Every king has his day and M'ors' own had been pre-selected on the wheel of destiny. The night was drawing to a close and the thick miasmatic smog of the marshland hung gloomily over its expanse; nighttime creatures ran amok as our prideful king lay near the edge of the swamp, something he own arrogance deceived him into doing foolishly. 

For hours, something within that black bog had had its cold eyes on the sleeping M'ors and within seconds, a massive tentacle belched forth from the marsh and wrapped tight around the leonine adjucha's body. The attack was so sudden and so swift that M'ors had little, moreso, no, time to react in a fashion that could have saved his life; he was instead hoisted into the air and slammed violently back down into the ground where he had lain. The tentacle repeated this form of attack twice more before the body of the self-proclaimed king went limp and then was slowly pulled into the horrific swamp.

[M'ors dead]

The savagery of the miasmic swamp continued on as if though it hadn't missed a beat.

m'ors deceased. profile moved to graveyard.