No one remembers how the old world ended.

Buildings are toppled. Ash and fog flood the skies. With dry, blistering days and long, cold nights, entire cities lay beneath the rising tide, and long lost is the world's most valuable commodity: Trust.

Answers may lie beneath all the ruin and water. But there isn't even enough time to search. Most survivors have to live by their name and scavenge for food or supplies above all else. Though, over time, small communities have been raised. Some attempt to recreate the old world through what little knowledge was passed down or read in salvageable books. Many have resorted to tribalism as a result of desperation and confusion.

And then there are Drifters.

Drifters hold no titles or affiliates. They are gunslingers. Mercenaries. Lone scavengers and questless explorers who spend so much time trying to live, they can hardly find something to live for. Since the #1 commodity is so rare, two Drifters crossing paths is almost always a confrontation. It comes down to the most silver tongue or the fastest draw.

But it is important to note that the survivors of this Macabre universe are not savages or inherently “evil”. Most are searching the land for salvation. There is enough bleak proof around them serving as a constant reminder... “Things were once much better”. We understand this concept as Manifest Destiny. Many caravans will set sights on the horizon in hopes of finding what is known as “The New Frontier”.

The most traversed of Drifters know, however, that The Frontier is a lie. It is a fabrication of each survivor's hopes and dreams to find a purpose where any help is almost completely destroyed.

These ideologies divide the New West.

Think of it this way; There are three types of people...

Those who seek to rebuild the past

Those who seek to build a new future

Those who seek nothing than their own gain

Violence is hence still rampant, even with a bare population. You could travel days without encountering a single soul, but that would almost be a blessing.

In most of the New West, among all its crumbled ruin and flooded passages and dry plains and buried bunkers and hidden communities, there is no name more uttered and feared than The Ravagers.

Bandits dressed in black leather and blood. Lawless—that is without moral bounds—and chaotic with no control aside from trickle-down, alpha male power plays. They take, rape, pillage, and plunder all they can. While chaotic and violent in nature, their group is not without organization. Rumor has it that they are lead by a mysterious man named Stefan. He travels with minimum packs of 7, with a mostly covered face, a long duster, and the quickest smoking barrels in all the West.

There are Drifters who make it their sole mission to seek out Stefan, but he never stays in one encampment. Some wish to take his throne, others see his power as a moral dilemma. What is certain is that it takes a legend to catch a legend.

The Ravagers have more concentrated fire power than any faction in the New West. Where most get around on foot or bikes, Ravagers have been on motorcycles and in even buses. They can scavenge faster and wider than any Drifter or caravan, and they do so ruthlessly. It's this sheer power that leads so many to join in the first place. Though, how exactly one becomes a Ravager is still myth.

There are many other groups and collectives across the wasteland. The Ashwood tribe, The Freemasons, Scholars of the Temple of the Fog, and many other secret societies can be discovered by any curious Drifter. That is, if they can best the hurdles of starvation, thirst, and crippling depression.

No one remembers how the old world ended, and while many are happy to leave it behind, just as many search endlessly for clues, answers, and hope.

It is Mad Max meets The Road.

Fallout meets Red Dead Redemption.

The Book of Eli meets The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

Will you fix the world or build a new one?