As I navigated the swamp’s tangle, my mind, despite the immediate task at hand, couldn’t help but drift back to my encounter with the Pyre Knight. That meeting had left an indelible mark, stirring a big pot of thoughts about the broader implications of my reemergence into this world.

The Pyre Knight, hailing from goddamn…Volcano Island, or whatever, hinted at a world far more complex than I'd initially reckoned. She represented just one of the sixteen regions of Valdrimoria—each, I’d been led to believe, guarded by its own Knight. And that was something to chew on, wasn’t it? If the…whadya call ‘em…Inferno Fields were real, what other marvels and oddities did Valdrimoria hide? The Boglands were obviously like some combination of different wetlands—swamp, marsh, bog, fens, what have you, and always twilight…the damn twilight and overcast sky… So… were there places where even the sky was different? Or, like…lands of eternal night, maybe realms beneath the waves, or with floating cloud-islands? If I got short changed, and it weren’t nearly dark everywhere, I supposed I’d want to pack up and find a vacation home somewhere else.

These musings weren’t just idle curiosity. They bore heavily on my role in this Trial. For instance, would I encounter more of these Knights? And if I did, would they view me as an ally, a rival, or a mere curiosity? The Pyre Knight, with her frosty demeanor and imposing presence, was a clear product of the strength and conviction these guardians wielded. So that begged the question: were all o’ these Knights…assholes?

This line of thought naturally led me to ponder my own place in this grand scheme. If each Knight was so intimately connected to their land, what did that imply for me, the supposed heir to the Marsh Knight legacy? Was my destiny intertwined with the Boglands alone, or did it extend beyond, into the broader expanse of Valdrimoria? Suppose it was a bit of both, naturally, but, man…sure was something to ponder. Wish I had some beer right now. Ain’t nothing finer than ruminating over a complex issue with a cold one in your hand. Did they even have alcohol or spirits here? It was scary to consider that they wouldn’t.

It was hours later when I stumbled into something even remotely resembling a path forward. I’d been out there, trompin’ in mud and wading through brush, investigating what seemed like the whole damn swamp for any sign of the Verndari I was aching to find. But, it didn’t seem like that would ever happen.

I’m not exactly the patient sort, and when I don’t see immediate results with something, I tend to lose interest. That don’t mean I give up, though, but it does mean I tend to get distracted. As such, I was currently enjoying the intrigue of the world above.

Walking along, trying not to accidentally fall into a stretch of swamp water, I kept my eyes glued upward, examining the branches of the massive trees high above me. The canopy really was something, I tell ya. These trees, they were like the elders of the swamp, towering and wise. Their branches stretched out like ancient arms, each one draped in a cloak of moss and hanging vines.

I was so caught up in admiring the view, in fact, that I didn't see the log lying right in front of me. My foot caught on it, and down I went, sprawling in the mud with a splash and a curse. My brand new clothes were now completely covered in muck, and I was cursing up a storm, lamenting my rotten fortune.

"Goddammit, just great," I grumbled, pushing myself up. “‘Increase in Deftness,’ my ass. I’m going to find a vacuum and suck Otho into the thing like a Ghostbuster.”

Though, that gave me an idea.

I put a hand on the attavita—thinking I could potentially summon the specter and maybe make heads or tails on a direction in some fashion. However, rather than the ancient St. Nick-doppelganger Otho, the only thing that popped up was the mirror image of myself outlined in ghastly blue and white. I noticed the words still floated where they were originally stationed, though now mostly translated without the need for a big to-do. I noted now, though, there was some additional information next to them.

ACCUITY - BASE

VITALITY - BASE

GALDUR - 5 S

MIGHT - BASE

DEFTNESS - 1 S

So, I had to assume, based on how I’d applied my Stig, that that was what the “S” stood for. It didn’t tell me much, but, fortunately, Marshlore seemed to transpose something into my brain. With it, I knew that once I got one of my little appraisals to ten Stig, it would…move up? Oh! I would Ripen. I still hated that word, but it was fine, I supposed. Beyond that was a mystery—for instance, what would happen if I got all of them to Ripen, would something cooler happen? For now, this would have to work. Still, no matter what else I did, I couldn’t summon Otho, which may have had to do with the fact that I was working on an active challenge? Who knew?

“Well, great,” I said aloud. “Thanks for nothin,’ attavita you useless—”

But then, a sound cut through my self-pity.

"Kuk!"

Wait…I knew that sound! Looking up, I saw a familiar sight: the green heron from the day before, perched on a branch and looking down at me. I mean, I was pretty sure it was the same one. The creature who had led me to the ruins when I’d asked the Boglands for assistance.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Strangely, as I focused in on it, the smaller branches of the tree began to shift around the bird. I wasn’t sure what was happening—and in fact thought I was fainting for a moment—until they started to become more clear. It was a message.

AUGA KRÍA

Then it shifted, just like it had all the other times.

EYE HERON

“Eye Heron?” I wondered. “That’s…different.” Also, instinctively, I knew this was Marshlore—helpfully providing more insight to the world around me, and I had to take a moment to appreciate that.

I was still covered in mud, though.

However, despite my frustration, I couldn't help but greet the bird politely.

"Hey there, little fella," I said. "You here to laugh at my misfortune?"

The bird just tilted its head to the side and let out another "kuk." That's when a thought hit me. Could this…no, could it? Would this heron be my Verndari? It was worth considering.

