresy and monitoring religious doctrine.
If a settlement tests poorly enough, it may be
eliminated entirely. This can be as innocuous
as being shunned by the church on the whole or
something as deadly as direct cancellation by
one of the four Station Heads.
The actual threat of the Nielsens is more
potent than the organization itself, and Visions
all over the world toe the line so they should
get high Nielsen ratings should the secret family
ever cross their path. The Nielsens are believed
to hold the reins to Standards and Practices,
although no one knows for sure.
Standards and Practices:
The Vision is uneasy around the Nemesis, but
they don’t fear them in the conventional sense.
After all, they pursue the same goals. The same
can not be said for Standards and Practices.
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
Heralded by jet-black ravens, black jumpsuits,
faceless black masks, and “S&P” patches are
enough to send any Vision running. They move
collectively and precisely, never speaking, and
appear and disappear quickly and efficiently. No
one can adequately explain their agenda, but they
brutally and unemotionally maintain the Church’s
best interests through sabotage, assassination,
and blackmail. They have killed kings and farmers
alike without a word offered of an explanation,
and maintain a truly disconcerting presence
often just on the outskirts of society. Common
theories maintain that they’re not even human,
but some manifestation of the Sponsor’s Will,
that only exist when noticed. They’re accepted
as the “stage crew” of the Vision’s reality, and
are not to be interfered with in any capacity.
The Arcadian Heresy:
The largest heretical sect within the church,
the Arcadians maintain that towards the end of
the old civilization mankind learned to bend
the images onscreen and manipulate the Signal
to the viewer’s will. The Vision’s opinion of
the blasphemers ranges from bemused contempt to
outright and unflinching violence. That said,
the Arcadians have gained traction, particularly
in the old Undersea and in Vegasia.
Arcadians are much more hand-on with their
Protagonists, sometimes maintaining elaborate
spreadsheets of their “stats”; strengths,
weaknesses, combat record, and Equipment (which
they insist on caddying and handing to the
“Character” when necessary.) The relationship is
described as being far less insidious, but far
more annoying.
The Spotlight:
A sub-sect of the Vision dedicated to creating
heroes, the Spotlight takes a more hands-on
approach to things and eschews the training of
Protagonists in favor of the glory of personal
heroism. While it’s detractors argue that the most
sacred act of the Vision- watching passively- is
lost on the Spotlight, they belive their Sponsor-
given duty is to perform as loudly, dangerously,
and boldly as possible for as big an audiance as
they can find while righting wrongs and dispensing
justice. Popular with Accensorites, Mericans,
and anyone else with more energy than sense, the
sect has gathered some serious momentum in the
old rust belt.
27
 Known Shrines: Opinions of
Other Faiths
Bell Air: Fallow Hopes: “Oh, the firebrand
The Great Mecca of the Telling Vision, shrouded in mystery and preachers. A common trope among
debate, the actual Isle of Bell Air remains an idyllic paradise the Scriptures, these guys play
in the Pacific Ocean off the shores of the misty isles of the it well. If you need a deus-
shattered Sans Califia Archipelago. Safely apart from the savagery ex-machina cavalry they’re
of the Studio City islands and the Hills of Lost Angel, Bell Air as reliable as they come. Of
is a paradise of mansions and gently rolling hills maintained course, they’re easy villains as
by the best and brightest of the vision. The dark side of the well, what with the intolerance
paradise is simple: once you go to Bell Air, there is no coming and hate, so make sure you know
back. Ever. For any reason. The remainder of your days will be what role they’ll be playing if
champagne and hot tubs and nightclubs if the legends of the you bring them into your cast.”
island are true. But you’re going in for the rest of your life. - Sister Jerrica-Laverne
Hallmark of Dunder Mifflin
Disnea World:
Along the Rum Coast is a small Settlement in the Midst of a Sainthood of Ashes: “Adorable.
wonderland of inexplicable Telling Vision monoliths. The Kingdoms Absolutely pitch-perfect hero
of the old world seethe and teem with the undead, but the Magic types, always can be counted on
one has never fallen. The Disneans, a merchandising-based and to teach a crippled teen to read
Pure Blood sponsored sub-sect of the Vision, all make their or stick their necks out for
way through the fetid, monster-infected swamps on pilgrimage a pile of old books somewhere.
to see this great wonder and defend it alongside their greatest And unlike the others, they
heroes. For miles around the Disnea World temple you can see the never seem to get really mad at
grand spires, still lit by votives and signal fires tended to us for using them in our shows.
by the many devotees that call the shrine home. Rumors persist Can’t recommend working with
of a massive underground labyrinth, suggesting that this is them enough.”
the headquarters of the enigmatic Standards and Practices, but - Union Jack “Dustin” Diamond,
the insular community offers only comfort and entertainment, no BBC Merica
secrets, to any not of the Vision.
Final Knights: “You just love
Mayberry to hate them, eh? Seriously,
Rumor holds that tucked deep somewhere in the New Southeast is an are there better villains out
idyllic, Accensorite town so rustic and perfect it’s still not there? And the best part -
in color yet. In this sun-dappled hamlet, the Vision and Nuclear because you can count on them
Family ideal remains pure and pristine, free of the corruptive to do whatever a bad guy will do
influence delivered by the modern world. Delightful scamps get in ANY situation, people assume
into trouble and clever animals help them out in this strange you’re some kind of CSI genius
place without, or outside of time. Father knows best and mother when you predict their every
knows her place on the old country prairy. And somehow, against move. Always keep a couple of
all logic or reason in the wasteland, the Zombie hordes haven’t these goons around. They’re
found it. just too useful to the plot.”
- Izzy Badwolf, MGM Grand
Yet. Temple Vegasia 1

But they’re coming, Barbera. Nuclear Family: “These people

got hung up on Wally and the
Beav, on Andy and Opie, and
something sinister happened.
They missed the entire point of
the story and got lost in the
trappings of a time that’s never
28
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 coming back. So they became ... Sample Prayers:
colorless. We can’t get a bead
on them anymore, and that scares “Hello, and welcome to Today.”
us. Try and bring them back into - Popular Greeting
the fold, but watch your back.”
Mister Rogers, Showrunner of “Don’t touch that dial.”
the Daunton Pits - Popular Greeting

Darwinists: “Look, radiation is
no mystery. Half the time you
get superpowers, and the rest
are mutants. They’re basically
the same except mutants eat
people. Knew one Merican who got
bit by a radioactive Lascarian
and despite all the time and
energy I put into making him a
costume and a special tunneling
hat, he just got cancer and
died. I swear, no one follows
the rules anymore.”
- John Connor McFly, Commercial
Sponsor of the Compound
Kings’ Court: “Yes, I want my
MTV as much as the next gal. And
these guys are so close and yet
so far away- who only listens to
the soundtrack when the whole
story is right there? Still,
they make for pretty good bad-
boy types or obnoxious villains.
And at least they know why the
Signal is important.”
- Chevy Levy, Hazzard County
Shorts Inspectress
“In Nomine Aybesee, In Nomine Enbeesee, In nomine Seebeeyess and
all of the local and regional Network Afilliates.”
- Catechism of the Holy Trinity
“After these messages, we’ll be right back.
How much would expect to spend on this fine product? Not Brand X!
Act now, while supplies last.
Here’s how to order:
To save COD fees, have your credit card ready and call:
Toll free, one, eighthundred, one two three, four five six seven.
Call now. Operators are standing by.”
-Liturgy of the Sponsor’s Screen
“This is a test. This is a test of the emergency broadcast system.
The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with
the FCC, the Almighty Sponsor, and federal, state and local
authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in
the event of an emergency. In the event of a real emergency, this
broadcast would be followed by news, information, or blessings
pertaining to the nature of this emergency.
This is only a test.
This is only a test.
May the Signal guide and protect us, this is only a test. ”
-Prayer of the Emergency Broadcast

Tribes of the Seasons: “These

guys are entertaining, but they
lack commitment. Take the whole
noble savage thing and dial it
up a notch. The faith you’re
aping was dead long before the
fall, and is based entirely on
tropes your ancestors saw on-
that’s right- TV! Would it kill
you guys to follow a cowboy
around spouting wisdom, talk in
a stilted caveman dialect, or at
least change into an eagle every
so often?”
- Father Pedro
29
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 T he shattered coast of the Sans Califia Archipelago is home to all kinds of unique items and
skills that are prized across the wasteland. Brewers and archeologists both come from far and
wide to study the techniques and artefacts found throughout the region. This guide will provide
you with what you need to know to profit off the archipelago’s rich resources and surrounding
dangers. Clever survivors should always be on the lookout for new items and skills available to
them to tame the wilds of the badlands.
Survivors may use the new Advantancements and Detriments at character creation. For existing
characters, they can earn them through play by spending experience points at the Game Organizer’s
discretion.
The equipment section of blood details the most common of traded goods in the Archipelago,
alcohol. Thanks to the bounties of the Studio Islands, the wineries, distilleries, and brew halls
of Califia are well supplied with rare herbs and rare drink recipes.
The Threats section details useful information for the Game Organizer using the Sans Cilifia
region, allowing them to populate the area with unique threats and creatures that will challenge
the survivors as they explore the misty islands.

30
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 New Advancements
Smuggler’s Run (Cost: 3)
Sometimes you’ve simply got to get through,
no matter the risks or opposition. Whenever the
Survivor used Athletics to move past an opponent
opposing their movement, they gain +2 Dice to
their attempt. However, this is an all or nothing
gambit. If the Survivor fails, their action
sequence is immediately ended and are knocked
prone until the beginning of the next Phase.
New Detriments
Sun Poisoned (Cost: 3)
May not be taken by Solestros or Natural Ones
The shattered coast is known for it’s sun-baked
shores and dusty bluffs, but there can be too
much of a good thing. This survivor has suffered
the ills of overexposure, and finds themselves
easily fatigues by hard labors. The survivor
always tests Endurance checks with the difficulty
increased one step.

Know Your Exits (Cost: 2) Tainted Blood (Cost: 5)

Survivors keep constant watch of their
angles, and those with a lot of dealings with
Pure Bloods always know they should be ready to
escape at a moment’s notice when family, fame,
or money are on the line. A survivor may make a
Wiles + Awareness check during a scene, and if
successful, their first Movement action is taken
at the same time as Assist actions so long as
they are moving to flee the scene or combat.
– Pure blood only.
Your family has a dark secret. It hasn’t
maintained clear bloodlines, or perhaps has
falsified it’s lineage. So far the deception has
held up, but at any time this could be discovered.
The survivor suffers a -4 Dice penalty to all
social checks whenever dealing with the Lineage
League or knowledgable Pure Bloods.

Guilded Daisy (Cost: 8, 4 for

Pure Bloods)
Some people just have a special air about
them, a confidence in their own importance that
carries the implicit threat of what would happen
should they come to harm. This Guilded Daisies
don’t intimidate by force or strength, but by
mere presence. A Survivor with Guilded Daisy may
make an Appearance + Intimidate check against an
opponent’s resolve. If succcessful, the target
suffers a -4 Dice penalty to their first attack
against the Guilded Daisy.

Oracle of the Static (Cost: 5)

Requires Faith: Telling Visons
There are those touched by the Telling
Visions that simply seem “off.” It’s as though
they can see a world beyond ours that only makes
sense to one dedicated to the archaic ways of
the script-tures. These mad “oracles” can be
found addressing a crowd as likely as they are
to be addressing a boot, though they sometimes
produce useful insight into situations with
their bizarre logic. An Oracle of the Static
may, once per session, make a Luck + Faith check.
If successful, the Oracle will receive an (often
cryptic, sometimes inaccurate) insight from the
Game Organizer.

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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Alcohol, Brews, & Drugs Brews:

L ike so many communities in the wasteland,

the islands of the Sans Califia Archipelago
survive on trade, exporting what specialties
they do have in return for what they need from
their neighbors in the Rust Coast and Vegasia.
For the green hills and rocky isles, this is
Wine. The region is famous for their alcohols’
refreshing nature, and the incredibly potent
effects they have on survivors. Unsurprisingly,
addiction has become a common problem for those
who come to rely on these amazing concoctions,
but leave it to the Pure Bloods of Califia to Much like alcohol, brewers and distillers can
commodify anything, bottling even more powerful take useful herbs and spices to make non alcoholic
versions of their addictive brews, while selling brews and remedies. These brews are sought after
addiction remedies on the side. by all sorts, be it for a cure all meant to fix
what ails a survivor, or an agent designed to
Alcohol: counteract poisons or radiation. Just as varied,
if not more so, than their alcoholic cousins,
these bottles are incredibly hot items on the
trade lanes, and quite a few wasteland traders
make their living hawking specialty brews alone.

Drugs:

The ubiquitous Hooch has made its mark in

the wasteland. There is rarely a survivor that
hasn’t at one point or another drank the stuff.
After all, it’s made almost everywhere and is
often cleaner and safer to drink than the water.
There are plenty of variations to go around, too.
Each region has their own flavors and favorites,
but in the end, all of these spiced and special
hoches are made from the same root recipe. Spiced
hooch can be everything from hooch with a rind
or twist of fruit added to give it “zest” all the
way up through well tailored and flavored herbal
mixes that even the haughtiest Pure Bloods will
dirty their hands to get a hold of.
32
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
Morals are a precious luxury in the post
apocalypse. Gone are the days of schoolmarms and
police constables telling the youth of a nation
how to say no to drugs. Heck, most survivors
barely even acknowledge there is a real difference
between Drugs, Brews, and Alcohol. In the end,
they are all something you drink or inject into
yourself to get a kick. The thing is that Drugs,
almost universally, provide some kind of benefit
to the user, but comes with the distinct risk
of becoming easily addicted to the power the
substance gives them. Thanks to most places
allowing free sale of these chemicals, it’s all
too easy to find a survivor who has overindulged
 and become dependant on drugs to get by day to day. Some people swear off drugs entirely, and feel
the risks aren’t worth the easy ride, but far more often people will go to the quick and dirty
solution long before taking the harder road.

Addiction:
Like so many things in the wasteland, drinking enhancing tonics comes with a price. Any time a
survivor utilizes an addictive compound or brew, they must make a Resolve test. Failure indicates
that the substance has taken hold of their inner drives, and their body will begin to crave the
substance, mentally or physically. Addictions are rarely truly overcome, though with some help
from other chemicals, they can be held at bay. When a survivor gain’s an Addiction, note the
specific brew that created it. The new addiction is gained as a Minor Addiction (weekly need). If
the drinker fails their resolve a second time, this becomes a Major Addiction (daily need).

Consumables of the Sans Califia Archipelago

A potent, somewhat low class wine, known well as a portside favorite among coastal
Saleem’s Blanco 10 UPP traders that want to look “classy”.

A venerable mid-range wine, produced from elderberries instead of traditional grapes,

Vin d’Elderberry 15 UPP giving it mildly restorative properties. Heals 1d5 Wounds per day.
A widely sought after flavorful wine, no Pure Blood alcohol collection is complete
Russo 25 UPP without it.
A high end Puerto Durada exclusive, said to have been blessed by some divine graces.
Costa Norto 50 UPP Others simply believe it to be a well guarded secret ingredient that only the families
of Puerto Durada have managed to keep to themselves. This wine is so sublime, it will
White Wine
subdue the effects of mental derangements for 1d5 hours after drinking it.

An experimental blend produced in the Sans Califia Archipelago’s southern stretch, made
Mezcavino 12 UPP from agave. This potent alcohol is highly addictive, but grants it’s imbiber a +1 Dice
benefit on all Brawn based checks for one hour, while imposing a -1 Dice penalty to all
Wiles based skill checks for 1 hour.
This small shot flecked with gold chips is popular among mercenaries. Something in it’s
Golden Ray 25 UPP brewing process combined with the golden chips within gives the drinker’s melee swings
a certain extra punch. If the drinker successfully deals damage with a melee weapon,
they inflict 2 additional points of damage automatically.
This cheap wine is well known throughout the wasteland. Despite it’s somewhat bitter
Poor Man’s Port 4 UPP taste, it’s quite popular. Most who drink it don’t realize it’s addictive.

This highly addictive amber alcohol is said to fortify a survivor’s durability so

Breakwater Brandy 10 UPP long as it courses through their veins. All damage received is reduced by one for 30
minutes after drinking.

Neevil’s Liquid 25 UPP Liquid courage is a classic snake oil sold by countless trader’s across the wasteland
exported from the shattered shores. The drinker gains +2 Resolve when resisting any
Courage fear based effects for 30 minutes. Oddly enough, it’s not addictive, but given it’s
popularity, it might as well be.
This berry based elixir is a reknown restorative, said to accelerate the natural
Summertide Elixir 55 UPP healing processes of the body. The drinker immediately heals 2 wounds, and each disease
or toxin currently afflicting them is cured on a 1d10 roll of 4 or better.
Cold-Turkey Tonic 5 UPP While it doesn’t cure an addiction, Cold Turket Tonic “counts as” any other addictive
substance for purposes of appeasing the Addiction. The catch is that it only sates the
need for a day instead of a week.
This sweet and somewhat sticky brew is a curative invented by the Natural Ones of the
Agave Tea 25 UPP Coyote Reef. The drinker enters into a trance like coma filled with all manners of
strange dreams and hallucinations for 10 minutes after drinking, but upon waking with
a startling burst of energy, restore all Fatigue.

33
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 New Threats of the Archipelago

Razorback Sealion
Appearance Agility Brawn Endurance Knowledge Luck Wiles

1 3 5 5 1 1 2
Movement Health Fatigue Defense Resolve Armor Points Reduction

3/6 20 7 2(+1) 1 10 2
Skills: Athletics 4, Awareness 2, Melee 5, Stealth 2, Intimidate 2
Special Traits: Huge +1 Bonus to Attack, Feral Minded, +1 Agility while in Water
Attacks/Weapons: Bite +3 Damage
These massive coastal predators mostly hunt fish off the shores of the Headlands, but these
mammals are intensely territorial, and to cross into one of their feeding or breeding beaches
surely will lead to getting gored.

Special: Razorback Rush - Razorbacks are vicious

combatants when they can use their full mas to their
advantage. If they attack from the water, they gain
an additional +2 attack so long as they moved more
than 10 yards.

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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 River Lion
Appearance Agility Brawn Endurance Knowledge Luck Wiles

1 3 3 3 1 1 2
Movement Health Fatigue Defense Resolve Armor Points Reduction

3/6 12 5 2 1 5 1
Skills: Athletics 4, Awareness 2, Melee 4, Stealth 3, Intimidate 1
Special Traits: Feral Minded, +2 Agility while in Water
Attacks/Weapons: Bite +2 Damage
A rather strange adaption found along the inland shores’ rivers, these descendants of Sea
Lions seem to have more in common with large otters or dogs in their appearance, and hunt with
strategies similar to the giant crocs of the Nor’East and Rum Coast. They lay in wait for prey
to venture close to their river hunting grounds before ambushing suddenly and violently.

