As you and Obren duck under the wall of vines on foot, he asks, "So… what the hell is this place?"
"Darin and I dragged ourselves through here back during The War. It's supposedly impassable. In Kantonian, its name literally translates as 'Wet Marsh,' or alternatively, 'Marshy Marsh,'" you reply.
The place certainly earns such a designation.
Past the verdant curtain, the ground is so damp that your boot sinks several inches. It ripples beneath you unnervingly with each step you make, as if the very soil beneath you is breathing.
No horse could feasibly navigate such terrain. You, Obren, and the detachment of knights sent your horses back with a smaller force of rangers. You're carrying a heavy bag over your shoulder, full of your equipment.
The leathery material is quite waterproof and should help keep it from being soaked. You've even placed your sword and scabbard inside, but your dagger remains in its hidden sheath.
Obren says dryly, "Ah. Marshy Marsh. Quite the brilliant… creative name."
You chuckle. "That's why most translate it as the 'Sodden Marsh.' Better ring to it, aye?"
"Guess so," he says with a smirk.
The ground turns from soaked soil to mud to swampy water after only a few minutes of slogging.
As your force of two hundred reaches these murky depths, they place their large rowboats onto the surface. You, Obren, and six others climb into one. A ranger passes you the pair of you a paddle, and soon all eight of you are dragging the vessel forward.
The rest of your troops do the same.
Your small fleet begins to tear its way across the Sodden Marsh.
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