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Description
I traveled alone in the cursed marshes of the under-verse. The white fog seemed endless in every direction, and as high as I could see. I was surrounded, but I couldn't tell what was around me. I had heard tales of this place, but it was all folklore: passible for stories told to keep us in bed at night. But as clearly as the story-tellers described a banshee, I saw it right in front of me. Head hung low as if in meditation, a cloak draped over her body that looked more like smoke than actual cloth. Hands to her face to cover the sadness. Shoulders jerking to her sobs. I had hoped the fog had concealed me. If the stories were completely true, her scream would make my head cave in and my chest explode.

She pulled her hands away from her face in fists of rage. Her chest pushed out, her head lurched back and her mouth opened wide. Her screams were silent? I had heard of shadow dwellers having their scream stolen from them, but a banshee was different. Yet this one seemed to be completely void of sound. I took a step back to keep myself covered in the fog. My heart was racing; my head was buzzing with anxiety. Of all her features, I kept my eye on her mouth. It may have been a fluke of sorts that I couldn't hear her scream. If she noticed me, who knows what she'd do to me.

She put her hands to her face again. I tried not to move. Hopefully, she'd just move right passed me. I took another step backward and felt water under my foot. Holding my balance was difficult enough, but being silent was near impossible. I dipped my toe in first and felt for ground. When my ankle had submerged but I had no footing, I aborted the move and stood still.

A chill crept up my back. In the white fog, the banshee moved on, but something else was near me. Curling into a fetal position wouldn't work like it did in my bed. And these were very real. I turned my gaze to the water behind me. There was another rock a yard away from me. There was no telling how stable it was. And I felt eyes on me: I was being stalked. I lept for the stone. It was the pan-handle of an island. Somehow that gave me comfort. But the fog seemed to get stickier: drops of water formed on my arms and brow. At first I thought it was sweat, but part of the stories described travelers as in a ghostly state, leaving their human bodies in the universe above.

Perspiration meant one other thing: water-wraiths. I couldn't see the land more than five feet around me. The water was emitting steam, so I could hardly see the black liquid. I huddled down low to the land and moved through the white. Hope? I had hope? I was almost out of this place. I could feel it! And if I survived this, my questions would be answered. But then, I stopped. There was a log in my path. The under-verse had no trees, but this same log was here without any godly reason for being. I surveyed it thoroughly. I had circled back to the beginning! This was the same log from the beginning of my journey here! I had faced all of these terrors for nothing!

I sat next to my log wanting to weep. Maybe that banshee would feel my sorrow and hunt me. Maybe the trolls will figure out my passage was naught. Maybe a water wraith could feed on my sadness. But when I saw the drops of water on my arm condense into bigger masses, I realized the trap for what it was. The water-wraith was trying to drown me in my own misery. I stood up and brushed the water away as I would a line of ants or spiders. I searched frantically for the water-wraith, even though I knew my sight would fail me in this fog.

Listening for it would be just as futile. All I could see was white. All I could here was wind. All I could feel was humidity. The log was the same, but I hadn't circled back. I kept going in a straight line. I was careful to keep my heading in the same direction. Hissing? No! An inhale! I curled down and covered my ears as tightly as possible. The banshee screamed like the heart of an enraged woman who had found her husband with a lover. I grit my teeth and pushed harder on my ears. Her screams! I didn't just hear them, I could feel them! The pain! The sorrow! It all welled up inside my chest. I looked up at her with a look of sympathy. Her claws were stretched out to her sides. Her mouth was wide. Her eyes and nose were covered by the shadow of her hood. She was lurched down, screaming at me unrelentingly.

The water-wraith dropped from above her, wrapped its arms around her and took her away in a giant ball of water. I hadn't even noticed the masses of water on her claws and face. I brought my hands down to my chest to steady my breathing. My ears were ringing. Anymore of that, and I may not have survived. I sat there trying to get rid of this anger. Physical recovery from a banshee scream was never really an option when the story-tellers described it. I had never even considered what emotional recovery would require. Survival was just not an option; yet here I was. My heart was beating (as near as I could tell) and I was breathing. I needed to move on.

The water-wraith had its eyes fixed on me now. Those glowing yellow eyes in a body of white smoke blended perfectly with the mist. With nothing I could do about it, I moved on. The island I was on was definitely not the land body I remember starting out on. With that in mind, I returned my focus on the direction I was facing. If I lost sight of that, I was as good as dead. With every step my confidence returned. The event with the banshee was completely behind me. And now, the ground shook intermittently: another troll. On average, a fully grown troll weighed two tons. With the fog to conceal me and the noise of its steps, I was only invisible as long as I could manage a distance. My hope was returning.

