You trudge through knee-high swamp water, occasionally finding reprieve on narrow patches of land and rock. The boggy stench has been replaced by the scent of death. The buzzing of the flies alone threatens to drive you mad.

A splashing sound behind you sets your Company on high alert. You turn to see a group of loggers, axes in hand, standing in the putrid water. Their orange eyes glow like fireflies as their bellies swell from the maggots inside them.