The worst aspect of the Marsh Flats was most certainly the humidity.

No; it was the stench.

No, wait. The mud and gunk that clung everywhere and couldn’t be washed out of clothes no matter how much alchemical cleaner you applied. It was best to just throw the entire outfit out after an unpleasant romp through the swamp! The last time Morrigan had paid a visit to this unfortunate place, it had been following a lead regarding an enchanted item for entry to the Mage’s guild; an event that would prove to be a catalyst for a series of events between themselves, Astrid Stormstone, and Cantio Von Lumen that had forced the charlatan to examine parts of themselves that they frequently shoved down and ignored. That, combined with their journey to free the Phoenix - needless to say Morrigan’s head had been out of the game as of late. It was like they’d been infected with. Ugh. Feelings. Sentimentality was useless for a criminal, but Morrigan could no longer deny that there were… some people they held affections for. Some people that they just couldn’t bring themselves to scam, which had left their carefully-built perception of themselves shattered.

To put it quite simply, feelings sucked. They were like this great ball of tangled string in Morrigan’s chest that made them feel heavy whenever they did something bad, and Morrigan had no way of knowing how to untangle it, or if they even wanted to. Was this guilt? Why was this happening to them all of a sudden? Nearly two decades they’d been scamming the piss out of others and taking their money with no remorse, and now, all of a sudden, they started developing this inconvenient conscience? Morrigan hated it. They wanted to rip it out of their chest and go back to when things were simple. But, just like Pandora’s box of ancient legend, once it was opened it could not be unopened. There was no changing the chemical reaction already set in motion.

But, as with all things, the sun rose and set - the seasons changed, and leaves turned brown and fell from the trees - volcanoes exploded, leaving nothing behind but rubble and the remains of dead gods - and time marched on. Morrigan could not afford to wallow forever. If they did, nothing would ever get done! There were still schemes to be had, people to steal from (those that deserved it, at least) and potions to brew.

And now, there was also a Fish to wrangle.

The fellblood charlatan did not find themselves content with staying still, not for long. They always needed to be moving, doing things - monster hunting was not their first choice of activity, considering the high risk to their person compared to scant rewards, but this Lloyd fellow seemed rather put out, and who better to help a poor, sad, desperate man than the not-wizard who was just slightly less useless than a swamp snail? They’d been more than happy to lend their assistance…

Until they learned it would require traipsing through the swamp.

“This sucks.” Morrigan said for the millionth time, likely much to the chagrin of their avian companion. They huffed, stomping their boots through the thick bog. The sensation of squelching slime and the insects simmering along the surface brought a grimace to their face. “This sucks.” They repeated, making their displeasure known to the heavens. “Why couldn’t the bogaboo have decided to build a summer home in somewhere pleasant, like a lakefront in Moonglade, and not in Ginma’s sweaty armpit of the world?”

Their loud complaints were certainly not making this experience any better.

“This monster better be worth it.” Morrigan grumbled, making sure their displeasure was known to their traveling companion; who was both far more interested than the charlatan in learning more about the monsters going bump in the night than Morrigan was, and was also probably growing more inclined to stab Morrigan with each passing second. “What’s so interesting about a bag of bones, anyways?”

And what the hell was up with all this fog?

---

Bringing Pets
Nugget (Phoenix, Beastmaster III; counts against pet cap)
Skewt (Counts against Pet Cap)
Clawdius (Gargoyle Rook; doesn’t count against pet cap)
Junior (Black Bog Leech; doesn’t count against pet cap)

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name: Into the Marsh
Participants: Two or more
Location: Marsh Flats
Post Requirements: 4 post per person, 200 words per post
Description: You have been asked by Lloyd to venture into the swamp and study a Bogaboo, however the trip has already started off rough. A thick mist has settled across the region making your trip into the swamp even more difficult than normal. The first part of your task is to simply find your way. After getting lost in the dangerous bog, you need to find an area that resembles some sort of safety, and set up camp. This venture may take you a few days, or even weeks, so you need somewhere safe to set up and stay at for a little while.

