Luckborn

"I hate this place," Milo said, peering through a thick layer of greasy yellow bug balm. A cloud of swamp midges hovered around his head, searching for any gap in his protection.

Otter was the only other one having trouble with the pesky things, though not nearly as much as Milo. The bug balm they'd bought dissuaded most of the insects, but a few of the more tolerant ones persisted until they got a taste of his blood. While Otter was secretly hoping to discover some insect he'd never seen on this trip, his fascination with entomology ended where their teeth began.

"There has to be a spell for this," Milo continued. "This goop is getting all over everything and it's only marginally effective, at best."

"It's not so bad," countered Jasper, who had only applied a thin film of the stuff and didn't have a single bite yet. "At least it doesn't stink."

Otter shot him a look. "You say that because you can't smell yourself."

The trail they followed—marked every so often by a flat slate post etched with the Guild's crest—had begun to dip into wetter terrain. The ground beneath their boots was still firm, but moisture clung to the soles. The buzz of insects, swish of saw grass, and the pungent aroma of fetid vegetation hung thick in the air like a damp woolen cloak.

It was late afternoon. The sun hovered hot and bright overhead. While the temperature wasn't blistering, the humidity made every breath feel heavier. And the air was still. Stifling. As if the whole swamp were holding its breath.

Otter paused to adjust the strap of his pack and wiped a thin sheen of sweat from his brow. "Remind me again how far this outpost is?"

"At least a day and a half," Erin answered from the front of the line. Her voice was calm, but her shirt clung to her back in damp patches. "A day and a half to the marsh proper, then another half day to the outpost. We should hit real marsh tomorrow."

"Define 'real,'" Milo muttered.

"Wet. Squelchy. Frog-scented."

"That's horrifyingly specific."

They continued on in silence for a while, the only sounds their footfalls, the hiss of insects, and Milo's occasional groans of discomfort. Otter didn't mind the quiet. It gave him time to think.

Last night had been a welcome diversion. As a group, they'd visited both his mother and Erin's parents. It was strange, introducing friends from Aurelia to people who still saw him as the boy who ran errands and got into trouble behind the bakery.

His mother had hugged everyone. Twice. Even Jasper, who pretended not to enjoy it. She'd insisted on feeding them something—"just a little stew"—which turned into three pots of food and half her bread stores. She beamed with quiet pride as she listened to their stories, nodding along, occasionally giving Otter a look that made him feel like he was twelve again.

Erin's parents were more reserved. Her father had a quiet, weathered presence, the kind of man who didn't speak unless he had something worth saying. Her mother was warmer, though a bit guarded—especially when she looked at Otter. Still, they'd offered tea and mild congratulations and didn't object when Erin lingered outside afterward to talk.

There hadn't been time for long visits, but the familiarity had felt good. Grounding. Like touching the edges of the life they were slowly leaving behind.

They'd returned to the inn late, packed up early, and hit the road at first light.

Now, less than a full day's journey into the marshlands, that sense of warmth and belonging already felt far away—like a lantern left behind.

The rest of the day passed without incident.

The trail grew closer the marsh proper, rising occasionally on drier patches before sinking again into mud-slick hollows bordered by sawgrass and pale-barked trees. The buzzing of insects never ceased, though as evening approached, the heat relented and shadows stretched long across the reeds.

They made camp on a slight rise, a patch of relatively dry ground nestled between two gnarled trees. Jasper did a quick circuit to check for hazards, declared the area "adequately miserable," and dropped his pack with a theatrical groan.

Milo wasted no time gathering branches and damp moss. "I'm making a fire," he said. "But not for warmth. This baby's going to be all smoke, all the time."

Within minutes, a steady column of gray smoke curled up from the smoldering pile. It was pungent and a little eye-watering, but it did the trick. The midges retreated to the edges of the firelight in confused, angry clusters.

Otter and the others set up bedrolls and took stock of their rations. Erin collected water from a nearby pool, boiling it with practiced efficiency. She filled every available container, careful not to spill a drop.

