Bellmoril is a region that seems to exist outside of time, a place where the romp and rhythms of life slow to an almost stop. The season never changes, the trees forever locked in a towering tapestry of autumnal colors. A rich mosaic of amber, gold, and crimson, all painted purposefully on the canvas of whitebark that the trees are quite renowned for. As the leaves fall they blanket the floor in a thick, crunchy crust. The wind always carries the cool air, a nostalgic feeling to visitors who come from far-off regions. If you head deep enough into the forest, past the local towns, the sun will filter through the canopy in dappled beams. Casting long, shadowed lines across the ground that are littered with leaves.
Trails often wind their way through Bellmoril. Left by travelers and the forest creatures all the same. While the path is not always clear, often thanks to the leaves that steadily fall throughout the year, the way forward still stretches far beyond. These paths, often changing, seemingly give the illusion that the forest itself is shifting and reimagining itself with each passing second. The cacophony of sounds never ceases, with small fauna often foraging amongst the leaves, making it appear as though the forests are having a conversation. Locals will often remind travelers to listen well to the forest when it is speaking, as nature never lies. Some locals, however, like to spin fabulous stories. Perhaps to enchant or spook travelers who are visiting for the first time. They'll tell tall tales of how the forest is enchanted, that the feyfolk cast a wonderful spell upon the boundary of Bellmoril, which is why the trees are always so perfect in their autumn colors. Others will say that it is a curse, that one of the founders of Bellmoril offended the fey, and so they cast the town into an eternal fall as punishment. There's no merit to any of these stories, however, and instead, the forest remains a natural beauty of Eyre.