Sid Sylvan's Audio Adventures: The Bloodswamps of Ungar
Mika Thomas for Sid Sylvan/Warrior's Ghost
Sid Sylvan is a little gnome who loves to explore and travel. He has a high pitched voice, and he's an extreme optimist. He's either ok with how horrible the world is around him, or he can't tell how horrible it actually is. It's hard to tell. It's important that his chipper attitude juxtapose the grimdark world around him.
The Ghost is a spirit that's been in pain for centuries, and will continue to be in pain for the rest of time. He is neither annoyed by or comforted by Sid's questioning. His existence is just a pained blur at this point.
SID SYLVAN
[You're giving the intro to your travel guide podcast. You think this place is great and you want everyone to know about it.]
Welcome to the Bloodswamps of Ungar. These fields sit in layers upon layers of fetid blood, deposited here thanks to centuries of constant warfare. The swamp fumes are thick, pungent, and filled with history. These bloody waters provide the nearby town of Gretch with rich soil, delectable bloodberries, and virulent hepatitis.
SID SYLVAN
[You're telling your listeners about places where they can stay the night in this town. This witch's house is creepy as heck, but you don't care and you don't think other people should think it's creepy either.]
"Maribeld’s" is less of an inn, and more of an old woman’s home where visitors occasionally go missing, but let me tell you; the mead here is to die for. The locally picked bloodberries give the brew a wonderfully bitter punch that you won’t forget anytime soon.
Let’s see if Maribeld has any mead ready now! Good morning, Maribeld!
GHOST
[You've been summoned by a mortal to answer some questions about your past that you barely remember.]
Who disturbs my restless slumber?
[He introduces himself, asks for an interview, and offers payment.]
Your price is…acceptable. What knowledge do you seek from me, little augur?
[He asks you what your name is and where you were from.]
My name is dust, and my home is ash. Such memories are lost to time…worn away across centuries…like a river carving a canyon out of stone.
