New Home - Evindale

Evindale is a dark, genre-spanning RPG campaign setting.
Hope is a defiant force, magic is woven from The Eight Elements, and every historical age—from mythic origins to brightpunk interstellar futures—challenges characters to carve meaning from a broken world.

ATLAS

40+ countries, landmarks, cultures, and their histories

LANGUAGES

Ciphers, lexicons, phrases, pronunciation guides.

PEOPLE

20+ unique lineages, from the elemental to the reborn.

GODS

Learn about the pantheons, creation myth, and death.

EVINDALE LIVE!

Streaming LIVE on Twitch!

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Join Evindale’s creator in world-building, community chat, and actual play TTRPGs!

MONDAYS

World-building – 8pm EST

WEDNESDAYS

Community Chat – 8pm EST

The world was not yet written, and we walked in the margins of a story untold.

In those days, the rivers sang, the stones whispered, and the wind carried the voices of the gods. Then came mortals, and the world fell silent.

Before ambition, before war, before sorrow—there was only wonder of eternal life.

The land knew no kings, no empires, no borders. Only the wind, the sky, and the endless dance of the Eight under Sythlia's gaze.

A god died that day, but something far worse was born.

The italti do not rule with wisdom. They rule with the fear that they might notice you.

Their cruelty was not born of hatred, nor madness, nor need. It was art to them—each torment a brushstroke, each massacre a masterpiece. And we were the canvas.

The italti are gods only because we lack the strength to make them kneel.

He took a thousand lives. We took his throne.

The gods did not strike them down. No prophecy foretold their doom. No righteous fire cleansed the world. It was steel, grit, and the fury of the hunted that ended the reign of the italti.

The italti fell, but their shadows remain. We build our empires atop their bones, yet still, we dream of being gods.

Stone by stone, road by road, we have woven a kingdom from the bones of the old world. Let the banners rise, let the markets swell, and let all who seek fortune know—this is an age of gold, not gods.

Let them dig in the ruins for scraps of power. The true strength of this age is not magic, but steel, gold, and the will to use them.

Our rivers run red! The forests choke on their forge-smoke, and all the Old Places are silent! We—the "beasts", the forgotten kin, the spirits of root and stone—now we run, hide, and die.
Their world has no place for us.

The swords are sheathed, banners raised, and the world is ours to claim. But mark my words: what we have built in conquest, we will lose in whispers and shadow. The age of open war has ended. The age of quiet knives has begun.

You cannot own the land, any more than you can own the wind. But that won’t stop them from trying.

The gods are dead, but something else is listening.

So drink, my friends, and bow your head,
The gods are silent, the priests well-fed!
Empires rise, and empires fall,
But faith, my friends—outlives them all!

The kings rule by coin and steel, but we rule by whispers and faith. Let them build their cities, their roads, their fragile empires—we build eternity in the hearts of the forgotten.

They sought to rewrite the heavens, to change the course of fate itself. And in doing so, they sealed the doom of gods and mortals alike.

Where is my home? My family?!

Pray all you like. The gods know nothing of you.

The age of wizards is dead. The age of steel and fire begins.

Ask the wrong questions, and you vanish. Learn too much, and you drown in the river. They say the gods are dead, but the shadows still have masters.

We were fools to think an age without gods would be an age of freedom. We tore down their temples, only to build prisons in their place.

No gods. No prayers. No miracles. Just fire by our own hands, steel of our own making, and endless sky waiting to be conquered!

Magic is now equations, and prayers have become patents. This is progress, my boy!

Look upon this skyline: the machines, the lights!
No gods built this—only men, with sweat and steel! If there is divinity in this world, it is in the engines that never sleep!

You think the world is run by us? No. The guilds have come together. They own everything. One day—mark my words—they'll only be one guild.

We mastered the land, tamed the skies, and bent the seas to our will. But the stars? Still untouched. I don't intend to leave them that way.

It is done! From this moment forward, we rise to prosperity as
one dominion, one people, one government!

There is no greater honor than service, no greater purpose than obedience. The past is a disease. The future is The Syndicate.

You speak of him as if he existed. He did not. He never did. This is the final time we will have this conversation.

There is something wrong in the records. Erased files restoring themselves. Forgotten names appearing in the archives. The system is perfect—so why is it failing?

The Syndicate is eternal! The Syndicate is all!

DENY. DEPOSE. DELAY.

We're not myths, I'm tellin ya. Not mistakes neither! And we ain't lost. We're here, we remember, and we are taking it all back!

Shh. Listen.
Heartbeat of Nature.
Nor'dagha calls, Sythlia sings.