The Black Arbor
Realm and Fey Planar Pathway
Location: Feywild / anywhere with a lit stove
The Black Arbor is a marvellous mystical tree, said to be a sapling of Yggdrasil itself, grown from a seed stolen from the Yggdrani by Caoimhin. It’s rooted in the heart of the Feywild, a plane already brimming with capricious and wild magic. As you might expect, the Black Arbor isn’t just any ordinary tree, mind ye; it’s a labyrinth of tiny tunnels, where each knot and branch leads to a different fairytale ending.
The Black Arbor’s bark is as dark as a moonless night, and it gleams with a sheen that speaks of the old magic. Its roots delve deep into the fabric of the Feywild, drinking up the enchantments and whimsies of the plane. The leaves, silver and gold, rustle with laughter—some say it’s the snuffle-giggling of the killmoulis god themselves, the tiny faerie power who’s made this tree their home.
Caoimhin, the trickster god of the mill-dwelling fey called killmoulis, reigns supreme here. They’re a diminutive deity, but don’t let their size fool you. Caoimhin’s power lies in their ability to slip through the smallest of spaces. Within the Black Arbor, the tree’s many nooks, crannies, and faerie doors serve as portals. With a blink, Caoimhin can step from the roots of the Arbor to the space behind any lit stove in the multiverse, even those in the realms of other powers! The hearth becomes their playground, and woe betide any who underestimate the pranks of Caoimhin. Lucky for the multiverse that Caoimhin is quite a shy power, and prefers to play tricks on fellow gods rather than cause confrontations.
The realm itself is quite the spectacle. Twinkling lanterns, made from stolen starlight, dot the Arbor’s canopy, casting a soft, ethereal glow. Many branch host tiny homes and bustling markets where killmoulis and brownies rub shoulders and swap trinkets. Imagine a squirrel’s nest, but replace the twigs and leaves with ornate little houses, and then connect them with gossamer rope bridges and spiralling staircases.
The air is thick with the scent of wildflowers and freshly baked bread. The latter wafts from miniature bakeries where the killmoulis prepare faerie cakes that can make you forget your troubles or remember your sweetest dreams. The sound of chimes and lilting music drifts through the branches, played by faerie minstrels whose songs can change the weather or alter your mood.
And, of course, this place is the starting point of legends aplenty. One such tale tells of a mortal miller who once stumbled into the Black Arbor through a faerie door behind his stove. Chant goes he was granted a single wish by Caoimhin themselves, in return for never speaking a word of how to get here. The miller, thinking quickly, wished for his mill to always have the perfect amount of grain. Caoimhin granted the wish, but with their usual twist—the grain would only appear if the miller danced a jig each night at midnight. The story goes that the miller’s descendants still dance that jig, not knowing why, but reaping the benefits of their ancestor’s wish.
Visiting the Black Arbor is an experience unlike any other—a blend of whimsy, wonder, and just a touch of chaos. It’s a place where the tiniest of creatures hold the greatest power. Just mind your step and your belongings, and for the love of the Lady don’t eat the faerie food, for Caoimhin and their kin have a habit of leaving their mark, whether you realise it or not.
Source: Afroakuma and Jon WInter-Holt. This realm is non-canonical home-brew.
