The path you follow widens, and a short while later you pass beneath a wooden gateway with the word "Kriegswater" daubed on the crosspiece in large, weathered letters. A small and rather decrepit village lies before you. A few of the larger buildings are constructed on solid ground, but many of the outlying dwellings seem to float upon the waters of the marsh. A pervasive stench of damp wood and rotting vegetation hangs over the village, mingling with the mist.
"The place has character, I'll say that much," says Drazha cheerfully from where she rides beside you. "Who knows? We might get a bed and a decent meal if we're lucky."
"I wouldn't get your hopes up," you reply, as a few of the villagers who have been watching from inside their shacks gather their courage and step out to meet you.
"Not often we get strangers out'n these parts," says one particularly scruffy specimen. "Kriegswater don't need no outsiders, do we?"
His question is greeted with murmurs of nervous approval from the rest of the crowd. Someone says, "You tell him, Udd."