[Whispren]

When the Unmaking shattered the world of Inteliah into drifting shards of land, not all fragments fell to ruin or chaos. One such fragment, small by the measure of continents yet vast in spirit, was cradled in the hands of something older than the guardians themselves. A primeval force of life, rooted deep in the original song of creation: Virdanith, the Worldroot.

Virdanith had once stood among many sacred trees scattered across Inteliah, silent stewards of balance and guardians of forgotten truths. But when the world cracked and skies were sundered, the other ancient trees were lost - burnt, buried, or drowned in the sea of stars. Virdanith alone endured, not because it resisted the Unmaking, but because it embraced it.

As the land splintered and the guardians sacrificed themselves to forge the chains that hold the sky-islands aloft, Virdanith acted. Its roots, infused with lifeblood drawn from the world’s very soul, curled inward - not downward - pulling soil, stone and sky around it in a protective cocoon. The tree wove a spell so deep and so wild it defied understanding. And from that spell, a forest bloomed.

Not bound by chain or stone like the other fragments, this island remained untethered, drifting just beyond reach of the mainland - but never truly apart. Instead, Virdanith shaped a Bridge of Whisps - a luminous path formed of soft light and living essence. Only those attuned to the forest’s magic may cross, for the bridge is sentient, revealing itself only to the kindred-hearted or the desperately in need.

Within the embrace of Virdanith’s glade, time stirs strangely. The forest shifts like a dream: paths move, trees breathe and flowers whisper secrets in moonlight. Creatures both wondrous and wild roam beneath the emerald canopy - beings born not just of earth, but of magic itself. Ethereal stags, singing moths, crystal-scaled serpents and beasts that seem to flicker between dimensions all call this forest home.

Despite its untamed nature, civilization has taken root in respectful harmony. Two small villages - Thalwen, nestled near a waterfall where different races coexist and Greathollow, built into the trees themselves - serve as quiet bastions of life. Between them rises the Tower of Ashmere, where a circle of old wizards studies the pulse of Virdanith and guards its ancient memory.

But nothing in the glade is static. The borders shift with emotion, responding to the forest’s mood. Intruders are led in circles until they collapse of exhaustion, while friends of the glade find themselves guided by spirits or gentle breezes. Virdanith sees all, feels all - and through its breath, the forest lives.

Some whisper that the heart of Virdanith still beats with the last spark of the guardians’ magic, that it may one day awaken fully and stretch its branches beyond the island, to reunite the sundered world. Others believe the glade holds deeper secrets still - fragments of the original creation, waiting for someone brave enough to awaken them.

Whatever the truth, the floating isle remains a mystery: a sanctuary for some, a danger to others and a living memory of a world that once was whole.