There is a place. Where dreams go to die. Where time laps at your senses like the wine-dark sea. Where legends are forgotten. Oh, there is a place, there beyond the mountains nestled in the abandoned regions of east Montany. Should you seek the center of it, you may yet find impossible answers to unknowable questions and quiet the deep turbulence of every single soul in your land. If only you can make it there; the place where where a God died.

If the measure of a man is the quality of his enemies, then it seems the people of Feltyr couldn’t stand taller. In the most direct fallout of the Awakening, Paternas, God of the Sands, has declared war on the City of Steel, sculpting a new and terrible form of creature that dissolves everything that lives and wears the armor of everything that dies. And yet, they remain. The land is soaked in metal and blood as the greatest heroes of the older ages and the new rebuff wave after wave of the foul things that make a mockery, and soup, of the living. Will their mettle hold out against the vengeful caprices of an angered God?

A city is nothing without the body politic, and everybody needs something. Explore pubs and courts alike and you’ll hear nothing but complaints as everything everywhere falls apart. A terrible time, it seems, for the centennial Bell Ceremony where humans and the Gods renew their covenant in good faith when there’s so little to go around. In chaotic moments like these a single voice can sometimes ring out strong enough to cut through the din and change the world. That said, you may not be the only one who knows an opportunity when they hear it

The hunters of Domtav the Good sit around idly, wistful of the days when the wilds bristled with monsters. You’ll never get in without bringing a hide back with you, but what is there even left to hunt? Not much. If you want to follow the tips you can get from monster sightings to anything worth a damn, you’ll need to delve deep and look hard. Just be careful. There may be a reason why the few monsters left are still around.

Why can’t we all just get along? Many reasons, it turns out. From the uptight religious zeal of Bellant to the outright rebelliousness of Knust Okse, the 8 most powerful city-states in the Knell have never liked that which makes each of them special. And yet, they all share the same problem; without the permission of the Gods, none of them can make divine claim to independence. But in every law there is a loophole, and it seems the cresting waves of fate have revealed a rare opportunity for only one of these juggernauts to truly claim their rightful status. Water rises quickly, and too soon the whims of destiny have become the tides of war.

Anyone who puts food in bellies for a living has heard the same sad scam a hundred times from a hundred hungry mouths. Whether or not Orisi Lords will truly favor a cook for feeding their row is anyone’s guess, but it seems far-fetched given how long most of them have been dead. Only, rumors keep persisting, and disturbing disappearances of celebrated Sup-smiths are increasing all the time even as more fill to replace them in the mad spree of the post-Awakening culinary revolution. It’s enough to make one worry about exactly what appetites they might feed next.