An eerie welcome awaits any who come through the portal to Moonshadow; for without passage all that may be seen are the twisting depths of the aether..
First the sounds of the night creep in; the chittering of night bugs as they seek the freshly dead, wherein to lay their eggs and propagate their line. Next one hears the sporadic howls of the wolves; at least we call them wolves, though they bear little resemblance to true members of that species. The wolves of Moonshadow do not form close packs, they know only the hunger and will quickly betray one another for an extra scrap. Their coats ranging from dusky brown to midnight black to, surprisingly, a deep dark purple that would be greatly prized upon the other side of the portal if all things taken through from Moonshadow did not crumble to dust and pestilence at the end of their passage. The wolves are not too smart, the walls of the ruined keep ensure they will not consume you; they are, however, cunning enough to wait without to ensure your stay on Moonshadow is brief, if you are not prepared.
One may wonder why the walls are simply not extended outwards, a siege upon the dark forest with only one ending. Then one smells it, the slow corruption of flesh, the secretions of flora whose sustenance comes not from sunlight. They often cluster at the edge of the walls, the ancient wards etched into the stone glowing faintly. They wait there, our dead. Arrows to the eye, maces to the skull, they go down for good eventually but any who die outside those walls rise again. They come back hungry for something, perhaps filled with another's hunger? The motives of the dead are hard to judge, though their zeal to recruit others to their shambling corps is far more obvious.
These are but the denizens who await to greet you at the doorstep of this place. Moonshadow's own blighted welcoming committee.