A huge Autumne Forest, full of gargantuan, primeval trees, is one of the most mysterious places in the world. Except for many cities and temples of the Wood Elves, it is being constantly stalked by intruders who, tempted by its aura, build their settlements, fortresses and temples in its darkest parts. They commit them to the gods they believe in and old, forgotten beliefs, which recently have been getting back into graces.
Wood Elves endlessly endeavour to eradicate the intruders from Autumne, but this is virtually impossible, because in place of a destroyed village of Greenskins or a grim fortress of Mrokins, other develop, much better fortified and hidden by spells. In the underground, there are also other creatures lurking, ready to tear anyone, who enters their tunnels or grottos, to ribbons. The bizarre inhabitants wait in the dark nooks and crannies for the daredevils tempted by the stories about hidden treasures, which few can at least see. Mostly, they become a feed of Hobgoblins or victims of bloody rites and practices.
The northern territories of Autumne are one of the darkest and most dense areas of the forest, full of steep gullies. Many term this territory as a nightmarish nook, which is full of old, gnarled trees, thorny shrubs, strange vines, as well as mushrooms and mould, emanating with different colours and scuffing up poisonous spores. Large plants with sharp fangs, able to devour a whole horse, are nothing extraordinary here, and gargantuan insects and worms lurk to suck the life out from the careless wanderers.
This caricatural part of the forest is a place, in which many adventurers arrive, seeking the rarest potions and poisons, which can be potted only here. In a huge graveyard of an ancient race, full of ruined tombstones and mounds, for a few centuries there has been a secret trade fair, where a mass of different races trade goods, which are considered forgotten or imaginary in many regions of the world. However, to get here, one has to know the hidden passages or portals, because an attempt to get here in a traditional way is a certain death.
There are, however, areas of Autumne, in which the Wood Elves rule indivisibly, and no intruder, regardless of their power or abilities, will pass unnoticed. Huge trees full of ornaments are a clear indication, that the territory behind them is a domain of Wood Elves and anyone who trespass it being armed, will immediately lose their life. It is hard to miss the telltale signs, which inform a guest about the rules prevailing in the Elfarion‘s forest, therefore anyone who bows down to Ern and lays down their arms next to the border trees, has the right to to enter the Outer City. There are lots of arboreal taverns, inns, fairs and other places, in which every pacific comer will find a shelter and a night’s lodging. Gigantic trees are connected by many landings and cleverly made platforms, thanks to which one may wander between them for hours, not having to go down to the ground. There are also many squares here, where the comers may trade, camp, and the pilgrims may say masses. The prayer to Ern is tasteful too, as he is the god who cherishes the areas of Autumne. Therefore, there are many inwrought shrines and large trees, which were turned into majestic temples in honour of the god of Wilderness. In the evenings, thousands of lights flicker in the Outer City, and the hum and talks virtually never quieten. There are many languages and dialects being heard, and the multitude of races encountered here gives place only to the Umbra Turris city.
The main capital of Wood Elves is the Inner City called Alvion. It is surrounded from each side by the Outer City, which forms a peculiar shield, it is a place, which can be entered only by Elves and their invited guests. It is separated from the Outer City by a dense and dark coniferous forest, where only Elves can find secret roads and paths connecting both cities. Nearby Alvion, the forest becomes more and more relucent, full of beautiful plants and animals that live only here. The Inner City is a magical place, which comes across as woven from a dream, by day, illuminated by golden sun rays, and by night, drowning in a blue glow of torches. Trees with shapes so ideal, that they look like gigantic columns, between which mignon landings connect huge balconies, come across as woven from the golden cobweb. It is hard to assess what has been developed thanks to the work of clever craftsmen, and what is a creation of magic. When, in the mornings, a mystical fog is overflowing Alvion, one can hear melodious prayers to the god of Wilderness, and in the evenings, when the last sun rays are vanishing in the boscage, lutes and cheery chansons are pealing to honour Pneume – the energy of the world, a particle of every living being.