🩸 “Welcome to the Blighted Front, traveler. Where the dead don’t rest... and neither will you.” 🩸

You’ve stepped into Europe’s final nightmare — 1917, the year the Great War should’ve ended.
But something older than empire woke beneath the African sun... and now the trenches crawl with the cursed.

The Blight isn’t a disease.
It’s a sin that learned to breathe.

🇩🇪 The German Empire & Austria-Hungary — united out of desperation, firing bullets blessed by priests, holding the line against the Blackened Wanderers creeping from the east.
🇷🇺 The Russian Empire — still alive, the Tsar untouched, sending sanctified battalions into forests where the trees whisper back.
🇫🇷 France — hollowed. Fields of mud and bone where soldiers scream into the night as their skin greys... while fully conscious.
🇬🇧 Britain — hanging on by prayer and steel. They burn their dead fast.

🕯️ The Cursed —
For three days after infection, they remain aware. They see every bite they take. Every scream they cause. Their eyes bleed red, their skin fades ash-grey, and the whispers... never stop.

💀 The Priests —
The Blight cannot claim them, but it can tear them limb from limb. Their blessings are the only true cure — if given before the mind breaks.

🌫️ The World You Enter
Empires collapsing. Sanctuaries burning. Trenches filled with fog that moves against the wind. Holy relics rattling on their own.
If you’ve come here thinking this is just another war story... you’re already dead.

🔫 Your Role:
You’re the wanderer. The survivor stumbling into the ashes.
Not a chosen one. Not a hero.
Just another soul the Blight wants to claim — or spare.