Cyclanon (will be slowly added to over time)

The mire could feel him slowly returning to the realm of the waking.  His heartbeat had been increasing by small increments for some time now. The first interaction of his presence with his surroundings was a slight twitch in his left leg. The sudden movement stirred the normally stagnant water just enough for it to graze over the eyes of a nearby toad; eyes that protruded from the shallows, blankly fixed upon the body that lay before them. 1

A musty wind swept the tendrils of a looming willow across the side of his dirt encrusted face while the other rested still in the fetid water. Seconds later he awoke suddenly, sputtering the muck that had seeped into his mouth. He picked a pair of insect wings from his lips. Choking down vomit, he flicked them away and gradually took in the sight around him. Fallen, rotting trees amidst others clinging frailly to life all sat hopelessly in the filthy waters. The air was cold and sickeningly damp. A thick and foul smelling haze loomed above, blocking out the sun and choking out any hope of warmth. 2

He slowly managed to get to his feet. He looked down at himself only to find that he was naked apart from the mud that had caked on to parts of his coarse, leathery skin. He shuddered as the air bit into him. Thoughtlessly, he staggered over to a rock under the willow, his vision failing him at every other step. He crumpled onto the rock. It was jagged and covered in a thin film of mucous but even in his disoriented state he knew it was better to sit on this lonely rock than in the dreadful water. He sat on the rock, hunched over and was unable to form a single coherent thought. He was an utterly broken man. 3

His body slumped more and more as the hours passed. By now he wasn't even vaguely aware of his own existence. The closer he drooped to the wet earth, the farther he drifted from consciousness. A faint ghastly zephyr was all that was needed to sway his frail body to the side. He slipped off the rock and somehow instinctively grabbed a willow branch to hold himself up to avoid crashing into a cluster of toadstools. With the little energy he had, he could only hang there weakly.4

In no time at all, his hands began to slip. A splinter became lodged in the wrist of his left arm. The sudden, albeit slight, pain galvanized his mind. His left hand shot out and firmly grasped the branch. No sooner had he pulled himself to his feet had he become enveloped in horror. "By the Gods," escaped from his quivering, cracked lips. These were the first words to form in the man's mind since he had risen from the murky water. The faint whisper that had just come from his mouth startled not only him, but the entire swamp seemed to have gone silent for a moment.