Eidlsandres doesn't exist. Ask the goblins of the plains, and they'll tell you the Bygone Hills are cursed—people who go in don't come out. Ask the Eloweir, and they'll shrug and say they've never had reason to explore those hills. Ask anyone else, and they've never heard of the place.
That's by design.
Hidden in the Bygone Hills, protected by generations of accumulated illusion magic, Eidlsandres is a gnomish city-state that has perfected the art of not being found. The air leyline running through the hills powers an intricate web of deceptions—false paths, phantom terrain, misleading landmarks—that keeps the outside world out and the gnomes safely invisible.
The Hidden City
Eidlsandres itself sits in a valley that doesn't appear on any map and can't be found by any conventional means. The architecture is distinctly gnomish—built into hillsides, under overhangs, blending with the landscape even without magical concealment. The gnomes could hide without illusions; the magic just makes it certain.
The city is larger than its isolation would suggest. Centuries of uninterrupted building have created a sophisticated settlement with libraries, workshops, homes, and public spaces. The gnomes want for nothing they can provide themselves, which turns out to be almost everything.
The council of master illusionists governs from a chamber at the leyline's strongest point, where the air magic pools and the most complex spells can be sustained indefinitely.
The Bygone Hills
The hills surrounding Eidlsandres are the first line of defense—and for most intruders, the last. Every path through the hills is false. Every landmark is positioned to mislead. The terrain itself has been altered over centuries to create natural dead ends, hidden drops, and circular routes that lead nowhere.
Travelers who enter the Bygone Hills experience a gradual disorientation. They think they're making progress, but they're walking in spirals. They think they see a pass through the hills, but it's a projected image over a cliff face. They think they remember the way they came, but they don't.
Most eventually wander out, confused and frustrated, certain they've been through haunted or cursed land. Some don't make it out—lost, starving, or falling into concealed hazards. The goblins of the plains have learned, through generations of loss, to simply avoid the hills entirely.
The Air Leyline
A major air leyline runs through the Bygone Hills, surfacing at several points within the protected zone. This leyline is Eidlsandres's power source—the reason the gnomes chose this location and the foundation of everything they've built.
Air magic has natural affinity with illusion, misdirection, and subtle influence. The gnomes have spent centuries learning to tap the leyline's power for their defensive works. The resulting illusions aren't crude phantasms but sophisticated reality alterations—light bent around obstacles, sounds redirected, even smells masked or fabricated.
The leyline's physical manifestation points are the most sacred and guarded locations in Eidlsandres. Damaging them would unravel centuries of work.
The Agricultural Valleys
Self-sufficiency requires food. The gnomes cultivate several hidden valleys within the hills, growing grains, vegetables, and fruit trees. Livestock graze in concealed meadows. Springs and streams provide fresh water.
These agricultural areas are protected by the same illusions as the city—invisible from outside, accessible only to those who know the real paths. Gnomish farmers tend their fields with one eye on their crops and one on the maintenance spells woven into the landscape.
What Outsiders Experience
A goblin approaching the Bygone Hills sees unremarkable terrain—rocky, sparse, not worth exploring. If they enter anyway, they find themselves on paths that seem clear but lead nowhere. Landmarks shift between glances. The sun seems to move wrong. After hours or days of fruitless wandering, they emerge back where they started, or somewhere else entirely, with no clear memory of what happened.
A more perceptive intruder—a mage, perhaps, or someone with unusual sensitivity—might notice the illusions. The edges shimmer if you look too hard. The paths feel wrong even when they look right. But noticing the deception doesn't help; the illusions are layered, and penetrating one just reveals another beneath it.
The gnomes monitor their borders through scrying and subtle magic. If someone gets too close to the truth, they take action—usually a targeted memory adjustment, a stronger misdirection, a compulsion to leave. Violence is a last resort, and in centuries of isolation, it's rarely been necessary.
Why They Hide
The gnomes of Eidlsandres have been hiding so long that the original reason has become almost mythological. They know their ancestors fled something—persecution, war, magical threat—but the specifics have faded. What remains is the conviction that the outside world is dangerous, that exposure means risk, and that safety lies in being forgotten.
Some younger gnomes wonder if the threat has passed, if isolation is still necessary. The elders respond with the same answer they've given for generations: the outside world hasn't earned trust, and Eidlsandres has everything it needs. Why take chances?
And so the illusions persist, the city remains hidden, and the Bygone Hills keep their secrets.