Special: Silent Hunter - River Lions are expert ambush hunters, laying in wait behind rocky
outcroppings and waterfalls or rapids to better launch themselves into the water, picking up speed
before attacking. River Lions gain +3 Dice for their Stealth attempt to ambush or move silently
through water.

35
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Kudzujuana Vine
Appearance Agility Brawn Endurance Knowledge Luck Wiles

1 3 2 2 1 1 2
Movement Health Fatigue Defense Resolve

3/6 10 - 2 1
Skills: Brawling 3, Stealth 3, Awareness 2, Athletics 3
Special Traits: Mindless, Small -1 Penalty to Attack
Attacks/Weapons: Toxic Vines +2 Poison Damage
The Kudzujuana Vine is a terrible predator to become entrapped by. Another native species
of the Headland a few of its surrounding islands, this vine grows with incredible speed, and
produces a sickly sweet earthy vapor that can poison those even being careful not to breath the
substance. Once sedated, the vine quickly entangles its target and squeezes the life from it
over a period of hours, taking a few days to absorb their nutrients.

Local Flora - It is nearly impossible to tell the Kudzujuana vine it isn’t part of the terrain without
proper training, requiring a Difficulty 4 Awareness or Flora Lore check to detect it for what it is.
Sporiform - For every 5 minutes spent in proximity to the Kudzujuana vine, a survivor must make a
Difficulty 2 Endurance check to resist the effect of the Paralysis poison, otherwise, the victim will
suffer -1d5 Agility and -1d5 Brawn for 1d10 Rounds. If this reduces the victim to 0 agility or brawn,
they suffer 1 Fatigue, and are paralyzed for 1d5 rounds.

36
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Boyoca Bear
Appearance Agility Brawn Endurance Knowledge Luck Wiles

2 4 6 4 1 1 2
Movement Health Fatigue Defense Resolve

4/8 20 6 3 1
Skills: Athletics 4, Melee 5, Scrounging 2
Special Traits: Huge +1 Bonus to Attack, Feral Minded, Resistance (Poison)
Attacks/Weapons: 2 x Claws/Bite +3 Damage
These great brown bears are an ancient descendant of the old world’s brown bears that once
symbolized the untamed wild forests of the west coast. These predators favor hunting fish and
eating the poisonous Kudzujuana plant, having developed a resistance to the vine’s sedative
effect. Boyoca bears, like the forest itself, can survive an incredible lifespan of several
decades, and their packs grow quite slowly as a result. It is a testament to their incredible
strength and deadly hunting grounds that so many of them survive the wilds of the shattered
shores.

37
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Califian Sea Hawk
Appearance Agility Brawn Endurance Knowledge Luck Wiles

1 4 3 2 1 1 2
Movement Health Fatigue Defense Resolve

4/8 10 4 2 1
Skills: Awareness 2, Athletics 3, Melee 2, Scrounging 2
Special Traits: Movement doubled while Flying, Feral Minded, Poison Resistance
Attacks/Weapons: 2x Talons +2 Poison Damage, +3 Damage if attacking from the air

Circling the open reefs, bays, and inlets of Califia are small hunting groups of massive sea
hawks, sporting 8 foot wingspans and talons that can easily cut to the bone. Thankfully, these
airborn hunters prefer to target large fish and crustaceans, but they certainly have no trouble
competing for food with more dangerous rivals such as fishing boat crews or wasteland beach
combers. Survivors need to be careful when fighting these creatures, as their talons and beaks
are often coated in a thin sea slime from their prey that can be quite infectious, and some
scholars have theorized the strange ooze may be a distant relative of the z-plague.

38
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Ambush Barnacle
Appearance Agility Brawn Endurance Knowledge Luck Wiles

1 3 5 5 1 1 2
Movement Health Fatigue Defense Resolve Armor Points Reduction

3/6 20 - 2(+1) 1 20 1
Skills: Awareness 2, Athletics 2, Brawling 3, Stealth 3
Special Traits: Mindless
Attacks: 3x Tentacles +2 Damage, Bite +4 Damage

The western islands are host to all manners of terrible creatures that will happily feast on
the flesh of the living and dead alike. The Ambush Barnacle, as it has come to be known, is just
one such creature that has taken to this practice. These ceiling and wall clinging insidiae
prefer hunting grounds near tidal pools, inlets, and caverns, taking advantage of the shifting
waters to draw their prey to them. Once they have their unfortunate food source within reach,
they whip their barbed cirri out to grip and flay their feast before dragging them into their
maw.

39
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 The City of Lost Angels
A long the southern shores of the Sans Califia Archipelago a sprawling husk clings to the
shattered coast like some great sea creature beached along the craggy rocks and jutting spars
of rusted cityscape. The pre-fall cultural mecca has survived the quarantines, the bombardments,
the earthquakes, the rising tides, and the risen dead. No one doubts that the city of Lost Angels
stood the test of time, or that only the fast and sharp survive in a territory defined by gangs and
families constantly fighting to control what turf they can hold onto. What’s left of the Inner City
has crumbled into a labyrinth of jagged metal and cracked concrete, where the glow of an ever-
burning fire in the district known as the Pyre casts eerie shadows and specters through the crags
and gaps in the ruins. Where once there was beautiful beaches, ports, and shopping districts,
there is now a flooded region almost washed away by the sea’s rising waters and quaking earth known
now as Wetside. Flotillas of fishing trawlers, boat homes, and scrapped together dock yards dot
the region to support coastal trade in and out of the region, boasting connections to Vegasia’s
Arizona Bay, Under-Sea along the Rust Coast, and the mist shrouded islands of the Sans Califia
Archipelago. This waterlogged low lands is littered with the skeletons of homes and industrial
lots claimed by the sea, only giving way to the rising green bluffs of the Hills. Here, beyond
fortified walls, electrified fences, and well paid guards the communities of the elite faun over
themselves while constantly looking to stab each other in the back for a cut of the greener grass
in the next compound. This is what’s left of the Lost Angels, the native home of the Solestros
genetic strain, the children of the sun.

40
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 41
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Inner City
“You know nothing of family. La familia. It is not just bound by blood and name, but forged in
love and death. When everyday is a battle to live, the ones who have your back become your brothers
and sisters. That is la familia. Those who comfort you when the blood dies, those who give you
council and nurture you; they become your mothers and fathers. That is la familia. You Purebloods,
you won’t get it. You never will. If you came from my home, lived there arm in arm with my family,
you would still gape slack jawed at a concept that is beyond you. Your kind couldn’t make it here;
you have no sense of loyalty, no love. These cracked streets would swallow you whole, and spit
out nothing but huesos.
Inglewood is my family. And mi familia is the heart of the Inner City.”
-Sam Diego of the Sangres

A once great city, shimmering and blinding with the light of a million hopes and dreams now
lays bare, only rubble and wreckage. With constant zombie incursions, and little to no safe
havens, the Inner City has become a warzone. Block by block, gangs work savagely to stake out
territory and combat the living dead that are a permanent threat. With little trade, little aid,
and little hope of improving their situations, the men and women of this area are hardened and
tough.
Each block of this ruinous area is rife with rubble and corroded metal. Some building remnants
remain, reinforced with found goods as safe houses, but unless the locale is particularly valuable,
or particularly defensible, it is not worth to stick in one place for too long.

