The Shattered Isles

The Shattered Isles was once believed to be a single, vast continent that sat atop a circular disk of ever-flowing water. Then the Gods split into factions and fought a bitter war over who would rule such a world; Mystra tore the continent apart with her magic, forming chains of archipelagos, and Talos shook the skies so fiercely with his thunder that the seas contorted the world into a sphere. In the aftermath, a world of fractured peoples crawled from the dust and built their societies in relative isolation from each other, until seamanship entered its prime and the truly varied and unique cultures met for the first time. The truth of the matter is, the Gods ended up ruling nothing - nothing, save the power they leached from the worship of the people. Still they fought. Echoes of their fighting poured from the Astral Plane and into the Mortal Realms in drips and drabs - at first - until the barrier between the planes shattered and disaster hit the world. Aeon, the master of all creation, angered and sat in judgement for thousands of mortal years as the truce was enforced by Helm, a neutral guardian. He could not stop every God all at once, however, and the Mad God Cyric spun a web of lies which saw the truce broken. As punishment, Aeon cast the Gods down from their lofty palanquins in the heavens. When the Avatar Crisis came, and the Gods walked the world as mortals, the pantheon was culled down to its basest form. Some rose to power; others lurked in the shadows, waiting for the right moment, and most were a terror to the mortals who were powerless against them. All were denied access to the Astral Plane until they could prove their worth to Helm, the guardian of the gateway. One by one, the Gods found their way back, but not before leaving the world of The Shattered Isles in a state of disarray.   It has been over fifty years since the Avatar Crisis, and the nations have mostly rebuilt what they had lost. The Gods have thus far learned their lessons and settled into an uneasy game of backstabbing which has passed on down to the Mortal Realm through bitter struggles between their worshippers. Despite all this, an ancient evil stirs within the heart of The Woodland Realm. With the people there still recovering from a fierce battle against the forces of the Daggerjaw Mountains, can peace finally be restored to the troubled forest, or is Mhiilamniir and all of its citizens headed towards disaster?