>>6302481

Race

> Human — adaptable, average across all fields.

> Elf — long-lived, attuned to nature, slower population growth.

> Halfling — clever and resilient, but militarily weaker.

Technology Era

> Bronze Age — fragile metals, rise of city-states, first great monuments.

> Iron Age — stronger armies, larger kingdoms, growing trade routes.

> Medieval — castles, advanced agriculture, guilds, and organized faith.

Starting Location

> Fertile River Valley — abundant crops, risk of flooding and invasion.

> Dense Forest Heartland — natural defense, slower expansion.

> Mountain Stronghold — secure and mineral-rich, hard to farm.

Religion

> Nature Spirits — harmony with land, strong druidic influence.

> Pantheon of Gods — structured temples, divine authority.

> Ancestor Worship — family-centered, tradition-bound governance.

Attitude Towards Slavery

> Normal Practice — boosts labor and expansion, risks revolts.

> Restricted (criminals/debtors only) — modest productivity boost, socially stable.

> Outlawed — no labor advantage, but stronger unity and loyalty.

Magic

> None — society relies purely on skill and invention.

> Minor — small magical traditions that supplement life.

> Major — magic is central, replacing or reshaping parts of technology.

Technological Focus (Boons)

> Metallurgy & Weaponry — military units cost less to arm and fight better; strong in wars, weaker in peace.

> Engineering & Construction — buildings, roads, and fortifications are faster and sturdier; slow cultural/artistic development.

> Medicine & Learning — population grows faster and lives longer; armies are slower to equip and train.

Technological Handicap (True Drawbacks)

> Weak Seafaring — ships are more expensive and less effective; land-based expansion is easier.

> Poor Agriculture — farms produce less food, limiting growth; trade and conquest bring in extra wealth to compensate.

> Fragile Metallurgy — tools and weapons break faster, raising costs; cultural and artistic traditions flourish as alternatives.

Resource Level of the World

> Abundant — plenty of ore, stone, and fertile soil; wealth grows, wars are frequent.

> Average — balanced resources, steady growth.

> Scarce — survival is harsh, trade and cunning diplomacy become vital.

Vegetation Level of the World

> Lush — forests and jungles everywhere, wood is abundant but land clearing is tough.

> Balanced — mix of plains, forests, and rivers; steady growth.

> Barren — deserts, scrublands, or tundra; farming is hard, but natural defenses are strong.

>>6302483


And that's about it.

Write ins are allowed, but I might veto anything I don't like.

I'm gonna worldbuild a little while I wait since it is taking awhile.

Long ago, before the memory of men stretched beyond a few generations, there stood a city upon the waves, glittering like a jewel of the sun. Its towers were taller than the tallest trees, its streets paved with polished stone, and its people were wise in all arts—alchemy, astronomy, and the secret weaving of magic into steel. They called it Thal’Mara, and even the distant lands whispered its name with awe.

The city rose above the water, yet its foundations reached deep into the sea. Bridges of coral and bronze spanned canals where ships of silver glided, carrying scholars and merchants alike. It was a place where knowledge flowed as freely as water, and the sky above reflected the golden ambition of men.

But as all great pride must be tested, the gods—or perhaps the very earth itself—grew weary of Thal’Mara’s arrogance. One morning, the horizon burned with crimson light, and the seas rose in wrath. Waves taller than towers swept across the city, tearing its spires and fountains apart. The scholars and kings were swallowed beneath the water, and only the lowest of men, the fishermen who had cast nets in its harbor, survived.

They clung to their small boats, watching the gleaming towers vanish beneath the waves. They had been the humblest of the city’s citizens, men who mended nets, rowed barges, and hauled in fish from the harbor. Yet fate had chosen them. For when the waters receded and the sunken ruins lay hidden beneath the ocean, these simple men were left to carry the memory of a lost civilization.

With Thal’Mara’s treasures gone, these fishermen found themselves rich only in skill, wisdom, and courage. Their knowledge of the sea, the winds, and the hidden currents made them natural leaders. They taught others what they had seen and learned, building new villages, trade routes, and fleets. The arts and techniques once reserved for kings now belonged to hands calloused by toil, and slowly, these men became lords and rulers, not by birth, but by mastery of knowledge and courage in adversity.

Wherever they went, they carried the spirit of Thal’Mara with them. From the storm-lashed coasts to distant inland rivers, people gathered under their guidance. They founded towns, tamed forests, built roads and bridges, and whispered the tales of the sunken city as both warning and inspiration.

