The ground underfoot grew soft and muddy. Black sludge occasionally gurgled, a bubble rising and bursting with a wet pop, releasing an even more nauseating stench.
The twisted branches of dead trees were like dying, struggling monsters, their torsos half-submerged in the filthy water.
Dark green moss and strange fungi clung to their bark.
A dead silence hung in the air, yet it felt as if invisible whispers were weaving through the mist.
The occasional bizarre screech of an unknown creature from the depths, or the sudden, muffled churning of a mud pit, was enough to make one's scalp tingle.
The mist here seemed not only to obscure vision but also to warp perception, making it impossible to get one's bearings and filling the mind with unease.
Even veteran hunters only dared to venture into the periphery of the Mist Marsh, never deeper.
