The local fisherfolk and heron gatherers, eking a living from the eel harvest, call it "The Aardvark Wallow" due to their belief that at night ghostly aardvarks creep out from their subteranean lairs to gambol on the mossy eyots and scratch for ants amongst the reeds. Little, if any, evidence has been found of the elusive insectivores but the fact remains - few ants are found in the Wallow.
Many sages, some of them sane, have compared it to the legendary Upland Marsh; both are scattered with bogs, channels, islets, fell ruins and dankness. The Roaring River is more or less navigable ("some hazards" warned the seceret rutter of River Pilot Otho Redshanks)throughout it's sojourn through the Wallow, save for occaisional sandbanks, collapsed bridges and flooded bastions. Semi aquatic but violently carnivorous snarks haunt the reedbeds, the fishermen pray to the Aardvarks for protection.
There are few reliable overland routes that are not prey to hazards and thus when Lord Brocas, Baron of Torh entered the swamp to suppress the Monks of Zylbor, he chose to use a fleet of longboats and a few rookflights upstream built the Keep in The Wallow. Here, a strong stone tower faces over a deep inlet, not far from one of the larger fisherfolk villages.
Aire Dressair, High Prince of the Elf Domain of Sarlon has chosen not to build a castle but instead has led his Elf warriors into the Wallow, wielding the blade Stylinkome fearlesly. For, sadly, the Wallow is not all swamp and dark ruins; there are many monsters who prey upon the right minded folk whose lands march by the margins of the morass, beasts stalk the ruins and diverse deranged cultists hide their noisesome temples in it's depths.
And thus the peril is greater......