This was a rare moment where Morrigan and Fish were on the same page. The Marsh Flats were an unkind place and annoying in so many different ways. Hiding in the mud was a pain and collecting ingredients here was often more trouble that it was worth. There were so many contaminants in the soil, water, and air that the entire region should be locked off as a biohazard, burned, and then burned again just to be sure. Maybe then something useful could grow in its place.

Fish sat perched on the fellblood's shoulder to keep their own feet from becoming stuck in the mud. As annoying as it was, they both knew that if Fish got stuck in the mud, Morrigan likely wasn't going to be able to pull them free. Fish didn't like the ride either, Morrigan gave off so much glitter that the little bird would be shaking it from their feathers for weeks to come.

The bird takes out their notebook for a moment to look it over, "Fish would assume the strange necromantic energy that brings it together is of interest....From what Fish understands it is not a singular set of remains that creates it, but several...most reanimated corpses are just one former thing....It also appears to have a more evil will than most undead." 

They close their notebook and hop down, floating into the road thanks to the scarf. The fog was odd...Fish could still track things moving through the mist, but they were unsure if Morrigan could.

"Can you see through the fog?"

It figured that Fish would get away with not getting any bogwater or muck in their feathers by taking a joyride on Morrigan’s shoulders. What was the fellblood, some free carriage service? Every time they thought of stopping and telling Fish off, though, Kvasir’s gentle voice drifted through their mind. ‘Remember to play nice - Fish may be mature, but they’re still a kid at heart.’ Ugh. What did that even mean, anyways? Fish was one of the most violent and calculated children that Morrigan had ever met, and what did it matter that they got special privileges? Morrigan and Fish got along because Morrigan didn’t act all condescending about the fact that they were only, five or whatever. They weren’t about to start acting different now.

Besides.

Gentle hands slipping poison into a bowl of stew, not an ounce of remorse.

Fish wasn’t so different from Morrigan had been as a kid. Just another reason not to coddle them.

That and the fact that Morrigan was afraid of getting hit with whatever the murder-bird was carrying in their arsenal that day.

So - with great reluctance - Fish had a ride on Morrigan’s shoulders. That was subject to change if Morrigan needed to beat feet or they got tired. Their goodwill only extended so far.

Still, the note about the necromantic energy was… interesting, they guessed. Morrigan wasn’t really one for monsters besides the parts that could be harvested for alchemical parts. They normally didn’t even bother with the strong shit, either. Undead creatures were too vicious for them to bother with, too much risk and not enough reward. Especially if this one was more evil than regular undead! How was that even possible? Wasn’t that their entire thing, that they were these beings of pure malevolence from beyond the grave?

Fish was lucky that Morrigan was willing to follow them through all of this scientific nonsense. Not that Fish needed the chaperone, but it was the principal of the matter.

“I suppose it’s not all bad.” They mused. “Concentrated bottled hate. That might be something worth playing around with.”

Though they didn’t look the part, Morrigan was still an alchemist, and concocting poisons and unstable potions was their bread and butter. Especially given… recent events, they’d started leaning more and more into their potioncraft. They considered the logistics of building such a potion while they stomped through the bog, the bells tied to their wrists jingling obnoxiously as they did. The sound cut through the ominous silence with a stubbornness to lighten the unnerving feel in the air.

“… No.” Morrigan huffed, pouting. They couldn’t see shit in this fog. Fish’s keen aviansight meant that they’d been making good time of it through the fog, but it was starting to get thicker, licking at Morrigan’s legs like it was trying to pull them further in. If Morrigan were more superstitious they might even say it was alive. It was starting to get tiring. “Thankfully, I’ve got a solution!”

They reached into their bag and popped a chocolate in their mouth, skin prickling momentarily as the enchantment in the chocolate’s marshmallow filling worked its magic.^[1]

In a matter of seconds, the wind began to funnel, creating a tornado in the middle of the woods.

Well. That was one way to solve the problem.

Morrigan cackled as the wind roared, soaking up the pearlescent fog until it was easier for them to see. They braced themselves, triggering the enchantment in their boots for good measure to prevent from getting flung every which way. ^[2] The wind raged, leaving them in a normal, fogless bog…

Oh, damnit.

