Where neither Seraphim nor raindrops go...
The realm of nature at its wildest, full of primal beauty—and deadly danger.
The Feywild is the moon, but far more than just the moon as well. It is a parallel microworld with dimensions and topography similar to the mortal world, but even more strikingly verdant, wild, and pronounced. It continually creates links and passageways and portals to the mortal realm. One may be walking through a mundane wood and suddenly step through unknowingly into the Feywild, perhaps never finding one’s way home. Such passages also allow other unearthly forces through in both directions.
Towering forests sprawl for a thousand leagues. Deep hazy swamps lurk between pristine mountain peaks soaring into the flawless clouds. Emerald, turquoise, and jade green seas crash along endless beaches. The skies are a perfect blue not seen in the mortal world—until storms come, coal-dark thunderheads boiling with fierce winds and torrential rains where the Feywild borders the Maelstrom. In this world, primal power thrums through every tree and rock, ever-changing in the continual creation of nature. Nothing stays the same here for long, including the trails and opinions of its denizens, except for one thing: the sides. The moon is divided into half that is ever in the light and half ever in the cold darkness.
Home to the Fey’ral, the wild and capricious beings born of the blood of the first slain god, the most powerful among them are called the Archfey. The creatures native to the Feywild—the enigmatic eladrim, the vicious hags, the wild satyrs, and the massive treants—are all charged with the virile energy of this plane. Some are blessed by it, and some are warped. Like the land around them, the fey who inhabit this plane run to extremes. Good fey are noble even if tempermental, protectors of the natural world and those mortals to whom they choose to show favor. Evil fey are dark instinct unleashed, all blood and claw and rage or icy treacherous schemers.