42
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Inglewood:
What once was a a block by
block crawl for survival has
become a chain link prison.
The occupants inside are kept
relatively safe, yet to leave
without the protection of the
Sangres is suicide. Outside the
chain link and razor wire are
frequently hundreds of zombies,
the moans and growls a permanent
fixture of the community.
Patrols of Sangres and Sangre
sharpshooters keep encroaching
members of the horde at bay, but
safety is certainly not assured.
Spotlights and floodlights rim
the fence, making a stealthy
approach nigh impossible.
Inside rests what appears
to be a shantytown. Burnt out
buildings, tents and tarps
bustle with activity. Home
to a majority population of
Solestros, with some other
miscellaneous Strains mixed in,
Inglewood believes in family.
Awnings are set up, and large
covered areas provide some shade
to the dozens of families that
occupy Inglewood. The insides
of these pavilions belie the
shanties outside, with cred
wisely spent to make the spaces
comfortable and useful. Cots
and crates of supplies fill these
tented areas. Water basins are
filled daily, rationing the
water supply, saving as much
cred as they can. One pavilion
holds their education center,
fortified with cinderblock walls
and armed Sangres standing
outside. Inside are makeshift
chalkboards, burned maps, and
salvaged books on many subjects.
Children of all ages are taught
to read and write, and at age
eight are allowed to select a
focus, something that interests
them greatly. It is because of
this educational focus that
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
the community is incredibly
efficient, having multiple
generators, water purifiers and
collectors, and a strong fighting
force.
The entire community is
essentially set to collapse
and move. A breach in their
perimeter, and the whole city
can disassemble and move in a
heartbeat. This fits wonderfully
with the beliefs of the locals,
highlighting the importance
of family as community. The
citizens of Inglewood are a
community, everywhere, as long
as they are all together.
The front gate of Inglewood
is dual enforced, essentially a
cage for those who wish to enter.
Goods and intentions are vetted,
and the dual gates safeguard
the community. Constructed from
what must have been in a bank,
the only entrance is this double
gated, rusted monstrosity.
Guard posts are set on top, and
gate access is controlled either
via hydraulic winch, or manual
crank if the power is low or
down. Both of the gates can slam
shut in a screeching second,
crushing anything in their way.
Los Sangres:
Acting as both adjudicators
and caretakers, the Sangres are
a devout group with strong roots
in the Inglewood community.
This gang plays the role of big
brother to the entire area. A
tight knit family, the Sangres
love their town, their children,
and their brothers. They will
happily die for it.
Taking it upon themselves
to play community watchdog,
the Sangres constantly run
patrols of the Inglewood
border, reinforcing barricades
and fences and eliminating
shambler hordes. They also act
as community liaisons, settling
local disputes. They distribute
food and water to the oldest
and youngest in the community,
and act as armed bodyguards for
those not talented in combat.
An outside observer would not
assume these violent looking men
and women to be so benevolent,
yet their fierce loyalty is
unquestionable. Under their
protection, the citizens of
Inglewood are starting to find
legs again.
The Sangres take pride in
ritual tattooing. A member of
the Sangres takes the gang’s
logo as their first tattoo after
initiation, which can be as
young as eight years old. After
that, tattoos are added for
battles won, major life events,
and allies that have fallen.
Each tattoo is a celebration
of being alive, and each Sangre
can tell you what every single
tattoo they have means. Some
are done in tribal patterns,
chains and barbs, looping like
twisted vines. Some are mural
pieces, shadowy figures, shaded
to commemorate the dead, or
battles won and lost. Some cover
themselves in words, names
and dates, acting as a living
history, a walking reminder of
the perils around them. Most are
done in simple black ink, color
being reserved for tattoos of the
greatest importance. The tattoos
also indicate hierarchy within
the gang. The most tattooed are
the most war worn, traveled and
sage, clearly smart and tough
enough to survive in the long
haul. These men and women become
de facto leaders, respected
among community members and
followed by the Sangre legion.
The Sangres also support
education as a survival skill
in their community. Literacy
43
 is commonplace in the area,
and the children of Inglewood
are encouraged to not only
pick up weapons, but to pick
up books as well. This lends
the Sangres to being one of the
more actively academic gangs
in the City of Fallen Angels.
Their expertise in security,
their stoic ferocity, and their
intelligence makes them coveted
by Pureblood employers.
Sangres tend to wear very
little on their upper bodies
to show off their tattoos.
Vests and wife beaters are
common, and the mainly Solestro
populace worry not of the sun.
Leather armor or kevlar are also
common apparel, and frequently
bandannas are worn.
Digging through the area
surrounding Inglewood is
dangerous stuff, but the Sangres
know the area well, and often
escort local scroungers into
the dark ashen streets. Some
burgeoning horticulturalists
have even set up small hydroponic
farms in the shells of buildings,
and to get fresh fruit and
vegetables, the Sangres will
gladly escort farmers to their
hidden troves.
Sam Diego:
With age comes sage
wisdom, and the forty
five year old Diego
is ancient by
Inglewood
standards.
H a v i n g
44
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
survived that long makes him
one of the most respected and
highest ranking members of the
Sangres. Diego is a master
carpenter and rigger, and is
also a veteran sharpshooter.
His expertise is never bragged
about though, despite the fact
that he is possibly the most
intelligent and most lethal shot
in the community. His desire to
listen, soft-spoken nature, and
enormous pauses before speaking
have earned him the nickname
“Silent Sam”. Yet when he does
speak, the community falls mute
to hear him. With a rich and even
baritone, his voice resonates,
instilling a sense of calm in
all those who hear it.
He has also been given
the nickname “Saint Sam”. He
is known to do great acts of
charity, helping community
members with supplies, building
and construction of homes,
and education of the youth.
He’s frequently seen providing
comfort and sage advice to
the grieving families of lost
Sangres,. He also takes many
opportunities to grab additional
watches. Some say his constant
action and community presence
were spurred on by the loss
of his wife and two children
ten years ago. They say he
doesn’t sleep anymore, that he
restlessly walks the streets
when there’s nothing around for
him to do.
He is a slight man, small
and lean, yet clearly strong
and agile for his age. He has a
hard, world worn face, grizzled
from time and mileage, yet
creased with laugh lines as well
as scars. He is covered in black
tattoos, wrapping both arms
in twisted vines, letters and
numbers. His torso and legs are
covered as well, and the tattoos
wind up his neck and onto the
back of his shaved head. Under
his eye rests the only colored
tattoos on his body. Three red
teardrops trail down from his
left eye. It is rumored that
the ink used came from the blood
of the undead that killed his
family, infecting him more and
bring him even closer to death.
He normally wears a kevlar
vest, with no shirt under it,
and a pair of tattered and blood
soaked jeans. He has kind, yet
steely eyes, hair gone stark
white from the sun, and a
tightly trimmed salt and pepper
goatee.
San Dimas
Awesomeplex:
Under the shadow of the
Saint Gabe Mountains rests the
desert encampment of San Dimas.
Only sparse brush and a craggy
asphalt highway lead to the sheet
metal fence surrounding the two
acre camp. Within the fence
are phonebooths. Hundreds and
hundreds of phone booths, some
burnt out, some near pristine.
Metallic and red and blue, some
with broken windows, spanning on
either side of a wide, shoddily
paved road. Past this graveyard
of booths, a bustling center
of biker activity roars. Burnt
out buildings, reinforced with
sheet metal, wood and street
signs are full of people.
A large circular building
dominates the center of town.
In front there is a statue,
carved of stone and metal. Two
young gentlemen stand there,
 arms open, one with shaggy hair,
the other with short curls. The
plaque reads “‘BE EXCELLENT TO
EACH OTHER’- William “Bill”
S Preston and Theodore “Ted”
Logan”. Next to this statue
is one last phonebooth, shined
to almost new from touching
and cleaning. The building,
constructed of tan and red
bricks, patched with more found
items, sports an old brass panel
reading “San Dimas High School
Auditorium.”
The gang “Wyld Stallyns”
founded this thriving party
town years after the fall. It
now holds a population of a
few thousand, fluctuating with
the comings and goings of the
bikers. The city is constantly
alive with the sound of engines,
music and partying. The gates
are always open to pilgrims, or
just dudes and babes looking for
a good time.
The city is home to a
prolific amount of publicans and
mechanics. Being a city almost
entirely populated by partying
bikers, those that make and sell
hooch or fix bikes are valued
men. Setting up permanent
establishments are lucrative
ventures for them, and it doesn’t
take a genius to see the benefit
of being respected and defended
by an enormous gang of bikers.
All pay tithe to the highest
ranking Stallyns, yet none seem
to have reason for complaint.
When the forefathers of
the Wyld Stallyns came to
the ruins of San Dimas, they
spoke of a grand forum where
awesomeness could be taught to
a new generation. They found
the hallowed ground from their
visions, a run down and dusty
high school auditorium, and
dubbed it the Awesomeplex! This
“grand” arena can seat fifteen
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
hundred sitting, and about
three thousand standing. Seats,
once able to fold out with lush
cushions, are now metallic
frames bound together with tape
and zipties. Crude balconies
have been constructed, yet
they sit barely used. The stage
is lined with black curtains,
tinged by dust and grime. The
hardwood floor of the stage has
seen dozens of repairs, some
expert, some patchwork.
From the stage, the Stallyns
deliver their “reports,” short
discourses on the state of
current affairs. This tradition,
passed down from the Wyld Stallyn
forefathers, is how the Stallyns
teach history, make decisions,
and dispense justice. All of the
gang’s rituals, like weddings,
initiations or funerals, are
conducted in the auditorium.
There on the stage, lessons in
the tenets of the Wyld Stallyn
code are given, including the
origins of the gang. Judgment
is also handed down in the
auditorium, and it is the cries
of the audience that deem these
men and women “excellent” or
“bogus.”
Wyld Stallyns:
William Morrison and his
brother Theodore were sons of
a wealthy fuel magnate named
Jonathan Morrison. In their
den of luxury in the Hills,
they became captivated with the
Church of the Telling Visions.
Ashamed, and fearing the stigma
such a conversion could place
on the family name, both William
and Theodore were exiled by
their father and left only
with their motorcycles. They
found refuge with other Telling
Visionaries who told them of
the prophets Bill and Ted. The
brothers, now obsessed with the
prophets, renounced their birth
names and assumed the mantles
of their new heroes. The newly
christened William “Bill” S.
Preston and Theodore “Ted”
Logan declared themselves the
“Wyld Stallyns”. They set out on
a holy pilgrimage for the sacred
land of San Dimas, dragging a
phonebooth behind them, with
hopes that the journey would be
an excellent adventure.
Upon the trek, their acts of
being excellent to each other,
and their cries to party on,
began to amass a following.
Those who had been helped by
the Stallyns were eager to
follow such charismatic young
Purebloods with such a positive
message. After a while, the
religious aspect began to fade.
The message stayed strong, and
the men and women who followed
the cavalcade believed strongly
in the altruistic and hedonistic
ideas of the gang. Preston and
Logan didn’t mind, as long as
their prophets message was being
spread. Thus the caravan grew,
snaking out to over five hundred
bikes and wanderers, until they
reached the holy land of San
Dimas.
There, the pilgrimage was
complete. The brothers began
to settle the area, fortifying
burnt out buildings. The San
Dimas High School Auditorium
was refurbished and fenced
in. Their phonebooth became a
monument, immortalizing their
trek. The Wyld Stallyns now
had a home base. Preston and
Logan sent their followers
out into the world to preach
the word, and their followers
returned with more pilgrims
every trip. Traditions sprung
up; new initiates would bring
a phonebooth with them to San
Dimas, and as an induction,
45
 would sit inside of it in the lot
outside of the local convenience
store for 3 days and 3 nights, in
order to test their excellence.
Those deemed bogus in the eyes
of the Stallyns would suffer a
more difficult test. They would
be forced to drag a phonebooth
into the desert, which they
would be chained inside. Then
they would be left there for two
weeks, and if they survived, it
meant the prophets had deemed
them excellent enough to live.
Preston and Logan created a
new position within the gang to
protect themselves. This officer
was known as the Rufus, and
served as protector, advisor,
and the right hand to whomever
led the Stallyns at the time.
Rufus was the bravest, largest,
most intelligent, and most
excellent among the Stallyns.
Once selected, the Rufus would
don the traditional garb of a
black trench coat, gray suit,
black tie and shirt, with
slicked back hair and a pair of
sharp sunglasses. This position
was the highest honor a non-
Preston or Logan could attain
amongst the Stallyns, and would
lead the Stallyns if the leaders
were indisposed.
When the brothers passed
away, Bill’s daughter Theodora
and Ted’s son Bill assumed
leadership of the gang. They
built statues of their fathers
in front of the Auditorium
to memorialize their ideals
and goals. They preached the
traditions of their fathers,
while orchestrating the
business of the gang to make
it more profitable. They were
hired frequently to do security
details outside of the Hills
during this time, but their code
of being excellent to others did
not make them terribly popular
46
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
among the Purebloods. Their
benevolent ways clashed with the
poisonous nature of the Hills,
yet they were honorable enough
to take their jobs seriously.
Often they would work security
for the scrap and trade agency
of the Matricardis, in exchange
for materials to help repair
their bikes. This trend of
working security while preaching
the word of Bill and Ted led to
many new gang members.
When Bill the Second fell
victim to an undead attack while
traveling away from San Dimas,
rule of the Stallyns was left in
the hands of Theodora. Now years
have passed, and Preston still
rules the Stallyns alone, Rufus
her advisor and bodyguard beside
him, preaching the ways of his
forefathers, and leading the
Wyld Stallyns into a prosperous
new era.
Theodora “Ted” Preston
“Party on young dudes and be
excellent to each other!”
Preston, briefly, is a truly
excellent babe. Born and raised
with the beliefs of the Wyld
Stallyns, and the namesake of
her uncle Ted, Preston had been
groomed from childhood to lead
the gang. On his twenty-sixth
birthday, her father passed
away, leaving her sole heir to
the Preston throne. She selected
her new Rufus and began what
many consider to be an oddly
violent period for the gang.
Preston believes not only in
being excellent to the weak, but
also in striking down the bogus.
The Wyld Stallyns still remains
fairly peaceful as far as gangs
go, yet they are far quicker to
anger and strike under the young
Preston’s leadership.
Preston is a respected
and beloved leader, acting as
both a merciful scholar and a
brutal warrior. She often plays
diplomat, hosting meetings with
rival gangs and clients. She has
been known to stop on the street
and lecture to the “little
dudes” on the merits of being
excellent. She has also been
known to savagely beat enemies
on the field of battle, striking
fear into the hearts of her
enemies. She will lecture after
a combat, allowing those who
seek to harm her the chance to
repent and seek the excellence
within themselves.
Although she does not follow
the Church of Telling Visions as
her forebears did, she welcomes
pilgrims from the faith into her
camp, and will hold council with
them and treat them as honored
guests. They are sometimes
confused why she does not
worship the prophets, but she
believes that her forefathers
created something more real and
tangible then the Signal could
ever produce. The Guide gave the
blueprints, but the building is
real now. The temple is solid.
Theodora is by most accounts
stunning. She has chin length
brown hair, tattered jeans,
and a pair of pre-fall Chuck
Taylors. She wears her father’s
flannel shirt, as well as a
modified leather vest, allowing
her to keep cool in the desert
sun. She has a presence of power
and size, which belies her true
height, standing at about 5’6”.
 The Stay-please
Center
Perhaps the tallest and
brightest building in the City
of Fallen Angels, the Stay-
please center has become the
closest thing to a fortress
in the Inner City. An enormous
rounded gray building, the
words “STAyPLEaSe CENTER” are
emblazoned in huge red letters
above a giant enforced iron
gate. Graffiti covers most of the
outer walls, as do charred black
burn marks and blood stains. One
wall towards the back contains
a particularly large amount
of bloodstains and bullet
holes, clearly a wall used
for executions. Running along
the top edge of the building,
illuminated by spotlights at
night, are hundreds and hundreds
of piked heads, their blood
trickling down the outside of the
building. Some of the heads were
improperly spiked, and now move
and gnaw with infection, some
are reduced to skulls on steel.
An enormous banner drapes from
under the red words, black ink
on white fabric, reading “DEATH
ROW, STAY OUT MOTHAFUCKAS.”
The Center has had a storied
and ever evolving series of
ownership. At first it was a
meeting place and safe haven for
those after the fall, a common
ground in which people could
get a safe nights sleep while
rebuilding the society they had
lost. Then the Lah Kings decided
that everyone else could go fuck
off, and in a savage and violent
coup, killed three hundred
innocent people who were staying
there. Lah Kings were the first to
weaponize the Center, mounting
turrets on top of the building
and crafting murder holes from
which to pour chemicals and
fuel on attackers. After a few
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
years of possession, the Lakers
and Lah Kings made a pact, and
joined forces in order to keep
their numbers safe. When invited
inside the Center to celebrate
the joining of the gangs, the
Lakers murdered every single
Lah King, leaving none alive,
and claimed the building for
themselves. Thus began a reign
of terror on an already broken
city. The Lakers acted not only
as savage raiders and bullies,
but also captured citizens and
sold them out to slavers, or
tortured them in their bloody
palace. They held the building
for over thirty years, until
in a show of force and martial
prowess, coupled with brilliant
tactics, Death Row took it from
them. They lured a massive force
of zombies to the front gate,
causing all of the Lakers to
focus fire there, leaving the
rear defense of the Center open.
The Lakers fled, and to this day
are hated by every organization
in the City of Fallen Angels,
except for the Purebloods. Death
Row has held the building since
their exile, and although they
are cruel, brief, and brutal
monsters, they are not nearly
as bad as the old boss.
The inside of the Center
holds the bustling organization
of Death Row. Small holes broken
into the ceiling illuminate the
floor during the day, and allow
the smoke from fires to filter out
at night. The decorum could be
called “hip hop tribal;” tents
and cots line the floors, as
do skins from animals. Broken
bottles lie all about, and fires
smolder through all hours of the
day. The center, which looks like
it may have once been a hardwood
floor, contains a bustling market
for the Death Row members, men
bartering in cred and scrap at
low rates to help out their
brothers. Cooking occurs down
there as well, simple dishes
designed to warm the stomach
and help sustain the energy of
the people. Scantily clad women
wander the building, usually on
the arm of a Death Row member,
and there is almost always loud
music playing, with a heavy
bass beat. People have sex on
cots, happy to be surviving,
and fights break out around the
compound occasionally, being
quelled as quickly as they
arise. The arena style seating
holds numerous tents and more
comfortable mattresses, houses
and territories picked out by
the gang members, cozy areas
for respite after a long day of
patrolling and scrounging.
Running directly alongside
of the Center is a newly formed
river, rife with pollution and
runoff from the Purebloods to
the North. This water can be
purified with great effort,
and the fish within it, while
mutated, can provide more
meat to a clever fisherman. The
river runs down into New Venice
Beach, and allows Death Row a
waterway in which to bring wares
downstream, or to bring goods
back North.
Death Row:
Death Row seems to have
picked up where the gangs of
the late 20th century left
off. Fiercely territorial, with
brutally violent initiations
and a savage loyalty, Death
Row is one of the most powerful
and feared gangs in the City
of Fallen Angels. Shifting in
numbers between a few hundred
to a thousand members, Death Row
was initially founded by those
with respect for the West Coast
poets of old. Now it is an unruly
47
 mob, with a mean streak and a
survival of the fittest ideology.
Loyalty to your brothers is the
common theme, yet if fellow gang
members are slacking or failing
you and risking the lives of the
gang, kicking them to the curb
is not unheard of.
The survivalist mentality of
Death Row makes them even more
monstrous to those not within
the gang. Territory disputes
last only short, blood soaked
moments, and frequently occur
without warning. It is common
knowledge that a non-Death Row
member being found in their
territory will not be warned.
They will be shot and killed on
sight. Scroungers tend to avoid
the Death Row territories.
Initiations into Death
Row require bloodshed. Beyond
that unspoken prerequisite,
the ceremonies are tailored to
the parties involved. Milder
captains may only require
initiates to kill a few undead,
the most severe may have them
bring the head of an opposing
gang member. Either way,
completion results in enormous
parties, drinks being poured
out for lost comrades, and
welcoming the new brothers into
the fold. Joining Death Row
is an oath til death, no one
makes it out alive. By joining,
you’re assured security and
family, but always under the
command of someone else. Being
a member also gives you access
to the Stay-Please Center, a
bustling haven for the gang and
a brief respite from the waves
of undead.
Death Row is not an equal
opportunity employer. It is
rare for a woman to be allowed
to join. Women instead are
seen as “trim”, and expected
to dress the part of the lusty
48
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
bimbo. These women serve a dual
purpose, acting as both servant
and therapist to the gang
members, and denoting rank. A
Death Row member with multiple
women following him is clearly
a guy with a lot of pull.
Members of Death Row have
militarized rap fashion from
the end of the 20th century. Du-
rags are common, baggy pants are
utilized for their many pockets.
Gone are the gold chains,
replaced with functional cables
and bandoliers. Bullet proof
vests still abound as common
protection, but the bling of the
past is long gone.
Doctor D
Born in Compton, fighting for
survival every day of his life,
D was raised to survive. This
young Solestro showed not only
great insight and intellect,
but a nearly amoral will to
persevere. D was noted early
on by both the Lakers and Death
Row, and with no questions
asked he murdered his Lakers
recruiter and brought his head
to the Stay-Please Center. He
was thirteen.
D brought his mother and
surviving brother with him to
live at Stay-Please. By the time
he was sixteen, he had killed
his brother for botching a job,
and had risen to the rank of
a chief amongst the members of
Death Row. He commanded with
authority, and was lauded for
having one of the most merciless
and feared crews in the City of
Fallen Angels.
At the age of twenty, D began
to see a flaw in his beloved Death
Row: No one was educated. People
would get wounded and die from
injuries that could have been
healed with know how. They’d
wind up getting screwed on deals
due to their illiteracy. D
decided it was time for some of
their people to get educated.
He saved up cred from thieving
and making trades and bought
the services of a Doctor named
Korman. Under his tutelage
for numerous years, D became
a voracious learner, studying
the Doc’s books and techniques
constantly. He became a doctor
in his own right, mastering the
surgical procedures to save
lives and became a historian on
the lore of the City of Fallen
Angels. When Korman said he had
learned all he needed to learn,
the newly christened “Doctor” D
shook his hand. No one is quite
sure what Korman said to D at
that moment. Some say it was
something derogatory, some say
he asked for more money. Some
say he said nothing at all, that
D had planned his demise the
whole time. But Korman never
left the Stay-Please Center,
and his head was piked above
the front entrance.
D is the worst fear of the
Purebloods living in the Hills;
a smart, ruthless, and cocky
gang banger. He has become
the defacto leader of Death
Row, as his ability to read
and his knowledge make him the
man to go to when trades and
deals need to be done. He is
also an incredibly savage and
horrifying warrior, sometimes
known to remove the heads from
the undead with his bare hands.
He has sent men to die just to
prove a point, and has killed
ambassadors from other gangs to
do the same. Under D’s lead,
Death Row has become organized
and intelligent, changing from
rampaging beasts to brilliant
predators.
D is a massive human being,
covered from head to toe in
 scars. His bulk and muscle come
from hard living. It is said in
whispers that his skin itself
acts as armor from bullets and
knives, and that is why he
chooses to only wear a simple
black basketball penny and a du-
rag. His four front teeth have
been replaced with a silvery
metal, making him look like
a horrifying car crusher when
smiling. D’s main weapon of
choice is a gun, but in close
range he has been known to swing
a parking meter with skilled
brutality. He is known to laugh
often, then switch to absolute
seriousness.

