THE TERRITORY IS HIRING
The frontier out here runs on steam, gold, and prayers nobody answers. Drifters arrive by the wagonload. Fewer leave — and the ones that do don't talk about it.
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THE TERRITORY
Perdition runs on steam, gold, and prayers nobody answers. Around it sprawl four hundred and eighty hexes of frontier — two cities, ten towns, and a wild between them that swallows survey stakes whole. The Company will pay you to work it. Whatever's already working it goes unpaid.
MINUTES A DAY
…and the territory moves on without you
Every action runs on a real clock — seconds, not hours — and resolves even after you close the tab.
NO DOWNLOAD
One canvas hexmap, brass instruments, and the fog doing the rest. This is the whole game — it runs in the browser you already have.
THE WORK
Four hundred eighty hexes at building scale — two cities, ten towns, and the wild between. The fog of frontier keeps what you haven't ridden dark, and your horse remembers every mile you push her.
terrain sets the pace. the sierra takes nine seconds a step.
A real order-book Exchange on the floor of both cities — every order escrowed, every price set by players. Keep a shop on a town mercantile's shelf, or fill supply contracts under Her Ladyship's seal when the market runs thin.
the Company's rates are a floor. everything above it is negotiation.
A fight is five dealt poker hands from a deck you crafted card by card. Lead and hex wound the body; fear works on the nerve. Lose and you wake on the saloon floor — poorer in pride, never in silver.
aces and eights. you know what that means.
Sixteen souls keep the territory's books — marshals, assayers, a Lady in each city. Fill their contracts and they'll greet you like a regular. Abandon one and the marshal recalls it longer than you'd like.
disposition is a ledger too.
THE SHOWDOWN
Three hands to two — the pot's yours.
best of five dealt hands. your deck, your supplies, your funeral.
THE LIVING WORLD
THE TERRITORY GAZETTE
POSTED IN EVERY SALOON · SEVEN EDITIONS KEPT
NEW DRIFTER OUT OF THE FOG
One more soul signed the Company's book this morning. The fog gave up a drifter answering to a name we've not printed before; the saloon poured accordingly.
SEAT 2 CHANGED HANDS
A call-out on the List went the challenger's way at high noon. The wall was repainted before the dust settled.
an AI editor writes the day's edition from what players actually did — the names and numbers come from the ledger.
THE LIST
SEASON STANDINGS · SALOON WALL
seasons run monthly. the Fastest Gun in the Territory gets greeted differently by every soul in it.
THE WIRE
ONE LINE · LAST 24 HOURS
COPPER MOVING AT THE EXCHANGE STOP
DEN CLEARED PAST GALLOWS TREE STOP
one telegraph line, the whole territory on it — twenty words a day, make them count.
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