The isle of Gottfell has been forged by two factors from the very beginning: myths and conflict.
Said to be the body of a dead god that fell to earth, the continent has been divided between the 7 “kingdoms” as long as anyone can remember.
The human dominated city of Wardrock fights from behind enormous warded obelisks against any evil: perceived or real. Meanwhile nestled deep within the chasm based city of Titansvein, the dwarves stand against all through kinship and tradition but how long can resolutions last in a changing world?
From the other side of the continent, the elves watch from their roving capital of Tel’solran: witness to all the continents troubles but reluctant to interfere even when danger creeps ever closer.
The goblinoid kingdom likewise keeps vigil from the 9 citadels of Iron Cross, but with a very different agenda. Unification has guarded them from all outsiders, but why stop there over a trifle matter like being voluntary?
The Yuanti agree, but who would know? Nestled hidden within the jungle with plots that last centuries and servants in all corners, what wouldn’t they sacrifice to dominate their foolish neighbors once and for all?

The lizard men for their part would want nothing from anyone or thing outside their swamp if not for others constant incursion into their lands. Torn between assaults on their homes and enslavement of their people, how long can a predator tolerate provocation?
Lastly, the Gnolls build little within the thick weave from where they hunt…outside of the stacks of flesh they drag back to devour within the Flayed City. But reinforced with direct portals to the abyss fashioned from
acts of vile consumption, why stop the feast at small villages when you could have a capital banquet?

The drums of war have been sounding for decades now, but who is the drummer? And on an isle that proves even a god can fall, what would it take for everything to collapse? And to what end would it fall to? Home Page

The Gottfell Chronicles