Story
They bound us with reeds and vines, leading us through the mist without a word. My companion, a sailor named Harth, stumbled ahead of me, his face pale in the torchlight. We had thought to trade with the Fibians for food and passage, but now we were marched into the heart of their swamp, where the air grew heavy with smoke and the night vibrated with croaking voices.
The clearing opened around a pool black as tar, its surface smooth and gleaming in the firelight. Fibians gathered in a circle, their slick skins shining with moisture, their throats swelling and collapsing as they sang. The sound was terrible, a thunder of croaks and guttural cries, each voice overlapping into a living wall of sound. It was not song as I knew it, but worship, pure and raw, and the sight of it made my skin crawl.
They dragged Harth to the water's edge first. The priest stepped forward, daubed in mud, his necklace strung with bones that rattled as he moved. His eyes bulged with ecstasy as he lifted his webbed hands to the sky, croaking words too deep for me to understand. The chorus answered, shaking the very air.
Harth screamed as they raised him above their heads, but his voice was swallowed by the storm of sound. They hurled him into the pool, and the surface broke in a frenzy of movement. Tentacles, pale and glistening, surged from the depths, wrapping his limbs, dragging him under. He thrashed once, twice, then was gone.
The Fibians howled with joy, their eyes wide, their voices frenzied, their bodies shuddering as if they too were seized by Azghurra. They stamped their webbed feet, croaked until their throats split with sound, some collapsing into the mud in rapture, convulsing with the madness of their worship.
Then their eyes turned to me.
Hands closed around my arms, cold and slick, lifting me toward the pool where the water rippled hungrily. The priest's mouth split wide in a grin, his throat swelling as he bellowed his triumph to the night.
I knew then that Harth had not merely died. He had been devoured whole-body, spirit, soul-become part of Azghurra's endless hunger. And soon, I too would be taken.

Description

The swamp of Murkwater lies in the low hollow between Montosho and the Marshwall mountains, where the rivers slow and drown the land in reed-choked waters. It is a place of heavy mists, buzzing insects, and trees with roots like claws rising out of the brackish pools. Few outsiders willingly travel there, for the ground itself seems to drink the strength from their steps, and unseen eyes are always watching.

The Fibians, an amphibian people, claim every stream, reed bed, and shadowed bank as their domain. They stand about the height of a man, with broad mouths, slick mottled skin, and large golden eyes that seem to glow in the dark. They are curious, yet careful. Though they cannot forge metal, they are expert at shaping leather, wood, stone, bone, and shell into weapons and ornaments. They gladly barter for iron knives and bronze spearheads, and traders who return from Murkwater often tell of deals too good to be true, where a handful of glass beads was enough to buy weeks of dried fish and smoked eels.

Yet to mistake the Fibians' naivete for foolishness is a grave error. Their guttural dialect, thick with clicks and croaks, hides sharp minds and a deep memory of wrongs. To offend them is to invite war from the water itself. Enemies find themselves stalked by unseen hunters, the night alive with croaks and splashes until blades slip from the dark. The Fibians are masters of patience and stealth, able to hold their breath beneath the brown swampwater for uncanny lengths of time, waiting for the moment to strike.

Beliefs and Worship

At the heart of Murkwater lies the Pool of Mother Azghurra, the Swamp Mother, a sacred black mirror hidden deep among strangler figs. From its surface rise slick tentacles that seize sacrifices, dragging them down to silence. The Fibians say her hunger keeps the swamp alive, her body spread through every root and water vein.

The Swamp Father, called Kroth, is less a figure than a voice in the night. He is the hum of insects, the croak of unseen frogs, the breath of the swamp itself. Every evening the Fibians sit in circles, croaking chants into the dusk, a chorus rising with the fireflies until the air itself seems to sing.

Together, Mother Azghurra and Father Kroth embody the endless cycle of swallowing and singing, silence and sound, life and death. The Fibians see no division of male or female among themselves, for they believe each carries the touch of both gods.

