Pale dead trees stretch their branches accusingly towards the sky, the spongy ground is covered with rotting leaves and mushrooms, and it smells of moss and brine. Each tide of the Eastern Ocean brings more water. Each footstep fills with it. The trees slowly sink into it. The marsh elves fear the woods and the woods hate the marsh elves.
Here, in antiquity, the lichwitch Audreen the Icy ruled over the ivory court of the pale elves. Rumor has it, her palace still lies at the bottom of a lake within the forest.