Morrigan scowled as the substance began to roll back in with a vengeance, obscuring their vision two-fold. “Shit.” Now there was a tornado and fog to deal with. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this swamp doesn’t want us to be here.” Then, raising their voice, indignant, “THE FEELING IS MUTUAL!”

The bog, because it was not a living creature and the notion that it was sentient was utterly ridiculous, did not reply.

Morrigan kicked a rock, squeaking in pain where they stubbed their toe, before turning back to Fish.

“Fish? … I can’t see.”

---

1. Storm Chocolate

Fish and Morrigan did share the same misgivings about monster hunting. Neither of them were particularly brave or noble with their intentions, so this was a purely scientific endeavor....though knowing the two of them this would somehow go south. Things usually did, one of them would usually go a step too far in a scheme and then they would have to scramble to cover. 

They watch with a curious eye as Morrigan seems to have another magical solution. They usually did. Blowing away the fog is one of the most sensible solutions the fellblood come up with. Though neither of them expected the fog to simply roll back in and coalesce back into the dense fog.

Fish says nothing about the outburst and hops forward to offering up a pair of arcane glasses to Morrigan. With their magical nature, the lenses will adjust to Morrigan's exact eyesight needs. They would also shift to their specific aesthetic needs as well. Fish did not lend out these glasses often, but they were forward thinking enough to realize others might need something not designed specifically for a bird.

"It might actually be trying to stop us....or whoever is creating the monsters. Fish would recommend being careful....and not kicking rocks randomly."

It should not have been possible for a bird to convey frustrations at the charlatan’s antics, but as their gambit failed, there was a lifetime of disappointment etched into the bird’s emotionless features while they handed Morrigan a pair of enchanted glasses. Morrigan turned the item over in their hands, feeling the enchantment vibrating in their fingers, the mana curse humming to take, take, take, and leave nothing behind. Enchanted items often had that effect - a kind of passive buzzing that never quite went away. Morrigan had learnt that enchantments were different from spells. Spells were fueled from a limited source, fonts of power within the caster themselves. Enchanted items drew from the mana of the world around them to constantly fuel their magic.

For that, Morrigan was grateful. It meant, at least, that they could still make use of items imbued with the arcane, even with this stupid curse that was still determined to make itself a thorn in Morrigan’s side with each passing day.

Well. At least it had its own uses.

The new blade hanging from Morrigan’s hip seemed to vibrate in response.

Morrigan blinked, allowing their vision to adjust to the sudden change. True to form, the lenses morphed into something far more suited for their owner; a pair of pink spectacles, lenses fashioned like hearts rather than traditional circles. A needlessly elaborate design for a needlessly elaborate person.

“Huh. I suppose I hadn’t thought about the fog being artificial in nature.” They mused, but now that they had voiced such a thought, it made sense. Fish’s next warning made Morrigan stop dead in their tracks.

“Wait, you think someone made this creature?” They shrieked. “You’re telling me you think there’s a necromancer somewhere in the swamp? Oh, hells no. And more importantly, I can kick whatever rocks I want. I’ll kick a rock again, right now!”

To prove their point, mostly in a fear-induced hysteria at the prospect of finding a creepy wizard in addition to a creepy monster, Morrigan reached over and kicked another one of the rocks from the bog… only, this particular rock was lighter than the first one they’d kicked. With the amount of force Morrigan had applied, the object went tumbling through the air, rolling to a stop a couple of feet away with a hollow THUNK.

From this distance, the muck and grime clinging to the pale thing made it difficult to tell what it truly was… not until Morrigan, infected with morbid curiosity, bent down to brush off wet moss and bogwater from its surface, running over the cracked contents with their fingers -

Only to shriek and drop it to the ground like it had burnt them.

“Oh, that is a skull. That is a human skull.”

As diametrically opposed as Morrigan and Fish may be on paper, the bird did appreciate the unspoken bond they had with the fellblood. It was rare for Fish to work so easily with someone, but much like Izzy, Morrigan didn't waste time trying to figure out the bird or ask questions. They just worked and learned on the go. Sure, that might not be ideal for people with good hearts who are trying to steer Fish from the life of crime, but this was preferable for the bird.