Sage leaned against her pack with her eyes closed, meditating or perhaps dozing—it was hard to tell. Jasper lay flat on his back, chewing on something vaguely jerky-shaped and grumbling about the acoustics of marsh frogs.

Otter sat near Milo, watching him work. The young Spell Lord had taken out his journal and was scribbling furiously, glancing between diagrams and a few runestones he'd pulled from a pouch. He muttered to himself, occasionally scratching something out and replacing it.

"What are you working on?" Otter asked.

"A new spell," Milo said, not looking up. "Or more like a… spin-off."

"Oh?"

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He held up a page. "Something to deal with these damnable midges. It's basically a stripped-down version of the armor spell we learned this year—only instead of blocking blades, it repels insects."

"That's genius."

They passed the rest of the evening in tired but companionable silence. The smoky fire did its job. The bugs stayed away. And for the first time since entering the marsh, Otter felt they might just be able to get through this mission without anyone going completely feral.

The next morning, the air was damp and heavy with dew, but the bugs returned in full force the moment they stirred.

Milo stood, stretched, and raised both hands. "Alright. Time for a test."

He traced a few quick sigils in the air, muttered a phrase under his breath, and released the spell. A faint shimmer passed over him—barely visible, like heat rising from a stone—and then faded.

He waited.

The midges buzzed close… and then peeled away, as if bouncing off an invisible dome.

Milo laughed. "It works!"

Otter stared in amazement. "That's… genuinely impressive."

"I'm calling it Bug Ward. Version 1.0."

"Please tell me you're sharing," Jasper said, slapping at his neck.

"I'll cast it on everyone," Milo said grandly, "for a small fee."

Erin raised a brow.

Milo deflated. "Fine. Free trial."

One by one, he cast the spell over each of them. And for the first time since entering the swamp, they could breathe without inhaling insects. As he finished, his wrisplay buzzed. He glanced at it, then broke into a broad grin. "Check it out, guys."

He held the display up for everyone to see.

New Spell Learned: Bug Ward

Bug Ward- Level 0

You conjure a faint, invisible aura of natural energy that wards off small insects and other crawling pests. Flies refuse to land, mosquitoes veer away, and ants instinctively avoid the target's body, clothes, and pack. The barrier remains fixed around the touched creature and moves with them.

Bug Ward offers no protection against larger creatures (such as monstrous vermin, swarms, or beasts that bite). It does not interfere with animals used for scouting, familiars, or animal companions unless they are insectoid in nature.

Duration: 4 hours

Bonus XP: 250 XP

Not only did you learn this spell, you invented it. By modifying a known spell formula, you created an altogether new spell with a desired effect. Congratulations!

Otter adjusted his pack, smiling to himself as they broke camp. For all the muck and misery, there was something strangely satisfying about a moment of real, useful magic.

They headed out once more toward whatever waited for them at the outpost in Halverik.

***

Milo's Bug Ward spell came with an unexpected benefit: it allowed them to move faster. Freed from the constant swatting and shooing of insects, the group made good time. By midmorning, they reached the trail marker that signaled the boundary of Halverik Marsh.

It was a slab of black slate, half-sunken in muck, carved with deep runes. Just a few feet beyond it, the landscape changed dramatically.

The scrub thinned, giving way to reed-choked pools and winding channels of dark water. The ground turned slick and treacherous, each step met with a wet squelch. Trees jutted from the swamp like crooked teeth, their roots tangled aboveground, clutching mounds of moss and sodden debris.

The air, already humid, grew heavier with a musty tang—sweet rot mingled with brine. Light filtered weakly through the canopy above, diffused further by a pale mist that drifted across the trail in loose, ghostly sheets.

"Is this the real marsh the clerk warned us about?" Jasper asked, stepping carefully over a swollen root.

"It seems so," Erin replied. She knelt, examining the soggy ground. "Watch your footing. The trail continues just past those trees, but it's narrow and probably half-flooded."

