The air in Haze Hollow had been thick with the choking dust of mines and spores, but now the grim scent of despair was gone, replaced with the crisp, clean tang of pine and fresh turned earth. For weeks, a suffocating pall of glowing fungal spores had clung to the valley walls, a virulent legacy of the Cult of Undying's insatiable zeal. Deep within the earth, the Mortis had pierced an ancient, dormant horror, where an abhorrent legacy of pre fall science had waited

The town, a ramshackle collection of timber and tin built on the promise of quick riches, had teetered on the brink of oblivion. Those who survived the initial onslaught of the spore cloud were forced into grim isolation, their lungs burning, their faces pale with fear. They watched from behind shuttered windows as the blue tendrils of corruption crept over every area touched by the Spore, transforming the once-bustling streets into a silent, alien landscape. Even the hardiest souls, forged in the crucible of frontier life, felt the icy grip of despair, as food dwindled and every breath became a terrifying gamble...