"Fish thinks it is plausible...most undead creatures are put back together with magic as Fish understands it....there are some cases of spirits possessing things or hold some sort of incorporeal form if they have enough reason to."

They watch as Morrigan kicks another rock, or at least what they think is a rock. If it was, then they had discovered a rare hollow rock. That would actually be a fairly interesting find. What made it hollow? Erosion? But how did it only erode the inside? How did it keep its shape when kicked? What is the mater-....oh it's just a skull. That's boring.

Fish tilts their head at the skull, looking at its obscured form through the fog. "It's just a skull, probably dozens in the area...We should focus on getting through this fog and finding a place to set up camp."

Somewhat callously, Fish kicks the skull back into the bog and begins hopping away.

“Just a skull? Just a-“

Morrigan huffed, resisting the urge to shriek again as Fish kicked the damned thing away. They didn’t fancy themselves a wimp… a coward, perhaps, imbued with false bravado and an ego that rivaled the gods, though they were of the opinion that one had to draw lines in the sand when it came to this kind of nonsense. Undead creatures of pure hatred, feeding grounds littered with remains of the Bogaboo’s human snacks, it was all too much. Just because the alchemist could passably handle themselves in combat didn’t mean they should have to!

They turned back towards where Fish was ambling away and started stomping after the wayward avian.

Usually, Morrigan appreciated working with Fish. They were easy enough to get along with, because they were generally truly ambivalent to Morrigan’s antics so long as they were paid. Not to mention their lack of qualms about putting the youth in dangerous situations meant even though the two could get along like sodium and water, they were a solid team.

But this job? It was too much.

“I’d much rather turn around and make my way back to the inn. A warm bed, some mead, and a bunch of suckers to con at cards!” They huffed, turning on their heel as of to move back where they’d come from, setting on the path back to Lilicors village…

Only, as they moved, the fog grew thicker. And thicker. And thicker. Heavy enough that even Fish’s arcane glasses were little help, and Morrigan was blindly stumbling through swampwater and over roots. Swearing under their breath, Morrigan held up the palm of their left hand, where a tattoo of a sun was carved, creating an artificial mote of light to guide them.^[1] It cut through the muddied air, a beacon in the dark - allowing Morrigan to spot what looked like movement ahead. Freedom! Picking up their pace, Morrigan stumbled through the din until they reached a break in the mist, allowing them to see again…

But in front of them was Fish once more, in the exact same clearing they’d been only minutes ago. Morrigan pursed their lips, dousing the light as their tail flicked behind them in thought.

“I swear I’d been walking in a straight line! Then how in the world did I end up back here?” They exclaimed, uncaring for their volume. There was no point in being stealthy - if there really was a necromancer or a bogaboo around here, they’d probably already been spotted!

And if Morrigan couldn’t make their way through the fog…

Then who - or what - ever was out there didn’t want the two to leave.

Shit.

Morrigan huffed, turning to look down at Fish. “Camp it is, then. I don’t suppose you’ve a tent for us? I’m far more accustomed to the mortal pleasures my wagon affords me. Carrying a tent is just dead weight.”

They might not have had a tent, but they did have a crystal ball. As the two found the dryest spot they could to start constructing a fire and get a meal started while they figured out their next course of action, Morrigan plucked the orb from where it passively hovered over their shoulder, perusing the images contained within for any secrets they might have missed.^[2]

---

1. Lantern Light Tattoo
2. Crysal Ball

"Charon finger trap....the more you fight against it, the harder it is to escape." Fish wasn't one for the more silly theories, ones that couldn't be scientifically tested, but the fog was odd. "Or Morrigan is just bad at directions."

They hop along the path as well, but similarly make little progress. Fish looks around curiously...the surroundings look the same, but most stuff in the bog is pretty similar. Any dense enough forest or swamp kind of just looks the same after enough time. They mimic a clicking sound to see if it echoes, but it fades slowly into the distance like it should....That rules out being trapped in some sort of weird orb or chamber...weird.

