Scorched Earth

Hunters

• Hunter Shade: Drifter Level 0 · Battle Pass
• Hunter Shade: High Noon Level 25 · Battle Pass
• Hunter The Shroud Level 50 · Free

Unlocks

• Weapon Infantry 73L Level 4 · Free
• Ammo High Velocity Ammo Level 7 · Free
• Weapon Crossbow Deadeye Level 10 · Free
• Ammo Steel Bolt Level 14 · Free
• Weapon 1865 Carbine Level 15 · Free
• Ammo FMJ Ammo Level 19 · Free
• Weapon Infantry 73L Sniper Level 24 · Free
• Bear Traps Level 27 · Free
• Ammo High Velocity Ammo Level 31 · Free
• Ammo High Velocity Ammo Level 31 · Free
• Weapon Rival 78 Trauma Level 34 · Free
• Ammo Incendiary Ammo Level 36 · Free
• Ammo High Velocity Ammo Level 39 · Free

Legendary skins

• Legendary Gold Reliable Level 1 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Gilded Maul Level 6 · Battle Pass
• Legendary The Motherlode Level 13 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Salted Earth Level 18 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Forest Sting Level 21 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Trailstalker Level 30 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Shrewd Savior Level 33 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Thunderstroke Level 38 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Covert Messenger Level 42 · Battle Pass
• Legendary The Eighth Plague Level 44 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Blood of the Nile Level 48 · Battle Pass
• Legendary Vulture's Wing Level 50 · Battle Pass

Charms

• Charm Corn Cob Bowl Level 3 · Battle Pass
• Charm Wasted Honor Level 11 · Battle Pass
• Charm Whittled Fang Level 23 · Battle Pass
• Charm Splintered Crook Level 35 · Battle Pass
• Charm Dire Divination Level 51 · Free

Week 1

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Visit Compounds Battle Pass	20	1,500 Event Points
Collect Clues or close Rifts	18	750 Event Points 10
Land shots on enemy Hunters using: Pistols	10	750 Event Points 10
Kill Hellborn	3	1,000 Event Points 10
Set living enemy Hunters on fire	10	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using any variant of: Krag	1,000	1,000 Event Points 10

Week 2

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Use Consumables Battle Pass	20	1,500 Event Points
Locate Target Lairs	8	750 Event Points 10
Kill Monsters with: Fire Damage	50	750 Event Points 10
Poison enemy Hunters	10	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using: Shotguns	750	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using any variant of: Centennial	1,000	1,000 Event Points 10

Week 3

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Banish Targets or activate Wellsprings Battle Pass	6	1,500 Event Points
Kill Hives or Hellhounds	50	750 Event Points 10
Make enemy Hunters bleed	10	750 Event Points 10
Kill Monsters with: Melee Damage	125	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using: Rifles	1,500	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using any variant of: Romero 77	750	1,000 Event Points 10

Week 4

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Collect Clues or close Rifts Battle Pass	18	1,500 Event Points
Restore Health for yourself or for your teammates	1,500	750 Event Points 10
Kill Grunts	80	750 Event Points 10
Land headshots on enemy Hunters	8	1,000 Event Points 10
Extract with a Bounty Token or be the Soul Survivor	5	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using any variant of: Mosin-Nagant	1,000	1,000 Event Points 10

Week 5

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Gain XP with Hunters Battle Pass	15,000	1,500 Event Points
Pledge Hunters to any Pact	5	750 Event Points 10
Kill Armoreds or Hellhounds	50	750 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using: Pistols	750	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using: High Velocity Ammo	750	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using any variant of: Mako 1895	1,000	1,000 Event Points 10

Week 6

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Kill and banish a Boss Target, then extract its Bounty Token Battle Pass	3	1,500 Event Points
Deal damage to enemy Hunters	2,000	750 Event Points 10
Kill Monsters with: Poison Damage	50	750 Event Points 10
Kill Water Devils with: Tools or Consumables	8	1,000 Event Points 10
Land shots on enemy Hunters using: Bows or Pistols	10	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using any variant of: Rival 78	750	1,000 Event Points 10

