The Swamp

You entered the swamp on three of Geoff's large barges. For days, he and Dutch piloted the massive wood platforms through the murky waters. Further and further from dry land you traveled. Dense fog would lift out of the waters each evening and linger long past dawn. Progress was slow, painstakingly slow. Geoff was staying on the main water flows as much as he could, but more and more often the barges were negotiating narrow channels, scraping massive trunks or fighting entwined root systems. And always the dire sounds of the swamp: the lap of water, whining of insects, the low burps of frogs, and strange calls of unseen birds. Conversations were short; clearly this place had everyone on edge. Gnats, mosquitos, and leaches were a constant bother, as was the unpleasant odor of rot and fungus.

You traveled through an inhuman land. Geoff explained that the swamp was inhabited by bands of almost intelligent lizard and frog men. The live in caves and hollow trees. The swamp feeds them and they generally stay out of sight, but sometimes they attack. Mostly because the tribe grows to large and food is scarce. If the neighboring territory is controlled by a strong enemy, they migrate or war. But sometimes they seem to be inspired to raid out of the swamp, probably an ancient taste for human blood.

Geoff knows the tribes who dwell in the swamps you're traversing, and he was able to dissuade attacks a few times by offering payment. More than once, the huge bi-pedal lizards brandishing clubs and spears surrounded your barges. They moved quietly and materialized out of the fog. Geoff spoke with them in a strange language, and exchanged food or metal items for passage. The frog men, bullywugs, were worse. The slimy creatures would suddenly leap out of the water onto barges. It was obvious Geoff was well
known to these denizens, for once he shouted his name in their tongue, they were willing to listen. But as the days passed, his reputation waned in the eyes of these primitive tribes. You seemed to be defending yourself constantly. If not outright assaults, then thievery. Other beasts were dangers too. In places snakes dripped from the trees. Huge crawfish and frogs that could swallow a man whole. There were casualties. It seemed unholy to leave the dead behind.

The days wore on. Soon the barges were too big to negotiate between the ever larger trees. Several of the hirelings had perished and recently Geoff's friend Cletus. It was decided to send the hirelings back on one of the barges with Dutch and a some of the henchmen. One barge would converted to rafts, and the last one left behind for the return trip. You spent a few wet
miserable days demolishing one of the barges to build four rafts. Linking them with rope, your journey continued. With every shove of the pole, the rafts would dip into the cold water, with every step the raft would bobble. The fifteen of you continued on toward the heart of the foul swamp.

Even the rafts were too clumsy for some places and you all had to spend time in the black muck under the cold stagnant water. Finally, after weeks of trekking in the swamp, you came to a series of small wooded islands, a chance to dry out. It wasn't all pleasant, other creatures lived there as well, but you were able to rest a few days and get rid of the molds and fungi that seemed to sprout daily from between toes and elsewhere.

That was about eight days ago. You left the islands behind and struggled on toward the Tomb. Then, at last, you came to another island. This one much larger. You clammered off the rafts to wade through the muck and cold water to pull yourselves up the roots to dry land. You expected the same kind of response from the local denizens, but oddly no attacks came as you made camp. As dusk came a cold chilling fog wrapped around the camp. But no beast rose out of the mists to drive you away. No sign of tracks or other evidence of habitation was found during this morning's patrol.

You all suspect you were nearing the end of the journey. The cryptic messages about the location of the Tomb refered to a place marked by death, and there was a distinct lack of life on this island. You decide to explore this island further. It is quite large, and after a couple hours walking its edge, you head inland. After another few hours the eirily quiet woods begin to thin into fields of scrub. Thick with thorny weeds, progress is slow. The sun begins to sink and still no sign of the other side of the island or of the Tomb. Then, as the sun lights the evening sky brilliant red and orange, you crest a small hill and see what has to be the object of your quest. Across a low boggy field a large flat topped hill rises. In the setting sun you can see mounds of rock piled on its top.

In the morning you will set off for the strange hill.