The Darkwood is ruled by none, yet two factions fight to call it their own. 

The creatures of the Faywild, as fair as they are unknowable, twisting their magic through the seams of reality like a vine seeking sunlight. They would bathe the shadows with light, and bring a new age of growth to the wood.

And the Transylvanians, birthed from a sulfuric rift below their great castle. None know how far down it goes, or what creatures Hell still holds in store for the final battle. The more the shadows grow, the stronger their master becomes. 

Both call the wood home, but the Darkwood is ruled by none.

Save, perhaps, for The Count.