The Feywild: The Living Echo of Faerûn
The Feywild as the Bright Reflection of the Material World
The Feywild is not merely a separate plane—it is a vivid, living echo of Faerûn, a world of boundless magic, untamed nature, and ageless beings whose desires shape the land itself. It is the bright reflection of the Material Plane, where everything is more—the forests are deeper, the rivers wilder, the stars brighter. It is a world where emotions become storms, where time dances to the whims of the courts, and where a whispered name can hold more power than a thousand swords.
In many ways, the Feywild is Faerûn before Faerûn existed—a realm that predates mortal civilization, where nature is still sovereign, wild, and raw. Where the Material Plane has been shaped by history, conquest, and industry, the Feywild remains bound to the primal, the instinctual, and the eternal. To mortals, it can seem like paradise—an untouched land of beauty and wonder. But it is also a place of capricious danger, for here, the rules of reality do not hold, and mortals who tread its paths risk becoming lost in its enchantments, bound by oaths they never intended to make.
Scholars of the Arcane Citadel debate the true nature of the Feywild, but most agree that it is a mirror realm—not quite a parallel plane, but a reflection that breathes on its own. Though many locations in Faerûn have counterparts in the Feywild, they are twisted by emotion, legend, and history. A quiet hilltop in the Material Plane might be a towering, golden mountain in the Feywild, its peak crowned with the eternal blossoms of a love that once flourished there. A battlefield where thousands perished may now be a haunted glade where spectral dancers perform an endless waltz, reliving the moments before steel met flesh.
But unlike mere echoes, these places in the Feywild have wills of their own. They change. They shift. And more often than not, they remember.
The Grand Courts and Their Eternal Power Struggles
At the heart of the Feywild’s chaos stands its four great courts, each embodying a seasonal force that shapes the world. They are not merely political entities; they are expressions of the Feywild itself. Their rulers are as ancient as the land, as wild as the magic that binds them. Though their influence waxes and wanes with the changing seasons, their struggle for dominance is endless—a cycle as old as time itself.
Each court is both a kingdom and an idea, shaped by its ruler’s essence. To pledge allegiance to a court is to become a part of it, to have one’s fate bound to its season. Many fey are born into the courts, while others are claimed through bargains, oaths, or fateful mistakes. The great houses of the fey—noble, monstrous, and divine—serve their courts with both devotion and treachery, for power in the Feywild is as fleeting as the autumn wind.
The Summer Court – King Oberon, the Sun-Father
(Majestic, Primal, Warrior-King)
King Oberon, the Sun-Father, Lord of the Greenwood, and High Sovereign of the Summer Court, rules with the strength of an ancient oak and the ferocity of the wild hunt. His is the court of vitality, conquest, and relentless passion. Where Summer reigns, life flourishes, but so too does war—for Oberon believes that strength must be tested, and only those who prove their might deserve to thrive.
His warriors are clad in gilded armor of sunlight, their spears like burning brands, their banners trailing fire. Oberon himself is both a king and a beast, shifting between a towering, antlered warrior and a golden-furred stag whose hooves shake the earth. He is the Feywild’s primeval ruler, embodying both the glory and the fury of nature.
To gain his favor is to be granted immense strength, but to betray him is to be hunted through the endless forests until the end of time.
The Winter Court – Lady Death, the Icy Bitch
(The Frost-Shot Reaper, Winter’s Last Breath)
Where King Oberon is the storm of summer, Lady Death is the whisper of winter’s final breath. She is ice incarnate, the cold certainty of death, inevitability, and sorrow. She does not rage—she waits, for she knows that all things must one day wither.
Her presence freezes rivers, her kiss stills the heart, and her words bind unbreakable pacts. She is the queen of promises kept, and to swear an oath in her name is to ensure that it will never be broken—or else.
Her court is filled with pale-skinned fey wrapped in frost, their voices soft as snowfall but sharp as daggers. It is said that she weeps only once each winter, and where her tears fall, they form crystalline roses that can grant eternal life—or eternal sorrow.
Her enemies call her the Icy Bitch, but none dare say it in her presence.
The Spring Court – Lady Lluvia, the River-Mother
(She Who Feeds the Fields, She Who Washes Away the Unworthy)
Where winter brings death, spring brings rebirth. Lady Lluvia is the River-Mother, the goddess of growth, renewal, and fertility. She is both the gentle hand that nurtures life and the raging storm that drowns the undeserving.
Her court is filled with flowering groves, golden meadows, and rivers that sing, but beneath its beauty lies wild, unbridled chaos. Spring is not always kind—storms break upon the land, rivers flood their banks, and vines strangle the weak. Lady Lluvia does not gift life freely—she tests, she challenges, and she destroys those who cannot endure.
Those who serve her learn that life is never given—it is fought for.
The Autumn Court – Lady Lyscandra, the Wild Huntress
(The Many-Faced Queen, Mistress of the Harvest Moon)
Lady Lyscandra is the balance between life and death, the Huntress of the Harvest Moon, and the keeper of secrets that should never be spoken. She is the patron of hunters, wanderers, and liars, for autumn is the season of change, deception, and unseen truths.
Her court is ever-shifting, its golden leaves drifting in endless twilight. Her fey wear masks and speak in riddles, for in her realm, nothing is ever as it seems. She governs transitions, guiding souls from one state to another—whether that be life to death, innocence to corruption, or ignorance to forbidden knowledge.
To dance in her halls is to lose oneself, and to seek her favor is to risk becoming something entirely new.
The Wild Hunt – The Emperor
(The Eternal Conqueror, The Lord of Unification, The Unbound Monarch)
Beyond the courts stands the Wild Hunt, led by The Emperor—a being of pure, unchecked power who seeks to unite all courts under a single rule. His warriors are unstoppable, his horn signals war, and his banner has never fallen.
He does not rule through politics. He rules through dominion.
To be hunted by the Wild Hunt is to be pursued beyond death itself.
The Oompa – The Loomping Envoy
(The Endless One, The Ubiquitous Trickster)
The Oompa is the wild card of the Feywild, the trickster with no master, the laugh that echoes through every court. It is the fey that belongs everywhere and nowhere at once, a being whose presence is both delightful and deeply unsettling. Unlike the rulers of the seasonal courts, the Oompa does not command armies or lands. Instead, it moves freely between realms, leaving behind chaos, riddles, and pranks that are never quite harmless.
The Oompa has no fixed form. It may appear as a pint-sized fey with a ridiculous hat, a towering figure with shifting masks, or even a mischievous shadow that flickers just out of sight. Some claim it is one being, others insist it is many, and a few suspect it is the Feywild itself, playing a grand joke on all who live within it.
Mortal Kings, Forgotten Pacts, and Why Bloodlines Matter
The Feywild does not forget promises. Many mortal rulers made pacts with the fey in ages past, binding their bloodlines to ancient debts. Some bloodlines still bear hidden marks, and one day, the fey will come to collect.
The Feywild is eternal. Mortals are not. But their promises endure. And the Fey do not forgive debts left unpaid.
