peterquill:

_{I spent the last week in the Fallow Mire The bog stretches forever, and it’s slow riding at night when the mists get thick. You can still travel along the old roads, and there’s enough good hunting to make the trip worthwhile. Fish, birds, even a few harts.
There’s one thing to look out for, though. When anything dies in the water, the mire preserves it. I was stalking a magnificent buck when a corpse clawed out of the water at me. I’m not afraid to say I ran. No rack of antlers is worth fighting a demon. My cousin in Fisher’s End thought it was funny. Says he has to look out for undead every time he goes outside the village! I don’t know how he stands it.
                                                                    — Diary of a hunter from Denerim}