Sacrifice ritual

When the sacrifice sinks into the Pool of Azghurra, the flesh is torn away, but the flesh is nothing. What matters is the soul, the spark that clings to the breath and the bones. The tentacles are not only flesh, they are the fingers of Azghurra reaching from the endless dark beneath the swamp. They seize not only the body but the spirit, wrapping it tight and dragging it into her depths.

The soul does not die. It is unmade, broken into ripples and swallowed whole. In Azghurra's belly, every swallowed spirit becomes her voice, her strength, her hunger. This is why she grows and why she must always feed.

The Fibians believe that the sacrifice is not lost, but transformed. Their essence seeps into the swamp itself, spreading through the waters, the roots, the mists. Their eyes become the golden gleam that watches from the reeds. Their cries become the chorus of frogs that sing at dusk. Their pain becomes the sweetness of the swamp's flowers, their breath the warm mist that clings to the trees.

To be chosen for Azghurra is a terrible honor. It is said that when the Fibians croak their chants at night, the voices of all past sacrifices answer, speaking back through the swamp in the endless chorus of the Swamp Father. In this way, Azghurra and Kroth are one, devourer and singer, darkness and chorus.

The priests say that those who are fed to Azghurra do not rest. They become part of her, forever, their will consumed but their essence eternal. This is why the Fibians throw captives into the pool without hesitation, and why sometimes they cast their own into her embrace. To join Azghurra is to become deathless. To resist her is to vanish into silence.

Settlements and Way of Life

The Fibians live in reed-woven huts perched on stilts above dark waters, clustered into villages with names like Throggar, Uzith, and Klemba. They travel by dugout canoe, often hunting with nets, spears, and short bows. Fish, frogs, snakes, and birds are their food, but they also harvest roots and flowers with medicinal or poisonous properties.

Their greatest gathering is the settlement of Zuth'Morra, built upon a chain of small islands where the rivers meet. Here, the Swamp Mother's priests, the Kroth'kul, daub themselves in mud and wear necklaces of bone, commanding great authority.

Outsiders and Threats

To outsiders, Murkwater is a land of fog and danger, yet some daring traders make the journey to barter for rare herbs, dyes, and hunting trophies. The Fibians rarely venture beyond their swamp.

Possible Secrets

The Pool Beneath

The Pool of Azghurra is not bottomless, but connects to a vast cavern system under the swamp. Some whisper that ancient ruins lie there, swallowed by water, where the first Fibians learned to worship the Mother.

The Silent Croak

It is said that if the swamp ever falls silent at night, with no frogs, insects, or croaking voices, Azghurra has risen from her pool to walk the swamp herself. None who hear that silence survive to tell of it.

The Golden-eyed Ones

Among the Fibians are those whose eyes shine brighter than the rest. They are said to carry fragments of past sacrifices in them, souls trapped in Azghurra's hunger, whispering to the chosen in dreams. Some become prophets. Some go mad.

The Singing Bones

In a hidden village, the priests keep the bones of sacrifices strung together as rattling instruments. When shaken in chorus, they say, the souls within cry out, granting the Fibians strength in battle.

Adventure Hooks

The Vanished Ship

A trading expedition into Murkwater never returned. Their goods are rumored to have included rare relics, and the Fibians who bartered with them now wear strange ornaments of gold and silver. The players must recover the lost treasures, if they can survive the Fibians' traps and the Pool's hunger.

The Silent Swamp

A traveler stumbles out of Murkwater half-mad, babbling that the swamp fell silent for a whole night, with no croaks or insects. He claims something vast moved in the mist. The players are hired to investigate before whatever stirs in Azghurra's depths reaches the outer lands.

The Singing Bones

An ambitious Fibian priest offers a bargain: help him recover bones of ancient sacrifices hidden in a drowned ruin, and he will share their "power." If the players accept, they must plunge into forgotten tunnels beneath the swamp, where the boundary between the living and the devoured is thin.

The Pool Unleashed

After an especially frenzied ritual, the Pool of Azghurra overflows, spreading corruption through Murkwater. Plants twist into monstrous shapes, and the Fibians begin to behave with terrifying unity, as if one will drives them all. The players must find the cause-or cut it off before the swamp spreads beyond its borders.

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