Week 7

Challenge	Goal	Reward
Use Shots on yourself or on your teammates Battle Pass	25	1,500 Event Points
Kill Monsters	150	750 Event Points 10
Land headshots on enemy Hunters using: Rifles	6	750 Event Points 10
Banish Targets or activate Wellsprings	6	1,000 Event Points 10
Kill Hives with: Throwing Axes or Throwing Knives	15	1,000 Event Points 10
Deal damage to enemy Hunters using: Dumdum Ammo	750	1,000 Event Points 10

Wax Cylinder TranscriptPhonogrammarchiv, ViennaRecording Date 1896: Harold BlackTranscription Date 1899: Unknown

[Sound Annotation.] Labored breathing. Footsteps. Trills and rushes of a high mountain habitat.HB: We’ve trekked in from the Northeast and made rest at a cascade of outcrops on the western side of Mammon’s Gulch. The surrounding peaks are staggering, indifferent to our presence.

[Sound Annotation.] Train whistle fades in distance.HB: Preston is boisterous. Stands at six foot three. He’s dressed out of his fine clothes, perhaps hoping to fit in with us. Brewer and the others are not impressed, if raised eyebrows are any unit of measurement.

[Sound Annotation.] Birds set off.HB: Clearly he’s a novice, but it’s worth noting that Preston can be quite endearing. He favors the use of a spyglass over any gun or blade, always on the lookout for something new to expose or discover.

[Sound Annotation.] Shambling, Screeching, Shots ring out.HB: The Corruption here is in “full bloom,” for lack of a better term.

[Sound Annotation.] Rifle set down. Notes scribbled.HB: With the Incursion here still in its infancy, I wondered if some semblance of order and hierarchy might appear amongst the Corrupted. But this is not the case. They are all as disorganized and lobotomized as in the bayou.

HB: Despite their mindless, abominable presence, I feel myself being studied from beneath the trees.

[Sound Annotation.] Journal closed. A rock thrown, tumbling indifferently down a cliff.HB: No, catalogued. Catalogued is the word. Just as a blind curator navigates the dense archives of a museum, and slips some small, dead thing into its perfect drawer.

Colorado Investigation LogLocation: Mid-Gulch Saddle DepressionDay 2: MorningWe discovered a survey group’s destroyed campsite.It was in total disarray and mostly incinerated. Brass equipment intact. Salvaged the following surveyor logs:

Dale Guerard: PLSS Acreage ReportDay 1: Grahm switched us to the Solar Compass. Our prismatic is being thrown off by ore deposits along the western slope. The compass is heavy and hot in the sun—it burned Grahm’s hand.We’re five degrees off true north on account of the magnetism. Will re-walk the links for accurate acreage in the morning.Day 4: Melanie has her seismometer ready. The thing’s acting up. Jumping like a cricket in a thunderstorm, is how she put it. Can’t be on account of the ore, though. Strange.Day 5: Grahm’s dead. He measured out the acre with 255 chain links, then vanished in a sudden flash of heat that seemed to come out of nowhere. The leftover links he’d been carrying somehow heaped and fused to his skull. We buried him—it was the only thing we could think to do. What could have done that to Grahm?Poor Melanie. Just last night, when we were laughing and drinking around the campfire, she said she’d never get married, especially to Grahm. So why’s she sleeping all alone on that patch of scorched earth where we found his body?

Melanie L. R. Seismographic ReadingsReading 1-4: Criss cross scramblesRecalibrated Reading 4-9: Looping circlesRe-Recalibrated Reading 10: The needle has written in cursive.“Too late now. Too late now. Too late...”

