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Waverider Story - Campaign - Author's Notes

# The Badlands

A haunted ash wasteland.

Story
The carts rattled as they rolled across the ash plain, oxen lowing with every step. The wind carried the sting of cinders, and the sky was the color of iron.
Kareth rode ahead on his wiry horse, scanning the horizon. Behind him the tribe moved in a slow line, banners of tattered cloth fluttering from the wagons. Children laughed, chasing each other barefoot over the black soil, though their mothers hushed them quickly. Too much noise drew attention.
They reached the banks of the Red River by dusk. The water churned crimson, stained by the mountains far to the north. Old Miri knelt at the shore, filling clay jars, but she would not let the children drink. Instead she muttered prayers, binding each jar with a string of red-dyed twine.
That night the tribe lit no fires. They ate cold meat and sat in silence, listening to the whisper of the wind. Kareth's younger brother swore he saw lights moving across the water - pale lanterns swaying where no hand held them.
The chief rose, face smeared with ash. "Keep the children close. We move at dawn."
No one argued.

Breaking camp

Story
The voices came with the wind. At first they were only echoes, like distant songs half-remembered. I tried to ignore them, as the elders said, but each night they grew clearer.
By the time we reached the Silent Plain, they were inside me. They whispered of cool water and green fields, though I knew there were none. They told me my tribe would betray me, that my brother had already stolen my name while I slept. I laughed when I should have wept, and wept when the children laughed.
I began to wander from the carts at night. Once they caught me standing at the river's edge, the red water up to my knees. They dragged me back, but the voices followed, louder now, closer.
This morning I woke with ash in my mouth and blood on my hands. I do not know whose. The tribe will bind me tonight. I hear them whispering outside, deciding whether to burn my name.
But I am not afraid. The Rift calls me. It has always called me. And soon, I will walk into it, and the voices will no longer be voices. They will be mine.

Story
The air grew hotter with every step. Ash crunched beneath my boots, and the ground trembled as though the earth itself still remembered its wound. When at last I reached the Rift's edge, I could see nothing beyond it but smoke and firelight, as if the world ended there.
The chasm stretched wider than any river I had crossed. Its walls were jagged glass, black and red, streaked with veins that glowed like embers. A roar came from below, deep and steady, not quite wind, not quite fire.
I leaned forward. The heat struck my face, burning my lips dry. Shapes moved in the haze. I thought they were rocks at first, but they shifted against the flow of smoke. One lifted its head. The features were almost human, but stretched, broken, as if carved by hands that did not know flesh. It opened its mouth, and the sound that came was my own name.
I staggered back, heart pounding, but the Rift held me. In the depths I saw cities swallowed by fire, towers crumbling, people fleeing into red skies. Then I realized the faces were not theirs but mine - a thousand versions of myself, falling, screaming, burning.
I wanted to run, but my feet held fast at the edge. Only when the ground split with a crack and a tongue of flame licked upward did I find the strength to stumble away.
Even now, far from the Rift, I still hear the roar. And sometimes, when I dream, I see myself climbing out of that chasm, my skin black with ash, my eyes hollow and red.

The Rift of Fire

# Description

The Badlands were once called the Fields of Arath, a fertile cradle where wheat grew tall and rivers ran clear. That ended with the Cataclysm of Fire, when the Chain of Narvoth volcanoes erupted one after the other nearly a century ago. The land split down the middle, creating the Rift of Fire, a wound stretching north to south that still smolders in places. Ash buried the fields, lava hardened into jagged stone, and the rivers turned black and red.

Most who lived there perished or fled, but some chose to remain. Their descendants are the Badlanders, a lean and stubborn folk who endure the unforgiving wastes as nomads.

## The Rift

The Rift of Fire is more than a scar of stone and fire. At night, pale lights drift above it like lanterns, and strange voices echo from its depths. Some say demons clawed their way up from beneath, others that the souls of the dead wander there. Hunters tell of creatures with too many limbs or faces like broken masks lurking in the ash flats. Even if nothing stirs, madness itself seems to seep from the fissure. Those who camp too long in the same place wake screaming or fall into trances, muttering in forgotten tongues. This is why the tribes keep moving, they know the Rift hungers for the still and the rooted.