Fish lets the fellblood make the fire as they climb up into a tree to perch. Nothing in the distance looks any different either.....Where they making progress or just being mislead through some sort of magical nonsense? Normally magical nonsense was Morrigan's domain, but they seemed just as confused. So, where were they going?

They were just as annoyed as their partner, but it was hard for them to express it so they seemed relatively non-plussed about the entire endeavor.

Morrigan scoffed, bringing their attention away from the crystal ball in their hands for only a moment to make a stink-eye at Fish. “Excuse you, I am as impeccable at directions as I am anything I set my mind to. I walked in a straight line and made no deviations. There is no chance of me messing up!”

There was every chance in the world of them messing up but that was neither here nor there.

A Charon finger trap, though…

Morrigan tapped their chin in thought. As far as they could see, there were a couple of options here. First, there was something in this forest fucking with them, which did not bode well for the charlatan’s delicate senses. Second, the bog itself was protected by a powerful enchantment, one that was turning them every which way. A difficult conundrum, because if this was some necromancer protecting its creature, would it not let them go if they wanted to leave? It seemed much more likely that this was a force of nature than something intentional and malicious.

Something that was preventing them from progressing the more they tried to see through the veil of lies.

A classic charlatan move. The more someone resisted, the harder you directed their attention to something else. Clever misdirection and illusions, taking advantage of their fallible human sight to steer them in the wrong direction.

Morrigan squinted, deep in thought while they watched the crystal ball. A magic item without thought or consciousness; it merely existed to record information, not truly seeing, but merely witnessing. Interestingly enough, as they reviewed the footage of their crystal ball and tended to the fire with their other hand, the images almost seemed, well, crystal. Nothing obscuring it in the slightest. If they’d not been in this bog and seen it with their own two eyes, and only had these images to go on, they would not have believed there was any fog at all.

The fire crackled, warming their chilled body.

“Do you think that really could be how the enchantment works? The more we try to gaze through it, the worse the fog becomes?” Morrigan mused. “In that case, would it not simply be enough to… close our eyes and stumble blindly through the trees?”

Anything was worth a try, at this point. Morrigan certainly did not want to be trapped in here forever at any rate.

“After we rest, though. All of this activity has left me feeling quite exhausted. It’s not easy looking this beautiful and being a shining beacon in this desolate place!” They huffed, reaching into their bag to dig for something for the both of them. They’d prepared the food themselves, to reduce risk of Fish poisoning them on this endeavor, but they had a healthy mix of fine rations and some of Kvasir’s homecooked food. Plenty of vegan options for Fish. “See anything interesting up there? If not, give the brooding a break and come eat some food. We won’t be able to scam the piss out of Lloyd - I mean, help Lloyd on an empty stomach.”

"Perhaps...Fish is only offering theories...it may not matter which direction is chosen because we haven't moved at all." If Fish could add tone to their words there would be a heavy weight of annoyance. Morrigan knew well the bird hated illusions more than anything in the world. Anything Fish could not physical touch or sense was an affront to the aviankin and would be destroyed without haste.

To that point, Fish perches on a log near the campfire and unholsters their gun. Their little hands start to clean and check it, the moisture of the bog isn't something they had put it through before. They weren't going to be caught off-guard because of carelessness. Whoever was creating this fog and illusion was going to get two barrels to the chest if Fish had their way.

"The fog goes out in all directions....no discernable landmarks or any way points." They set the gun down to speak then purposefully take one of the packages with Kvasir-made food just to annoy Morrigan.

Even as they ate, they fell more and more into one of their most bird-like habits -- the constantly moving head. Fish looked around and around to make sure they are never caught off-guard. This fog has them on high alert, they will be lucky if they get any sleep it all. Everything about this job was annoying Fish at this moment and Lloyd will have to live off oozes for food by the time Fish finishes billing him.

Morrigan’s mouth twisted unpleasantly at the implication that their efforts thus far had not been the results of their own effort, but rather, an illusion intended to give them a false sense of security. The charlatan was versed in the art of misdirection and obfuscation, but in the practical sense rather than the arcane. They used fancy words and fake-outs and alchemical mastery and any manner of crimes to get the outcome that they desired. In some sense, they held the same disdain for illusion magics that Fish did. Not an abhorrence for that which they could see but could not touch; but a disdain for those who didn’t even have to work to create falsities. It was a slight to the very craft that they’d spent their entire life honing!