"Hey, uh, you wouldn't happen to be the Verndari I’m looking for, would you?" I asked, half-joking but also half-hoping.

The heron didn't answer.

Of course.

Instead, it fluttered down from the branch to land on the ground in front of me. Then it kuked again.

“Yeah?” I said, just really talking just to talk. “Well, uh, what can I help you with?”

The heron bobbed its head up and down, tilting it again to peer at me.

“Alright, I might be confused or something,” I said—clearly confused or something. “Should I take this to mean you are my Verndari? Guess I wasn’t exactly thinking it would be an animal. I didn’t know…what to expect, but, hey, I suppose it makes sense. You been looking out for me since I got here…haven’t you?”

There wasn’t a response at all from the bird, just gazing at me with its intense peepers. I shrugged. “Alright then, bird—uh, Verndari. Can I call you ‘Vern’ for short? Yeah, I’ma do that, I think.”

I smiled.

“Alright, Vern,” I continued. “Now what? Suppose we gotta getchya back to Riddara, eh? Show you off and—”

Suddenly, the heron took off in flight, landing on another branch not too far away. I watched, intrigued.

“Hey, what’s up?” I wondered. “You tryin’ to say something to me, Vern?”

“Kuk!” Vern kuked. Then it floated to another branch a little farther away from me.

Was it trying to lead me somewhere like it had yesterday? Trying to tell me something that was part of the whole sponsorship thing? Hell, even if it wasn't telling me something, per se, maybe it was guiding me to it. So, I decided to follow.

Vern continued this pattern, fluttering ahead and waiting for me to catch up, then moving on again. I trudged through the swamp, following its flight, looking out for logs this time. As I walked, I couldn't help but muse that even if this bird wasn't my mystical guardian, it was at least providing some damn direction in this vast, confusing swamp.

Eventually, the heron led me to the edge of a ravine. It was a steep drop, the sides lined with rocks and roots, leading down to a narrow stream at the bottom. The heron perched on a branch overlooking the ravine, kuking softly. I approached cautiously, peering down into the depths.

“Whatcha trying to show me, fella?” I wondered aloud. “Something down there? Maybe part of the whole kit and kaboodle of this process?”

Either way, there was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, I began to carefully make my way down the side of the ravine, hoping I was finally on the right track. The sides were slippery, and more than once I had to steady myself against a rock or a tree root. Reaching the bottom, I found myself next to the water of the extremely narrow stream. It was quiet here, the sounds of the swamp somewhat muted.

Looking around, I noticed something. There were signs of a makeshift camp. There was an old firepit dug into the dirt, long cold and dormant, with a charred stick nearby that looked like it had been used for cooking. A few scraps of fabric lay scattered about, the origins of which were indeterminate.

"Looks like I’m a bit late for lunch," I muttered to myself. “Someone’s been here—but not recently.” Vern, high above, kuked at me again, and I dunno why—maybe Marshlore—but I figured it was trying to tell me I was wasting time here. Who had been there and why were apparently questions for another time. I decided to ignore this for now and moved along, following the flow of the water because, well, that was a direction.

I hadn’t gone far when another sound pierced the silence. It wasn't the vocalizations of Vern, but something different: chirruping. It sounded weird, panicked, frantic. It was also familiar. The same sounds the cute little owl-goat creatures had made. That’s when I felt a shock course through my body—almost like adrenaline…but altogether different. Something about Marshlore was telling me that this was the sound of danger, of trouble.

Without thinking, I hefted my club and began sprinting toward the source of the noise. The chirruping grew louder and more desperate, and I knew I had to hurry. The frantic chirruping echoed through the swamp, guiding me, urging me on. I burst through a thick curtain of brush and out into an open expanse of the swamp, a vast, shallow watery area dotted with small islands of land and clusters of reeds.

In the center of this watery clearing, a scene straight from a nightmare unfolded before me. My eyes locked onto an owl-goat creature, its normally curious and gentle demeanor replaced by sheer terror. The creature was ensnared in the deadly embrace of a massive serpent, its scales glistening menacingly in the dim light.

The serpent, a monstrous colossus of muscle and scale, had coiled itself around the helpless creature. Each loop of its body was like a vice, tightening with every panicked bleat and chirrup from the owl-goat. The creature's eyes were wide with fear, its usual playful clicks now frantic cries for help, echoing heartbreakingly through the swamp.

I could see the owl-goat's limbs flailing weakly, struggling against the inevitable as the serpent's grip constricted tighter. The serpent's head, hovering ominously above its prey, was a horrifying sight. Its eyes were cold and unfeeling pits, its jaw unhinged in anticipation of its meal. The sight of those merciless eyes sent a shiver down my spine.

Around this horrifying spectacle, I noticed dozens of the owl-goat creatures perched in horror. They were on low branches and higher up on the trunks of the large trees, their wide eyes fixed on their kin, powerless to intervene. The serpent, easily twenty feet in length and as thick as a steam trunk, had a head the size of an air conditioner unit.

Anger surged within me, mixing with a spike of panic. The serpent's size and strength were daunting, its thick body coiled with lethal precision. The sight of the owl-goat, so vulnerable and terrified, stirred something primal within me. A protective instinct, perhaps, or a refusal to stand idly by while an innocent creature suffered.

"Oh HELL no!" I shouted. "Back off my little buddies, you damn snake!"

There was nothing else for it. I charged.