A forest stood here once, before men crossed the sea and burned it to the ground. For five long years these men lived in the shadow of the horror they had created, all of them clutched by terror at the thought of walking among the stakes that remained of the trees. For five years, the settlers lived on the edge of the withered forest. Tents were replaced with cabins as time went on. And always the shadow of the forest prevented any from entering. Life could have continued in this way, possibly forever. High towers and citadels would have replaced cabins. Walls would have been erected that hid the woods from sight.
But one day, without warning, the sky burst open over the forest, and rain fell upon the land for days. The water cleansed the trees and washed away the soot. This dark mud flowed downhill, into the makeshift town. The sludge blanketed everything, and no matter how hard the women of the town scrubbed and swept, they cold not wipe it from the earth.
The men realized that they could wait no longer. With their heavy hearts guarded against all fear, they gathered on the very edge of the forest, and, together, they began to chop the trees. Though the trees were no longer black with ash, they were sickly and dead, and they rose high above the men’s heads, pricking the sky with their tips.
The ruined wood was carted away, and those first five years stricken from history, the forest blotted from all their original maps. Few care to look for the books that tell the true story, and just as few care to wonder about the city’s name. For their shining city of white, the crown-jewel of the kingdom of men, was named Dedwood, and proved that all things, no matter how good, have their roots in evil.