The filth and sludge of the swamp was deeper than the dwarf had expected, coming up easily to waist height, and underfoot the trail gave way to a mud in which he feet became consumed should he stand too long.
Between the trees, in places, a dense fog lingered make visibility at times difficult. He was on edge constantly, always with a sense that eyes were upon him, stalking him, waiting for a perfect moment to strike.
Figuring that whatever inhabited this godforsaken place was already aware he was trapesing through their home uninvited, Tumbor began humming and singing heroic dwarven deeds of old. Perhaps if they saw he held no fear, they would be less inclined to attack. It always helped to calm his nerves.
At the edge I’d the swamp disappeared behind him, once more he questioned why he hadn’t been tucking into a bowl of stew, warm and dry back in the inn, instead he was hungry, soaking wet and up to his stomach in filth.
That was when he realised all the food he’d brought with him, were stashed in pouches upon his belt. The same belt that was submerged under the water. Tumbor pulled out a sodden bead loaf, and seveal pieces of wet filthy chicken.
In a fit of rage at his own stupidity, he launched everything out into the swamp, causing a muted ‘splash’ to resonate from where they landed. This was soon followed by the sound of several large branches being snapped as something heavy in build bludgeoned its way to investigate.