Generations later, the story of Thal’Mara is told not to frighten, but to remind all that greatness does not belong only to the powerful and the proud. Even the humblest of fishermen, if gifted with knowledge, courage, and will, can rise to rule empires and shape the fate of the world. Beneath the waves, the city sleeps still—but in the hearts of men, its light endures forever.

Long before the forests of the present world were sown, before rivers knew the names of elves, there lay a continent shrouded in mist, whose edges were kissed by seas no map can hold. This land, known in whispers as Illythrae, was the cradle of elvish ancestors—sleek ships had carried them across endless waters, their sails silver as starlight, thousands of years ago.

But Illythrae was no tranquil paradise. From the dawn of their arrival, the elves found themselves beneath the whimsical dominion of the fair folk, creatures of laughter and terror, small in stature but mighty in magic. The fairies bent the minds of mortals with a thought, shaping their wills with cruel playfulness. Elves labored in grand crystal cities, weaving fabrics of moonlight and tending gardens of impossible flowers, all while the fairies toyed with their desires, twisting joy into despair, obedience into agony.

For centuries, the elves endured, learning in secret the old songs of resistance, the silent arts of patience, and the hidden currents of magic that even the fairies could not fully control. Some say they whispered to the stones, and the stones whispered back; others claim they spoke to the wind, and the wind carried their prayers beyond the horizon.

Then, at last, the oppressed grew bold. A small host of elves, guided by foresight and subtle magic, slipped away under the cover of night, boarding ships of shadow and silver. They sailed into the unknown seas, fleeing the glittering cruelty of Illythrae. Their kith, left behind, faded over generations; the fairies’ enchantments broke, and eventually, the elves of Illythrae passed into memory, leaving only ruins and the strange, lingering laughter of the fair folk.

No elf living today can say with certainty whether Illythrae exists still—whether it lies hidden beyond the edges of this world, shrouded in another realm, or has sunk beneath some enchanted sea. Yet the memory endures. Ancient songs, cryptic glyphs, and the subtle longing in the hearts of all elves speak of the land where their kin first learned to endure, to hope, and to flee tyranny.

And though the fairies vanished with the centuries, leaving only tales and warnings, the elves never forget: that even in beauty and whimsy, magic can be cruel, and freedom is worth every risk of the open sea.

Long before halflings were known to the world above, their kin dwelled in the vast caverns beneath the earth, where darkness pressed close and the air smelled of stone and damp. They came into this land through endless winding tunnels, fleeing horrors that lived in the deep—terrible things with many eyes and teeth, creatures that hungered without end.

These earliest halflings were small, clever, and light of foot. They learned to survive in places where sunlight never reached, tending subterranean gardens of strange fungi and luminescent herbs, coaxing life from stone and shadow alike. The great underground lords who ruled them demanded labor, and the halflings obeyed—planting, harvesting, and shaping food for those masters. But in their work, they discovered a gift: a talent for growing things that seemed almost magical, an instinct that passed down through generations, long after the caverns were left behind.

When the time came to leave the depths, only the bravest halflings ventured to the surface, emerging into open lands that were bright, warm, and alive with song. They carried with them the secret arts of the gardens and the songs that kept courage alive, teaching their children to sing while they planted, dance while they harvested, and laugh even in the face of hardship. Their people grew merry and clever, their lands fertile, and their lives rich with music and story.

But the elders remember. Among themselves, they whisper of the terrible things that never die, the horrors of the deep that watched the halflings depart. Some say the tunnels themselves pulse with waiting malice, that the darkness stirs when laughter grows too loud above. And in prophecy, it is written that one day the terrors of the depths will rise again, seeking what was taken, and only the cunning and the brave will stand to meet them.

So halflings sing and plant and laugh, and the common folk take joy in their lives. But the eldest know the truth: the deep remembers, and the roots of the world hide secrets that not even sunlight can reach.

give it to us straight, OP: is this all AI generated or

>>6302557

Just making some worldbuilding while I wait for players. Guess I'll make some more, since no one voted yet.

Long ago, Karak was a city of quiet splendor, nestled at the edge of a wide forest, where cobblestone streets wound between stately homes and markets thrived with the trade of rare gems and fine cloth. At its heart lived a noble man, Lord Arelan, and his elf wife, Sylvara, whose grace was whispered about in every corner of the city. Together, they were admired not just for wealth, but for kindness, justice, and the careful tending of both their lands and their people.

