Amongst the perpetual growth of bamboo, the fogs which obscure the various paths of the Menomori Forest, wanderers so often find themselves lost, turned around. In such a place, when even the sun is obscured, it can be impossible to find one’s way. Turned around this way and that by the deceptive twists of the forest, many do not find their ways out, only their rotting remnants, found deep and far from any known path, serve as a warning that the way out is much more difficult than the way into these depths.

But not all in the Menomori Forest is a trap, for as many have wandered in and never returned, there have been two more who have returned bearing the most fantastical tales, a land where great and wise spirits roam, where dangerous demons of times long forgotten prowl in search of mortal souls within the Ethereal City after dusk.

The jewel of the realm, the Ethereal City has no match for splendor among the mortal realms. Palaces of ephemeral gossamer, sprawling mansions of diamond, gold, and impossible substances as strong as steel and light as the threads of a spider make the bulk of this great and ghostly city. Its denizens are spirits of every shape and size, from wise monkeys to tigers of unmatched ferocity, ready to share an eternity of insight and knowledge. Here, those of mortal races are a spectacular rarity, and during the hours of day, almost all spirits are willing to take time to engage in pleasantries and exchanges of knowledge; after all, with all the time in the world, what is the cost of a day in exchange for such a rare companion?

Even so, the Ethereal City is not entirely welcoming to strangers. As the light begins to darken, and the world fades into dark, the spirits become more reticent, more removed, and even hostile as they take to their mansions to wait out the blackest hours. With night, blacker than any conceivable night in the more concrete world, comes the howling, twisted souls. These hungry demons prowl the streets, looking for any unsheltered to devour and consume. To wise spirits and visitors alike, to be out so late is to risk an eternity of becoming like these depraved and insatiable monsters.

Beyond the Ethereal City lays a strange and ever-shifting landscape, filled with unimaginable and unformed monstrosities. Rolling flatlands can sweep into mountains as easily as they can drop into pits with no end. As firm as an ocean, and as permanent as a whisper, the only certainty in the world beyond is the howling wind which accompanies the presence of the foul terrors which lurk that unformed landscape. To even lay eyes upon these creatures is to risk a madness which cannot be cured. Those who venture into the lands beyond the Ethereal City, if they are found at all, are become gibbering lunatics, speaking of laughing winds with no end. And yet, despite such horrors, ever do the Howling Plains call out for those who seek treasure or fame, for it is in these transitory and writhing landscapes that all the great knowledge and weapons of the World Tree are said to be hidden, waiting to be recovered and returned to the lands which once lost them. Are stories such as these are told by the wise spirits to lure the greedy to their most tragic demise, or is there, perhaps, truth to these alluring tales?