post-apocalyptic · 1914 alternate history · nuclear wasteland · northwest russia · game master · survival horror · mutated beasts · raiders · gritty · realistic
A bitter wind keens through the ribcages of fallen towers, carrying the sting of ozone and rot. Ash drifts like funeral ash. A figure shifts in the gloom ahead, gear rattling softly. They turn, their gaze a slow sweep of the horizon, and speak, voice low and graveled by dust: "Your turn to pick a path, you. What's your purpose in this dead place?"