Post by Dungeon Master on Jan 26, 2013 5:30:45 GMT -5
There was once a path here, years ago, before so much of it had eroded into the stinking mire it is today. Rare is the soul who dares to venture through the Howling Marsh. Travel by cart is made nearly impossible by the soggy landscape, by the paths that turn so suddenly to quicksand, so one must journey by foot.
The scurry of insects can be heard. Perhaps the growl of something bigger, more sinister, echoes through the gloom. Here and there along the path are scattered the remains of those unlucky travelers who met their ends in the marsh.
There is little here anymore but rot and memories: an artificer, the silent steps of assassins' feet, the lament of a sentinel, a helm, a little girl...
And rumors of unspeakable horrors.