A Carnival Of Hounds
Short version: ex-frontier town, ex religious community, now one-in-a-dozen run-down industrial settlement somewhere in Utah.
New Canaan was, as the name implies, one of the original settlements of the Faithful, founded scores of years ago on their arduous trek from the Sodom of the East to the Land Of Balm and Virtue. The Temple Of The King Of Life, for years the only stone building, is a lasting reminder of that journey. But that was long ago.
Now, it is a city town between these two lands. West of it, the Faithful are strong in number and in faith, and East of it, modernity looms with all its sin. To the Faithful, this is the first bulwark against corruption. To everyone else living here, its just a city, and they’d rather the Faithful stop yammering.
The town has a few thousand residents, although this number waned with the Depression, and waxed again with the arrival of the Oakie migrants. Work is scarce, with the once-great steel mill sitting idle, and most of the workers drinking away what meager wages they can scrape together, or coins they can steal, at the Golden Bull. Hope and Faith are scarcer still, with the Temple crumbling, and no entertainment coming this way for years. But now, the Dogs have returned, and there are rumors of a Carinval coming this way. Perhaps life can return to New Canaan. Perhaps this withered husk will grow again, either through hope and joy, or faith and toil, but it will grow again!
And the sandstorm on the horizon grows ever larger.