RaNdOM
They come in hoards, droves, and gangs. They come on silent legs, with feet that can taste the world around them and bodily fluids that can decompose flesh.
They come for—him, her, they, it—Mildew.
The voiceless throng of things that scuttle, slither, and dart through the air nears the hut. Hidden in the cockles of the Feverland's heart, rarely seen by anyone these days, they look for the Swamp Witch. On an afternoon like any other, the air thick with decay and humidity, they come bearing a message for their mistress.
They come for—
The voiceless throng of things that scuttle, slither, and dart through the air nears the hut. Hidden in the cockles of the Feverland's heart, rarely seen by anyone these days, they look for the Swamp Witch. On an afternoon like any other, the air thick with decay and humidity, they come bearing a message for their mistress.
EVENT