For many years, Karak prospered under their care. Gardens bloomed in every courtyard, fountains sang along the streets, and children’s laughter echoed from square to square. Sylvara, in particular, had a gentle magic that touched all who crossed her path: she could coax crops to flourish, calm quarrels, and heal the sick. Life seemed eternal in Karak, as though the city itself had been blessed by the gods.

Then grief came. Lord Arelan fell ill, and despite all the skill of healers and the quiet magic of Sylvara, he died in his sleep. Sylvara’s sorrow was deep as the ocean, and she withdrew from the city, wandering into the forest that bordered Karak. There, among ancient trees and silent glades, she made a small dwelling, leaving the care of her city to others, though her spirit lingered like a shadow over the streets.

It was not long after her seclusion that disaster struck. A horde of monsters—creatures from the deep woods and darker places beyond the hills—swept down upon Karak. They broke into homes, toppled towers, and ransacked markets, leaving smoke and ruin in their wake. The people fled, or fell, and the city’s splendor was consumed in fire and chaos.

Sylvara returned then, no longer merely a woman of grief but a force of terrible power. Her sorrow had sharpened into fury, and with it, she became a whirlwind of vengeance. Stepping into the burning streets, she called upon her magic and her skill, striking down every monster with precision and wrath. Legends say the creatures fell by her hand alone, their screams echoing through the ruined city as though the forest itself wept with her rage.

After the last monster lay dead, Sylvara retreated once more to the forest, leaving Karak a city of charred walls, toppled towers, and empty streets. The marketplace was silent, the fountains dry, and the homes were hollowed shells of memory. Yet the elves say that in secret places—hidden passages beneath ruined halls, trapped stairwells beneath collapsed towers—treasures remain untouched: gilded heirlooms, rare gems, and artifacts from before the city fell.

>>6302483
> Dwarf
> Medieval
> Dense Forest Heartland
> Nature Spirits
> Outlawed
> Minor
> Engineering & Construction
> Weak Seafaring
> Average
> Balanced

>>6302483
> Halfling — clever and resilient, but militarily weaker.
> Medieval — castles, advanced agriculture, guilds, and organized faith.
> Fertile River Valley — abundant crops, risk of flooding and invasion.
> Pantheon of Gods — structured temples, divine authority.
> Normal Practice — boosts labor and expansion, risks revolts.
> Major — magic is central, replacing or reshaping parts of technology.
> Medicine & Learning — population grows faster and lives longer; armies are slower to equip and train.
> Fragile Metallurgy — tools and weapons break faster, raising costs; cultural and artistic traditions flourish as alternatives.
> Scarce — survival is harsh, trade and cunning diplomacy become vital.
> Lush — forests and jungles everywhere, wood is abundant but land clearing is tough.

>>6302483
>human
>iron age
>dense forest heartland
>ancestor worship
>normal practice
>none
>metallurgy & weaponry
>weak seafaring
>average
>balanced

We trust the the certainty of steel

Rolled 3 (1d3)

>>6302743 1
>>6302785 2
>>6302810 3

You stand on the hillfort of Karven, high above the dark forest. The people chant your name—Konrad the Ash-Born—for the ancestors chose you. Their voices crowned you king, and to sit upon the stone seat is to carry the weight of every forefather and foremother.

Your throne is not absolute. Around you gather the great warrior clans, proud lords in iron. They are your shield and your challenge, leading warbands, taking tribute, and demanding their voices be heard. They bow to you—so long as you honor the old ways.

The kingdom is forest and iron. The trees stretch endless and tall, roots gripping the soil like claws. Beneath them lies ore, hammered into spearheads and blades that gleam like fire. But the rivers defy you; your seafaring is weak.

You know the rituals. Before war, men cut their palms, calling the ancestors to guide them. In times of need, you alone descend into the burial mounds to seek the counsel of the dead. Once the ritual is done, you bathe, washing away the humors of the dead, don your wolf-pelt cloak, and summon the council.

Seven noble families answer: Baumhart, Tannenstamm, Ulmenruh, Lindwurm, Eberfang, Speerschneid, and Schwertung—your own house. Your uncle, Edrik Schwertung, represents your bloodline, the last living link to your father.

