Fishblight Mire i told the devil to take you back

She scrambled up onto his bit of dry land, a bit that he was perfectly willing to share with the needy. She was not so covered in mud as he was, but she had already exhibited a greater dislike for it. Sriracha didn't mind the mud, since it would wash off. The woman expressed a desire to leave, one that Sriracha shared, and he nodded, determined. Just follow me, Ocra. We'll get out of here together, he assured her. Ocra's a weird name, by the way. Is it short for something? Oh, the name's Sriracha, by the way. Trusting that she would follow, he began to move again.

Again they moved from dry patch to dry patch, slogging through the muck in between. So. Ocra. Who are you. And I don't mean like, oh, who are you? Oh, I'm Ocra and I'm from a place. I'm talking the real stuff. Who are you? I'll do you the favor in return. Hell, I'll go first if you want. He wanted to cut the small talk. He still wasn't sure why he was in these wilds, but he would find out.