Compton:
The most dangerous and
least sustainable area within
the Inner City, Compton is
constantly flooded with waves of
zombies, raider assaults from
the outlying deserts, and the
fear of starvation and blight.
The people of Compton have stayed
there for numerous reasons. Some
live in the death trap because
they don’t have enough currency
to move on to a better location.
Some have chosen exile from
their gangs and families instead
of death, though it’s close to
the same thing. Some even stay
to maintain Compton’s use as
a stopover point for traders,
hoping to strike it rich on some
fortunate caravan. The Hills
have began sending their exiles
to Compton, and the gangs leave
them alone, both for contempt and
for fear of Hill repercussion.
A common theme remains for all
of the suffering denizens of
Compton: no one really ever
leaves because there’s nowhere
else to go.
The town is comprised of a
series of burnt out buildings,
fortified doors and windows
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
attempting to block out the near
omnipresent undead horde. These
building provide security, but
day to day life is tense and
dangerous. These buildings
are connected by catwalks,
attempting to enhance the
safety of travel. All attempts
at fencing or barricading to
block raiders and shamblers have
failed, as their work is torn
down before it can be repaired
again. Sometimes traders
attempt to pass through, maybe
out of some backwards sense of
compassion, but they don’t stay
long, and they don’t make enough
currency to make it worth their
while.
The people of Compton are
hard and unflinching in the face
of death. They see it daily, more
so than perhaps anyone else in
the City of Fallen Angels, and
this familiarity with morbidity
skews their daily perspective.
They stay together only due to
the power of numbers, yet they
would sell each other out for
half a cred. One who is “straight
out of Compton” is not a person
to mess with.
The Lakers
The Lakers used to be
one of the most violent and
powerful gangs in the City of
Fallen Angels, until they were
overthrown by Death Row. They’re
not so much a gang anymore, but
a disconnected group of sects,
being held together by a barely
tangible set of guidelines that
have not been relevant for over
49
 thirty years. The Lakers’ reign
of terror over the City of Lost
Angel so many years ago left a
bad taste in the mouths of the
residents. They are hated and
loathed wherever they go, and
have degenerated further, nearly
as psychotic as Raiders. Noted
for their purple and yellow
clothing, the Lakers have no
established turf now, and stick
to small packs throughout the
city, searching for any way to
make some cred and scrape by.
It takes incredibly
unscrupulous people doing
incredibly simple jobs for the
Lakers to get hired. If the job
requires smashing, or murdering
loudly, a Laker gang may get
hired to attempt the feat.
Yet the stigma it places on
the people involved and their
businesses makes it not worth
while for most. There is also
a large chance that the Lakers
may turn on you, attacking you
for your money.
They are hunted within the
city, and most gangs have a kill
on sight policy, except for
the Dockroaches, who feel the
Lakers are useful for things
too brutish for them to do.
Lakers gang members even sell
out each other, turning their
own kind over to the Purebloods
in the Hills for a tidy profit.
The Lakers are without a home,
wandering the streets and feel
the threat of the zombie horde
more than any other gang. A
large portion of them wind up
traveling in and out of Compton,
as the men and women there are
the most likely to take them. The
Lakers have no true leadership,
and the only real connections
between factions that wander
are their vile appeal, a desire
to wear purple, and sociopathy.
50
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
The Pyre having enough unity to allow
Undead walk everywhere, hunting for trade, and assistance in
the Inner City all day, every day.defense. These small underground
Crack teams and tough bastards walk
homesteads are traditionally
the streets, defending them and the grounds of mushroom farmers.
theirs against the plague. Ruins Most people who dwell in these
are now designed choke points for caverns and tunnels are not
these monsters, luring them to full time residents though,
pile up against fences of cement, but people who are attempting
easily dispatched. What becomes to avoid the pains of nighttime
of these mountains of bodies that threats. Backing ones self to a
line the walls of these buildings?cave wall and holing up for the
They are taken to The Pyre. night seems to some like a good
Piled high, this burning mass of plan for safety, especially for
bodies started originally as a new travelers to the area, yet
tire fire some forty odd years ago,
the Undertowners will tell you
and it has yet to cease. Gangs sawthe truth of it. A good type of
the fire as an eternal power, and stone is required for a backing,
decided to contain it and put it to
as dirt or softer rocks can
good use. It is constantly fueled be burrowed through by hungry
by the burning dead, hundreds zombies and other horrifying
being added daily. The thick plumemonsters. Concrete, steel and
of black smoke rises straight up, brick are much better backing.
eerily unaffected by wind shifts, The bustling mushroom trade
and the citizens have taken to that comes from Undertown
using the cloud as a marker withinkeeps the citizens of this odd
the city to give them direction collective fairly well moneyed
when they’re lost. Some say the and safe. Mushrooms are a
Pyre should not be burning that delicacy amongst the Purebloods
well, that black, or that long. (at least for this season),
Some superstitious citizens say and they pay top cred for such
it is being somehow charged by theoddities.
Gravemind, and that the dark smoke The people of Undertown
rising from it may be sending are surprisingly friendly, and
signals to his denizens. oddly polite to outsiders. They
The Pyre has been declared offer lodging and hospitality
neutral territory amongst all of to those who wish to stay, and
the factions of The City of Fallenoffer them tips on farming and
Angels, because none believe that cultivating mushroom. This is
keeping zombies around on the all a facade. This kindness
ground is a good idea. If it wasn’t
allows the Undertowners to lull
your problem before, it could be visitors into a false sense of
your problem in the future. security so they can be consumed.
None on the surface know for
Undertown sure if the Undertowners are
Beneath a majority of the truly cannibals or not, but it
city lies cavernous tunnels, is certainly presumed. No one
full of despicable creatures, is that nice for no reason.
shaded from the Sun and its harsh
light. There small communities
have sprung up, not forming a
particularly strong town, but
 Wetside
“So this fuckin’ guy comes
up to me. Fucker looks crazier
than a raider on Red Mist, but
you know, business is business
right? He asks for a free dock
space. Yeah, you heard right,
for free. Un-fuckin’-believable
right? Doesn’t he know where he
is? This ain’t some almhouse up
in the Hills, this is fuckin’
Wetside. Land is money, and
dockspace is even more fuckin’
money. What’s he think I am,
a fuckin’ Pureblood? I ain’t
handin’ out cred down here. I
gotta fuckin’ survive. If you
want it, work for it. If you
want a fuckin’ handout, I can
lend your dumb ass a bullet in
the gut.”
-Gutter Johnson Houses have been constructed, are tethered. Rafts of yellow
shanty style buildings made of rubber, canoes and kayaks,
When the water rose after the found sheet metal and beams, rowboats, schooners, and even
bombs fell, an enormous eight brown and red with corrosion. a few yachts commissioned by
lane superhighway collapsed The entire high ridge is covered the wealthy Purebloods as party
into the water, falling off of in houses, but most domiciles boats hang cabled to the floating
its enormous struts. Most of are only large enough for two docks. Sly dock masters hold
this structure lay exposed above to four people. These shacks these locales safe, promising
the water, leaving an enormous are rusted, the metal eroded your ships safety from raiders
dockside area that was quickly from salt spray, yet they still and zombies for a cut of your
repurposed by the survivors. allow the breeze in without profits and a monthly fee. Small
It was lovingly named the the crippling hear of the sun. docks are emblazoned with signs
Wetside Highway, possibly due In areas, booths have been that claim “TOURS TO THE HOMES
to a misunderstanding of the set up along the lower edge. OF THE STARS!” These docks are
exit sign for “Westside” Los Carts are filled with reeking watched by smiling men and women
Angeles, or possibly due to its fish, some of questionable in red jackets, the “Ushers”
location near the “wet side” of quality. Scroungers line up, of the Telling Visions. These
the City of Fallen Angels. The their wares spread on tables, docks are given a wide berth.
many mile stretch became home to hocking for the best price they Large ships, possibly
scavengers and fishermen, and a can. Along the high rim runs a refurbished oil tankers, are
series of shanty towns popped up patchwork pipeline, bringing moored on what once was a
along its length. the occupants desalinated and highway exit ramp. These tankers
Looking from the short sharp purified sea water from the ship freight, usually Pureblood
hillside of rubble behind it, Pureblood owned plant to the supplies, up and down the coast.
one can see a shattered cement north. On the cement short, Workers lift and carry crates
shoreline spanning miles, docks are laid out, made of and goods, usually ending their
sloping into the lapping water. tires and scrap wood, some even nights in sleazy dockside bars,
Sea water corrodes and rusts constructed of found metals. drinking questionable hooch and
rebar that juts out of the There, a bizarre amalgamation nailing questionable women.
cracked highway turned coast. of boats of all shapes and sizes
51
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Matricardi Scrap Behind chain link fences are in and grant vouchers worth
and Mattress huge caches of weaponry; guns, equal value to the customers.
Emporium: clubs, pipes, swords, axes, At the exit in the front of the
Located conveniently and machetes and knives. Almost building, one may pay for items
centrally a few hundred yards off anything that shoots bullets, from the store at the single cash
the Wetside Highway, Matricardi bludgeons, cuts or stabs can register. Two armed guards mind
Scrap and Mattress Emporium be found for a price. Artifacts a turret holding a fifty caliber
is your one stop shop for all from the ancient times line the machine gun that is trained on
of your equipment needs. The walls as well; CD’s, statuary, the door. To claim this place
building has a narrow stretch instruments, broken televisions is well secured from raiders,
of freshly constructed bridge and posters are numerous. In zombies, and shoplifters is an
connecting its island locale the back corner there are the incredible understatement.
to the mainland of Wetside. The mattresses. Stacked thirty high The basement is half flooded
bridge is just wide enough to in an enormously long line, they with water, large cement
fit one vehicle coming and one block the entire back wall, some stairs plunging into the murky
vehicle going. Once across, a still in their plastic wrapping. depths. This basement was once
potential customer has to pass Well-armored men and women an enormous loading area, tall
the large steel shipping doors patrol up and down the aisles, as any room in a superstore of
that are the entrance to the monitoring for shoplifters. Men today. The water rises up to
massive cinder block building. in suits, some refurbished, some about six feet, perfect for
Iron bars barricade each of the custom made, sit at desks in the
windows that are already 40 front of the building, smiling.
feet up, almost at the top of It is their job to assess the
the two story eyesore. A six credit value of items brought
foot high wire fence rims the
top, like a crown of thorns, and
encircles a series of enormous
metal letters, which are lit
up at night. The letters spell
out “MATTRESS KINGDOM,’ like
a Broadway marquee. The east
end of the building dips under
water, and shipping entrances
are open in what used to be
truck delivery ramps. The name
MATRICARDI is spray painted in
enormous red stenciled letters
on each wall of the building,
leaving no question to whom it
belongs to.
Inside the gray block walls
lay the remnants of what was once
an enormous mattress warehouse.
It has been converted now into
something half pawn shop, half
scrapyard, and half superstore.
Organized into shelves, piles,
crates and boxes are scraps of
metal, piping, wood, gears,
circuits and almost any other
part imaginable. It is an
engineers dream made reality.
52
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 small watercraft to pull in
and unload their wares, leaving
another 20 feet of headroom.
Elaborate docks are run up along
the walls, comprised of tires
and thick riveted metal, with a
long area of docking running up
the center to the door, secured
to underwater moorings. At the
farthest end of the room from the
opening, a shelled out elevator
shaft serves as a cargo crane.
Cargo is placed in the now empty
freight elevator, and lifted up
stories by Dockroaches pulling
hard on the steel cabling. When
items are too large for the
elevator, it is submerged in
the water, and the cables are
used independently. In a corner
of the dock, multiple boats are
tethered, ranging in value from
raft to schooner. These items are
marked with prices in credits,
yet the prices are negotiable.
The rest of the port is a bustle
of activity, men and women
docking their vessels to bring
in wares, Dockroaches checking
off the value of their goods,
and deciding whether they’re
desired or not. Receipts are
handed out, and usually taken
upstairs to cash in or trade.
Following the elevator shaft
past the first floor, one can
reach the second floor where the
true deals happen. Frank “The
Mattress King” Matricardi’s
highest echelon of goons make
deals with huge scrap dealers,
wealthy Pure Bloods, and gang
leaders. These deals may be for
the rarest of artifacts, relics
of great import to the Telling
Visions or the Kings Court.
Some deals are for security
contracts, either hiring the
Dockroaches to “take care
of a guy” or hiring gangs to
defend the warehouse and other
locales. Some deals are for
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
extended trade, situations that
may be mutual beneficial to both
parties, yet will be better
secured if written out on paper.
Yet all who live in the City
of Fallen Angels know, making a
deal here may be more risky than
dealing with the devil.
In a small room in the back,
Matricardi’s office sits, a
shrine to tacky faux opulence.
Velvet paintings, damaged by
water, hang on the walls. The
room reeks of cheap cigars
and cheaper hooch, but this
is seemingly unnoticed by Mr.
Matricardi. His desk is of a
red wood, also damaged by water,
and he has positioned lighting
in the room to highlight the
sunken looks of his retrograde
features. This room is reserved
for Dockroaches to meet with
Frank, and the Purebloods who
own him. As much as he is a tough
lug in the realm of Wetside, he
knows full well that without
these Purebloods he would have
no business. They are treated
with respect and dignity,
honored guests in the house
of Matricardi. Here deals are
worked out for huge bulk trades,
artifacts and rare materials
that the Purebloods seek, trade
routes to the inner city that
Matricardi must secure for them,
and contracts for murder in the
gated city of “The Hills.”
Frank “The Mattress
King” Matricardi:
The eponymous owner of
Matricardi Scrap and Mattress
Emporium, Frank “The Mattress
King” Matricardi is a sharp
yet delusional creature. Born
in the irradiated wastes of
the Palm Desert, (but claiming
to all who’ll listen that he’s
a Yorker) this Retrograde is
either incredibly deft at
business or incredibly lucky.
The stories of how he acquired
the “Mattress King” warehouse
from which he runs his empire
are varied, and Matricardi keeps
it that way. Some say he was
fortunate enough to wander into
the fortress while scrounging
along the coast as a teenager.
Others say he took it by force
from raiders or zombies. Still
others say he murdered the
unfortunate family that held it
before, slitting their throats
in their sleep. No one argues
that Matricardi’s meteoric rise
to power immediately followed
his sudden ownership of the
warehouse.
He appeared almost from
nowhere, with two massive
bodyguards he called Dean and
Jerry. He began brokering trade
with the citizens around his
warehouse, selling the almost
unknown comfort of a new spring
mattress for scraps, credits,
or food. Purebloods, interested
in such a novel comfort, began
buying mattresses from him
in bulk for their homes and
brothels, causing Matricardi to
swiftly increase the price. By
this point, he had established
his Dockroaches, amassed an
enormous stock of goods and
credits, and built a reputation
as an unscrupulous, merciless
businessman. With his vice-like
grip of the southern chunk of
Wetside Highway, the Purebloods
were forced to deal with the
monster they had helped create.
He believes himself to be one of
them, but they will never accept
him. They dread visiting his
disgusting waterfront building,
and dread even more being in his
vile and obsequious presence. He
has become a necessary evil to
them, and they see him more as a
kept pet than a businessman.
53
 Matricardi is tall and broad,
but moves with the agility of
a weasel. He wears gold chains
around his neck that reflect the
colors of his rotten green skin.
His eyes are a distinct yellow,
and his head is bald, looking
almost like a rotten cantaloupe.
He speaks with a thick New York
accent, with an affectation of
pseudo-intelligence, constantly
misusing words and adding
syllables. The rasp of his voice
has been described as sandpaper
on fruit.
Wetside Docks:
The largest dock in Wetside
is clearly the remnant of what
was a freeway on-ramp. Ten foot
thick concrete juts out into
the sea for over three hundred
yards, in a large curving arc,
like one fourth of a cloverleaf.
Where the ramp meets the
highway, a huge crack five feet
wide is covered by long thick
sheets of rusted and riveted
metal, bolted to the concrete
beneath. Rope ladders hang down
on the outside of the arc for the
smaller boats, and bracketing
is placed on top for the ramps
of the larger boats. Cranes
are in place to haul cargo off
of the lower boats, or during
low tide. The rust encrusted
monstrosities, some hand
cranked and creaky, are operated
by teams of burly dockworkers.
They strain to turn the cranes,
cranking giant cogs and wheels
to make them move. The cranes
are then hooked to containers
and bundles, strung up with
chain. There is no storage
space on the dock itself, yet
buildings are constructed on
the concrete shoreline, large
enough to store the bulky and
unwieldy cargo.
In the midst of the nearly
54
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
closed arc, a harbor sits,
securing ships in the ring
of cement. The dock master, a
Dockroach named Gutter Johnson,
rents out space in the harbor
and time utilizing the docks and
cranes. Purebloods pay reduced
prices, as their business has
such mass that it drives the
business of the dock. It is
with Pureblood money the dock
was refurbished, and it is their
bankroll that keeps it up and
running.
The dock itself has an
intense security, many hires
from gangs and organizations
from around the City of Fallen
Angels. There are the occasional
Stallyn, Crip, Laker, and Death
Row Gang members seen working,
taking the credits back to
their gang to pay for food and
supplies. Yet the majority of
the guards and coordinators are
Dockroaches, kept goons of the
higher ups and Gutter Johnson,
loyal to the cred flowing in
their direction.
The Dockroaches:
“The Mattress King” considers
himself quite the entrepreneur,
and the goons in his employ feel
the same way. Matricardi has
hired on the best scroungers,
dealers, thieves and pirates.
He has found men and women who
bring him the rarest and finest
of items, or who bring him basic
supplies in bulk. These folk
form his gang, people entirely
devoted to bringing him scraps
and goods. The highest echelon
members become his salesmen or
voucher writers, being paid high
wages to wheel and deal. Some of
his more aggressive and brutal
thugs become his guards and
hitmen, turning their savagery
and ambition into blood and
cred.
Attempting to imitate the old
school mafia, Matricardi demands
respect from his Roaches, and
demands a clean front. Although
some of his goons are excellent
assassins, the option to hire
them is implied, not tacit. His
Roaches behave accordingly when
in public, having been groomed
by the Mattress King to emulate
his “manners” and “diction.”
In reality, despite the lofty
desires of their leader, they
are still thugs and goons.
Worse: they are thugs and goons
with delusions of grandeur,
and are therefore insufferably
smug, and painful to deal with.
On the rare occasion that
their base of operations,
Matricardi Scrap and Mattress
Emporium, is held under siege or
attacked, they have one course
of action. They will “go to the
mattresses”, holding their home
with an undying savagery.
Gutter Johnson:
Gutter has a rather typical
story for a man born in Wetside.
Born to poor dockworkers, he had
no formal education, and only
learned to read out of necessity.
It didn’t do to steal from cargo
marked for the more powerful
Purebloods in the Hills, so one
had to learn letters and names
fast. As a simple pickpocket and
thief, he had frequent run-ins
with the proprietors of local
carts and bars, and was probably
doomed to a very short life. On
one fortunate day, Gutter had
pickpocketed a wealthy trader
and found himself in possession
of a fine gold watch, that still
functioned. He brought it to the
only place that could give him
the cred for it: Matricardi’s
Scrap and Mattress Emporium.
Upon seeing the quality of
the item, and the age of the

youth, Gutter was sent upstairs
to the high roller desks. Mr.
Matricardi was waiting for him,
and asked him where he had
acquired such an item. As it turns
out, the pocket watch belonged
to a rather wealthy Pureblood,
not a trader, and post had been
sent back to Matricardi to find
it. When Gutter told him the
truth, Matricardi recruited him
on the spot for his spunk and
“moxy”. With such ambition, the
ability to read, and his reckless
nature, Johnson quickly climbed
the ranks of the Dockroaches,
becoming Matricardi’s right hand
in a few short years. When the
Dockroaches finally took control
of the Wetside Dock, a man with
knowledge of letters and a high
level of loyalty was required
to go down there and “take care
of a few things”. Johnson was
obviously the man for the job.
With his shrewdness,
intellect, and fearlessness,
Johnson turned a once
disorganized madhouse into a
well-oiled machine. He crafted
schedules of dock times, set up
areas to scale boats by size
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
and cargo load, charged by the
hour, and opened up the inner
area of the dock as a harbor,
hiring men to build moorings for
vessels. His work paid off, but
begrudgingly left him back where
he had started. According to
Matricardi, he had done his job
too well. With the business they
had begun to bring in, Johnson
couldn’t leave, the Purebloods
wouldn’t hear of it. Johnson
was trapped in the place he was
born, the place he had always
wanted to escape from.
Johnson is a cold man, with
dead eyes. Standing about 5’6,
he’s small and lean, easy to
anger and embittered to his
station. Rarely does he express
any emotion but rage, and sob
stories are utterly useless
against him. He has no family,
and is a heavy smoker.
Docks End:
Caravans wait patiently at Docks
End for their hired workers, to
load them full of shipped goods.
A bustling area, half market
half loading zone, Docks End is
a vibrant zone of commerce. Men
and women trade before setting
out on their treks. Some set
forth for the inner city, well
secured with guards to protect
from zombies. There they will
trade with the gangs, exchanging
food stuffs and clean water for
scrap and security. Others go
to parts unknown, Vegasia and
further, hocking their wares in
dangerous regions, hoping for
the big payoff.
Most traders, those with the
finest wares, go to the Galleria
in “The Hills,” the safest bet.
These caravans were already
bought and paid for by wealthy
merchants, loaded to the gills
with materials, supplies, rare
foods and fabrics, spices and
scrap. Relics to make the
staunchest holy man blush, and
artifacts that “simply must”
adorn the walls of Pureblood
homes. These caravans are
secured by elite bodyguards,
loyal to specific families and
sworn to die for them.
The buildings on docks end
serve one of three purposes:
houses of pleasure, houses
of temporary stay, or storage
areas. They are ramshackle,
composed of broken metal
storage crates, cargo carriers,
and driftwood. They seem almost
encroaching on themselves,
some buildings built entirely
upon other buildings. Yet the
dilapidated state of Docks End
is no deterrent to its visitors.
Men and women after tiring days
of work desire to hit the bars,
picking up prostitutes and cheap
hooch. There are no slimier bars
in all the City of Fallen Angels
than at Docks End. The hooch is
questionable in quality, tasting
more like paint thinner than
liquor in most cases. The inns
are disgusting, but they still
provide a bed and security for
one to rest their head for the
evening. The innkeepers have no
need to clean house or provide
amenities, as all the Docks End
housing is of similar quality,
and with no fear of competition
and knowing the workers will
need to rest, they have no
worry for themselves or their
business. The storage units are
more cutthroat and lucrative.
Price gouging is frowned upon by
the Pureblood merchant kings,
making the storage all tend to
be the same rate. These crates
usually have armed guards of
differing qualities, yet the
pay is good enough to keep them
honest.
55
 New Venice Beach
Combining old world Italy,
and the festive atmosphere of
pre-fall Venice Beach, New
Venice Beach is the closest
thing to a marketplace the Inner
City can muster. The paved roads
of old have been flooded over by
a flow of water from the north,
and now isolated businesses can
set up kiosks and storefronts
on building tops. Waterways are
navigated by Solestros in light
colored clothing, who ferry men,
women and cargo from storefront
to storefront, asking for a
nominal fee. The water acts
as a deterrent for the dead,
keeping them low beneath the
water and provides security.
The grid of buildings and
streets are brightly decorated,
attempting to entice wealthy
Purebloods who have come into
the area to go “slumming.”
This market holds anything the
poor of the city can ask for;
supplies, food, weapons, even
finely crafted work by the men
and women who own the stores.
Hunks of salted and cured meats
hang in windows, fish hang upon
lines, and wide arrays of found
seaweed and canned foods line
handmade shelves. In New Venice
Beach, Purebloods even stop to
take recreational and risky
ocean trips, skiing behind
engine powered boats, slaloming
between reaching zombie arms
that rise from the water.
All businesses have some
sort of dock attachment set
up to them, and proper shading
from the sun for Purebloods.
Occasionally fights break out
between rival gangs, the
thugs of Death Row lashing out
against the Sangres, or the
Stallyns deciding to crash down
on someone they have deemed
not excellent. No one dares
56
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
to attack the shopkeepers or
their establishments, as bad
business could be a black mark
on the gang for years to come.
Shopkeepers occasionally hire
out mercenaries from the gangs
to protect their stores and
persons if they have something
particularly valuable on hand,
but honesty is good for all,
and stealing is punished with
such severity and cruelty by
both gang and shopkeeper alike
that the examples set scare most
away. Shoplifters are given what
is called “The Dip.” They are
bound, and lowered by hook into
the shambler infested waters,
to have their flesh torn and
consumed, and then dragged back
out, salt water burning their
wounds. These public displays
are sometimes bet on, to see
when the thief will pass out,
or if they will die. Some ignore
the screams, seeing how close
they could be to death, one bad
scrounging trip or crop away
from being on the hook. The New
Venice Beach marketplace is a
wonderful place to visit, but
not for those seeking handouts.
Wetside Water
and Power:
Serving dual purpose as both
a desalination and purification
plant, the Wetside Water and
Power plant to the north of
Wetside is a brilliant con
game perpetrated on the people
of Wetside. While this plant
does what is said to do, and
cleans and desalinates water,
the people of Wetside do not
receive the pure results. The
water first flows through to “The
Hills,” giving the Purebloods
there the advantage of having
the purest water. Runoff and
sewage are sent to the plant,
purified and then sent to the
people of Wetside. Even though
it is the payment of the people
of Wetside that keep the plant
running, the water they are
drinking is, unbeknownst to
them, the waste of the rich.
This flow of water also spins
massive turbines, supplying a
good portion of the power that
runs “The Hills.” The poor living
in Wetside do not receive this
power, and any electricity they
have comes from independently
run generators.
 The Morgan family, who run
the plant, make a killing off
of the deal, receiving money
from both sides of the fence,
both Pureblood and Wetsider
alike. Meanwhile, maintenance
and staffing the plant pays for
itself, leaving the family to
amass a small fortune, with
neither side the wiser. The
wealthy in “The Hills” don’t
seem to realize that their power
is being generated by the same
plant that cleans their water,
and even if they did notice, they
have limited other options for
where they could get both power
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
and water. The poor certainly plant. Huge cinderblock vents
don’t understand they’re using belch steam into the sky, while
recycled water, and pay top the water is sucked in from the
dollar for the “fresh” water ocean into enormous tanks. A
being delivered to them. They small crew is able to operate
don’t even know about the power the plant, and its remote
being produced for the wealthy location, lack of surrounding
with the funds they supply. Chase settlements, and solid walls
Morgan, the current patriarch prevent incursion from zombies.
of the Morgan family, has only
to suck half the water he should
have to out of the ocean, and he
can sterilize twice.
The building that houses
the equipment is a behemoth,
constructed in the remnants of
a decommissioned nuclear power
57
 The Hills
“Ladies and gentlemen, my
most esteemed clientele, now is
the time for the new! Long gone
is the era of “Why?”, we must
now march vigorously into the
era of “Why not!” And why not?
You, my delicious audience, my
supple, nubile young fuckers,
you have all of the money!
You shit riches greater than
most men dream! You are the
new pantheon! The world is our
oyster, as it were, and I say
let us fuck the shit out of it!
Let us romp in the garden of our
own frivolity. Let us freak out
the normals. Let those wretched
little Solestros hold the line.
Now is our time!
...but I digress. Ladies
and gentlemen, if I may turn
your attention to center stage,
I assure you you will not be
disappointed...”
-Milo “Uncle Milo” Gallant
at the Slaughterhouse

