The heartland of Phirexes, a vast expanse of fog-shrouded wetland stretching from the Croaking Briars in the west to the Crocodile Coast in the east. The marshes are not uniform—some areas are relatively solid ground covered in pale grasses, others are treacherous bogs that can swallow a person in minutes. The Dengar have mapped safe paths through generations of trial and fatal error, but the fogs make navigation treacherous even for natives.
The wildlife here has adapted to the perpetual mist. Insects grow large and slow, their compound eyes useless in the murk. Fish have developed lateral lines so sensitive they can navigate by pressure changes alone. The birds have mostly fled or died; those that remain are silent, having learned that calls attract predators they cannot see coming.