“Then how the hell are we supposed to break it - what do you have there?”

Morrigan stopped their inane ranting when they noticed the piece of metal on Fish’s hand. It was a foreign piece of equipment, unlike anything they’d ever seen before; but as Fish went through the motions of cleaning the… whatever it was, Morrigan caught the familiar scent of explosive powder lingering in the air. Some kind of miniaturized bomb device? In what was probably the dumbest decision the charlatan could have ever made, Morrigan leaned over to the metal, a classic scenario where curiosity killed the cat. They knew not to meddle with Fish’s things, but they were utterly fascinated by this thing.

“What is this? Some kind of… explosive, bomb-propulsion shooter? Looks fancy.”

They pointedly ignored Fish stealing some of Kvasir’s homemade food, only because the medic made it a point to instill in Morrigan that the rations were for the both of them to share. There was more than enough for Fish to enjoy, no matter how much Morrigan wanted to smack that grubby little bird finger away from their food. Instead, they settled for picking up a ball of fried dough and settling in, propping their feet up on a nearby rock jutting out of the bog.

“Well if we can’t break the illusion… don’t you think the best thing would be to just set a trap and wait for the creepy crawlers to come to us? I’m not going to wander around aimlessly and ruin my shoes for some rotted bog corpse. At the very least, we should camp the night. Lloyd can hold his damn horses.” It seemed that Morrigan wasn’t particularly concerned about what might be rustling around in the swamp when their wardrobe and attire were the more immediate worry.

“Charon finger trap, no? Stop resisting, and it’ll just… poof!” They made a little popping motion with their hand, glitter fluttering from their fingertips. “Go away.”

"Gun....It is a new type of weapon Fish is improving....by packing the barrel with black powder, Fish can ignite it with the hammer here when the trigger is pulled it will strike the flint plate which sparks the powder and sends a bullet at high speeds. Faster and more powerful than a crossbow, but slower to reload and the material is more rare for now."

Explaining their gear was one thing Fish actually didn't mind. People touching and grabbing at their things was another topic entirely, but just looking and listening was agreeable. The bird didn't have a good grasp of their emotions, but pride and maybe a touch of smugness were easy to come by.

Fish watches Morrigan try to glitter away the illusion, turning their head curiously. As much as they hated all the glitter and tricks, part of the bird hated to admit the did like all the little sparkles Morrigan made.

"Making camp is good, Fish can set traps around...just don't leave, Fish does not want to say where they are if someone is watching." They look to the distant fog, the wind for a moment shifting to sound like some strange whisper. It is almost as if something is calling to them, asking for them to come out and meet them in the swamp.

Now what in the seven hells was a gun?

Morrigan wrinkled their nose as Fish explained, understanding the alchemical principles behind spark-explosion-push little object, but who in the world thought of this kind of thing? They much preferred the loudness and grandiosity of a proper explosion, but Fish was the kind of criminal who preferred subtlety to a show. Still…

“Doesn’t using a miniature explosion still make a sound? It does not seem like the type of weapon you’d normally prefer. It would give away your position instantly.” Though there was a part of them that could not help but feel impressed at this display of alchemy and weapons know-how, and equally parts glad that fellblood and bird had reached some sort of begrudging alliance months ago. They did not want to meet the barrel of that thing in a darkened alley.

“You do not have to tell me twice!” Morrigan settled in while Fish got to work setting up traps for a proper camp. With a sharp whistle, they caught the attention of the bright, multicolored bird hovering around them, calling its attention. “Nugget; we’re setting up for the night. Keep an eye out, yeah?”

The phoenix nodded once before setting to the air, moving in circles around the makeshift encampment. The rainbow-hued phoenix was not especially subtle, but subtle could not be further away from Morrigan. Besides, the charlatan too was beginning to hear those whispers in the back of their mind, murmurs in the wind, a call with no reply - beckoning them further in.

Ugh. The sooner they wrapped this up, the better. Lloyd was going to be receiving a bill when this was done.

