"Hello I'm Satra Copperbottom. If you're reading this I have made my way safely on the journey through this new world. I hope you enjoy my writings"
The Silk Forest and the Grand Cocoon
To the uninitiated, the phrases “silk forest” and “grand cocoon” might conjure up a horror scene of white strands coating the branches of trees, leaving one looking nervously for monstrous spiders ready to descend from on high to feast on the unwary and unwitting who wander into their trap. And indeed, that is the sight that will greet travelers when they reach the outskirts of the silk forest.
The exterior is the first line of defense for the peace-loving mothfolk who reside within. Using their innate performance skill, haunting shrieks and howls echo in the ears of unwelcome guests, and shadowy puppets move within the curtain of white silk strands. The guards of the silk forest use trickery, illusion, and misdirection as their first line of defense against the savage dinosaurs, beasts, and less-than-kind-varieties of fey that might wander their way.
Don’t believe that the peaceful mothfolk are incapable of violence, however. Peaceful means they chose not to fight. It does not mean they are harmless and incapable of battle. The inhabitants of the outer fringes of the forest are skilled warriors and mages, and are very savage and fierce when forced to defend their sacred home.
If you’re ever fortunate enough to witness a Dennasi warrior defend the Silk Forest from an intruder, you are not likely to forget it. It has most accurately been described as the most beautiful display of brutality ever witnessed as they turn battle into a bloody, deadly dance.
Even if you don’t witness the warriors in action, the rotting corpses being shredded by small scavenger lizards are probably not illusions, and should clue the travelers in. The smell of death and decay as the savagery of the land beyond the Silk Forest meets the enforcers of civility is quite real. And only half bones littering the outskirts of the forest which add to the foreboding imagery that greets travelers are imitations.
Once travelers have survived to prove to the guards that they have legitimate business within the forest and mean the residents no harm, they will encounter truly wondrous sights. The plain white silk strands give way to fluttering silk pennants hanging from the limbs of the enormous trees. Dancing lights of every color light the canopy of limbs that keep the Silk Forest in perpetual twilight.
If one ventures off of the forest floor into the limbs above, they will find brightly colored woven silk cocoon-yurts suspended in the branches along with stages of various sizes and opulence scattered throughout. Works of great art are suspended from strands of silk, protected by magic, they flutter in the breeze, adding to the riot of color decorating the branches.
The soft lights in the branches are frequently punctuated by bright flashes of light as large flying reptiles, griffons, and other flying beasts and carnivorous monstrosities hit the magical protections of the canopy and are repelled. If one pays attention, they’ll notice some of the soft glowing lights are the work of mages shoring up magical protections, or even occasionally battling something that managed to break through.
If you observe closely, you’ll realize many of the bards performing on stage near the tops of the trees are aiming their music and words, not at any audience, but at the canopy. Their task is one of driving away the ever-present ravenous creatures determined to destroy their island of peace with bagpipes and drums mixed with tambourines and harps. The music should clash horribly and insult your ears, but being the skilled defensive bards that they are, the pain of such a travesty is directed only towards those who would do the community harm.
On the forest floor, the music is more for entertainment. Colorful merchant’s tents and sprawling caravanserai line the walkways as you traverse towards the ultimate destination of any visitor to the Silk Forest. Colorful puppet show stages delight the young, and roving entertainer’s troupes compete with silver tongued merchants hawking rare items from across the Material Plane. If you’ve ever sought a combination hookah and coffee maker that also makes julienne fries, you’d most likely find it on the streets leading to the Grand Cocoon.
Just don’t be tempted to steal any of those items, my dear material plane rogues. This is still the feywild for all of its whimsy and civil appearances. Magics you’ve never dreamed of permeate everything, and in this city of knowledge, everyone is always watching. Justice is swift, severe, and often instantaneous. Your hand will be removed from your body by swords you never saw, and you’ll count yourself lucky if your head doesn’t join it there a moment after. There is little reason to keep a thief alive, when the merchants can add your clothing and items to their inventory. The mothfolk are not wasteful.
If you are a polite guest, finding the Grand Cocoon itself is as easy as following your feet. The Silk Forest paths all lead to a street, and all streets lead, eventually, to the Grand Cocoon. If making maps were possible in the Feywild, the street map of the silk forest would look like a bloodshot eye, with the Grand Cocoon as the pupil.
As visitors approach the center; they will notice the wares on offer give way to a singular commodity: books. Though roving entertainers are still scattered throughout, their audiences are filled with intently scribbling note-takers. Not a single spoken word escapes being captured by parchment and quill in the heart of the Silk Forest, for that is the purpose of this place: to preserve histories through the stories of those who have lived it.
As one approaches the Grand Cocoon, the buildings disappear. They are replaced by a large open space dotted with colorful tents of various clans making their pilgrimage. This open area rings a tree whose size dwarfs all trees save Yggdrasil itself. The leaves of this massive tree seem to be made of dimly glowing light. The twisting roots and textures of the bark make natural paths, all of which lead to different levels of a singular structure skinned with a patchwork of riotously colored silks: The Grand Cocoon.
The interior is filled with enough books and scrolls to make a wizard’s academy envious. Even the silken walls themselves are completely covered in histories and stories. But that is the only thing the Grand Cocoon shares in common with a library. The rooms are filled with floating lights in every color, and there are stages with walls made of bookshelves with styles from every century and culture in recorded history.
Mothfolk who are as varied in color as the exterior, crowd the halls and stages. Scribes record every song, every lyric, every story uttered by the tribes who have made their pilgrimage to this, their most revered location. Several Cuimhe scribe the same play as it is performed, for the mothfolk value perspectives and how events and stories make those involved feel and react as much as the events themselves. Only in this way can they truly keep history alive.
If you feel the on stage reenactments of battles the traveling troupes have witnessed get a little… too real with blood, injury, and even the occasional death if a cleric isn’t quick enough, well, you’re clearly not a mothfolk. It is a great honor to be chosen to reenact great events the members of their clan have witnessed or heard of. In order for their histories to be accurate, depictions must also be as accurate as possible, complete with the high emotions that can only accompany great risk.
The one thing an acting troupe appreciates most is an audience. But just as a play can grow stale from repeated viewing, so can an audience grow stale to the players. There is excitement and beauty to fill a lifetime within the Grand Cocoon, but it's impossible to experience but a taste of it, before travelers find their welcome wearing thin. It is unwise to demand a longer stay than politeness dictates, not unless one wants 'the experience of a lifetime' to become an incredibly literal statement.
Yet parting is indeed a sweet sorrow, and, upon reaching the outer edges of the Silk Forest, a polite visitor will find themselves faced with a troupe of hunters, giving their final bow, and bidding safe travels to all. A particularly attentive audience may even be invited to return, in due time.