Blackpine Reach is a realm swathed in ancient silence — a land where breath and mist blur together, and the bones of the earth sleep beneath evergreen cloaks. Rising from deep, rain-fed ravines, its forested peaks spiral into the fog like the backs of old gods, worn smooth by time and storm. Trees grow tall and solemn, their trunks laced with moss and time-etched lichen, their branches like bony arms that reach and whisper with the wind.

The air is heavy with cold dampness, still and reverent — a hush that holds memory. The forest floor is shadowed and soft, woven with needles, roots, and the ghosts of those who came before. A place of omens, where light barely pierces the thick canopy and every crow’s call or shifting shadow could mean something more.

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