The thick, stagnant shadow of the encroaching evening choked the very life out of the muddy landscape. The air was humid and sickening, a permanent sweat of rotted water. The sun had not yet set, but it was beyond the canopy; darkness swept forth as would a tidal wave, leaving nothing but haunted misery in its wake. Tonight would be a night most atune with nightmares. Those flowers that did grow in the marsh, ones with petals of midnight black, curled themselves into a moldy bud. They too were shying away from the night. Ghosts and ghouls abound to the paranoid mind; figments, lies, anything and everything to make each step forward worthy of a peek over the shoulder. Paranoia has its roots.
His movement was almost without noise as his paws sank into the muddy ground before springing upward again. The only true sound came from the constant rattling of something in his hand. Held upright in the left grip was a human skull, pasty white. It almost seemed horrified as wide sockets peered out to the abyss. It rattled some more. A set of knuckle-bones were shaken against the morbid walls of bone as Gnarr travelled. Every step was followed by a rattle, each one disgustingly clear against the quiet backdrop of deadly stillness.
His right hand clenched a wand held at his side, swaying with the motion of walking. His robes were tattered and dirty. The only clean objects on his body were the belt of skulls across the front of his waist, each one almost a sparkling white.
An aroma even more foul than the rotted water plagued th air about Vernon. Vernon found nothing wrong with the stentch as he had lived with it for nearly as long as he could recall. Vernon smiled as he looked up into the sky. It would soon be fully dark. It was at night that Vernon could have the best fun around the swamp or anywhere for that matter. The dreary swamp tormented the unwary vistor with nightmares of their own creation. Vernon liked to take advantage of that. He found pleasure in harassing those who were foolish enough to venture out into the swamp. Most were ignorant and easy to play with.
Vernon was laid upon a thick tree limb and staring lazily into the murky waters below. Occassionaly he would bring the peice of diseased rancid meat to his mouth and take a bite, followed by a smile of satisfaction. A small furry rodent crawled out from the backpack or rotted foods which rested upon Vernon's back and jumped to Veron's back. Ritz ran across the filthy brown shirt that Vernon wore along with an egually filthy pair of brown pants. Ritz stoped when he came to Vernon's shoulder. Mitz made his exit of the bag as well, though the brown bat went out to wander the swamp rather than keep Vernon company.
Vernon sat and Ritz scampered up to the top of Vernon's shoulder. Vernon placed the meat back into his back pack. He took out his slingshot along with a few bullets. He wondered if he would find anything interesting to shot at.