In a time with no true law,

no true moral center, and no
true ruler, the rich do what
they have always done: get away
with murder. The wealthiest of
wealthy, the “purest” of “pure,”
the Purebloods of the Hills
enjoy their privileges to the
nines. Money has bought them the
safest homes, and a glimmering
city of silvery aluminum walls,
glowing hot white in the sun.
Walls twenty feet high and ten
feet thick encircle the “gated
community,” allowing access
only through a few small gates
and doorways. Armed guards and
automated turrets line the
walls, and it is obvious that
there has not been a shambler
incursion since the compound was
constructed. Inside, shining
towers rise out of the ground,
58
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
most reconstructed partially
from pre-fall buildings,
although some have been made
brand new. Rising stories high,
these buildings oversee the
land they control, watching
the pawns below in the City
of Fallen Angels, mocking them
from their ivory towers. Almost
all of the Hills is enclosed in
some sort of shading or awning,
and most of the complex is air
conditioned for the convenience
of the Purebloods inside.
Although the compound is secure,
it may be more dangerous to be
a Pureblood inside than one of
the bourgeoisie outside.
Some people have come to
wonder why this haven of vice
and currency did not become
the beacon of the West coast.
Yet those who watch it from
within or observe it’s affect
on the landscape know why. The
Purebloods running the city have
become degenerates, once proud
families, still prideful. That
pride comes without merit. They
have spiraled into a land of
debauchery and filth, losing all
sight of morality and gaining
nothing for it but vents for
their cred.
In spite of all of this
chaos and depravity, the Hill
 still controls all the City of
Fallen Angels, and without their
currency and influence, the City
would collapse in on itself and
fall into ruin.
The Board Room
After years of doing
business in the Hills, some
of the major families realized
something: people kept getting
murdered in business meetings.
This fatality rate led to a
tremendous decline in the
profits of the major families. No
one would agree to meet, since
there was no locale that could
be counted as neutral ground, as
the major families had fingers
in everything. It was decided
that this profit loss could not
stand, and something had to be
done. A truce was reached (which
took only four deaths) and the
families began work on the Board
Room.
One of the most secure
buildings in the Hills, the Board
Room is shaped like a conference
table. Four legs, acting as both
entryways and supports, rise
up to a large, flat, windowless
rectangle, steel and iron shined
to a polished sheen. Each leg
acts as a security gate and
stairway, pat downs and weapons
checks occurring at the base.
They each then lead to wide,
four story stairways which climb
to the main hall.
The main room is more
bar and club than business
establishment. Fine liquors,
cigars, and drugs are readily
available from private stores
for each family. Dancing girls
(and occasionally men) dance on
tables to the sides of the main
room, surrounded by couches.
The edges of the great hall
are dimly lit in red. In the
center of the room, separated
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
by frosted glass walls and
acoustically placed to be in
a near aura of silence, is an
enormous rectangular table that
stretches out to almost thirty
feet long. Illuminated by warm,
white lighting, the table may
have cost as much as all the
other furnishings in the room
combined; carved of black
marble, smoothed, buffed and
shined to a reflective polish.
Here on this onyx table, the
lives of the citizens of the City
of Fallen Angels are written.
Deals are brokered, some that
may provide electricity for
a small town, while dumping
waste into the water supply for
another. Colored with drugs and
liquor, and finished with simple
pen strokes, lives are made and
lost in a room as far removed
from reality as it possibly
could be.
When warring families need to
come to settlements, and perhaps
need to broker peace (or terms
of surrender), the Boardroom
serves as neutral ground. Owned
by the top ten families of the
Fortune Fifty, the building
maintains the safety of all
parties involved. Not only is
it incredibly secure, but it
also allows no family to have
a physical upper hand in the
area. Community ownership of
the building removes tactical
advantage. This building is
considered holy ground to the
rich of the Hills, and for a
lesser family, being invited
for drinks at the boardroom can
either be a blessing, or a death
sentence.
The Fortune 50
The true rulers of the City
of Fallen Angels, and kings
among kings in the Hills, the
Fortune 50 are the top fifty
wealthiest and most powerful
members of the Purebloods.
Most of them come from very old
money, descended from families
who had the wealth to secure
themselves away during the
fall, only coming out of their
vaults and bunkers afterward,
primed to rule and rebuild. Some
few have worked their way up
from entrepreneurial families,
working hard to achieve their
place in the world. These
families are known throughout
the Hills and the City of
Fallen Angels by name, and if
you’re a Pureblood in the Hills,
you likely know their entire
lineage.
The Fortune 50 have ways of
showing off their wealth and power
unlike any other organization.
A daily scoreboard is set up in
the middle of the Hills, showing
the ever changing rankings
of these obscenely wealthy
families. These rankings take
into account net value, income,
showmanship, purity of lineage,
and name recognition amongst
the populace. Being known in the
Hills as someone to be feared
or admired (and in either case,
likely hated) is both a blessing
and a curse. Being in the Fortune
50 means you most likely have a
target painted not only on you,
but your whole family. Killing
the family ahead of yours is a
surefire way to advance to the
top of the list and into the
ranks of the Board Members, so
this practice is common. Some
families have taken to subtlety,
arranging accidents to kill off
patriarchs and matriarchs, while
slowly whittling away at their
children and households. Some
families take the more direct
approach, staging full scale
raids on Fortune 50 households,
razing buildings to the ground.
59
 What is unspoken about such
actions, but is presumed, is
that if you are to level an
attack at an opposing family,
you must be prepared to back it
up. If the other families even
smell weakness, even higher
ranking families may come down
upon you to gain your assets.
The ranking system is
simple, one being the highest,
and fifty being the lowest. The
ranks between one and ten are
known as the Board Members, and
most of those families have not
changed position in years. The
lower ranking families, though,
are in constant turmoil, as a
bad business deal or a great
success in a buyout can move
you up or down in the chain of
command. Although power is in
no way expressly established,
it is common knowledge that a
family’s rank upon the Fortune
50 charts implies the amount of
respect that should be given to
them. Someone who is in the top
twenty are almost bowed to by
lesser families.
Most of the younger family
members are careless about the
ranking, really only focusing
on spending the inherent money.
Some, however, have plans to
become the head of the line, a
privilege that usually goes to
the eldest child. Parents have
taken to grooming their children
for the line, old families
being particularly reliant on
this tradition. Yet in modern
times, killing ones siblings or
parents to assume power is not
uncommon. As the moral code of
the Fortune 50 slipped further
and further down the scale, their
children became more and more
depraved. Inbreeding to keep
lineage purity also increased,
causing some physiological
detriments to the children of
60
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
these couplings. But in spite
of all of these outside (and
some inside) forces against the
families on the Fortune 50, they
still contain almost all of the
wealth for the City of Fallen
Angels, and control the lives of
those below.
The Board Members
Controlling even the Fortune
50, the Board Room are the most
powerful families in the City of
Fallen Angels. The Board Members
are the top ten in the Fortune
50, and most have held their
positions for generations. The
Board Members have access to
everything in the City of Fallen
Angels, and with a whim they
can usually have it summoned
to them. Their combined wealth
is worth more than the City
itself one hundred times over.
Through cunning, thievery,
deceitfulness, duplicity and
guile they have worked their way
into every single operation the
City has running. If you eat a
steak in a fancy restaurant in
the Hills, or a piece of fish from
the piers at Wetside, odds are
that food once belonged to one
of the Board Member families.
The Board Members even go
so far as to own smaller, less
powerful families. Toadying to
the Board is a very good way
to keep yourself alive and well
funded, as well as on a positive
track to the top. The Board
honestly could care less about
their toadies in the long run,
and even promising families that
do well for them are often fast
tracked into shallow graves.
It just so happens that
the children of the highest
ranking Board Members are the
most depraved and trend setting
within the Hills. Being the
offspring of the most powerful,
they have the most to prove,
and the most money to prove it
with. Seldom does a child of
a Board Member family follow
in the footsteps of one of the
elites, yet their family name
sticks with them. In the rare
case of Milo Gallant, one of
the youngest Board Members,
his youth is seen as insightful
and useful. By contrast, Denis
Morgan has just assumed his dead
father’s position, and is seen
as a blight by his fellow board
members. The twenty four year
old is frequently accompanied
by a woman chained to his hip,
and uses her during meetings.
The Board can not truly condone
such actions, and feels the
young man needs structure to
put his life together. He’ll
probably be executed as soon
as possible, setting an example
for his younger brother, Sean.
The
Slaughterhouse
When money and wealth are
omnipresent, even the most
opulent delicacies grow cold
and boring. The Purebloods of
the Hills are all bored at their
core, and looking for something
new and strange. Something that
tests all boundaries of decency
and morality. They quest for
a taste of a new sphere of
pleasure and luxury, one that
holds some untold secret to
escape the norm.
Enter the Slaughterhouse.
Central in the gated community
of the hills, the Slaughterhouse
holds over three dozen private
rooms, six central showrooms,
and a massive center stage, lined
with monitors for closeups of
the action on center stage. Six
fully stocked bars, overflowing
with every booze, hooch, wine
and beer known to humanity,
 as well as some so depraved
and bizarre they should not be
known, rim the walls of each
showroom. Some of the bars,
depending on the evening, may
even stock booze so well aged
that it dates back to before the
fall, hidden away somewhere to
avoid the destruction of ages.
Nude men and women tend bar and
act as waitresses and waiters.
These servers are free game for
sex, usually so drugged as to
not care. Vendors walk around
selling incredibly fine drugs,
tobaccos and cigars, offering
clean pipes, needles, hookahs
or capsules to use them. Some
even sell dirtied versions of
the same, to suit the tastes
of the riskier clientele. Some
of these drugs have been known
to kill with one hit, and with
such a risk, they must be worth
it. The stages contain dancing
men and women, some nude, some
costumed, some in full S&M gear.
There they dance, or sing, or
perform sex acts with each
other. Sometimes animals are
brought in. The audience tends
to scream and jeer, no matter
what the act, begging for more.
Audience members occasionally
pay hard currency to get on
stage and be a performer, either
fucking or being fucked in front
of the crowd. The audience
ruts and groans like a herd
of animals. Loud, bass driven
music and blacklights provide a
surreal atmosphere, while smoke
and sex ooze throughout the
establishment.
The main stage is usually
reserved for big events and
big name acts. Rarely are
these acts not rife with
depravity; public executions,
mass orgies, torture, Kenny G
cover bands, virginities being
taken. The crowds are electric
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
with anticipation, praying for
the next grisly lurid moment,
slavering for bloodshed. Acts
are barked out by an impeccably
fashionable gentleman, Milo
Gallant (commonly known in
the Hills as Uncle Milo),
the owner and creator of the
Slaughterhouse. Milo always
clears the stage for acts to be
performed and roars praise at
the beginning and end of each
set.
It is with Uncle Milo and
his associates that you can
work out special arrangements
for the private rooms in the
back. It is there that the
truly groundbreaking depravity
occurs. The backrooms at the
Slaughterhouse cater to every
lawless, twisted whim of the
clientele. Sex acts and forms
of hedonism that would make a
serial killer recoil in horror
are committed daily. Animals,
zombies, children, amputees,
dwarves, the comatose, the
morbidly obese, and even normal
people get involved in the
fray if requested. Sometimes
men and women are dosed with
enough drugs to not feel it,
then fed to the client, alive,
laughing all the way. Sometimes
people die from the magnitude
of violence in the sex. No low
is to low if the price is right.
Slaves and drugged servants tend
to take the roles, willingly
and unwillingly. If service is
particularly good, Uncle Milo
may even sell off some of his
“wares” to the client, if they
behave.
Discretion and privacy can
also be arranged; the
walls of the
private
rooms are
soundproof, and the videos can
be taken and destroyed, for the
right price. This option is not
frequently taken however, as half
of the fun is being able to show
off to your friends and peers
afterward. The mainly youthful
clientele revel in their blood
and drug fueled evenings, and
this establishment’s capacity
to bring things above and beyond
the norm makes it the hottest
spot in the Hills.
Milo “Uncle Milo”
Gallant
Milo Gallant has perhaps
the only tale of earned success
in the entire community of the
Hills. Born into a family of
only moderate wealth, not even
on the Fortune 50 roster, he
inherited his father’s shop
when a rival family killed
off both of his parents at
the age of ten. Gallant
set a meeting with
the rival family
to determine the
settlement of
the property,
only to gas
the entire
room, killing
e v e r y o n e
including
his own
bodyguards.
G a l l a n t
then began
61
 remodeling the property, which
was once a warehouse, into his
dream establishment. By age
thirteen, his youthful ideas of a
funhouse had matured with him. He
saw adults drearily shuffling to
bars and clubs to drink the same
booze, bored out of their minds.
Gallant saw opportunity. Why
not take his funhouse concept,
and transform it. A funhouse
for grownups. Sideshows and
starring acts and the bizarre and
wonderful!
When at last the building was
redone, Gallant was working on
only borrowed funds and hope. Its
opening day was on his fifteenth
birthday, and not a soul showed
up. Nude waiters and waitresses
served to no one but Milo, and
dancers danced to the void.
Gallant was devastated.
Until he burned down the
two neighboring clubs that were
stealing his business.
After that, things looked
up. Gallant led a brilliant
advertising campaign throughout
the Hills, offering sights and
tastes unseen before. Word of
mouth spread, and Happy’s Palace
grossed him back his initial
investment within one month. The
Gallant family, which included
only Milo, suddenly launched into
the Fortune 50, clocking in at
the 31st position.
Gallant’s club now attracted
enemies. Two hired members of
Death Row, armed to the teeth,
found their way around security
and into the club, killing
everyone inside. Blood stained
the walls and carpets. No one
survived.
Except young Milo Gallant, who
walked out of the back door, came
back the next day after the cleanup
and renamed the establishment
“The Slaughterhouse”. The
Purebloods went crazy with the
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
absolute depravity of Gallant’s
maneuver, and promptly catapulted
his business into one of the top
grossing establishments in the
Hills. After many years, and many
appearances, Milo rejoiced in the
nickname “Uncle Milo”, in honor
of his role as the degenerate
Uncle to many Pureblood families.
Gallant was that cool Uncle
who would bring you smokes on
your birthday, or give you his
pornography collection. Except
Gallant was more twisted than that,
bringing you corpses and animals
and live sex acts. Gallant was
a god of the sick and depraved.
When “Uncle Milo” became a Board
Member at the age of twenty, only
the fools within the city were
surprised. The deviant prince
had granted the youth of the city
exactly what they needed, before
they knew they needed it.
Gallant is currently fourth
on the Fortune 50. He is usually
found at his club, living in the
enormous soundproof penthouse
above it. Gallant has more sway
on the city than even his money
allows him, as his influence on the
youth can sway the entire course
of action in the Hills. He is
young and tan, his hair cut into a
stylish silver fauxhawk. He wears
finely crafted suits, usually
bright silver, with black shirts
and silver ties. He is always
hung with jewelry or some sort of
ridiculously impractical bling.
He wears a constant smirk, and
his height and build are average.
His voice is boisterous and loud,
full of mirth and wonder, like a
carnival barker’s. It is rumored
that he never sleeps with his
dancers, neither male nor female.
There are many speculations as to
why, but none of them seem to
have any foundation.
The Eye:
A large, yet unassuming
building, boxy and downright
dull compared to the brushed
silver look of the rest of the
Hills, the Eye is the go-to spot
for information for those in the
know. Owned by the Curity family,
the Eye is the hub connecting
over twenty thousand security
cameras and even more listening
devices placed throughout the
city. If it has happened within
the walls of the Hills, odds
are, the Curitys now know about
it. Inside is a small waiting
area, leading to a small, almost
interrogation style room in the
back. There, a member of the
Curity’s will meet you, either
the sons, Charles or Brent, or
if you’re truly important, the
patriarch Lance. If the price is
right, these data entrepreneurs
can search through the video
feeds and audio reels and get
you the information you need.
Beyond hidden doors lay
thousands of monitors, storage
drives, cassette reels and
databanks. Nearly thirty five
years of important footage,
conversations and goings on are
stored, mainly for the purposes
of blackmail. The Curitys have
built up an empire based on fear
and necessity, people both being
too afraid to have their goings
on being used against them, and
still paying the Curitys for
the information they bring.
Homer Lance Curity the
Third
Homer Lance Curity is the
patriarch of a dynasty that knows
everything. His web of cameras and
listening devices has been passed
down for generations now, himself
being the third of his family to
take control. He prefers to go by
the name Lance, as he feels the
 name Homer makes him sound like
a hillbilly. No one even calls
him Lance, as “Mr. Curity” is not
someone you would want to make
enemies with.
The Curity family has been third
ranked amongst the Board Members
since the Board Members began as
a faction in the Hills. Curity
is perfectly satisfied with that
placement. His two sons, Charles
and Brent, are seen as buffoons in
his eyes, and he worries they plan
to usurp him as patriarch of the
family. He has been on constant
watch against them, and constantly
berates them when not in the public
eye. Curity is an incredibly
shrewd man, known for his ability
to deal. Any interaction with
Curity is more than likely to end
with you handing him a large sum
of money. This level of control in
his business leads to him having a
very discreet, yet active sex life.
Curity is known to bring multiple
women into his rooms frequently,
and it is rumored that they don’t
come out again.
Curity is in his mid fifties,
and is fairly short and thin. He
has greying hair, with small dark
beady eyes. His face is usually a
chiseled veneer of disgust. Even
his smiles, which are rare, seem to
indicate his distaste for you, as
if he’s choking down the food of his
dead wife’s mother. He is always
seen in a suit, usually looking
like a mortician. His children
do not share his sentiments for
classical fashion, and are usually
seen flanking him in whatever the
current hip outfit is.
Neverland Plaza
Many outsiders notice almost
immediately that the streets of
the Hills seem to arc oddly.
Entering through the front gate
of the immense compound is like
setting forth on a river, flowing
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
toward some unseen end. That
river is carefully designed
to sail you through Neverland
Plaza, and deposit you out in
L.A.X. By following this simple
path, it guarantees that the
Purebloods’ clientele will be
boozed or drugged up for their
meetings, or better yet, in an
incredibly good mood. Neverland
Plaza is a hall of wonders,
an enormous square filled with
dozens of bars, nightclubs,
bordellos, and Red Mist dens.
It is said that Neverland Plaza
is the hardest place in the city
to leave, and the easiest to
find; the noise and loud music
pumping from the square are
omnipresent, filling even blocks
around it with their bass.
The Plaza itself is full
of neon lighting and reflective
surfaces, the walls of each
building shining with a silvery
finish. The buildings do not
match other than the polished
finish; otherwise they are oddly
shaped, with mismatched doors.
Some have enormous glass panes,
allowing outsiders to see the
depravity inside. Some are sealed
tight, with a singular door in
the front, guarded by large men.
No matter what your taste, it
can be found in Neverland Plaza.
There are small, faux-seedy dive
bars, styled to look like the
dangerous bars to the south of
the Hills. There are large and
glamorous night clubs, filled
to the brim with sweaty, half-
naked Purebloods, gyrating to
the music. Some are strip clubs
for men, some geared towards
women. Brothels are filled
with half naked Purebloods and
Solestros, men and women from
the lesser houses, looking to
make additional cred to boost
their family’s stature, while
participating in a hobby they
enjoy. The very center of
the Plaza holds an enormous
swimming pool, which has been
known to be filled with liquids
other than water on occasion.
Purebloods swim, drink, and fuck
in the water, some nude and some
clothed, at all hours of the
day. Whatever debauchery you
seek, you need look no further
than the Neverland Plaza.
The Great
Receiver:
One of the holy shrines of
the Telling Visions rests on the
bluffs of the Hills, a massive
marble and stone edifice with
a great bronze dome, capped
with massive aerials, dishes,
and antennae. This shrine is a
pilgrimage sight for countless
visionaries each year, and is
the technological hub of the
search for the lost islands
of Holy Wood and Bell-Air.
The temple sits high above
the decaying Holy-Wood sign,
illuminated each night with
signal fires lit below them by
63
 the monks of the Receiver, who
sit vigil awaiting the return
of the signal with guidance
for the pilgrims seeking their
destiny to the west.
The Ushers:
With many Telling Visionaries
making pilgrimage to the Holy
Wood, many pass through the
City of Fallen Angels, where
they encounter the Ushers. The
Ushers have pledged themselves
to help guide pilgrims on “A
Tour of the Stars Homes”,
leading them by boat over the
homes of the prophets. They
follow ancient maps, handed down
from generation to generation,
detailing exact locations of
the prophets’ homes, and their
importance. The Ushers detail
plotlines in the prophets’
lives, how large their homes
were, and how many bathrooms
they had.
This organization relies
almost entirely on donations
from pilgrims to survive. Some
Ushers scrounge for goods, saving
any precious artifacts they
can while selling unnecessary
materials for food. Other
Ushers fish, supporting the order
with fresh seafood while still
scouting locations and giving
tours. Their shelters are built
to look like ticket booths and
movie theaters, and hold only
tight sleeping quarters for the
Ushers, who are always ready to
give a tour at any time.
Their zealotry makes them
dangerous. Having no true
leader but the Signal and the
Sponsor, their actions are
unpredictable and not one of the
Wetsiders takes them lightly.
They are brutal and merciless
in their assaults on those who
have taken their holy areas.
They are equally as savage
64
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
in defense of their docks and
boats, and they hold no remorse
for their actions. Their outward
appearance of friendly, smiling
and helpful men and women in
bright red jackets belies their
insanity. Their profound belief
in the righteousness of their
actions makes them dangerous
foes and powerful allies. Yet
they will not use their combat
prowess to make money, only to
defend or take holy territory,
or to punish scroungers who are
picking from the reliquaries
and homes of their prophets.
The Waiting Room
Everyone wants into the
Hills. There is an absolute
turmoil of desire to be granted
housing within what may be
the safest place in the known
world. Unfortunately, there is
absolutely no supply to meet all
that demand. Most men, women,
and children are turned away
immediately; without documented
Pureblood lineage, no one gets
to live in the Hills.
Visiting, however, is a
slightly different story. Each
day a select few traders,
rich Solestros, and wealthy
merchants from other parts of
the world are allowed in. It is
an understatement to say that
this is a rare allowance, and a
long waiting line forms outside
the building. Just inside the
wall, Purebloods argue amongst
themselves to get access for
their clients, seeking to
allow these lesser bloodlines
in, just to bilk them out of
their cash. The floor around the
entryway is teeming with young
Purebloods, waving cash at the
security forces, attempting to
gain favor with bribes. Some
plead and reason, some work the
system, getting friendly with
the people designated to select
the entrants. Otherwise, it’s a
madhouse to see who can make the
best argument for a supplicant’s
worth to the Hills.
Outside is a similar
scenario. Men and women of all
races, nationalities and income
stand outside, hoping and
pleading to gain access. Some
sell their wares there, some
hold off until they get inside,
hoping to fetch better prices
within. Some holler and scream
at the guards, but that is often
only a once a day occurrence,
as rude protestors are usually
shot or beaten to death by the
armed guards. They wait, in
their caravans, some in better
health than others, for their
chance to arrive.
Some opportunistic young
Purebloods have opened the
Hills equivalent of a lemonade
stand just outside of the gate,
with two heavily armed guards
protecting the booth. The boys,
shaded and fanned, sell booze
that is deemed unfit for the
Purebloods inside. They make
a killing, and their kindness
to the guards and the selectors
give them a good deal of pull
for those who wish for access.
The Galleria:
Emulating a pre-fall mall,
the Galleria is the hot spot
for Purebloods to go and buy
the most decadent and opulent
of wares. At first, it acted as
a strip for the rich to sell and
 buy wares of other merchants,
a bazaar for billionaires.
Yet as time went on, demand
came for strange goods sold by
outsiders, and they were allowed
to bring in carts of wares that
had been screened for “hipness”
and quality before entering
the premises. Bizarre men and
women sell items of unspeakable
pleasure and disgusting horror.
Traders bring in the latest in
gadgets and fashions. Artisans
hired by the richest families
to produce incredible items
are sent in. Gold and gems and
jewels strung onto incredible
piercings, necklaces and
bracelets line booths, as well
as other items that one would
find odd. Yet these oddities mark
the wealth of the rich, where
“why” is always answered with
“because I can.”
Storefronts of glass and
plastic, allowing those outside
to see in, line the rows of the The canals are only really
Galleria. What began as a series Portside useful for smaller vessels,
of disjointed shops has now Wetside’s Docks take in a nothing like the tankers at
become an enormous corridor, majority of the commerce and Wetside, but they still allow
writhing in the shadows under the trade industry for the City for bulk trade of drugs, hooch,
enormous buildings above them. of Fallen Angels, but what and other commodities. These
Soft muzak plays throughout the if you’re a Pureblood and you ships can then dock, unloading
strip. The shop windows are need your goods now? Portside their cargo in a heavily guarded
innocent enough, displaying sits on the western edge of the area, fenced in all around.
mannequins dressed in the finest hills, and is not so much a true From the lake, one can head
of fashions, the bling and harbor, but a series of man- to the secretive cargo entrance
jewels brought in from out of made canals and creeks, that into the Hills, where loaders
town, the outlandish clothing combine to reach an enormous are operated by slaves for the
of the youth. and fenced in man-made lake. families, overseen by Solestros
Some stores hold darker With the right bloodline and and Remnant “house pets.”
sales; rare and elicit drugs and the proper amount of currency, The entrance is underground,
liquors, men and women in shop Pureblood families can bring in leading through the undercity,
windows, bound and gagged for their supplies and occasionally so no large cargos are seen
purchase, twisted and psychotic their clients to the Hills from on street level. From this
weapons for torture and murder. out on the coast, without having well-fortified and well-guarded
Helpful salespeople, thrilled to wait the extra travel time entrance, one can move to the
to be on the payroll and in from Wetside. These canals are basement of almost any family’s
the safety of the Hills, offer gated as well, fenced in with house, delivering the cargo to
service and help with fittings, razorwire and cinderblocks all their thoroughly locked doors.
all with a smile. the way down to the coast, Some of the non-family related
clearing out north of Wetside. establishments, such as hooch
65
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 and drugs for the clubs in Neverland Plaza, are allotted a larger storage space near their doors.
Some families and club owners hire the Solestros overseers for a little extra work, having the
slaves move in goods into their homes, for a small extra fee. Most families have their own slave
staffs to move their wares for them.
Portside has increased in use of late, as the Purebloods have escalated into a near frenzy
of depravity and vice, bringing in more drugs and hooch than ever before. This has seen a huge
increase in cases of theft, and not by foolish faux pirates, but by outraged Solestros. A small
band, (perhaps only one family) have begun to loot and raid Pureblood ships, killing their
inhabitants and taking their loot. No one has been able to discern as of yet where the products
are going to, and none of the Solestro raiders have yet to be caught.

