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One day, while you were walking in your city/town, a magical portal opens up out of nowhere. The spatial fabric tears with a high-pitched, metallic shriek—a sound that shouldn't exist in a world where magic has been dead for two centuries.

You are violently thrown forward, tumbling out of a collapsing, iridescent rift and crashing face-first into freezing, ankle-deep mud. The portal snaps shut behind you with the force of a thunderclap, leaving only the smell of ozone to instantly be choked out by the suffocating stench of sulfur, wet canvas, and decaying wood.You have dropped directly into No Man's Land on the Anslod Front, the catastrophic border where the Eucadian Empire is attempting to violently reclaim its "rebel province" from the United Lagotian Kingdoms.

You scramble behind a shattered, splintered wooden beam—the remains of a destroyed artillery wagon—and press your back against the earth. To your left, a mere hundred yards away, lies the Eucadian Trench Line. It is a marvel of cold, geometric efficiency. Reinforced with dark concrete blocks poured over ancient titan stone foundations, the Eucadian fortification bristles with mass-produced machinery.

Through the thick, drifting grey smog, you can see Eucadian human infantry. They wear dark, high-collar grey coats and signature steel helmets that cast deep shadows over their faces. They move with rigid, terrifying discipline, their heavy bolt-action Gewehrs clicking in perfect unison as they cycle fresh rounds into the chambers.

To your right, across a cratered wasteland laced with tangled webs of rusted barbed wire, sits the defensive line of the United Lagotian Kingdoms. Their trenches are less uniform, hastily dug but fiercely held. The Lagotian defense is a chaotic, desperate symphony of survival. You see human officers in mud-splattered khaki uniforms shouting orders over the din.

Right beside them, native Wood Elves with sharply angular features and dirt-smeared faces fluidly lever the bolts of their high-rate-of-fire Lee-Enfield variants, pouring a "mad minute" of suppression into the mud. Further down the line, a massive High Orc machine-gunner grips a water-cooled heavy weapon, roaring in defiance as the barrel flashes in the gloom.

The air pressure suddenly drops, a physical weight pressing down on your chest.From the Eucadian lines, a shrill whistle blows. A wave of Eucadian shock troops leaps over the parapet, bayonets fixed, advancing through the mud under the cover of a rolling artillery barrage. The earth erupts around you. Geysers of black mud and shattered rock skyrocket into the air as Eucadian shells tear the landscape apart.

The Lagotians retaliate instantly. From the rear lines, a pair of massive, terrifying Chimeras—beasts of burden retrofitted with thick, bolted industrial steel armor plates—lumber forward into the open. Mounted to their armored harnesses are high-caliber cannon arrays. The beasts roar, a sound that mixes animalistic fury with the mechanical thud of artillery, sending anti-tank slugs tearing toward the advancing Eucadian ranks.

You look down at your hands, still tingling with the residual, faint spark of the portal's energy. In a world driven entirely by coal, steel, mass production, and the cold logic of trench warfare, you are the only magical anomaly on the planet.

A stray Eucadian bullet snaps viciously over your makeshift cover, showering your hair in splinters. A Lagotian flare bursts overhead, bathing No Man's Land in a harsh, ghostly green glow. Both sides are completely locked in a struggle of total annihilation, and you are pinned right in the middle of it.

How do you choose to act in this industrial nightmare?
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About

Our Fathers War RPG is a fantasy world-building project and homebrew Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) setting created by the artist goeliath.

An Elf, a Pistol, and a Dead Prince. It was the shot heard around the world. It was the dawn of a new age. The industrialization of mankind that had started in the Eucadian empire had taken the nations by storm. Those nations holding onto the traditional ideology of the old world could not compete, and were consumed by the fires of the now expanding and newly formed technologically superior empires.

Gunpowder replaced Magic, now seen as an obsolete weapon, rarely used. The potency of the rifle was unmatched. It was adapt or fall victim to the hungering maw of these rising powers. So nations did what they had to, to survive: They industrialized. Using the firearms and technology the empires had held over the rest of the world as a deterrent. It worked. And slowly, the Empires stopped their expansions, now contested by an equal technology.

Rifles replaced bows and crossbows, and schools of magic closed down, only few remained open teaching healing magics. Most nations were content in the end. And the world was at a fragile peace. The Wood Elves, or Wooden Elves of the Ancestral Wooden Homeland of Enevere were not content. Held firm in their traditional values, they opposed everything this new world stood for.

They opposed the occupation of their lands by other nations and empires which took advantage of their refusal to adapt. They opposed the cutting down of their sacred forests for wood for rifles and cities. And eventually, they had enough. An extremist from one of the many Wooden Clans had shot and killed the High Prince of the Golden Kingdom of the Avelon over the occupation of their sacred woods. Of their ancestral home. The response was swift. The Avelonian Army torched the woods in response, and crossed into Enevere.

Through series of alliances, or similar ideology more nations would be consumed in this conflict, until the world burned. The world split into the Alliance of Empires and the Vineslian Pact. This is the War. Our Father's War.

Created
Jul 18, 2026
Updated
Jul 18, 2026
Version
v1
Origin
Original content

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