The name does not conjure images of picnics, shady walks or a peaceful resting place. Instead, the Bog of Souls is a foul and horrid place, laced with toxic fumes that required me to secure a magical draft to even allow entrance. But first, I had to enter through the Underground Cavern, which was it’s own special place of terrors with bodies strewn all about the floor and zombies feasting on the remains.

I was quite sure we had taken a wrong turn somewhere and was on the point of a hasty retreat when Zannon all but required me to carry on. I thought time in the library or listening to the minstrels would be more appealing. But alas, the bog it is.

And once into the bog, things became even more strange as I met a privateer that had become separated from his group and was on the verge of collapse. He too had taken the same vile tasting potion that allowed me to enter here. He was on a scouting mission, lured by riches and trinkets trapped in the mire. But the effects of the elixir were wearing off and soon he would suffocate amidst the muck and ghastly fog.

He encouraged me to find a root that might give him more time to escape. This was easily located and all it took was thrashing down a dozen more zombies and absorb a near debilitating amount of venom and plague to the system.

And now, with another citizen saved, it was time to find the necromancer, one who might actually be harvesting the very organs I was looking for.

Now, before the wrong impression is presented, I’m not trying to purchase harvested organs. Well, actually I am, but I only want my own back. It seems I am a Lightbringer without a heart. Before being resurrected, some foul betrayer absconded with my heart for dark designs I’m sure. But since I am the undead and looking to save the world, I’d like to have it back and turn out, I have to talk to a necromancer about it. And being a necromancer, he spends his days in the Bog of Souls.

Again, why can’t we meet in the pub? The City of Light is lovely with wide boulevards, minstrels and merchants. Plenty of people in the pub trying to drown their sorrows and some wouldn’t even miss an organ if you pinched it. Buy them a mug or two of ale and they might even offer it up willingly.

After multiple battles with minions of the undead, and even taking time out to save some poor lad from the clutches of this dank underworld, I ultimately made my way to the necromancer. But instead of just placing my sought after goods in a sack and allowing me to continue on my way, we had to barter.

It seems the Master of Darkness wants a white ember, for reasons that might make me cringe, if I was the type to ask a lot of questions before taking up a task. But said ember is in the hands of the King in Pinnacle. So now I have to pack up, leave the dirty swamp, travel without a horse or any other means of conveyance, then threaten a King at sword point for an ember that could be used for good or evil, I’m not sure which.

Very well, grab the swamp fish we caught earlier and let’s be on our way.


I’m not quite in the market for a soul at the current moment, but I appreciate the offer. However, I believe what you are doing must be stopped.


A fishing hole? In here? Very well, let me cast a line and see what sort of tasty treat comes out.


Now look here Swamp Monster, I’m perfectly willing to share the swamp fish we caught earlier, but you are going about this in completely the wrong manner. I’m not familiar with the etiquette of the swamp, but shooting me in the back is not a sign of friendship and that we should share a sandwich and wheel of cheese.


Ah, Necromancer, good to see you. Perhaps you have my heart lying about the place? Care to toss it into a sack so I can be on my way?

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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