The continent stretches from the frozen reaches of the north to the sweltering jungles of the Pridelands, from the shattered eastern seaboard to the storm-wracked Rust Coast. The people who live here call it the Merican Wastes, though no one agrees on where the name came from. Some say it was the name of a nation that once spanned the landmass. Others say it was a word for commerce, or for a kind of person, or for the land itself.
  What is certain is that the wastes are home to every Lineage, every faith, every faction that has clawed its way through the Fall and into whatever comes after. The geography is as varied as the survivors: irradiated deserts, towering forests of trees that should not exist, flooded cities where the ocean has reclaimed what humanity abandoned, frozen tundra where the dead walk beneath the ice. Each region has its own character, its own threats, and its own way of keeping people alive long enough to complain about the weather.

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