The marshes are a bleak and swampy wasteland where nobody dares go. They stretch out like a festering wound in the landscape, reminding all of the fertile land that once sat in their place. The area has long since succumbed to stagnant waters and boggy terrain, its soft mod swallowing any attempts at cultivation. The air is full of the oppressive scent of decay, a sour mix of rotting vegetation and dirty pools that fester in the mist. Tangled reeds rise in uneven clumps, while pools of dark water ripple with unseen creatures within. Occasional wooden planks, warped and half-submerged, hint at fools' attempts to traverse the treacherous ground, those most have long since been abandoned. The marshes offer no solace to anyone, only the eerie croak of unseen frogs and the distant rustle of reeds in the wind. For this is a place of the past, and it has no room for the present.