Mammon’s Gulch Field ReportSingle loose sheet, 8.5 x 11 in.Preliminary Report:

Wyatt Preston adores the sound of his own drawling voice. He’d talk the ears off a barndoor, if a barn door gave half a shit to listen .He certainly adores his home in the peaks. He leaves gold coins on tree stumps, out of either superstition or respect.

The expedition to Colorado demonstrated Mr. Preston’s resources beyond all else. Fine China on the train. Cigars from some country I can’t pronounce proper. He had a massive leech in a gold cage as a pet. I wanted to ask how he managed that—if there was a caged Meathead in one of the cars—but it seemed rude somehow, in the same way it’s rude to ask a magician his secrets.

The researcher called Harold Black joined us as well—Preston wouldn’t leave until I tracked him down. I trust Harold’s word, despite his indifference to justice and order. He confided to me that Mr. Preston is doggedly pursuing ways to end the Corruption. There is fresh hope in all this rot, supposedly. Preston says that he wants to outfit us like a proper army, cleanse this land proper. He says that when the threat passes, he’ll show us the oil field he’s so proud of.

It was only after we arrived at our destination that something became clear. High and mighty are the words we’ve swapped, pretending we dispelled the plague of New Orleans. But the truth is that we’ve just shoved it down one gutter, only for its head to pop out another. And with it has come leftover filth we failed to purge in the bayou, clinging to its heels: Demented Hunters are here, too.

This morning, a little group of them sent up hellfire that brushed sky.

I just hope that Preston understands what he’s dealing with out here, understands how easily it could all fall to pieces.

Phoebe Brewer

“Journey to My Descendants”Author: SnareHandwritten Journal, 8 x 8 in.

Preston has brought lawdogs with him. They are promised wealth and station. When our adoptive father saw what had happened here, he called for aid. Only we came. But in the end, all it took was money. All it ever takes is money.

I have seen our enemy up close. I have seen the scars across Marshall Brewer’s cheek in the center of my sights.

She and her troop were wise to cover their tracks, but they did so with the skill of a child hiding from a bear, leaving a trail of Grunts anywhere they went. Their killing is sloppy and savage.

Buckshot reminds me to tread careful. I can spit on their skills all I like, but it is their confidence we must track. The lawdogs do not need to be smart. They could kill us with a storm of bullets without a second thought.

There are many kinds of storms here now.

Come evening there was thunder, yet the sky remained clear. Dust and a strange glow rose over the low eastern range across the way.

Hell came upon us in an instant when the source of the ruckus finally came into view: a herd of horses, galloping, on fire. Flames flickered from their sunset hides, licked their heels. Their manes sparked in a way only death could see as pretty.

We cannot outrun this nightmarish Corruption, or the things it brings with it. Along with the presence of the law dogs, what options does that leave us?

Wax Cylinder TranscriptPhonogrammarchiv, ViennaRecording Date 1896: Harold BlackTranscription Date 1899: Unknown

[Sound Annotation.] Great plumes of fire. Metal buckling and caving.(Or the spine of a mountain grinding on ore.)HB: The oil field is burning. It was set ablaze just as we came upon it.

[Sound Annotation.] Roaring. Explosions and hot whistles through rock.HB: Preston has sent off Brewer to the north. He thinks this could be the work of bandits or other such greedy, bitter minds.

[Sound Annotation.] A marathon of sprinting. Embers swirling. Grass crackles and burns as if stained with the blood of witches.HB: A dozen Immolators have swarmed the oil field. The heat is too intense to see clearly, but they are in a circle. What is that they’re...

[Sound Annotation.] Wax warped by heat. Unintelligible.HB: Preston’s oil burns differently. It seethes with the rage of things hidden in the earth, brought to light.

[Sound Annotation.] Tree collapses. Wax warped distortion.(When a tree falls, does it feel itself falling forever?)HB: This heat. I do not think it’s natural. It smells of things that should have never been touched by man. The odor contains the faintest traces of iron and ruined flesh when you stand downwind.