### The Rift's Spawn

No Badlander can say with certainty what comes out of the Rift of Fire. Even if they knew, to name it too closely is seen to invite its gaze.

Ash Wraiths: Pale shapes glimpsed at the edge of firelight, drifting like smoke. They vanish when approached, but those who stare too long hear whispers in their skull.

The Hollowed: Sometimes, a tribesman begins to laugh without reason, or wander into the dark as if called. When found again, their eyes are empty, their mouths muttering words no one knows. They must be bound or slain before they spread the sickness of the Rift.

Ash Beasts: Hunters tell of tracks in the ash, clawed and heavy, that lead to no creature they can find. At times, a horse or ox vanishes in the night, its harness torn and blood left steaming on the ground.

The Red Lights: Strange glowing orbs float above the Rift at night. Some drift close across the steppe. Children chase them, thinking them lanterns, but those who follow rarely return.

Badlander lore says the Rift is a gate. Some call it the Maw of the World, others the Womb of Night. The Ashworn tribe believe it births demons. The Cindersong say it is the dead crying to be remembered. The Shardborn whisper that the land itself dreams, and in those dreams new horrors are made.

No truth is agreed upon, only this: the longer one lingers near the Rift, the louder the voices grow.

Badlanders on the move

### Wards and Protections of the Badlanders

#### Ash Marks

Before a tribe breaks camp, every person smears ash in a line across their brow. The mark is said to confuse the spirits that hunt for faces. Children often play by smearing too much, making grotesque masks, but elders warn this invites attention.

#### Red Strings

Small cords dyed with ochre are tied around wrists or necks. When a string frays or snaps, it is a sign that the spirit it held back has already brushed against its bearer. Such a person must undergo cleansing, or in darker tales, exile.

#### The Burning Name

When someone begins to show signs of madness, the tribe writes their name on bark or bone and burns it. The act is believed to cut the spirit's tether, sparing the soul even if the body is lost.

#### Songs of Passing

The Cindersong tribe keeps the oldest ritual: long chants sung during travel, not to guide oxen but to drown out the whispers. Other tribes have borrowed these songs, though every line is twisted and changed from clan to clan.

#### Taboo of Stillness

The worst sin for a Badlander is to linger in one place too long. A family that refuses to move when the signs come - red lights in the sky, beasts prowling unseen, or dreams that repeat, is said to be already claimed by the Rift.

#### Offerings of Dust and Blood

Before setting out, hunters cut their palms and scatter a handful of ash into the wind. The dust is said to blind the Rift, and the blood to bribe it.

## The Tribes

The Badlanders travel in groups of 20 to 50, driving heavy ox-carts laden with tents of hide and ash-wool. Horses are used for scouting and quick raids. Their tribes are small but tightly bound by kinship and oath.

Some known tribes include:

- The Ashworn: marked by tattoos of black spirals, said to ward off spirits.
- The Red Hooves: famed raiders, their horses dyed with ochre.
- The Shardborn: who claim descent from those trapped in the eruption itself, their skin often scarred or mottled.
- The Cindersong: storytellers and keepers of old songs of Arath's green days.

When tribes meet, it is a time of feasting and marriage. Ash-wine is brewed from fermented reed, drums echo across the plains, and stories are shouted into the night sky as if daring the Rift to listen.

## Rivers and Landmarks

Three waters carve through the land, their waters poisoned by ash and stone:

- Black River: sluggish and heavy, used for travel by raft.
- Red River: carries silt that stains everything blood-colored.
- Blood Gorge: the a wide, shallow fjord with red water, marking the border to Morvelyn.

Other landmarks:

- The Black Spires: jagged towers of cooled lava rising like teeth.
- The Silent Plain; a wide ash plain where no bird or insect lives, said to be closest to the Rift's heart.
- The Green Verge: the southern rim of the Badlands, where stubborn grass still grows and the tribes gather to refill stocks before venturing further.

## Neighbors

To the east lies Morvelyn, its people scarred by their own troubles. Rumors claim their sickness and curses are echoes of the Rift's disaster. To the south is the Lake of Life, whose floating folk see the Badlanders only as raiders.

