Swamp Eaters.
The name alone was enough to make veteran Hunters frown. There were many variations of them—monsters shaped by the environment they had claimed as their lair. The most common kind was the typical mud-bodied Swamp Eater, a lumbering predator born from the thick sludge of stagnant marshlands. Others were far more dangerous—made of water so foul and dense it was nearly a liquid prison; made of fire, igniting the bog around them into burning tar pits; even made of molten rock, their cracked hides leaking streams of lava that could boil a lake dry.
But no matter their form, they shared one trait: they preferred to remain submerged beneath their chosen swamp, undisturbed, patient as the grave. They could lie there for years, decades even, letting their presence poison the land above.
