((Editor’s Note: This story will take a bit of imagination on everyone’s part to swallow, but it will stand as the “official” RP explanation for the unfortunate departure of our northwest region, Bloodmoss Swamp. You might trip over a few “props” I added along the Bog’s northern border. They serve as morbid clues to the following story. – S.K.))
Bloodmoss. A stringy clump of disgusting grey-green moss splattered and streaked with red, giving the plant its particular name. It’s not much to look at but Wastelanders make the most of it for their diet. Most Wastelanders know where bloodmoss originates. Even though the scarlet-green vegetation is now seen among the weeds and roots of Malady Bog, recent newcomers may not realize it was first discovered further north in another large stretch of wetland, the aptly named Bloodmoss Swamp.
A few scavengers made their home around the large patches of the red-hued moss growing among the mounds of mud and vines. Apart from the scarlet vegetation, Bloodmoss Swamp was similar to Malady Bog in many aspects. Broken bridges spanned the mire and cracked concrete ruins rose from the dark waters. A shattered overpass, similar to those seen in the Junkyard, reached up from the muck and pointed mysteriously to the north.
Bloodmoss Swamp was often a quiet outskirt compared to rest of our settlement. Given its remote location, I rarely encountered others while scavenging. Sometimes I crossed paths with the Museum curator, Patrice Cournoyer, or the Renegade tigress, Dassina Andel. Often, I would catch a glimpse between the trees of the ghoul-urchin, Shay McDowwll, as he patiently searched the muck for salvage. Although activity in the Swamp increased when its salvage masheen became one of the only two remaining (after the mysterious attacks from the Brominites), it still retained a calm quality.
Unknown to all of us, that silent atmosphere allowed a deadly and invisible presence to take shape in Bloodmoss. Buzzards and swamp rats were found dead without a scratch on their filthy bodies. Their next-of-kin began to avoid the place…birds steering clear while rodents swam away. The dark waters bubbled ominously at times as if the earth itself was drowning below, threatening to spit out its last breath. Flickers of eerie fire glowed within the swamp at night, sometimes erupting in devastating explosions. Clouds of green gas, thick with poison, seeped up from the roots, coating the trees in ugly spores. Some shrugged off these omens as nothing more than the usual hardships of living in this tortured land.
Finally, the strangest clue arrived when the bloodmoss suddenly took on a life of its own, rapidly migrating south into Malady Bog. This was one omen that could not be ignored.
Thus, the exodus.
Humans quickly packed their supplies, leaving by raft or dragging them through the mud. Manimals instinctively stayed away having noticed the smaller beasts scurrying south. Even the ghouls, attracted to wet decay, moved out. They too sensed that this place was no longer safe, even for the likes of them. Tribal mutants mocked the retreat, preaching and warning of swamp spirits and bog demons, but everyone could see that they also took care to quickly leave and stay away from the swamp.
While the refugees rushed to stake new ground, either in the Bog or out in the sands and junk, some of us took it upon ourselves to rescue the salvager before…before what? We still had no clear understanding why we were abandoning the swamp, but everyone that pushed and pulled the masheen knew we had to safeguard the device, to salvage what we could, and bring it to a safer location. The salvager now sits secure within the Bog shack like the one before it.
In the end, the exodus was wise and just in time. Most scavengers found a new place to set up camp when the toxic gas and ominous fog finally smothered Bloodmoss Swamp in an impenetrable blanket. Unfortunately, a few unknown strangers must have lingered in the swamp too long. Their remains can be found along the old border between the Bog and the Swamp. Slowly decaying corpses snared by the swamp, wrapped tight in a death shroud of bloodmoss. Grisly memorials, reminding all of the inherent and sometimes subtle dangers of the Wastelands…