Underneath the canopy of trees it was difficult to parse out the sun in the sky, but the darkening of their surroundings was the only sign the day was giving way and plunging them into the night. Only the light of the fire, the glow from the sunlight tattoo on Morrigan’s palm, and Nugget soaring overhead illuminated the small area. Though the air itself felt still, Morrigan still was unsure whether they would be able to sleep tonight.

“I thought this place might somehow feel less creepy in the dead of night when there was too little light to see how awful everything is, but I somehow hate it more.” They huffed, pulling their silken brocade further over themselves. Around the two, the wind began to pick up. If they concentrated, it almost sounded like their name.

Morrigan…

---

Quest Name: Calls in the night
Participants: Two or more
Location: Marsh Flats Post
Requirements: 4 post per person, 200 words per post
Description: A night or two into your search, you begin to hear voices coming from the woods, but only at night. These voices are faint and far, but are calling out for you! You can occasionally hear your name being beckoned into the void of the swamp, and while this would normally be enough to send you running the other way, you know this is the work of a Bogaboo, the very thing you are after. So, to do your job, you trek out into the swamp hoping to find this mysterious monster. But its a very elusive creature and finding it comes with it's own obstacles. Mud, bugs, thick vines, thorny bushes and more stand between you and your goal.

"It is a variable that Fish has to consider when analyzing a plan, but Fish has more methods of moving quickly between places now which make it easier....It is also far more deadly, so with proper shots the target will be dead and Fish's location will be irrelevant." It is true that the gun was much louder than they would like, but there was a pro and con to everything. Fish would perfect the gun first then work on making it quieter.

As Morrigan works on setting up their part of the camp, Fish lays out their equipment to start thinking about defenses. They look over their notebook to scan through different blueprints and plants. What would work best for an undead? Smokebang? Do they rely on sight? Glassfire was probably off the table...so was Incendiary Smoke....it probably wouldn't be affected by any irritants.

Surprise Jacks is always a standard, but Fish wonders if undead even have nerve endings to worry about. This would be a good time to collect data on these creatures for future research.

"Fish works better in the cover of night, Fish can hear things better." As they say that their head snaps to the left....something calling for them.

Fish knew it wasn't real....or at least wasn't something to follow. What was it though? Fish pulls back the hammer of their gun. Someone seemed ready to find out Fish's opinions on illusions and sensory magic in the most painful way possible.

Morrigan…

The charlatan got to their feet, holding up the mote of light in the palm of their hand to cast it out upon the treeline. Nothing, save secrets whispered in the scratching branches and blinking eyes they hoped belonged to harmless swamp animals. An auditory hallucination? Perhaps, wrought on by the ambient sounds of nature. Still, something about it didn’t seem quite right. Normally, Morrigan loved the sound of their own name, but hearing it like this was just so plain and utterly wrong.

“Do you hear that, Fish? It almost sounds like they’re saying my name…”

And the more they spoke, the louder the whispers grew in intensify.

Morrigan…

MORRIGAN…

And like under a spell, Morrigan stepped closer to the treeline.

KAIVALYA…

-Only to come to a dead stop when they heard that horrible, awful name.

No, this could not be real. Only Morrigan knew that word, the one that used to belong to them once upon a time - the one they’d thrown away. Morrigan had not even told Fish as such because no matter what lady Kamille said, their old name didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. So unless it was Kamille pulling a prank on them; that name had been stolen from the recesses of Morrigan’s own mind, the sentiment echoed back to them.

They scowled, turning their nose upwards.

“Illusory magic.” They murmured, turning back to Fish. “Someone, or something is playing pranks on us to lure us deeper in. I don’t care if it’s the Bogaboo or not, but I am petty enough to do something to the thing that prevented me from getting my beauty sleep.” They had a particular disdain for being made a fool of in the same way Fish did to being subjected to illusory magic - and Morrigan took equal offense to that, too. They had few who knew them as they truly were and accepted them for the cruddy, horrible, rather unspecial person that lay beneath the glamour and the false wizardry.

Fish was one of those select few, and Morrigan did not squander that loyalty. Nothing was allowed to mess with the bird but them.