No one remembers why, but 10,000 years ago, at the beginning of history, a great catastrophe flooded the world with water. When the waters came, it was up to every person to either adapt, or drown in the relentless tidal waves. Humans and gnomes created vessels hardy enough to survive the waves. The elves had used magic or mutation in order to either fly away with the Aarakocra or swim amongst the merfolk, later pushing them away as second class citizens. The Dragonborn and Kobolds along with whoever may have been on the continent at the time were hoisted into the heavens via the spell Proctiv’s Move Mountain as they begged to be saved by powerful dragons. Dwarves had tunneled their way into the last great mountain range, and perhaps knew most of the old word. They seem to have remnants of the old times, and have lived long enough to explain their origins to their kin. However not all the races were so lucky, or so the world thought. The drow had been at a stalemate with the rest of the world, making their way through tunnels up to the surface in order to skirmish and steal from other races, taking technology and slaves. Those tunnels had been mostly flooded, but not without warning. You have all uncovered many secrets and surmise that the drow are alive, just forgotten.
They had warning of the flood and built barricades to ensure their safety below in the underdark. Above ground what was once widespread continents is now a vast ocean-floor, cluttered with ruins of ancient civilizations taken back by nature, and at the whim of the ocean currents. What once were great mountain peaks are now the last remaining islands. The only mountain ranges to survive being the great Yaugh-Mordin to the north, and the Dragon Plateau to the south. Some people of this world have opted to live in beautiful underwater metropolises. These are the beacons of hope for anyone looking to make something of themselves, and the hotspot of incredible innovation via the great Artificers of the world. One of which being Zosk Godhand, a kobold owning one of the greatest hotspots in the developing cities of Synoro, one of the last places not festering with the world navy. Back up on the surface, most places have now been taken over and built up into forts, the only hope of salvation for anyone not under the navy's wing being Pierre Murkmirre who has been leading attacks against these fortifications. To the south is a large continent split up and floating above the ocean surface, the only entrance being massive waterfalls however few choose to live there. This landscape is a wasteland desert, home to countless perils and governed by dragons.
Most of the civilizations of the old world were lost to the waves. Their culture, science, art, and treasure has been seemingly lost forever. This has led to a movement throughout the world to better educate people in the hopes of one day producing technology to prevent future catastrophes and uncover the secrets of the lost world. A movement in which this party has been at the forefront of. Making their name in the newspaper a countless number of times, as their bounties rose, they fought against the navy, and uncovered ancient art and technology.
All no longer seems well in the world, as tensions grow. After theft of ancient keys, assassinations of polical figures, espionage on both parts, and traitors around every corner the watery shadows of this world are coming to a boiling point.
As you make your way back from your respective journeys, you can't help but to feel a sense of calm, that leaves an uneasy feeling in your stomach, there's a storm coming, but none-the-less, welcome back everyone, to a world of mystery. A world of discernment. A world of deceit. Welcome back, to…
Atlas
