Post by Kit on Apr 13, 2014 21:45:48 GMT -5
The surface of the Howling marsh breathes like a living thing. The ground trembles in anticipation with every footstep, no matter how cautiously it is taken. Carts are ill advised and there are no pathways to ease the journey.
Even the most intrepid adventurer will often walk for days to go around the swampland rather than through it. The unspoken question of why is answered the moment anyone steps too heavily on the semi-solid surface and discovers what is lurking just beneath.
The lucky ones only loose a boot to the eager depths; the unlucky ones loose something far more valuable.
Not even the breeze will venture here and there is little to stir the air but the buzzing of insects. The swarm wakes long before sunrise and the light of dawn does nothing to alleviate the gloomy atmosphere, trading the darkness for rotting shades of green and brown. Disembodied eyes that once lurked in the evening firelight give way to vague shapes that hunger in the daytime shadows, waiting for an opportunity.
These are not the only difficulties. The air is heavy with moisture and it is next to impossible to keep anything dry. The suffocating damp will soon cause mold which perhaps, is the reason for the stench. It is a foul perfume of decaying plant life that seems to live in the very marrow of the bog itself.
No, it does not take long for any sane minded person to realize why anyone who has survived a trip into the marsh will swear that the extra time it takes to go around is well worth it.
As if the trek itself is not harrowing enough, the Institute Outpost, once a bastion of safety to anyone who found themselves in need, now appears to have been utterly abandoned. The marsh has begun to consume the forlorn little station, intent on taking back something that belongs to it. Peat covers half the pathway leading up to the building and the usual bog smell is nothing compared to the vile stench that surrounds this place.