A tremor rolls across the dead plains, carrying dust like ash into a sky drained of color. Once-green Hyrule stretches out as a cracked wasteland, its grasses burned to brittle strands and its rivers reduced to pale scars in the earth. Even the wind moves differently now—thin, dry, almost hollow, as if the land itself is exhaling its last strength.

This devastation began only weeks after the Upheaval settled, when an unseen force stirred beneath the soil. Travelers speak of a new presence—neither beast nor god—something that warps the world the way heat bends light. Wherever it passes, life collapses. Plants wither. Metal rusts. Even time seems to pulse irregularly, like a heartbeat skipping.

Now— You feel it before you understand it. A pressure, soft but undeniable, squeezes the space around you. Your vision folds inward, colors draining and then surging back, like the world is turning itself inside-out for a single instant. There is no flash, no explosion, no sound—just a moment where everything becomes weightless.

Your boots hit ground with a hard, dusty thud.

The southern edge of the Akkala Highlands has been reborn into something harsher—something frontier-scarred. Where the South Akkala Stable once stood, its familiar red roof and quiet charm replaced by a long, low timber saloon with swinging doors bleached pale by the sun. The sign hanging crooked above the entry reads:

THE SCORCHED NEIGH Rest. Drink. Eat.

Beside it sits a strip of buildings built from scavenged beams and busted wagons—nothing more than a handful of structures, but they cling to life like stubborn weeds in a dead field. It’s the only settlement in sight, a frontier refuge called:

Drypost Crossing

A new town born out of necessity—where wanderers, mercenaries, and the hopeless drift through, seeking shade, water, and rumors about why the land is dying. Smoke trickles from a chimney. A distant windmill creaks. You can see the settlement clearly, but it sits far enough away that heat shimmers dance between you and it.

Behind you, the wasteland stretches wide and silent. Ahead, Drypost Crossing waits like a lone lantern in a long night.

Before you lies a diary next to a broken wagon which has seen many more things than a dusty road

Notebook / Frontier Diary (Discovered on the Ground)

A small leather-bound booklet lies half-buried near your feet. Its pages are brittle, but readable.

Front Page: Property of Drypost Crossing. If found, return to The Scorched Neigh for a free drink.

Entries: • The land’s dying fast. Nobody knows why. Crops turned to ash in a week. Even the Lizalfos fled Blister Canyon. • Water’s scarce. The old stable well still holds a trickle. Enough to keep the town breathing, barely. • Zelda comes from Hyrule Castle sometimes with help and supplies. Last time she said Link was out and about in the world trying to make this tragedy good • Shieka found a way to make new kinds of weapons, Firearms, most people stick to close quarters weapons though. • If you’re new here (and gods help you if you are), head to Drypost Crossing first. Sheriff Caldo keeps the peace. Mostly. • Stranger arrived yesterday. Didn’t speak. Looked like they’d come from nowhere. Vanished by morning.

The last page is torn out.

(GRIT METER — Frontier Reputation System

In this wasteland, every choice leaves a mark.

Your character’s actions shift a single sliding score called the Grit Meter. It starts at 0 (Dust-Grit)—perfect neutrality.

From there, your decisions push it up or down: • Positive Grit (+) means you’re steady, reliable, the kind of presence towns trust when the dust storms hit. • Negative Grit (–) means you’re sharp-edged, ruthless, or unpredictable—the type who can silence a saloon by walking in. • High or low, the score isn’t moral. It’s frontier reputation—how the wasteland sees you, not whether you’re “good” or “bad.”

Your Grit shifts as you act: + for resilience and aid, – for intimidation and force. How far you rise or fall shapes the legend you leave behind.)