The Wraithwood

A land long abandoned by the living, Wraith Wood stretches along the southern shores of Steamfont, its skeletal trees standing as silent sentinels between the mountains and the ocean that separates Faydwer from the Isle of Sorrow. Though thick and tangled, the forest is lifeless, its trunks gnarled and twisted, their branches reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers. No birds sing. No leaves rustle. Only the ocean’s distant waves and the soft whisper of something unseen disturb the oppressive silence.
A heavy mist clings to the forest floor, curling through the roots of ancient, fallen trees and choking the narrow, winding paths that weave through the deadwood. Ghostly figures flicker at the edges of vision, vanishing when one dares to look directly at them. The air is thick with unspoken sorrow, as if the forest itself remembers what was lost. Few dare enter, and none speak of what they see if they return.
What lies at the heart of Wraith Wood remains a mystery. Perhaps it is nothing. Perhaps it is worse.