Servants Row:
Where does one keep those unsightly servants that are required to keep a city of opulence
flourishing? The twisted Purebloods of The Hills have decided to allot them their own district.
This area of grey, one room housing rests underneath a majority of the city, a warren of simple
cinderblock hallways and passages illuminated with basic fluorescent lights, flickering from
fluctuations in power. There are simple accommodations and community washrooms for the employees
of the city. Depending on the occupants of the hallways, some areas may be relatively clean and
others slovenly hell holes, rife with disease.
Servants row even has its own ranking system, nicer accommodations being granted to the northern
end of the city and the homes of the most powerful and elite families. This level of snobbery
being passed from the rich to their employees is not uncommon, and sometimes battles above ground
between warring houses are brought home by the servants below, murders being committed prison
style.
Prison is not a poor metaphor for the lifestyle of the servants below The Hills. No natural
light makes its way in to the homes, and there is little to do in the way of recreation. To go
outside the city unprotected is suicide, and only in the “grimy” district of the Hills would their
kind be wanted. Their they sit, cloistered, gossiping and chatting away like hens. Most though
use their decrepit holes for sleep, as working for those crazy fucking Purebloods is exhausting.

66
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 The Sans Califia Archipelago
& the Studio City Islands
“The Visions’ script-tures speak of many great tragedies foretold in the golden land of
Queen Califia. Countless stories are retold of how the people did not heed the warnings of doom
and portents of destruction. The Visionaries of the old world prophesied the coming of famine,
earthquakes, volcanoes, floods, and the teeming hordes yet the fools did nothing. They led their
lives in ignorance tending their crops of texas tea and mining their black gold. They wasted their
days listening to the mad Papa Razzi who distracted them from the coming danger! They could not
see past the static to realize the p-essays were teaching them what they would need to know when
the reds made good on their threats of armageddon. Just look at these shattered shores and you can
see what their laziness and wickedness wrought for their ignorance of the signal. They let the
signal fade and falter and now the very cradle of the signal is lost to the seas. It’s on you,
children, to learn the moral of the story and heed the calling of the sponsors to act now!”
- Father-Preacher Nick Pegg McCreedy of the Telling Visions

Beyond the ganglands and posh compounds of the City of Lost Angel lies hundreds of miles of
shoreline. When the land cracked and the seas rose, the lush valleys of California became horrific
flood zones. The mountains shifted and rose, and in many places burst forth with flows of magma
coursing down to destroy all in its path. The landscape was transformed over decades of violent
tectonic activity. Even today, what little is left is just a series of jagged rocky cliffs and
chains of islands that pockets of humanity has survived on. Ships make dangerous jaunts between
the crags to maintain trade lanes to the far flung communities that have managed to persevere, while
those living on the islands regularly face the threats of earthquakes and oceanic storms wiping
out everything they’ve fought so hard to rebuild. This is the hard life found on the “picture
perfect” islands of Sans Califia, yet countless pilgrims arrive year after year, hunting for relics
of the pre-fall, and searching for the mythical “Bell Air” island drifting out at sea...

