Harvest of the White-Root Bog: Hissborn Stand

After the last hiss faded, the party stood ankle-deep in the milky runoff of the White-Root Bog. The Chicchics had fallen in clumps among mats of web and pale tubers; Screamers left thin, papery sacs where their screams had ripped air; the Giant Bog Spider's nest had been torn open and the Bog Wraith's remains hung as a faint, clinging shimmer in the reeds. The party stripped scales and fangs for trade, carefully skinned silk and venom from the spider, preserved three resonant voice-membranes from the Screamers, and collected milky white root bulbs and a single sliver of ectoplasm that the wraith had left clinging to a reed. A battered leather satchel among the Hissborn's fallen displayed a crude fang-talisman and a single potion tucked into the webbing.