[Sound Annotation.] Long crackles of fire. An indistinct prayer is hidden in its flare.HB: Some shadow has taken form here. I will abandon Preston and investigate it alone.Let Brewer look after him.

Puppet Theatre Script: ACT 1Found behind stage curtains, back-alley theater

Let me tell you a story.

Note: (Set curtain on fire to reveal the stage cloth.)There once was a wandering puppeteer, a man of myths who crossed many seas. In his search for greater legends, this traveller found himself caught in a tale too peculiar and strange to not play a part in.

Note: (Puppets size up the audience.)It all began when the traveller came across the corpses of three railmen and two strange characters getting dressed in their coal-stained clothes.

We shall call one, Pig.

The other, Bee.

Note: (The metallic click of guns cocking.)Pig and Bee offered the traveller a deal: if he helped them achieve their goal, they would let him live. He gladly accepted and slithered into a dead man’s trousers. He stained his eyes with soot and took on the speech of someone who tends the steam boiler on a locomotive.

Note: (Bring train prop in frame with flywheel and weights.)And so, they set upon a train as a troupe of actors would a stage. They tended a ravenous and furious furnace in a nest of spinning iron and belching steam.

Note: (Fall to knees. Stoke imaginary furnace. Pray to the invisible rich.)As the time passed, he discovered more and more about Bee and Pig. He learned that they were outcasts from a cult of delirium and murder. Worse still, they had been forsaken by the very thing they worshiped.

Note: (Raise mountain slowly, drop Corrupted fast.)The train ventured over the type of barren lands where death itself forgets its name. They came upon the promised land: Colorado. There, a sickness had brought nightmares of the dead to life.

Note: (Puppets stare in awe at the sight that sprawls before them.)Their faith had been rewarded, after all. They’d been given a second chance.

Mammon’s Gulch Field ReportSingle loose sheet, 8.5 x 11 in.

Warning: Those local Trappers know how to spring sharp iron around your waist. They know these slopes like we know a swamp.***After the oil field was set ablaze, Preston sent us with powder barrels to the northeast trestle bridge, wanting it blown up to cut off access to anyone who might want to come for what’s his. We went through Miner’s Folly. The sad assortment of dilapidated buildings were all cinders and smoke, freshly burnt.

Demented folks had themselves a bonfire, most probably.

Before we could make our way through, we were stopped by a pair of angry Trappers. We drew iron on each other, then I realized that the mountain man, Thomas Bridge, was with them. They saw that he knew me, seemed surprised we didn’t want each other dead. It was enough to make them lower their rifles.

In the end, we came to a bit of an agreement: we’ll stay out of these Trappers’ more treasured territory, if they help us in the fight against the Corruption of this land. We went our separate ways, but I couldn’t help but look over my shoulder on the way out—I didn’t trust the female Trapper, could practically feel the sear of her death-wish glare on my back.

Once that was taken care of, we had the business of the tracks to finish out, Preston’s orders. The explosion was quaint, but enough to send the rails crashing down.

Between the oil field and the town, Mammon’s Gulch is falling. I can’t say quite yet whether it’s into our hands, or into the fires, but one thing is for certain:

Preston’s money doesn’t impress death, not even a little bit.

Phoebe Brewer

Bait Locations and ConservationLeatherbound Journal, 3 x 4 in.

FridayFound two sets of tracks.

First Set: boot prints from the north. Running, fumbled, crawled over the dam, into the beaver lodge. Scents of fear, piss, oil used for rock splitters.

Second Set: Came north, Veered south. Lumbering steps. Still hot, burned everything they touched. Scents of tar, iron, overcooked meat.

SaturdayWe followed both sets of tracks back to Graystone Pit. Found another Hunter ripped in half.

Lower half was smeared over a granite wall, then left in a kneeling position on the ground. Upper half was shoved into a ceiling crack above the rest.

The smell is different—heavy with sage. Must be the work of a different creature entirely.

