The Bogbeast

“It does not speak. It does not sleep. It only waits.”

No one knows what the Bogbeast truly is. Some say it was once a druid who gave up his name to the swamp, becoming one with its rot. Others claim it's a curse given flesh—spawned from centuries of blood spilled beneath the reeds. Whatever it is, it is old. It has outlasted empires. Trees have grown, died, and regrown atop its back.

The beast lurks just below the surface of the fetid marsh, its yellow eyes glowing like coals in the dark. It lures travelers with still water and safe-looking land, then strikes with a roar that drowns birdsong. It does not eat for hunger, but to keep the swamp fed. It is the guardian of decay, the protector of stillness. If you hear it breathing, you’re already too close.