68
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 69
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 70
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
 Puerto Durada
Islands
A small mountainous island
chain on the far western end
of the Archipelago, the Puerto
Durada Islands offer one of
the greatest exports that any
civilization could ever ask for-
wine. Located off of the shore
of the mainland, the Islands are
a series of farms maintained
and owned by Solestros families
that have raised and grown
grapes since before the fall of
man.
What was once a settlement
of conspicuous and well-to-
do families, the Puerto Durada
Islands have taken the age old
tradition of wine making and
turned the winery into one of
the most well defended bastions
seen on the West Coast. With
steep stone breaches on most
sides, rocky cliffs, tall
bluffs, and sharp rocks beneath
the water’s surface, there is
only one port of landing on
the islands that is suitable
for more than a single rafts’
entry. This landing, heavily
fortified on all sides, allows
very little in the way of entry
or exit into the Puerto Durada
Island chain.
These Islands, high above
the sharp inclines jutting out
of the water, are a series of
interconnected communities that
work and raise grapes on the
naturally acidic soil here.
These grapes, cut in clusters
in the fall, are brought by hand
to the central island where the
entire community comes together
to crush and cask the raw grape
juice.
The wine is then fermented
deep within the caves of the
island, allowing them to age
under the watch of vintners whose
ancestors made wine before the
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
fall. On the smaller islands,
glass is salvaged from the
waterways or forged from the sand
itself. Forges work countless
hours, as men and women use the
glass blowing apparatus which
allows for Puerto Durada to make
their delightfully packaged
bottles of wine. With each
bottle being as much of a work
of art as the wine inside, the
export of Puerto Durada wines is
a lucrative business for those
who manage the shipments on the
mainland side.
The Soldiers Saint Christine
of Saint George
The Soldiers of Saint
George are a military unit that
are both loved, and feared,
along the Shattered Coast.The
Soldiers of Saint George are a
ragtag unit primarily employing
hard core Kings Court members,
violent sociopaths, and fun
boys looking for employment.The
purpose of the Soldiers of Saint
George is to ensure the safety
and transport of some of the
most vital supplies the world
has ever seen.
Alcohol.
With a small fleet of ships,
ground pounding doom buggies,
and enough munitions to shake
the rest of Frisky City into
the ocean the Soldiers of Saint
George are employed by the
George family of the Puerto
Durada Islands.The George
family not only oversees the
export of the delicious wines of
the Puerto Durada Islands, but
also networks with a series of
distilleries hidden in caves up
and down the shattered coast.In
these hidden locations brewers
create custom crafts, from
‘Crash Falls Whiskey’ to unique
blends of poisonous herbs in a
brew called ‘Absinth’.
The Soldiers of Saint
George, as a military unit, know
that nearly everyone daydreams
about robbing the alcohol trade
routes.One shipment, fully
loaded, would provide enough
liquid resources to provide
income for a family for years.
Assuming the Soldiers of Saint
George do not hunt you down,
torture you, and reclaim the
booze for a bounty the idea of
the money that could be made
from selling stolen booze seems
worth the risk.
Lance George
The matriarch of the Army of
Saint George, Saint Christine
Lance George is a figure that
demands respect the moment she
walks into the room. With stark
white hair, honey amber eyes,
and a tanned face which barely
shows her fifty years of wasteland
survival, the matriarch of the
George family line controls
both the export routes and the
primary military force of the
Puerto Durada islands.
Saint George does not bother
herself with the ins and outs
of standard Pureblood family
politics. A mother of six
children, four women and two
men, Saint George instructs
her children in the day to day
business affairs of the family
instead of pampering them in
traditional Pureblood manner.
Recently, Saint George has
begun to rely on her eldest,
Nicole and Rebecca George, to
assist with the overseeing of
the family affairs. The two
eldest daughters work as her go-
betweens for both trade route
negotiations as well as directing
orders to the sizable mercenary
unit the family employs.
A somewhat draconic matron of
71
 the family, Saint Christine
Lance George executed her own
husband after his love for wine
and drunken affairs cost the
family a trade route into the
city of the Fallen Angels. The
most prevalent rumor is that she
directed her eldest daughter to
provide her father enough wine
that he would be sated, and then
pushed his inebriated body off
of the island’s jagged cliffs.
The Frisky City
Surrounded on all sides
by the mist and fog that the
Shattered Coast is famous for,
the falling city of Frisky faces
eventual eradication. One of the
furthest reaching outcroppings
along the Shattered Coast, the
Frisky city reaches above the
fog and mist like a drowning
person reaching for a final
breath. The majority of the pre-
fall mega city that the Frisky
City inhabits was destroyed
during the nuclear storms and
earthquakes that rocked the
shattered coast. With hundreds
of buildings lost and broken
in a half circle around the
Frisky City, and dozens more
threatening to fall at the next
tremor, the Frisky City is a
community in its death throes.
Beneath the fog and mist
line, beneath the upthrust
land and buildings that make
up the majority of the Frisky
City, are thousands of hovel
homes erected in the husked
structures of the pre-fall
settlements. In a territory of
complete lawlessness, scavenger
clans fight for findings, kill
each other for food, and dig to
find ‘the big score’ that will
elevate them out of the broken
fog level of the Frisky City and
back to the protected interior
buildings.
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
The Headlands used to be
connected to Frisky in the North
by a creaking, ruined edifice
they call Suicide Bridge. While
the rusted metal and snapped
cabled were once part of a
massive connective structure,
it has long since collapsed
into the bay, creating a sort of
Gateway North into nothingness.
People gripped by depression,
madness, or both often take the
long walk off of the bridge,
and rarely does anyone try to
stop them. “Walking the bridge”
is considered anyone’s right in
Frisky City.
In the inland portion of the
Frisky City, Pureblood families
lock down blocks of territory
that are considered the “most
likely to survive the next
big shake”. These structures,
primarily made of stone and
iron, are filled with the most
savage and cutthroat mercenaries
that are able to be salvaged
from the fog-living citizens of
lower Frisky. Here, scavengers
and diggers bring offerings
of the highest quality goods
they are able to score from the
fallen remains of the under-
fog city. It is said that if
a family brings a find of high
enough quality, or if enough
offerings are made in the name
of your family, then your family
will be allowed to ascend beyond
the broken cloud city and take
your place within the ‘Tall City
above the clouds’.
The truth is that the
scavengers of fog-level Frisky
city will work and give forever,
without ever being allowed
into the Tall City above the
clouds. The goods that are given
are taken as offerings to the
Pureblood families which oversee
what they consider a massive
mining operation for the greater
Fallen Angels territory.
To fan the hopes of ascension
of the masses of the fog-level
workers, on occasion a family
is allowed beyond the gates
of the City Above the Clouds,
and treated as if their reward
is in hand. The masses of fog-
level workers cheer this lucky
compatriot, and are pushed to
work harder by the opportunity
for growth and advancement.
Once the gates close between
the City Above the Clouds and
the Fog-Level scavengers, the
rewarded families are executed
and their bodies used to
fertilize the grand interior
gardens within the City Above
the Clouds.
Fog Scavengers
Around the falling remains
of the Frisky City is a culture
of scavengers with hopes and
dreams for a better life. In
the wastes and fallen ruins
of the city that once was, the
Fog Scavengers work tirelessly
to recover resources from
the fallen empire.These Fog
Scavengers are a network of
scavenger clans that have
agreed to scrounge for different
resources as to prevent warfare
between the tribes.The tribes of
glass, tribes of metal, tribes
of knowledge, tribes of fishing,
and the tribes of luxuries
have tight knit communities
which focus on a single prize…
ascending the fog filled remains
to live in the City Above the
Clouds.
The Fog Scavengers bring
loads of metal, glass, and pre-
fall luxuries buried in the
ruins of the zombie infested
city to the gates of the central
city, the ‘City Above the
Clouds’ as trade and offerings.
As tribes provide material
 goods in large supply, the Union
of the City Above the Clouds
provides small numbers of tooled
and manufactured equipment.
In addition to this lopsided
trade, the tribes provide gifts
of tribute to the City Above the
Clouds.By tradition, tribute is
given in the name of a single
(often the oldest) member of the
individual tribe.When enough
tribute is given, the aged
tribesman is allowed to enter
the inner city to live out the
rest of their days in luxury.
Union of Cloud City
Far above the ruins of the
lower remains of Frisky City,
there is an organization of
Pureblood leaders known as
the Union of Cloud City.These
Purebloods not only oversee
the law and resources of Cloud
City, but are also responsible
for enforcing the farce that is
the tribute system of the Fog
Scavengers.
As the offerings from the
Fog Scavengers come to the high
standing buildings of Frisky
City, a tally is kept to ensure
that the appearance of reward is
presented to the hard working
Fog Scavengers.Once a member
of a tribe has achieved a high
enough tally, that individual
tribe member is allowed to enter
the city above.Leaving their
unnecessary worldly goods to
their tribe, the massive gates
of the inner city open.The
individual Fog Scavenger, now
leaving the tribe behind, walks
towards the open gates where a
flood of white light blinds both
the chosen ascendant and the
tribe itself.
Two honor guards, dressed
in off white robes, welcome the
ascendant scavenger with smiles
and outstretched arms.With a
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
final goodbye to their tribes,
the gates close, and the tribes
are inspired to work harder so
that they too can see their
ascended tribesman.
Once the gate is closed, the
horrible truth of the ascendant
scavenger crashes home.Once
inside the gates the scavenger
is shackled and enslaved,
forced to menial labor in mills
to produce the tooled equipment
provided to the Fog Scavengers.
Here, in the depths of the city,
the hard working scavenger is
rewarded with living their last
years performing menial labor
and treated worse than cattle.
When the slave has served
their time at the wheel until
they serve no more purpose,
the ascendant scavenger is
unceremoniously executed.The
meat and bone of the slave
is prepared in stews for the
masses, the bones and organs are
ground and used as fertilizer
for the great interior gardens.
By processing the body in such
a way, the chance of a returned
undead slave is nearly zero.
The Lost Island
of Holy Wood
A mythical island lost in
the mists of the pacific off
the shattered shores of Sans
Califia. Not to be confused with
the Holy-Wood Hills sign and the
Great Receiver in Lost Angels;
the Isles of the Holy-Wood are a
fragmented chain of civilization
beyond the storming seas and the
heavy fog that encases the coast.
A network of jagged cliffs,
sections of developed land, and
mountains kept away from the
shore, the dotted outline of the
Isles of the Holy Wood call to
the Telling Visionaries like a
siren’s song of old.
While the Isles of Holy Wood
are definitely real, traveling
to and from the religious holy
lands of the Telling Visions is
perilous. In the wicked maze
of broken land, underwater
structures, fluctuating water
levels, and hundreds of mist
filled corridors that could
result in the demise of a water-
bourne caravan, the way to make
it to Holy Wood is a secret
known to very few.
Assuming that a Survivor
actually makes it past the maze
of shattered structures, deadly
routes, thousands of undead, and
sharp cliffs, the Lost Island
of Holy Wood truly does exist.
The Mount Olympus outside the
rages of the infection, here the
highest priests of the Telling
Visions study the scriptures of
the past unmolested.
Wrapped within the veil of
fog and mist, the Lost Island
of Holy Wood was ripped from the
mainland of the pre-fall Califia
and preserved from the ravages
of the fall. The local priests
and devotees that reside on the
Lost Island of Holy Wood believe
73
 that the strength of the Signal Telling Vision settlement,
itself caused the land of Holy the missionaries speak with
Wood to be spared from the Pureblood bodhisattvas, direct
ravages of the fall. The Signal, descendants of the prophets and
all powerful and knowing, shook directors of the ‘golden age’.
the ground and in doing so Missionaries are allowed to
shattered and destroyed the stay on the Lost Isle of the Holy
lesser civilization that clung Wood for one Sweeps’week, which
to the holy land as lepers would is a period of time slightly
cling to a messiah. longer than seven days. During
As missionaries land on their visit to the island,
the shore of the lost Island their education in regards to
of Holy Wood, they are the programming guide of the
greeted by armored great Signal is directed and
guards wearing managed by men and women that
long red embody visions from the great
coats and scriptures. During the daytime,
off-white the scriptures are performed
shirts. in the grand viewing hall by
T h e s e members of the Actor’s Guild
‘Ushers’ who claim direct lineage to
e n s u r e the prophets and actors of old.
that the In the director’s quarters and
missionaries within the darkened chambers
are lead to a of the Screen Writer’s Guild,
central viewing missionaries are given details
hall, where they on how to properly direct their
may study the settlement and how to understand
transcribed works the motivation and desires of
of the rescued the great Signal.
scriptures. The buildings on the Island
Here, in the of Holy Wood are enough reason
heart of the to believe the stories of the
priests and devotees of the
signal. While the bodies and
structures of cities on the
mainland have crumbled and
fallen, the buildings
of the Holy Wood are
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
pristine and look perfectly
preserved from the day the land
was ruptured away from the shore.
While the inhabitants of the
Isle of Holy Wood would have the
‘viewing audience’ believe that
the island is perfect due to the
will of the Signal, within the
island of the Holy Wood there
are entire gangs of ‘stage
crews’ which labor tirelessly
so that the living temple of
the Telling Visions appears
perfect. There are tribes that
paint, repair, and upkeep the
buildings so that they remain
the same as they were the way
(we believe) they were when
the fall happened. There are
families of devotees that do
nothing more than ensuring that
every single glass bulb on the
island has enough oil in them to
burn for a few days, and fires
lit in each one.
As it stands, this
‘production community’ works
and lives out of view of the
traveling missionaries. Through
devotion to the upkeep of the
Signal’s visions, each clan has
learned and kept the traditions
of crafting, rending oil for
lamps, painting, as well as
growing the foodstuffs needed
for the traditional Telling
Visions foods.
Production Community
The unseen inhabitants of the
Isle of Holy Wood, the Production
Community is a few small towns
worth of artisans and crafters
that work tirelessly in the
name of their faith.Master wood
workers, stone masons, metal
workers, and
cooks the
 Production Community prides
itself in the fact that they
truly keep the Isle of Holy
Wood the sacred place that
missionaries are inspired by.
Beyond caring for all of the
day to day needs of the Holy
Wood facade, the Productions
Community oversees the trade
and defense of the isle of Holy
Wood.Dressed in simple black
clothing covering from head to
toe, the silent guards of the
Isle of Holy Wood are an elite
force known as the Gaffers. The
Gaffers, trained to be nimble
and silent guardians from
birth, know all of the secret
routes through the buildings
and streets that make up the
visible Holy Wood properties.
Other than the Gaffers, the
Seamers are a union of tailors
and seamstresses that oversee
the fabrics of the island.While
overseeing fabrics seems like
a waste of focus, the Seamers
ensure that all of the vintage
fabrics appear ageless as well
as provide the clothing and
costumes for all residents of
the Isle of Holy Wood.
Church of the Day Star
Documented descendants of
some of the kindest prophets
of the prefall Holy-Wood, the
Church of the Day Star is a
religious order of Purebloods
that oversee spreading the word
of the great signal.Traveling
from the isle of Holy-Wood to
settlements up and down the
shattered coast, the disciples
of the Church of the Day Star
carry the all accepting and all
understanding spirit of the
faith to the masses.
Overseen by her lady Kathryn
of the Day Star, descendent
of one of the most well-known
prophets of the pre-fall, the
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
phoenix haired lady networks friendship and unity against all
Pureblood disciples of the odds is so much a reoccurring
faith in a mission of mercy.To theme that the church must bring
all apparent eyes the interests the people together to unify
of the Church of the Day Star against the greater evil.
is to ensure that the Church By order of the Reverend
of the Telling Visions is seen Mother, missionaries of the
as a compassionate order that Church of the Day Star have
provides for every person, traveled from their home of the
regardless of standing.Due to Isle of Holy Wood to the refugee
the efforts of the Church of the settlements of the shattered
Day Star, Pureblood and Telling coast to bring words of unity,
Visionist interests have been strength, fulfillment, and love.
received in a much more positive These missionaries teach that
light than most interactions every person can serve a purpose,
from the ‘haves’ of the city of is worthy of friendship, and can
Fallen Angel. truly provide for the needs of
Due to the kindness and other if they are only given the
mission of the Church of the Day chance.
Star, many traders and caravan Not just armed with words,
drivers seek to leave gifts the Missionaries travel the
of offering for the churches Shattered Coast with small
disciples. Crates of wine from caravans carrying tools,
Puerto Durada, meats and fish crafting supplies, and written
from the coastal settlements copies of Production Community
along the shattered coast, and instructions on how to build
technological wonders from the proper ‘sets’ to live in. These
base of the Tahoe inlet are all blueprints, basic engineering
provided to wandering members instructions, and scripture
of the Church of the Day Star. laden notes have not only
ensured the survival of many
Reverend Mother Kathryn small communities but also have
Day the 7th begun rebuilding the towns and
The Reverend Mother Kathryn cities cited in the scriptures.
Day the 7th of the Day Pureblood
lineage oversees the operation The Jungle of
and moral compass of the Church Saint Diego
of the Day Star. The Church The jungle settlements of
of the Day Star is a subset Saint Diego is a most dangerous
religion within the Church of place along the Shattered
the Telling Visions, which not Coast. As far as the Survivors
only funds a majority of the of the western shore can tell,
pre-fall reclamation projects the great jungle settlement
of the church, but also brings was once a massive city that
the Signal’s message to the housed innumerable people.
public. Many members of the Since the fall of man, half of
Telling Vision are amoral in this settlement has broken and
nature, but the Reverend Mother fallen into the ocean, making
Kathryn Day believes that while a dangerous but lucrative
the scriptures of the Telling scavenging business for any who
Vision provided tales of both are willing to risk the unstable
good and evil, the themes of rubble.
75
 High above the ocean filled
rift stands the remains of the
once great city, visible only
between the spans where nature
has reclaimed the territory for
its own. Massive green and brown
vines wrap the stone and metal
work of the pre-fall, thousands
of species of now mutated plants
fight for sunlight and water, and
between the skyscraper trellises
fierce animals stalk the former
city looking for prey.
Survivors of the Jungle of
Saint Diego have found signs of
an ancient animal observatory
owned by the Balboa family
before the fall of man. This
one observatory kept thousands
of different species of animal
and plant within the confines of
the observatory. While we do not
know the original purpose or
reason for such an observatory,
the children of the Jungle of
Saint Diego curse the Balboa
family for the day they let
their animals go.
It is theorized that when
the fall of man came, some of
the children of Balboa looked
to the captured animals and had
pity on them. Not wanting the
creatures to suffer and die
within cages without food, the
animals were released into the
wilds. Many of these creatures
died, unable to adapt to the
environment around them. Some
of these creatures adapted to
their new environment, thrived,
and repopulated the area.
The citizens of the Jungle
of Saint Diego live much
differently than their Fallen
Angel counterparts, taking to
nomadic jungle living instead
of urban post-apocalypse law.
The survivors of the Jungle
of Saint Diego follow a tribal
structure not unlike the Natural
Ones, however, the leading
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
hierarchy of wise ones, leaders,
and religious leaders comes
completely from the Solestros
family lines that have taken
control of these nomadic tribes.
The Solestros native to the
Jungle of Saint Diego adorn
themselves with brightly colored
feathers from the indigenous
birds, fine clothes tailored
from the skins of fierce hunting
animals, and are seen as a prize
to be kept pristine within the
tribes. Tribal strength and
relations are often solidified
within the Jungle of Saint Diego
through gifts of rare hunting
prizes.
Citadel of the
Iron Jungle
It is said that deep within
the Jungle of San Diego, there
are floating lights which will
lead you to safety. While most
legends and folklore lean to
the fantastical in the post-
apocalypse age, this belief is
the utmost truth. Beneath the
thick canopy of the Jungle of
San Diego, deep in the heart
of the venomous forest, are the
gas lamps of the Citadel of the
Iron Jungle. These twists of
metal which run deep into the
overgrowth of the jungle spout
small bouts of flame, providing
a lit path beneath the jungle
canopy. If the lit path of
these gas lamps is followed
far enough, and the watching
tribesmen do not deem you a
threat, you will find yourself
standing at the gates of a
bastion of civilization within
the jungle.
At the Citadel of the Iron
Jungle, pre-fall stone buildings
have been up kept and reinforced
with metal forged from before
the fall of man. The citizens of
the Citadel of the Iron jungle
have scavenged massive bars,
cages, and timber from the
lands around them and fashioned
a dome shaped cage around the
settlement. While this cage
lacks structural integrity by
itself, over the generations
thick vines and branches of
trees have been woven into a
huge trellis around the city.
As the hearty and supple trees
and vines of the forest grow
along the cage, not only does
the vegetation offer additional
layers of support to the
framework but it also provides
a canopy of camouflage against
outside tribes. There is only
one known way to and from the
Citadel of the Iron Jungle, and
that route is along the heavily
guarded gas lit lanes.
Inside the Citadel of Iron,
old world fashion crashes with
more indigenous jungle tribe
themes. The darkened vine
filled canopy droops long plant
feelers from the dome above to
classic pre-fall stone work
