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Matyac

There is a legend around the Gladen Marsh.

If you speak with those in the pub, they will quietly weave tales of the Swamp Dog, or the Hound of the Fens, or Matyac, its supposed name. They will say this dog is a great beast, large as a man, with long brown fur and gleaming fangs. And eyes of the deepest dark you can imagine.

I can attest to this.

It came to me one night, the night I took a walk along the edge of the swamp. As I hurried home I knew something had followed me, though what, I could not say.

That night, as I lay in bed, I tossed and turned, visages of a dog with great black pits where its eyes should lie haunting my dreams. I soon awoke to find that these were no dreams. A hound watch me as I slept, and the first thing I saw was the nothing of its eyes.

Some part of me fell into those recesses, and stayed there for eons, shackled in umbral chains.

For the rest of days I lived a half-life; doomed to live the life of a cursed man.

And I have that dog to blame for it, and no one believes me.

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