Otter turned in a slow circle, scanning the twisted trees and sluggish pools. His hand hovered near his rapier, not out of fear, but habit. There was a stillness here—not silence, but an absence of life. No birdsong. No frogs. Only the slow ripple of water and the rustle of mist.

Milo, still glowing from the success of his spell, turned to speak—when a high-pitched buzz sliced through the air like a whirring sawblade.

"Wait—what was—?"

Something shot from the trees.

A blur of red and glinting wings streaked toward them at impossible speed. Otter had barely registered it before a second blur zipped in from the left—and a third dropped from above.

Each creature was the size of a large dog, its body swollen and semi-translucent, pulsing with pale fluid. Needle-thin proboscises jutted from twitching heads. Their long, barbed legs clicked in the air as they veered in with unnatural precision.

"Scatter!" Sage barked.

The group broke apart in a burst of motion.

The first mosquito lunged like a thrown spear. It buzzed past Milo's head, its glistening proboscis missing by inches. He yelped and staggered back, swiping frantically at the air as the thing looped around for another pass.

The second creature dove toward Erin. She turned too late.

With a wet, meaty thunk, it slammed into her shoulder. Its spindly legs wrapped tight, the proboscis plunging into the flesh just above her collarbone. She screamed in pain, staggering as the creature began to siphon blood. Her face paled in seconds.

The third attacker dropped from the canopy. Otter drew his blade too slowly. It slammed into his side, its needle snout driving beneath his ribs. Pain bloomed like fire.

"Erin!" Sage shouted, raising her hand.

Erin, blood soaking her sleeve, dropped her bow and yanked out her dagger in one smooth motion. She jammed it upward into the joint of the creature's legs, scoring a glancing blow. The insect hissed and writhed but didn't let go.

Milo, breathing hard, thrust out a hand. Mind Spike! A ripple of force lashed through the air and struck the mosquito buzzing near him. It spasmed midflight, wings faltering, but it recovered—angrier now.

Jasper cursed, swinging wide with his longsword. The blade cut empty air as the bug veered away, quicker than expected.

Otter snarled through clenched teeth, grabbed the creature clinging to his ribs, and ripped it free. He hurled it to the ground. It landed in the mud, writhing, wings flapping wildly, thick fluid leaking from a torn vein.

"Back!" Sage called out.

She pointed toward the one latched to Erin. A pillar of radiant flame exploded from the sky, searing the creature with divine fury. It shrieked, then crumpled into cinders, falling from Erin's shoulder like ash.

Breath came in ragged gasps. Otter clutched his side, blood seeping through his tunic. Erin leaned heavily against a tree, pale but conscious. The two remaining mosquitoes circled overhead, enraged.

Before anyone could speak, the next attack came.

One dove low at Erin again, drawn by her bleeding shoulder. She twisted aside at the last second, the needle narrowly missing her. She dropped to one knee, snatched her bow from the ground, and nocked an arrow in one fluid motion.

The final mosquito streaked toward Sage, jabbing with surgical intent. It struck her shoulder with a wet squelch, barbed legs curling tight. Sage grimaced but didn't cry out.

Erin loosed her arrow.

It whistled through the mist and slammed into the insect mid-flight. The creature spasmed, twitched, then tumbled into the muck.

Milo turned, eyes narrowed. "Enough."

Another Mind Spike shot from his hand. The remaining mosquito convulsed, shrieked, and detached from Sage mid-spasm. It dropped into the mud and lay still.

The buzzing ceased. Silence reclaimed the swamp—unnatural and complete, save for the group's ragged breathing and the soft drip of blood onto moss.

Otter pressed a hand to his ribs, wincing. Erin clutched her shoulder. Sage straightened slowly, already murmuring a healing prayer.

Jasper scanned the tree line, sword still at the ready. Then he exhaled.

"Well," he said, voice dry, "that was one hell of a welcoming party."