Swampwrought

Where the fen runs deepest and air hangs thick with rot, the Plane of Earth seeps through. From that mire rise elementals wrought of swamp: masses of mud, moss, cattails, stone. At a glance, they could be another hummock of reeds or stagnant tangle of bog debris.

Then the mire begins to move.

They drift upward in slow spirals of swamp-junk, churning like floodwater just above the ground. From within, a sickly green shimmer pulses with toxicity.

Swampwrought elementals answer to conjurers who bind them, drifting forward to smother and kill. When dismissed, they unravel back into bog, and the swamp-junk sinks into the muck as if they had never been.