Found a note and payment in a pack nearby:

I’m sorry to send you to the Pit with so little information. “Our” superstitions and rituals have become too dangerous. I don’t know what Boss has done. He won’t talk about it. I hope these cases of ammunition are enough to fix the current predicament. The sage bundles are for burning—may they keep you safe.Stalk quiet and brave down there.

Signed – Delacroix

We circled up to the top of the Pit. Found some Hunter tending to a mountain bluebird. It was burned, sopped in oil with just one wing left. He sketched it, then crushed its skull clean.

We approached him. Offered the note. Delacroix is a Foundry man. He seemed half honorable, at least. We told this Hunter, Harold, that we’ve heard screams coming from Kingfisher Foundry for ages. It’s haunted. Cursed. We won’t go near it.

Harold sprung right for it. He’s an animal hungry enough to lose a leg for a scrap of meat.

Kingfisher Foundry Log, Mammon’s GulchComments: Harold BlackOriginal Author: Delacroix

Oil Reinvigoration Ritual #14Observer: Delacroix

Change Log:Iron plug casings have been strengthened to better bear the forces. Subjects are compressed and forged from the neck down, and only after being fed Tokens. (Convinced the Boss this was more humane. Ingesting the Bounties puts them into a trance.)

Bore Depth: 700 Feet, 3 Tokens, Elwraith Rite 9Bandit 1 ignited. His tooth (a gold capped incisor) shot out of the bore shaft, buried itself in my arm. Had to dig it out myself, then Boss confiscated it for the gold.

Bore Depth: 984Feet, 4 Tokens, Eyeless Navigator Rite 2Bandit 2 begged for us to take care of his grandma out on some prairie, had to be sedated. Flesh bulged with enough pressure to break his casing, clogging the shaft. Had to re-bore the shaft to unclog it.

Bore Depth: 0 Feet, 0 Tokens, God’s GraceBandit 3 convinced me over. He had a PLSS contract from the government on him. Last two subjects weren’t bandits either, they were cartographers. Boss lied big time. I can’t keep contorting innocent people and holding that guilt in me.

Bore Depth: 1,325Feet, 6 Tokens, Finch’s Lullaby Rite 1I won’t abide threats and slander. I relieved Delacroix of his station by feeding him the final Tokens before encasing him in the plug.

His casing struck brimstone. The reinvigoration worked at last. It turned the clay into treasure. Oil spewed out every derrick but something crawled back out, dripping lava. It’s a miracle the oil pools didn’t catch fire.***Deduced Methodology:I believe subjects ingested between 3-6“Bounty Tokens” each. Rituals were performed. Subjects were “contorted” into iron plugs, which were dropped down boreholes of various depths. Seems as though spontaneous combustion and physiological metamorphosis resulted.

I’m unsure as to what “crawled back out” the bore shaft. Could it be the same thing that set fire outside the Foundry and then stalked me through the tall firs?

Puppet Theatre Script: ACT 2Found behind stage curtains, back-alley theater

Note: (Begin Act II with Pig and Bee puppets hugging the Mountain.)Bee and Pig reveled in this devastated land. Cold machines ripped precious ores from the soil. Pipes sprayed black earth into the air. The mountains watched over the trenches and scars of the great gulch with no interest in those who suffered within it.

Note: (Kick rope so guillotine beheads Corrupted puppets.)The pair were well versed in executing monsters. Their carnage was strange, for they worshiped the master of these many diseased puppets. Pig squealed in the oil fires. Bee prayed to hives.

With their senses sharp, they traced the hand of their puppet master to Grizzly Lodge. Sickness and evil gusted from its chimney like it was an ancient wound, a place of miraculous birth.

Note: (Make Bee crawl in first. Whisper a secret the audience can’t hear.)Inside were the lower halves of men kneeling in a circle, killed by some unknown monstrosity. Bundles of sage were tied to their waists, and Bee and Pig burned them to cleanse the air.

