Rainoga

Cloakwood sprawls like a clenched shadow south of Baldur’s Gate, its ancient boughs interwoven into a near-impenetrable canopy that drowns the forest in perpetual gloom. Roots twist like grasping fingers, and dense undergrowth muffles even the boldest footfalls. This haunting woodland, long avoided by sensible travelers, teems with deadly life: massive spiders nest in silken traps, while quicklings and korreds flit through the dark like taunting phantoms. Satyrs lure the curious with mocking laughter, only to vanish into vine-choked hollows, and swarms of stirges descend in buzzing clouds. More dreadfully, nightmare-spawn like kampfults stalk the underbrush, drawn to fear and isolation. Legends persist of forgotten portals hidden in the forest’s heart—rumored gates to far-flung corners of Faerûn, though Candlekeep’s sages debate their veracity. Cloakwood remains a crucible of dread and enchantment, a place where nature’s wild magic turns hostile.

A ceiling of twisted branches shrouds the forest in eternal dusk, casting dappled shadows over moss-covered stones and root-laced trails. Web-laced trees creak in the silence, and flickers of motion dart between trunks—too fast, too small, and never quite seen. The air is thick with damp rot and unseen tension, every leaf whispering danger.