The city is bad. The swamp is worse. But Madam Spew, she's the worst.
Dark Priests… Power-Mad Paladins… Chosen Heroes…
The swamp city of Cesstern swarms with them all. It invites them in with open arms before biting down, coiling round, and stifling them tight. But these aren't tales of the connected, the powerful, the heroic.
These are the tales of the lowborn. The bereft. The fallen.
Madam Spew was born to nothing. She had nothing. Was nothing.
But it didn't take.
Through wit and sin and sorcery, Madam Spew rose above the city's indigent scum to become a priestess in service to the Black Temple.
One of Grimnir's chosen, Madam Spew does what she must, no matter how low the task, how dangerous, how disgusting. And Madam Spew is always game.
Behind a shiltron of meat shield and mercenary, through black magic and guile and back-alley fisticuffs, she gets it done. But always, for a price.
Read 'Swamp Lords' to find out what that price is. Then go take a shower, you filthy blackguard. You're gonna need it.