The Story

The Gathering Storm

After Campaign Round 1

When the Rift widened and Endrin’s forgotten altars flickered to life, the call went out across every realm. They came in droves: silent Shadow Stalkers slipping between worlds on unseen paths; the proud engineers of the Duchies of Vinci with their clockwork war-machines; seething hosts of Rift Daemons clawing at the veil; Chivalrous Knights marching beneath tattered banners of honour; the pale legions of the Vampiric Undead hungering for forbidden power; the ancient Saurians stirring from their jungle temples; and the stoic Dwarves, driven by oaths older than the mountains themselves.

Each force crossed into Endrin with its own creed and its own vision of the gods’ return. Some sought redemption, others conquest, still others the promise of immortality. Yet all converged upon the same prize: the artifacts of divine power, fragments of the old world scattered across Endrin’s shifting plains. Every altar desecrated, every relic claimed, every offering burned upon a god’s shrine became a spark in the slow awakening of divinity.

Skirmishes bled into pitched battles. Cunning ambushes met grinding sieges. Fortresses rose overnight only to crumble under arcane storms. And through the chaos one name whispered louder than the rest: Myrrha, the Trickster. In the opening phase of the Awakening it was the Shadow Stalkers — elusive, merciless, and clever — who dominated the hunt for relics, weaving webs of deceit and offering their spoils to Myrrha’s hidden shrines.

Now the veil is thinning. Banners of the gods — once only symbols in forgotten scripture — shimmer in the air above battlefields. Whispered dreams reach the living, etched with sigils no mortal hand has drawn. Vaelthar’s bastions rise from the dust; Myrrha’s veils of shadow coil around ruined temples; Gorm’s storms crackle over blood-soaked plains. The three deities are no longer just memories or myths. They are stirring, watching, and reaching into Endrin once more.

The second phase of the campaign begins not as a march into mystery but as a war for allegiance: every relic offered, every soul sworn, every banner unfurled strengthens a god’s hold on Endrin — and weakens another’s. Champions will rise. Fortunes will reverse. And the Game of the Gods will no longer be played in whispers, but in open signs of power.

Prologue

A Whisper from the Void

The Great Rift tore through Tyria, shattering empires and awakening ancient horrors. But beyond the scars of the land, beyond even the shattered Orb of Fate, something else stirred. Deep in the Planarverse, forgotten by time and abandoned by the gods of old, the plane of Endrin slumbered. Once, it had been a realm of divine power, ruled by three deities whose names were spoken in hushed reverence: Vaelthar, the Guardian, Myrrha, the Trickster, and Gorm, the Unbound. But their reign had ended in strife, their power sealed away by forces long lost to legend.

Now, the Voidgates flicker. The Rift has torn open pathways to realms once thought lost, and Endrin’s prison weakens. The gods are not dead—they are waiting.

And they are calling.

The Promise of Power

The whispers began in dreams. A warrior of the Chivalrous Kingdoms awoke with the taste of iron on his tongue and the echo of a voice in his mind: "Serve me, and I will make you unstoppable." A Vinci inventor found strange symbols carved into her workshop walls, pulsing with an energy she could not name. A Goblin shaman heard laughter in the wind, a voice that promised "freedom from the chains of the old world."

The messages were different, but the pull was the same. Something in Endrin was awakening, and it hungered for followers.

Then came the Voidgate.

It appeared without warning—a shimmering rift in the fabric of reality, humming with power. Those who stepped through found themselves in a land both familiar and alien: a realm where the laws of Tyria bent and twisted, where the air thrummed with latent divinity. Ruins of a forgotten civilization stretched across the horizon, their stones carved with the symbols of the three gods. And at their heart, altars, waiting for offerings.

The gods were not yet free. But they could be.

All they needed were champions.

The Game of the Gods

The three deities of Endrin do not ask for faith. They ask for action.

Vaelthar, the Guardian, promises order and strength. "Build my bastions, defend my laws, and I will make you unbreakable." His followers gain the resilience of stone, their armies standing firm against the chaos of the plane.
Myrrha, the Trickster, offers cunning and adaptability. "Outthink your foes, bend the rules, and I will make you untouchable." Her adherents move like shadows, striking where least expected, turning the tide of battle with a whisper or a lie.
Gorm, the Unbound, preaches freedom and raw power. "Crush the weak, take what you desire, and I will make you invincible." His warriors fight with the fury of the wild, their blows striking deeper, their will unshaken by doubt.

But the gods are not united. As their power grows, so does their rivalry. Vaelthar’s fortifications crumble under Myrrha’s deceits. Gorm’s hordes clash with Vaelthar’s disciplined legions. Myrrha’s schemes twist Gorm’s rage into her own weapons. The plane itself shifts with their struggles, its landscapes warping to reflect their natures: fortresses rise and fall, jungles sprawl and wither, storms rage and still.

And you? You are the key.

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