Description
I traveled alone in the cursed marshes of the under-verse. The white fog seemed endless in every direction, and as high as I could see. I was surrounded, but I couldn't tell what was around me. I had heard tales of this place, but it was all folklore: passible for stories told to keep us in bed at night. But as clearly as the story-tellers described a banshee, I saw it right in front of me. Head hung low as if in meditation, a cloak draped over her body that looked more like smoke than actual cloth. Hands to her face to cover the sadness. Shoulders jerking to her sobs. I had hoped the fog had concealed me. If the stories were completely true, her scream would make my head cave in and my chest explode.

She pulled her hands away from her face in fists of rage. Her chest pushed out, her head lurched back and her mouth opened wide. Her screams were silent? I had heard of shadow dwellers having their scream stolen from them, but a banshee was different. Yet this one seemed to be completely void of sound. I took a step back to keep myself covered in the fog. My heart was racing; my head was buzzing with anxiety. Of all her features, I kept my eye on her mouth. It may have been a fluke of sorts that I couldn't hear her scream. If she noticed me, who knows what she'd do to me.

She put her hands to her face again. I tried not to move. Hopefully, she'd just move right passed me. I took another step backward and felt water under my foot. Holding my balance was difficult enough, but being silent was near impossible. I dipped my toe in first and felt for ground. When my ankle had submerged but I had no footing, I aborted the move and stood still.

A chill crept up my back. In the white fog, the banshee moved on, but something else was near me. Curling into a fetal position wouldn't work like it did in my bed. And these were very real. I turned my gaze to the water behind me. There was another rock a yard away from me. There was no telling how stable it was. And I felt eyes on me: I was being stalked. I lept for the stone. It was the pan-handle of an island. Somehow that gave me comfort. But the fog seemed to get stickier: drops of water formed on my arms and brow. At first I thought it was sweat, but part of the stories described travelers as in a ghostly state, leaving their human bodies in the universe above.

Perspiration meant one other thing: water-wraiths. I couldn't see the land more than five feet around me. The water was emitting steam, so I could hardly see the black liquid. I huddled down low to the land and moved through the white. Hope? I had hope? I was almost out of this place. I could feel it! And if I survived this, my questions would be answered. But then, I stopped. There was a log in my path. The under-verse had no trees, but this same log was here without any godly reason for being. I surveyed it thoroughly. I had circled back to the beginning! This was the same log from the beginning of my journey here! I had faced all of these terrors for nothing!

I sat next to my log wanting to weep. Maybe that banshee would feel my sorrow and hunt me. Maybe the trolls will figure out my passage was naught. Maybe a water wraith could feed on my sadness. But when I saw the drops of water on my arm condense into bigger masses, I realized the trap for what it was. The water-wraith was trying to drown me in my own misery. I stood up and brushed the water away as I would a line of ants or spiders. I searched frantically for the water-wraith, even though I knew my sight would fail me in this fog.

Listening for it would be just as futile. All I could see was white. All I could here was wind. All I could feel was humidity. The log was the same, but I hadn't circled back. I kept going in a straight line. I was careful to keep my heading in the same direction. Hissing? No! An inhale! I curled down and covered my ears as tightly as possible. The banshee screamed like the heart of an enraged woman who had found her husband with a lover. I grit my teeth and pushed harder on my ears. Her screams! I didn't just hear them, I could feel them! The pain! The sorrow! It all welled up inside my chest. I looked up at her with a look of sympathy. Her claws were stretched out to her sides. Her mouth was wide. Her eyes and nose were covered by the shadow of her hood. She was lurched down, screaming at me unrelentingly.

The water-wraith dropped from above her, wrapped its arms around her and took her away in a giant ball of water. I hadn't even noticed the masses of water on her claws and face. I brought my hands down to my chest to steady my breathing. My ears were ringing. Anymore of that, and I may not have survived. I sat there trying to get rid of this anger. Physical recovery from a banshee scream was never really an option when the story-tellers described it. I had never even considered what emotional recovery would require. Survival was just not an option; yet here I was. My heart was beating (as near as I could tell) and I was breathing. I needed to move on.

The water-wraith had its eyes fixed on me now. Those glowing yellow eyes in a body of white smoke blended perfectly with the mist. With nothing I could do about it, I moved on. The island I was on was definitely not the land body I remember starting out on. With that in mind, I returned my focus on the direction I was facing. If I lost sight of that, I was as good as dead. With every step my confidence returned. The event with the banshee was completely behind me. And now, the ground shook intermittently: another troll. On average, a fully grown troll weighed two tons. With the fog to conceal me and the noise of its steps, I was only invisible as long as I could manage a distance. My hope was returning.