Receiving its name from a peculiarly chosen deity, Sorsa stands as a collection of crudely constructed huts and shelters, many of which are made from twigs and mud as opposed to bricks and clay. The structures are planted firmly into the ground, stuck by the tight grip of the marsh's muddied waters.
The hideaway, though small, is very lively. While certain inhabitants may be simply rejects of society, having either rejected it or having been rejected by it, others may not be so innocent.
There's no marketplace in the camp; the citizens scratch out a living through what can be found in the mass of the swamp.
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