HISTORY OF COFFIN CANYON
Long, Long Ago
Before maps.
Before railroads.
Before anyone thought to put a name on it.
Earth was Erth.
Animals and strange beasts roamed freely beneath wide skies. Where Coffin Canyon now yawns open, there was only a river—later called the Widowflow — patiently sawing its way through stone.
Then came the Manlings.
They wandered.
They hunted.
They settled.
Villages rose. Fires burned. Stories spread.
Beyond Erth lay Monstru, the Otherside—a world ruled by different laws and darker skies. There, monsters lived under the iron shadow of the Crow Queen, a tyrant who bent her kind to her will.
Sometimes, monsters slipped through.
Through storms.
Through shadows.
Through Majik.
Through nerve and cleverness.
And wherever they went, Thyr came with them.
Thyr clung like breath, like heat, like trouble. It was the residue of Monstru forced into Erth. Where monsters walked, the world bent just a little out of shape.
So the monsters hid—deep in forests, caves, and forgotten places—while Manlings gathered into towns and early kingdoms, never quite sure what watched them from the dark.
The Tzul
Far to the south, a great Manling kingdom rose.
They were many.
They were powerful.
They could see monsters.
They could bend Majik.
They built stepped pyramids of stone and ruled through fear. They enslaved their people and fed knowingly on Thyr.
Some of their priests and kings followed the Widowflow north, to Coffin Canyon—where Thyr bled from the land itself.
Seeking forever, they attempted a Great Working.
It worked.
It killed them all.
And left them walking.
Now called the Dust Kings, they lie buried beneath the canyon, heavy with Thyr, waiting for a world soft enough to conquer again.
Much, Much Later
Manlings thrived.
Forests fell.
Roads stretched.
Towns became cities.
Animals vanished.
Monsters were pushed back into corners and cracks.
Those steeped in Thyr learned new tricks.
A kelpie looked like an old nag.
An owlbear passed for a fire.
A rampaging beast became a shared hallucination.
Only a few could truly see.
Those who could Imagine it were shunned or feared. They became witches, sorcerers, madmen.
Those who could not were called Nodds.
All the while, Coffin Canyon grew deeper.
The barrier thinned.
More monsters slipped through.
Empires and Houses
Kingdoms became Empires.
Empires collapsed.
Bloodlines fractured.
From them rose noble Houses—and from the most patient, ruthless, and clever came the Seven Houses of Monsterology.
They studied monsters.
They hunted them.
They learned a simple truth:
Power is digestible.
The Steam Age
Iron and steel changed everything.
Manlings built machines that chewed mountains and spat out wealth. When Coffin Canyon was found, it glittered with promise.
Copper.
Silver.
Ancient relics.
And Thyr, crystallized and ready for the taking.
Steam engines were dragged into the depths. Boomtowns sprang up overnight. Robber Barons struck it rich.
Monsterology followed.
The hunts began in earnest.
The Catastrophe
Then the canyon answered.
At the height of the rush, engines thundered and mines plunged deeper than sense allowed. Thyr was broken, hauled, burned, and swallowed.
And then—
The air turned mean.
A rolling blight spilled downward through shafts, ravines, and buried cuts. It scorched wood, blistered skin, and stole sight.
Animals dropped.
Workers followed.
Whole towns vanished between one sunrise and the next.
When it finally passed, Coffin Canyon was declared unlivable.
Evacuation orders came late.
They have never been lifted.
The Monster Rangers
In 1903, Baron Davis was struck by lightning.
The world peeled back.
He saw monsters hiding on his farm—and instead of reaching for a rifle, he reached out a hand.
From that moment came the Monster Rangers: protectors, mediators, and the last folks willing to stand between monsters and men.
Today, 1913
The United States of Liberty stamped Coffin Canyon a Forbidden National Park.
Extraction outlawed.
Evacuation ordered.
Maps redrawn to pretend it was empty.
It wasn’t.
Monsterology built a secret Laboratorium, led by Dr. Albrecht Amsel, to study what the canyon refused to give up.
Bandits slipped in after the trains rolled out.
Silver.
Thyr.
Anything left behind.
Their raids were fast, flashy, and impossible to pin down.
They became legends in Penny Dreadfuls.
They became the Shine Riders.
The Monster Rangers followed, chasing rumors of monsters in trouble and secrets worth saving.
The Storm still comes.
Sometimes it drifts.
Sometimes it rushes.
Either way, it passes.
Coffin Canyon lives.
It is wild.
It is dangerous.
It is packed with opportunity.
And the gates are wide open.
Saddle up.
Light your lantern.
See what waits beyond the rim.
Welcome to Coffin Canyon.