The World of Grayborn
The Corridor
The bombs fell eight years ago, and the years without a sky that followed killed far more than the warheads did. Survivors called them the Gray.
The Gray has lifted now. The sky has cleared, the famine has broken, and the people it made are still standing. They hold a stretch of dead interstate called the Corridor, where five factions keep an uneasy peace over never quite enough to go around. This is their world.
You are no one special: no destiny, no chosen blood. What you can do comes down to four things you are good or bad at, and they grow a little with what you do. Most wins cost something. Death is permanent, and nothing you do is ever undone.
Grit
Violence, endurance, intimidation, functioning while hurt. Grit also sets how much punishment you can take.
Forcing doors, brawling, weathering pain, staring someone down.
Instinct
Perception, stealth, ambush sense, reading rooms and roads, and slipping a blow in a fight.
Spotting a tail, moving without sound, sensing an ambush, finding the safe route.
Wit
Repair, medicine, scavenging, pre-war technology.
Fixing an engine, treating a wound, reading a schematic, jury-rigging a solution.
Presence
Persuasion, deception, leadership, faction negotiation.
Talking past a checkpoint, running a bluff, rallying people, reading what someone wants.
The Corridor doesn't rewind. Neither do we.
Walk it once, carefully, and find out what you would have done.
Enter the Corridor