The One Ring: The Nameless Fellowship
Darkness dwelt for too long in Southern Mirkwood, and the whole forest carries its taint. Black firs grow tangled and twisted, their branches laden down with strands of old man’s beard and black ivy. The mirk is darker here, so that no light penetrates the leaves and fogs even on the brightest days. The ground underfoot might be a sucking bog, or impassable broken terrain, or choked in thorns. Many of the trees themselves are dead, strangled by the poisons that leeched into the soil. Outside of the land of Mordor, there is no place under the sun where the Enemy holds more power.