Trade is rare, but sometimes a brave merchant from Morvelyn crosses the Blood Gorge to exchange iron or salt for ox-hides and obsidian blades.

## Faith and Belief

The Badlanders' faith is a fusion of two worlds. The old farmer gods, Aroth the Plow, Selya of the Rains, and Maruk of the Harvest, are remembered but changed. Now Aroth is seen as the one who cleaved the land, Selya as a sorrowful mother who weeps ash instead of rain, and Maruk as a grim reaper who harvests souls rather than grain.

Alongside them is Veyrith the Ash Prophet, a figure born from the Cataclysm, said to have walked out of the Rift itself. Some believe Veyrith was once a farmer's daughter who warned her people of the disaster but was ignored. Now she is a voice of fire and judgment, declaring the world will end as the Badlands ended.

Rituals often involve fire, ash, and blood. Before raids, the Badlanders smear their faces with ash and cut their palms, mixing blood with dust to offer to Veyrith.

## Slavery and Outsiders

Though tribes sometimes take captives, few keep more than a handful. Slaves are seen not as personal property, but as property of the tribe. They eat with the tribe, travel with them, and in time some are adopted or wed into the kin.

## Possible Secrets

### The Rift is not natural

The Cataclysm was no accident - it was caused by a ritual gone wrong, or perhaps by Morvelyn digging too deep for power.

### The Rift is alive

It is not a wound in the earth but a sleeping thing, its blood the rivers, its breath the ash. What crawls out are its dreams.

### The Ash Prophet was real

Veyrith was no myth but a mortal woman who foresaw the disaster. She may still walk the Badlands, unchanged by time, leading some tribes to their doom.

### The Hollowed are vessels

Those who lose themselves to madness are not empty. They are hosts being reshaped for something that has yet to fully enter the world.

### The rivers carry corruption

Drinking the water of Black or Red River invites the Rift's touch. This is why tribes only drink from rain-catchers and southern springs.

### The Rift hungers for names

To speak one's full name near the Rift is to invite it inside. This is why Badlanders use only half-names when traveling close.

### The Red Lights are souls

They are the spirits of those who perished in the Cataclysm, searching for their kin. To follow them is to be claimed.

### The Rift is a gate

It does not spawn creatures, but lets them through. What you see are only the scouts of something greater.

## Adventure Hooks

### Stolen Bride

A young woman from one tribe is kidnapped during a meeting feast. Her kin demand help tracking the raiders across the steppe before she is married off or sacrificed.

### The Beast of the Black River

Something has begun attacking oxen and hunters near the Black River. The tribe cannot travel without fresh beasts, so the monster must be hunted down.

### Broken Carts

A tribe's carts collapse after their axles split. With the ash winds rising, they need skilled hands to repair or replace them before the Rift's spawn finds them.

### Blood-Feast Festival

A rare gathering of many tribes is about to begin. Old rivalries simmer, and unless outsiders mediate or distract, the celebration could turn into a battle.

### The Mad Chief

A respected leader begins showing signs of possession. His tribe is split - some want him slain, others believe he can be healed. Outsiders are asked to judge.

### Ashstorm Approaches

A storm of burning ash rolls in from the Rift. The tribe must race across the steppe to reach shelter before the storm swallows them.

### The Slave's Plea

One of the few slaves kept by a tribe begs for help to escape, offering knowledge of a hidden spring to the south as payment. Freeing them risks angering the tribe.

### Raid from the Lake

Warriors from the Lake of Life strike a camp, seizing goods and people. The Badlanders call for vengeance and rescue.

### The Fallen Scout

A scout's horse returns riderless, its saddle stained with blood. The tribe fears the Rift has claimed him, but his tracks lead elsewhere.

### Obsidian Blades

A tribe's smiths have found a rich obsidian vein near the Silent Plain, but it is perilously close to where the Hollowed wander. Guarding them could mean facing what lurks in the dark.

### The Disputed Child

Two tribes claim a child born during a gathering belongs to them. Both prepare to fight, unless someone can uncover the truth of the child's parentage.

### The Vanishing Herd

A large herd of oxen, vital for the season's travel, has disappeared into the ash plains. Tracks show they fled as if driven by terror.

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