Note: (Dangle Cultist, Pig swings corpse to play with it.)In the cellar was a pit dressed for rituals. Barrels had been hoarded, mounded, and blessed. There was a stench of Tokens. Bee and Pig fell to their knees and the traveller traced every symbol of salvation he knew.

Addressed to Sheriff HardinAuthor: Phoebe Brewer

Hope this gets sent to you as promised, Cowboy.

You ever see a flaming body fall down a mine shaft? Pretty eerie. It made my hairs stand on end.

Preston had us clear a mine where Demented had supposedly dug in (we didn’t find any, just some puppets and a tent. How did those assholes get up here in the first place?) Then there was this roar that almost caved in the tunnel. Preston said it was the oil reservoir shifting. He used fancy rockhound terms for “roar,” but that didn’t explain the flaming body that suddenly fell from the pit entrance above us. Preston said that kind of thing happens all the time. Mine workers get sad and try to bring light to the darkest parts of the world. Can’t say I relate to that.

We spent the night down there, and I took it as another opportunity to case Wyatt Preston up, down and sideways.

Preston isn’t through-and-through evil, from what I’ve seen so far. He’s the kind of boy who stole his daddy’s gun to shoot ant hills. Trick with him is, you let him talk on long enough, he starts to let stuff slip.

Preston has friends with even more gold in their pockets, turns out. He said they’re into occult stuff, chanting in masks and swallowing goat eyes and whatever else it takes for them to gain more, more, more—other than taking up the Hunt themselves, of course. That’s for others to do for them.

After Wyatt finished off his handle of wine, I snatched a journal from his coat. Wrote down some names, sent ‘em along. You’ve got digging to do while I keep playing this rich boy’s nanny.

Puppet Theatre Script: ACT 3Found behind stage curtains, back-alley theater

The oddsome trio tracked whatever was birthed from that haunted fireplace. Pig crawled on all fours, sniffing footprints and blood. Bee held amber to the moonlight and traced the paths it revealed.

Note: (Harold puppet’s whistle, do not forget the timing, get it right.)In the thick of night, they found not a creature in the woods, but rather a man of words and sketches—a researcher. Pig held a blade to the man’s throat, but the traveller was intrigued by the dear word worm. An idea was born, something unexpected but exhilarating.

Note: (String Harold puppet from tree, bring in ghost elephants and tents with the flywheel.)With quick deception and wit, the traveller bound the man as he would a most precious puppet. If his idea were to come to fruition, he’d need to lie, and lie well. So he told Bee and Pig that far away, a wandering spectacle of death and whimsy was approaching.

The traveller had been a member of this wandering spectacle long ago, he fibbed to his companions of the road. His voice rising, he continued to conjure fabulous deceits. This word worm had seen the show and mocked the poor traveller’s every performance. Had jeered, booed, thrown bricks and cats at him! He even tore down his stages and spat upon on his art!

The traveller made sure to give his all to this performance, and he could tell it was working. Bee and Pig nodded as they listened, leaned in while the story continued. They knew how it was to feel the effects of sacred efforts fallen flat.

Now, the traveller said, his performance coming to a close, he would take a long-earned revenge on the word worm. He would punish the man privately until dawn as Bee and Pig continued their hunt. It was a personal matter. Surely, they could understand.

Note: (If tears are shed, lower clouds to let them be rain.)And so the traveller found his exit. Bee and Pig applauded his demented hunger before setting off to hunt more lies and legends and things that should not have been born. With a pain in his heart, the traveller whispered goodbye after them.

Then he untied the word-worm and began to spin new tales to tell.

Sketchbook #45: ColoradoIllustrations and NotesPenned by Harold Black

I sketched the strange puppet fellow who saved me from Demented savagery. I owe my life to more people day by day, it seems. Hayalî took a liking to my ink, and so an easy gift of it was made.

As he recounted his tale, I divined the hunting lodge is the source of this Incursion.

