Enter Lythria where the land itself is dying.

A blight known as the Spoiling Sickness has spread like a divine curse across the realm, rendering the flesh of all mammals foul and unfit for mortal consumption. Those who succumb to its corruption do not perish cleanly. They rot where they stand, rising again as shambling corpses or rabid beasts driven by hunger and contagion. To partake of red meat is to be branded a cannibal, an accusation that carries shame, suspicion, and often the torch and noose. Only birds, reptiles, and fish remain safe to raise for food, tended with obsessive care to keep the taint at bay. Mammals are now reserved for companionship, labor, and war. Even milk, once drawn from humble livestock, is now taken from slaves whose bodies have become yet another commodity in a world where survival eclipses mercy.

The peoples of Lythria endure beneath the same dying sky, yet they are far from united. Ancient grudges, clashing faiths, and competing ambitions divide the realm into fragile alliances that grow more strained with each passing season. Alliances are tenuous, faith is tested, and every throne hides ambition sharpened like a dagger in the dark. This is a realm of dying lands, whispered bargains, and ambitions sharpened by desperation.