Bog fiend
The Undead of Lume are resilient, adaptable creatures, and when cast adrift from their Caster, some find creative ways to sustain themselves. The Fiends are those Undead who stumble into marshes and swamps; areas that are rife with living matter, and are scarcely visited by the Races. If conditions are ideal, such as revenant may sustain themselves by feeding on the small but plentiful Anima found in the living organisms of the swamp. Gradually, over many Rotations, the Undead adopts the traits of its surroundings. They are in essence a living, mobile swamp.
The longer a Bog fiend exists, the stronger they become, growing in intellect and in their ability to control the elements in their vicinity. The have been known to bond with the mud, vines, plants and water around them, making their dense, soggy mass difficult to damage. Truly ancient Fiends can quickly drain the area when threatened, growing immense in size. Few who battle these Undead elemental forces directly survive to brag about their victory, however, Bog fiends are documented as being indifferent to peaceful passers by; likely as they no longer need to prey on such travellers.
As is the case with all Undead, it is recommended Folk avoid them entirely. Bog fiends in particular are noted for attacking only when threatened, and typically behave as guardians of their marshes. They may even have enough sentience to communicate with. Should a confrontation be rendered necessary, we can only assume what methods may be effective. Intense heat should damage the elemental exterior, the skeleton inside would then need to be destroyed to completely eliminate the creature. One approach may be to expand their mass beyond their control, using Druidic Creepers for example, feeding and diluting their core organic mass until the being is no longer able to hold their form. Theoretically, if they are robbed of their marshy flesh, they could be disposed of like their Clinker kin, or their Anima consumed altogether. The author stresses the aforementioned suggestions are purely conjecture.
Stumbling upon a pond when lost in the Inland Forests, I noticed a skeleton sitting propped against a rock at the water's edge, submerged up to its waist. Before I could react, a whisper reached my ears, stay, and drink with me, it beckoned. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and though I was lost, and thirsty, and the voice was welcoming, I pivoted on my heel and ran. Better not to take chances with a haunted puddle.