The Lodge’s chimney is covered in hardened pustules and forms a “birth canal,” for lack of better terminology. Through it, the Demented and their jester found the remnants of a mass storage site of Bounty Tokens. The trio glowed in Dark Sight from its contaminated energies.

I cannot prove much, but if I were to venture at a cause for a Corruption springing forth from this Token depository, it would be ritual tampering.

We were no strangers to occult “experimentation” in the bayou. We recognized it here. It was as brutal and barbaric as always.

I was wrong about Preston.

My theory: He released Token energy deep underground and awoke the Corruption in Mammon’s Gulch. Intense heat and fire were either a catalyst or byproduct of its awakening, possibly involving what became of the Foundry man “Delacroix.” Victims include the 3 PLSS Surveyors from the destroyed campsite we discovered before.

As Preston seeks to pry dark secrets from the earth, I will pry the secrets out of him.

“Journey to My Descendants”Author: SnareHandwritten Journal, 8 x 8 in.

We watched from afar as Harold laid a single bear trap in front of Pa finely carved chair. It was not hidden well, but the animal it would catch was not crafty enough to notice.

Tea boiled over the fire, and he shot a flare into the dark.

Preston came up the slope and took the nicest seat for himself. Iron snapped to his leg. His screams called Brewer over right away. I clung close to the shadows with Buckshot as we listened.

Harold wove together a tale of people stuffed with Bounties and dropped into oil. He gave locations of Demented rituals and summoning sites. While he was speaking, I watched Preston. He had the look of a lapdog who had wandered off into the woods.

We stepped up to the campfire and sidled up to Harold. The scars in Brewer’s face met the scars in mine. She would stay calm in our territory, according to our agreement.

Buckshot told them that some tracks we found were filled with fire. Others led to severed bodies and witchcraft madness. Terror not seen in Louisiana was here, and it grew from Preston’s properties.

Brewer did not pause long. She took her gun off Harold and set it to Preston. The man did not beg for his life. That is the confidence money gives you.

Preston threatened to end the Bounty System. Hunters follow gold above all else, he said. Corruption could spark again in the bayou, spread from Colorado, and we would fail.

He proposed a trade. Information for his life. Locations of more Bounty Token graveyards. Industry barons obsessed with the Sculptor. New Inoculations. Magics deeper than Dark Sight. “Old eyes” awakening in forgotten parts of the world.

The deal was made. It would be “our” Gulch. He would leave Colorado, and we would take his fortunes and cleanse his mess. We would take his gold and build with it a trap for all who might come after, telling us how to live and how we would be allowed to die.

Tortured Peaks, ExcerptRejected Dime Novel: July 1897Author: Jasper Priest

Blasted was the landscape of the high west peaks, where men broke teeth on boulders for just a glimpse of gold. They bored into the earth and burrowed tunnels. They stole the river’s soul with water wheels and severed trees for joy and industry. Blood and money tasted the same on their tongues. No amount of either could calm their greed.

Among these men, a fool sought out long dead secrets of the world. He believed some truth lurked in lakes of oil and the mountain’s many treasures. He believed that truth whispered to him from precious veins of ore, from tar pits.

Once his drilling began, it never ceased. Black blood gushed from derricks in celebration. His efforts drew the gaze of more fools, darker fools with darker knowledge to trade. They slit the throats of goats under full moons and bayed in tongues with lungs full of incense.

Then the black wells ran dry. Whispers from the boreholes faded to silence. The fool searched for cursed treasures to extract more ichor and wealth from the mountains. He bound them to screaming victims and dropped them down into places they were not meant to go. Each life fell upon a long-sleeping evil beneath those far rocky ranges.

That evil awakened. The dreams within it rose and found new bodies to live inside. Ribcages were split open, and skin rotted to the ground. Devils took to the river as fire learned it could spread from the hearts of men.

Corruption granted the fool’s wish and overtook all he owned.