Each fetid pool is like a popped wart of a deity, an open sore of a god.

The mire marshes of the Shalk spread like a decrepit hand across the sphere, a smack of swamp and fen, many consider it a polluted or cursed place. Because of the sprawling nature of its form, it must still often be forded to move people and trade between regions. Even the most seasoned travelers may find unknown peril waiting in the murky bogs.

The capitalis city is Fenk.

If you require guidance navigating the mire, you can always try asking Parthix and his lizard bro.

There is an infamous alchemical salesman, Bliney Mudd, who travels the length and breadth of Shalk selling his dubious concoctions from North to South, gathering components for new brews along the way.