For iron is the Bone of the Earth, and we do tear it from the soft marshes that are rich as fat beneath the skin of the Earth.

But the Earth does not give up its bones freely; whoe’er goes into the marshlands must beware! Many have already been dragged into the bog, and many have lost their senses in its fumes.

There is, howe’er, one kind creature which does call the marshes its domain. ‘Tis called a Bludnik, and some worship it as a deity, whilst others call it a Horror. No person knows which is truth, but whosoe’er does look for ore shalt be on guard against it.

People say it does resemble a giant horned beetle and that it does hover over the marshes like a will-o’-the-wisp. Give it an offering, and it will lead thou to iron ore deposits; offend it, and it will lead thou astray and to thine demise.

For nothing good is given for free in this life.