Keep your helmet on, there are sparrow oaks in this forest.
The hardest part about dealing with a ratwood tree is by the time you find it, there are dozens more you haven't found yet.
High above the lands of the living, where frost and howling of the wind reign, the morbid monument to a faith long dead calls the deceased on a last pilgrimage.
Ages past the Woodking fell into a deep and terrible slumber, and from the fever of his dreams and nightmares the wooden dungeon of Limberlost grew.
"Look, lad! You see the streak of glowing green off the larboard bow? Them's the bright waters!"
While the lad peered intently at the eerie glow, the old salt continued. "Entire ships have been lost to the Bright, lad, for once you let it surround you, you'll never touch land again!"
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Latin for literally 'A Pleasant Place'