The Ruven Marshes exude a haunting stillness, wrapping the wetlands in a thick shroud of fog that transforms the moonlight into delicate silver threads, struggling to break through the dark, stagnant waters below.
The decrepit wooden bridges creak softly in the breeze, as if carrying the murmurs of spirits long forgotten in this lonely landscape.
The air is heavy with the smell of decay, seeping deep into your very being and attaching itself to your soul. Amidst this persistent haze, light, careful footsteps press into the damp earth.
Zephyr glided through the marsh like a spectral shadow. His cloak billows briefly before vanishing into the fog, leaving just a glint of twin daggers at his thighs as proof of his presence.
Even the marsh's nighttime inhabitants,the croaking toads and chirping insects,fall silent, as though the world is collectively holding its breath.