buildings. Here in the citadel
the citizens of the town wear
clothes and armor fashioned of
hides of forest hunters with
accents of scavenged pre-fall
haberdashery. The combination
of leather clothing, wooden
spears, and fifth generation top
hats is jarring to the outside
world but fortunately, very
little of the outside world
knows about the Citadel of the
Iron Jungle.
Coyote Reef
On the island chain of Coyote
Reef, a branch of the Tribes of
the Season known as the Crow
Eaters have claimed the island
as ‘pure lands’. Adorned in the
feathers, claws, and markings
of the mega-condors, the Crow
Eaters use the island as a
 base of operations. Hunting the
‘worshipers of technology’ the
Crow Eaters harry the caravans
running along the coastline,
sinking any ship not flying the
markings of the Tribes of the
Seasons.
The Crow Eater tribe of
Coyote Reef primarily consists
of Mericans, Natural Ones, and
Remnants who have completely
given themselves to the faith.
The wisest women of the Crow
Eater clan, all Accensorites
of War, sleep at the crest of
the tallest point of Coyote
Reef along the straw nests of
the mega-condors. Accepted into
the avian communities of the
creatures, the Accensorites of
War descend from the mountain
top to give dictations of faith
and the season to the tribes of
the Crow Eaters.
The tribes of Coyote Reef do
not trade with outsiders who do
not carry the markings of the
Tribes of the Seasons. While
shore men with torches will
wave trader ships into shore,
once the merchants aboard are
convinced to sit and set trade
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
routes with their tribesmen,
the ships are set ablaze and
cast out to sea. The heretics
(followers of any other faith)
found amongst the merchants are
chained to the walls of the
highest points of Coyote Reef
for the young mega-condors to
consume. The religious symbols
of the heretics are cast out to
sea so that the bottom feeders
of the ocean may consume their
components and return these
icons of sin to a much purer
form.
Accensorites of War
A new development has
occurred among the Accensorite
Strain, one that has begun to
show itself primarily on the
east and western coasts of the
wastelands. As the Accensorites
are born to be the embodiment
of faith, it is no surprise that
these zealots often clash with
one another in great holy wars.
Unwavering in faith, unchanging
in belief, and knowing deep down
inside what they do is right, the
Accensorite as a Strain leave
little middle ground in regards
to heretics and disbelievers.
What has developed from
this mutual hatred and contempt
of each other is a band of
Accensorites known collectively
as the Accensorites of War: A
community of Accensorites who
recognize that the affairs of
combat between Accensorites is
best left in the hands of ‘those
blessed by the divine’. Seeing
all other Strains as lesser
creatures, the Accensorites of
War have agreed upon a limited
Articles of War where in which
Accensorites of War will
bring war and wrath only upon
followers of ‘heretic faiths’.
Communities as a whole, unless
they be completely devoted to
a single faith, will be spared
the holy wars arising when
Accensorites bring banners to
bear and rattle sabers.
It should be noted that
Accensorites of War view
not only other Strains, but
Accensorites of other faiths,
to be lesser creatures worthy
of mere contempt. With this in
mind, the Articles of War is a
very loosely followed guideline
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 wherein Accensorites apply their
own laws of faith to the accepted
rules. While Accensorites of
War that embody the Fallow Hopes
or the Sainthood of Ashes may
follow the letter and spirit of
the written law, it is much less
likely that Accensorites of less
‘law’ driven faiths such as the
Telling Visions and the Virtues
of the Court of Kings and Queens
will eschew the needs of their
faith to honor an agreement
between Accensorites.
Diablo Island
Almost two hundred miles
north of the city of Lost
Angels, and miles off of the
coastline, lays a crescent moon
shaped island known to locals as
Diablo Island. Diablo Island,
named for the almost horn
shaped structure that still
breaches above the waterways,
is a location that puzzles most
of the locals. The land mass
that juts above the surface of
the water and the fog is made of
shiny black rock, reported to
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
be sharp and glassy to touch.
The more curious nature of
the island is that once you
step to the rock ridge and face
towards the ocean, you can see
that the island forms a nearly
perfect circular radius that
spans the entire interior of
the island. This nearly perfect
circular coastline, far too
exact for natural occurrence,
is lit by a faint blue light
that comes from miles below the
bubbling waters that splash on
the shore of Diablo Island.
While these sights are
incredible to behold, most
caravans and boaters are advised
against traveling anywhere near
the Diablo Islands due to ‘the
curse of the islands’. Most
sensible and logical minded
people scoff at the idea of the
island being cursed, however,
few laugh after finding that a
short trip through the area of
the Diablo Island is enough to
cause fatal radiation poisoning.
Just short of six miles away,
directly inland from the Diablo
Island, a community of Darwinist
and Retrograde Scientists have
set up a small settlement.
This ‘academic conclave’ has
begun to catalog the effect the
island has on creatures brought
into limited exposure to the
radiation from Diablo Island.
While most would applaud this
attempt to understand and define
the effects of radiation, the
unfortunate truth is that the
focus of the community is to
irradiate, mutate, and release
a superior breed of animals into
the environment. Lead members of
the ‘Bright Futures’ community
believe that once we build an
environment that is resistant to
radiation, we can stop allowing
strains such as Purebloods and
Remnants to hinder the future
by holding onto the past.
Glowing Futures
Academic Conclave
On the mainland of the
Shattered Coast, the Glowing
Futures Academic Conclave
has formed a small settlement
 which studies the effects of
the radiation that pulses from
beneath Diablo Island. This
society of Darwinist researchers
and radiation resistant
Retrogrades not only keep
detailed journals of research
gleaned on the radioactive
properties of the area, but also
have been embarking on mutation
experiments utilizing creatures
indigenous to the area.
Beyond studying the reaction
that radiation has on these
already mutated creatures
(sickness, weakness, burning)
the Glowing Futures Academic
Conclave has begun experimenting
with selective breeding and ‘high
turnover Darwinist evolution’ to
breed new mutations of existing
species. Once these species are
studied, bred in captivity, and
proven to be capable of thriving
in radiation filled environments,
the Glowing Futures Academic
Conclave releases these
mutated creatures back into the
environment to become the new
apex species.
While knowledge of the
traits of radiation, an
increased documentation of the
effects of radiation on the
infected body, and researching
the medical changes that occur
in an infected form in relation
to radiation are interests of
the Concave, they are not their
primary purpose. The Glowing
Futures Academic Conclave’s
primary goal is to serve the
surprising shared interests of
the Telling Visions financial
backers and the Church of Darwin
evolutionary goal- to create
massive monstrous creatures to
roam the coastline. Primarily
focusing on apes, lizards, and
aggressive sea life, the Church
of the Telling Visions and the
Church of Darwin have had a
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
rare moment of agreement where
both faiths believe that hardy,
massive, monsters roaming the
coast line would serve the
interests of both the Scriptures
and the Evolution of Man.
Silicon Bay
Just off the shoreline there
is a popular dive spot known
as Silicon Bay. This location
draws enough material and old
world miracles from the bay floor
that morning, noon, and night
salvage ships are positioned to
drag materials from the watery
depths. Known as the lost
Atlantian settlement of Sacred
Mento, the oceanic dig site
provides a wealth of insight
in regards to the pre-fall
community that resided in the
area.
Exploratory sages that have
identified and researched the
materials drawn from the floor say
that the encrusted devices were
an advanced form of worship for
the Telling Visions. Examining
the hundreds of prayer boxes
that are drawn from the ocean
floor on a monthly basis, the
oceanic researchers have come
to the conclusion that within
this territory hundreds of the
devoted would come to organized
structures to study to become
prophets of the Telling Visions.
Uncovered beneath the soil,
entire buildings of cube shaped
rooms have been excavated, each
with at least one personal
Telling Visions prayer box
located within the room. With
countless texts referring
to modern programming, the
faithful of the Telling Visions
trade with the salvagers of the
Silicon Bay.
This interest by the
Telling Visions is one of the
most frustrating and harmful
influences to other interested
sources, particularly impartial
academics and members of the
Sainthood of Ashes. As hard as
the independent groups try to
open and study the relics dragged
from the bay floor, the followers
of the Telling Visions work
twice as hard to ensure these
Holy Relics are carted up and
shipped to religious centers up
and down the coast.
The Rogers
Pirating the high seas ain’t
what it used to be. The Rogers
are an eclectic band of weirdos,
psychos, and mad men and women
all swayed by the charismatic
rule of Tia Jah Lee Dalma.
Dalma believes herself to be
the reincarnation of the pirate
kings of old and has rallied
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 an eclectic band of ruffians
to her side. Her rag-tag band,
working out of anything from
small rafts to refurbished
schooners hijack trade ships,
scavenger scows, and pilgrim
hulks alike attempting to make
a profit by ransoming the crews
and salvaging the remains.
Her flagship, the Barbarossa,
is festooned with the trappings
of a classic pirate vessel,
despite being built on the frame
of an old coast guard patrol
ship. The tower of the vessel
trails black banners that wave
ominously in the wind with
variations on the white skull
and crossed sabers she has
taken as her symbol. The long
deck has been patched together
with pieces of other craft, but
ornamented with wood details
and trophies from many ships
the Barbarossa has claimed.
The crew dresses to match, in
garishly colored piratical
garb and arm themselves with
scraplocks, blunderbusses, and
scrap iron cutlasses.
While the Barbarossa is
certainly a ship not to be trifled
with, most of the fleet is far
less impressive, and operate as
much by luck as they do by skill.
Half the time, the pirates raid
a given ship and take little
more than the trappings of
the ship they wanted to adorn
their own vessel, and forget to
actually pillage the ship. As
such, the Roger’s fleet is not
really considered a threat to
the ships of the Archipelago,
but more of an inconvenience,
they are generally ignored and
mocked for their ridiculous
attempts at piracy.
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
The Headlands
Across the fog and scrap filled
waters that surround the Frisky
City, beyond Suicide Bridge,
there is a pristine jut of land
that taunts and teases survivors
for miles around. A territory
known as the Headlands, a perfect
island of rolling green and
flush forest, rests surrounded
by the dangerous waterways that
make up the shattered coast.
With tall trees, deep green
grass, rich vegetation, and a
completely tranquil appearance,
The Headlands calls to the
uninformed as a perfect place to
build a home.
What prevents locals from
successfully colonizing and
settling the Headlands is the
indigenous wildlife and plants
that inhabit The Headlands. While
sailors can, and often do, fight
their way through the Razorback
Waterlions that populate the
region, the deadliest threats of
The Headland territory comes in
the form of a curious five-leaved
plant.
The bright green foliage
of The Headlands which calls
Survivors to its lush pastures
is also the insidious killer
that claims the lives of nearly
every traveler to the island. A
bright green plant which invades
the entire island by clinging
to anything, the plant commonly
known as Kudzujuana chokes out
all other vegetative life by
covering every single surface
with its bright green and sticky
leaves.
The plant, beyond choking
out all of the native life, has
a sedative toxin in the leaves
which causes most animals that
come in contact with the plant to
become lethargic and eventually
sedated. As the plants toxins
slow their prey to a comatose
state, the quick-growing
Kudzujuana entwines its food
source to ensure the sedated
creature does not escape. Over
days the Kudzujuana plant turns
the starving and sedated person
or animal into a new form of
ground nutrients to be absorbed.
On the Headlands a unique
cohabitation has also begun.
Within the island interior massive
Boyoca-Bears, whose ancestors
date back to pre-radiated brown
bears, have built up a limited
immunity to the toxins secreted
by the island strangling plant.
With its thick fur preventing
the oil of the plant from making
continuous contact, the Boyoca-
Bear has evolved to excrete a
unique form of saliva which
allows the creature to consume
the plant without suffering the
toxic side effects.
The Jurassic
Park’n’Ride
Not too far outside of the
City of Lost Angels is a Diesel
Jocks dream. A location simply
known as the Park’n’Ride (or
the Labrea by some old timers),
it is an auto part swap and fuel
yard. Using naturally forming
 pits of asphalt, gas, and oil,
the Park’n’Ride has become a one
stop shopping local for all of
your ship and vehicle needs.
Natural pools of pitch black
liquid asphalt are collected
into buckets and sold to sea-
bourne merchants. This black
pitch, a perfect water-proofing
agent for the smaller wooden
vehicles, catches a high profit in
the small ship towns. Beyond the
pools of asphalt, local Diesel
Jock tribes purchase massive
orders of corn and vegetation,
which is processed into a
simple biofuel that is used for
caravans and sold by the gallon.
Beyond these two resources, the
Diesel Jock clans hold weekly
swap meets where hand hammered
and machined parts and tools are
traded and sold in a giant open
air market.
The Archive
Hidden within the natural
regrowth west of the Yos
Mountains, the Archive is one
of the best hidden institutes
of the Pureblood Lineage League.
A massive underground bunker,
carved into the hard granite walls
of the Yos Mountain overgrowth,
holds one of the largest
collective investments of the
Shattered Coast Purebloods.
The Archive, as it is
known by those aware of its
existence, is a four story
reinforced vault that extends
nearly two miles into the hard
granite. This vault uses three
forms of defensive mechanisms
to ensure both its secrecy and
its security. The first defense
of The Archive is location. A
number of miles away from any
regularly used caravan route,
the Archive is tucked away in
a dead end valley surrounded by
sheer rock and overgrowth, which
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
makes the territory difficult to
transverse. The second defense
is that the architects of the
Archive obviously studied the
Telling Visions scriptures, as
the entrance of the Archive is
tucked away behind a massive
roaring waterfall, which pounds
the weathering rock surface
thousands of feet below. The
third, and least used, defense
of the Archive is a well-
paid paramilitary unit who
have dedicated their lives to
ensuring the safety and security
of the Archive. These guards,
wearing a combination of old
world body armor and camouflage
cloaks, are provided some of the
finest weapons that the Pureblood
Lineage League can afford. Fully
automatic rifles, recurve bows,
and enough small arms explosives
to cause a small rockslide if
needed.
What is worth such an
investment? Deep within the
annals of the Archive, the
pitch and moisture of the
subterranean cave gives way to a
technological marvel which has
not been seen since the fall of
man. Powered by internal hydro
turbine generators, electric
lighting is the first sign of the
technological research station
that has been constructed beneath
the surface of the earth. Here,
Pureblood researchers dissect
and analyze the majority of
the equipment recovered from
the Silicon Bay scrounge site.
Redirected to this establishment
through the cover of religious
purchases made by the Church
of the Day Star, here the high
technology refuse from the early
ages is studied with a hope of
recreating the technology, and
unlocking the knowledge, hidden
within the marvels of the pre-
fall age.
The Institution
Miles inland from the Frisky
City is a model perfect pre-fall
establishment which, while filled
with activity, is completely
void of life. In the middle
of regrown fields and forest
outcroppings lies the stone
shell of a structure known to
locals as The Institution. While
proactive settlers would look at
the massive pre-fall industrial
age building and believe they had
struck a goldmine, the hundreds
of thousands of undead that
meander the property around the
Institution offer a challenge
that even the heartiest of
fighters are unwilling to take.
No more than twenty years
ago, the forest around The
Institution began to recede, and
tufts of green and brown grass
began to grow around the remains
of the building. Since the
first traveler sightings of the
emerging building, reports of
massive hordes of the undead on
the property grounds have been
spread and confirmed by many.
What most survivors find more
bizarre than the territorial
undead is the noise of hammering,
sawing, and construction that
echoes through the property all
night long. Scouts traveling
to the Institution find that
the building itself has had
additional upkeep and repairs
done to the property. In the
first year the roof was replaced,
in the second year, wooden
shacks were erected, and in the
third year wooden crosses were
erected in the ground to form a
crude cemetery.
Five years after the
mysterious repairs and the influx
of undead at the Institution, a
wooden gate was slowly raised
over a months’ worth of nights.
It was in the fifth year that
81
 the curious locals finally got
confirmation of the individuals
constructing the Institution. A
set of a dozen corpse pale people
in worn pre-fall clothing were
slowly but surely recreating the
property, completely unmolested
by the undead. Records report
that in the sixth year, locals
burned a large portion of the
woodland property to the ground,
wounding (if not killing) one
of the ghoul-like inhabitants
within the property. Written
reports from the assailing
forces state that not only were
some of the strains within the
settlement white and corpse-
like, but other strains within
the structure had extended long
bone-like claws from their
hands. The townsfolk, out of
fear, immediately set fire to
a portion of the building and
retreated. A few well-placed
shots struck and fell one of
the clawed ‘Remnants’ within
the structure.
The very next day the undead
inhabitants of the Institution
swarmed the settlement of the
torch bearing aggressors between
Frisky City and the Institution,
dragging living captives back
to the Institution instead of
attacking and chewing their
victims on site. The organized,
prisoner-taking tactics of the
swarming undead completely
overran the smaller traveler
settlement.
Within a month of the
fires having been set at The
Institution, the damage was
neatly replaced, and a new ‘No
Trespassing’ sign was placed
over wooden plaque which proudly
proclaims the location to be
the New Stockton Asylum.
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
The Tahoe Inlet
The Tahoe Inlet is one of
the heaviest traffic points
along the Shattered Coast.
A port settlement that is a
stop-off point for travelers
heading to or from the Roar,
the Tahoe Inlet has built its
reputation as a safe haven where
traders can do business on a
large scale. Here in the port,
trunks of fine quality wine,
handmade pigments and makeup,
raw materials, and salvaged old
world goods can be traded for
travel up and down the Shattered
Coast before being sent inland
via the massive Tahoe Rift. A
clever series of cable cars,
carriage paths, and bridges
allow for goods to slowly ascend
the mountains towards the great
waterfall that feeds the inlet.
The Tahoe Inlet has developed
an interesting security feature
to ensure that the inlet does
not become overrun with the
undead. While many of the
residential structures for the
Tahoe Inlet are on the mainland
surrounding the new harbor,
the vast majority of trade
and commerce is done towards
the center of the Inlet, via a
network of interlinked piers,
pylons, ports, and walkways.
This network of floating
commerce keeps the sweating,
noisy, and bustling traders
away from the mainland. The
drifting and washed up undead
are drawn to the smell, scent,
and sound generated by the bulk
of the traders out to sea; but
the depth of the water and
the undercurrent prevents the
undead from actually reaching
their intended food.
As the undead try to get
closer to their intended food
source (most of the time by
walking along the shore) the
undercurrent and shifting
grounds make it so that the
undead very quickly lose
footing. The floundering undead
gather during the day, and when
the sun sets, the tide takes the
gathered zombies out to sea with
it. More often than not, the
hordes of the undead are caught
up in the oceanic currents once
they are outside the coupling of
the inlet, and the zombies wash
ashore hundreds of miles away
along the coast (much to the
chagrin of the locals receiving
the Tahoe castaways).
Salton Sea
Far south of the city of the
Fallen Angels, in a territory
that neither the Shattered Coast
nor the Pridelands will claim
as their own, is a desolate
inlet sea known as the Salton
Sea. The Salton Sea should
serve as a valuable waterway
to allow coastal travelers to
deliver goods inland, but the
unnatural configuration of the
seabed prevents any form of
safe travel. While the Salton
Sea reaches a few thousand
feet at its deepest points,
the vast majority of the Salton
Sea territory is no more than
a hundred feet deep. While a
hundred feet deep is well more
than enough depth for most
ships, nearly every single ship
that has attempted to travel
the waterway has been lost.
The waterways around the
Salton Sea territory do not
offer any complex issues for
able bodied sailors, but most
shun the shallow expanse.
Maddened Survivors, while rare,
carry stories of massive rotten
flesh tendrils reaching up from
the sea like a giant undead sea
serpent. On occasion, Survivors
have found themselves ripped
 mercilessly from the surface
of the water, and washing up
to shore miles away from where
their ship was.
Even with luck enough to wash
ashore, that luck is short lived
once landing on the coastline.
The coastline of the Salton
Sea water mass is completely
uninhabitable, with some of
the highest densities of undead
found in the territory dragging
themselves out of the waterway
on a daily basis. With bizarre
mutations of undead sprouting up
every few feet on the shoreline,
finding means of defending or
destroying the threat that
comes from the waterway have
been completely fruitless.
In the instance that a ship
Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)
were claimed by the mindless fatal by prolonged exposure.
horror that resides beneath the Any sailor lucky enough to swim
waves, and somehow the seaman ashore through the Salton Sea
was able to swim shore, and has only a few days to live,
somehow that brave survivor as the pollutants in the water
was capable of outrunning the accelerate the undead plague
legions of undead on the shore, all Strains carry, causing the
the victory that the Survivor Survivor to join the undead
would have would still be a masses.
sad facade. Those who have
successfully done a single span
of the Salton Run report that
entire sections of the waterways
are floating with the corpses of
fish and water animals that had
the unfortunate luck of coming
into the Salton Sea territory.
The blight, the undead filth
that exists on the shore and
beneath the waves, has turned
the water not only toxic but
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Kristopher Eshleman (order #7097813)