These islands, cloaked in perennial mist, remain elusive even to the most skilled of sea navigators. To tread upon Fernmere's sodden earth is to also tread upon dreams not yet forgotten, tangled in the lush undergrowth.
Trace the contours of these plains at the break of dawn, and they shall shift their hues from bronze to azure, casting illusions of grandeur and specters of ancient nomads. Few dare to traverse these lands without the guidance of the circadian stars.
Here, the winds are voices—echoes of the past and future colliding. Mapping these cliffs requires not only a steady hand but also one’s entire existence, as they whisper truths only dreamt of in the quiet hours of night.