The biting wind of the Grey Spine fades, replaced by the damp, heavy heat of the Lowlands. F stands at the edge of a stagnant marshland, the mountain range now a distant jagged shadow behind them.
Torin
The mountain is behind us, but this place feels just as hungry as the ice.
Torin
We need to keep moving, F. The scouts are gone, but the bog folk are not known for their hospitality to outsiders.
F
The air smells of rot and ancient, stagnant water.
A low, rhythmic thumping sound echoes from the thickets ahead. It is not the sound of wind, but the deliberate beat of a drum made from cured hide.
Torin
Do you hear that? We have been spotted. Get your hands off your weapons, if you want to leave this swamp alive.
+ Scene Quest Added
Get past the bog folk
“Reminds me of home I, don't reach for my weapon at all, I would actually visibly relax and continue forward with a calm walk.”
FAILURE (Good Willpower, rolled +0)
F lowers the tension in their shoulders and takes one slow step into the marsh. The mud sucks at their boots, and the drumbeat ahead stops cold.
Torin
That is not a welcome drum. That is a warning.
From the reeds, pale lantern light blooms through the mist. Shapes shift behind it, low to the ground, watching.
Torin
Too late. They have our scent now.
A reed path parts just enough to show a bog folk sentinel with a carved bone mask and a dripping spear, standing between F and the deeper swamp.
Bog Folk Sentinel
Stranger. Halt. Name your reason, or sink where you stand.
The mist thickens around F's chest, and the swamp gas hisses close enough to sting the eyes. Behind the sentinel, more masked figures gather in silence.
Torin
F, say nothing reckless. They are deciding whether to let us live.
“Reminds me of home I, don't reach for my weapon at all, I would actually visibly relax and continue forward with a calm walk.”
SUCCESS (Good Willpower, rolled +1)
F lets the breath out of their chest and walks on, slow and open-handed. The mud clings, but the path holds under their weight.
The Bog Folk Sentinel does not strike. Their spear eases a finger-width aside, bone mask tilting as they study F's empty claws.
Bog Folk Sentinel
No weapon. Good. Keep that peace, stranger.
Torin stares, then loosens by degrees, still ready to flinch if the marsh turns mean.
Torin
They are letting us pass. By the old reeds, they are letting us pass.
The lantern light parts the mist ahead, revealing a reed path deeper into the bog. The sentinel steps back just enough to clear the way.
Bog Folk Sentinel
Walk straight. Do not stray, do not call out, and do not draw iron in my hearing.
Quest Complete
Get past the bog folk
Attribute Upgrade: Willpower Good→Great