The elders speak:

Edrik Schwertung: "Nephew, raiders approach our rivers. Strike first, or lose the iron."
Walda Baumhart: "Fields lie fallow. Without food, the people and warriors starve."
Irmin Tannenstamm: "Spirits stir in the forest. Anger them, and it will turn against us."
Brunna Eberfang: "Let spirits mutter. Drive into the woods and claim new land!"
Sigwald Speerschneid: "Our warriors lack discipline. Forge them into one spearhead, or we fall apart."
Alva Ulmenruh: "The dead whisper near the barrows. Ignore them, and calamity comes."
Hrodgar Lindwurm: "Trade is weak. Build ships, or bow to those who rule the rivers."

> Raise the Sword (Military Path) Strike raiders, expand into the woods, and forge the clans into one host. Gain military power, but risk hunger and unrest.
> Honor the Ancestors and the Forest (Spiritual Path) Offer sacrifice, renew bonds with spirits, and seek omens. Deepen sacred authority, but slow expansion and risk warrior discontent.
> Secure the Lifeblood of the Realm (Economic Path) Focus on food and trade, grow resources, and brave the rivers. Strengthen the people’s wealth, but leave your arms weaker and rely on outsiders.
> Write in

>>6303030


Your kingdom spreads across the dense forest heartland, villages clustering along rivers and fertile clearings. Around thirty-five thousand souls live here, mostly farmers, hunters, and craftsmen, with a fraction trained for war.

At your command are 3,000 warriors: Schwertung, your own, 500; Eberfang, 400; Speerschneid, 450; Baumhart, 350; Tannenstamm, 300; Ulmenruh, 250; and Lindwurm, 250. Another 5,000 able-bodied villagers can be armed in times of danger, though they need training and iron. Loyalty first runs to the clans, but all respect the authority of Konrad the Ash-Born, sanctioned by the ancestors.

Fortifications are modest but strong—hillforts, palisades, and watchtowers guard the rivers and forest edges. Iron from the hills allows your smiths—three hundred strong—to forge 20–25 tons yearly, enough to arm warriors and maintain tools. Silver reserves of 200–300 kg fund wages, gifts, and trade.

The forests themselves are a resource and a shield. Lumberjacks supply timber for fortifications, which can be built or repaired at a steady pace. Fields and rivers feed your people, while iron and silver sustain arms and trade.

Together, food, iron, silver, timber, and people form the backbone of your power. The clans respect your rule; your uncle Edrik leads the Sword-Born, and the council maintains order. Your kingdom may be moderate in size, but it is strong, self-sufficient, and ready for whatever threats the forest heartland may bring.

>>6303030
> Honor the Ancestors and the Forest (Spiritual Path)

>>6303030
>> Raise the Sword (Military Path) Strike raiders, expand into the woods, and forge the clans into one host. Gain military power, but risk hunger and unrest.

>>6303158
+1

we gotta get blooded early. We should not attempt to fight them on the river but if they seek to invade we will push them back into the water.

>>6303059
>>6303158
>>6303323

You send your men to deal with the raiders.

The counter-raid was swift. Your warriors, hardened by the forest and the spear, fell upon the marauders like wolves in the dark. A handful survived the clash—bound, bloodied, and dragged before your war council.

From their broken lips, under the weight of your questioning, the truth spilled: they were no mere raiders, but agents sent by Azula, the kingdom beyond the western rivers. Their king seeks to test your defenses, probing for weakness before striking deeper. Azula’s gaze is fixed on your forested heartland.

Yet your scouts bring other tidings. To the east lies Cyna, a smaller realm nestled in fertile clearings, its villages soft from too many years of peace. Their warriors are few, their weapons crude. But their fields are rich, their granaries heavy. Between your lands and theirs lies a patch of cursed woods, where bandits reign unchecked. These outlaws have seized an old silver mine, cutting off trade routes and enriching themselves with stolen wealth.

Now the path forks before you.

> Send Envoy to Azula — Demand answers, test their intentions, or feign friendship to buy time.
> Send Envoy to Cyna — Weaker though they seem, alliance or vassalage could secure fertile lands without bloodshed.
> Raid Azula — Strike first, cross the western rivers, and show Azula that your kingdom is no prey.
> Raid Cyna — Exploit their weakness, seize their fields, and feed your growing host.
> Send Envoy to the Bandits — Parley with thieves; perhaps silver and cunning can buy their loyalty.
> Raid the Bandits — Crush them, reclaim the silver mine, and open the roads of trade once more.
> Write in

>>6303642
> Raid the Bandits

>>6303642
>> Raid the Bandits — Crush them, reclaim the silver mine, and open the roads of trade once more.