History.

Nestled at the crossroads of the three great territories, Stonehall began as a fortress carved into the mountain’s roots by dwarven masons. Its location, straddling the borders of The Nomad Lands, The Rising Summits, and The Hollowed Kingdom of Ristagarhd, made it a natural meeting ground—too valuable to claim, yet too formidable to destroy.

When centuries of war left every race scarred and weary, Stonehall became the stage for history’s turning point. Within its vaulted chambers, once built for defense, leaders of orcs, elves, dwarves, humans, and others gathered. There, through weeks of tense debate, they signed the Concords of Stonehall, agreeing to lay down their arms and forge a council where all peoples would have a voice.

Since then, Stonehall has stood as neutral ground, a city that belongs to no single race but to all of Gorthoria. It is both a symbol and a reminder—of the cost of war, the strength of unity, and the fragile peace that binds the land together. Its halls still host the Council’s greatest debates, and to this day, no army dares march upon it, for an attack on Stonehall is an attack on Gorthoria itself.

Architecture & Atmosphere:

Stonehall is not merely a fortress—it is a living monument to unity. Hewn directly into the heart of a mountain at the convergence of the three territories, the city feels half-carved, half-grown from the rock itself. Its colossal walls rise seamlessly from stone foundations, giving the impression that the mountain chose to become a bastion of peace.

The outer gates, forged of dark steel and etched with runes of every race, open into broad courtyards where banners of many colors hang side by side. Beyond, grand halls stretch out, supported by titanic pillars carved with scenes of Gorthoria’s turbulent past—wars fought, alliances forged, and finally, the signing of the Concord. The air carries a blend of scents: burning dwarven forges, elven incense, and the spices of human markets, as though each race left its mark on the city’s soul.

The Council Chamber, at the city’s heart, is an awe-inspiring amphitheater. Its circular design ensures no single voice dominates, and its central dais—where the Concord of Stonehall is displayed under eternal guard—is bathed in light from a great crystal dome above. To enter this chamber is to feel the weight of history pressing upon every word spoken.

Despite its grandeur, Stonehall is not cold or lifeless. Streets wind with merchants of every race, taverns buzz with travelers swapping tales, and artisans craft wonders in open squares. Yet beneath the harmony lies an unshakable reverence: Stonehall is sacred ground, a place where even enemies lower their voices and tread with caution.

To step into Stonehall is to feel both the memory of war and the fragile hope of peace—an unspoken reminder that the land of Gorthoria survives only because here, within these halls of stone, unity was chosen over ruin.