The True History of Oz

The Next Chapter.
Is The First Chapter.

A whispered legend has it that L. Frank Baum took his OZ story from a mysterious series of books called The True History of OZ.

The Wizard of Oz, the beloved movie from 1939, and all the other adaptations and variations – in books, on TV, other movies, several new ones currently in development in Hollywood – are all based on the book The Wonderful Wizard of OZ by L. Frank Baum.

The problem is, that that source material – Baum’s book – is, according to this legend, wrong.

Or, to be more precise, L. Frank Baum took the idea for his OZ from The True History of OZ, written by a native of the actual OZ named Calista Z. Turns out, Baum stumbled upon this strange 5-volume history while going bankrupt running a general store in the Dakota Territories in 1890. How they came to be in the back room of his general store in the Dakota Territories is a book unto itself.

Baum, at first, did not like these stories. They were dark, violent, full of revenge, terrible secrets, gangs, vice, war, apocalyptic magic, and more.

Nevertheless, Baum, so the still unproven legend has it, recognized the power of the stories and the characters and the world in which they lived. He appreciated the ultimate lesson and theme of those books, which was: If change is possible, then hope is justified.

After reading and re-reading the 5 books dozens of times, he decided to turn it into a children’s story. He made it cute, silly, and sweet, and, of course, it then became one of the most beloved books ever, and he became a fabulously wealthy man.

From a bankrupt shopkeeper, to one of the wealthiest men in America, in a few short years, from one short book. Very curious.

But the real story of OZ, according to Calista Z., who was there, was not cute. Or silly.

Or sweet.

At all.

In other words, there are other words.

This is:

The True History of OZ.

[Limited Edition TTRPGs]

The True History of Oz

The Grinders march forward towards whichever bloody end turns out to be inevitable in this desert Hell.

In the red shadows, stragglers from the giant monkey army have cornered another Grinder. Short, squat, tan as leather, and heavily muscled, the Grinder keeps its one good eye on the monkeys, tosses its massive wooden axe from left hand to right hand, leans slowly over, and picks up its wooden shield. It starts a rhythmic chant, a single, slowly repeating syllable – HUH…HUH…HUH. It might be a prayer, it might be a challenge. It might be its last words. One can’t pick the time and place for last words, and in this land, it’s usually your enemy that hears them.

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