As Verso stepped through the shimmering blue tear, the transition was like being dunked into a pot of lukewarm, stagnant soup.
The dungeon was thick with a humidity that felt heavy enough to drown in as the damp rotting air clung on to his skin.
Walking slightly, he felt the splash of murky water beneath his boots which made a sound that sent a fresh wave of irritation through his chest.
"Ugh, I already fucking hate it here."
He looked around the place and saw how The Whispering Swamp truly lived up to its name.
The place looked like a landscape plucked directly from a fever dream. Massive, gnarled mangrove trees with odd looking roots that rose out of the ground in weird places.
The water covering the floor was a murky, bruised purple, swirling with patches of oily film as if he was really in a bowl of soup.
And above the surface of water, a thin, sickly pinkish fog drifted between the mangrove trunks, obscuring anything further than thirty feet away.
