Miritar Forest
Miritar Forest is an ancient woodland where the sun’s rays struggle to pierce the dense canopy above. Towering trees—gnarled and twisted, their bark blackened and slick with moss—rise with branches interwoven in an impenetrable web, casting the forest floor in perpetual twilight. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and leaves and the silence is broken only by the occasional rustle of creatures moving in the underbrush.
In late autumn, the forest is dense with fog that clings to the ground, swirling in eerie patterns, as if guided by invisible hands. Beneath the low-hanging mist, the ground is soft and treacherous, with patches of slick mud and roots that seemingly seek to trip unwary travellers. Glowing mushrooms dot the underbrush, their pale blue light casting long, shifting shadows.
The deeper one ventures into Miritar Forest, the more the sense of being watched grows. Eyes seem to follow from the shadows—glowing, faintly amber or green—often just out of sight, only visible for a moment before disappearing into the dark. Strange, whispering voices sometimes reach the ears, soft and unintelligible, as though the trees themselves are speaking in an ancient tongue.
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