The Mosslings are among the quietest of the Marsh Mimkin, shaped by the deep green wetlands of Dreomere. Their bodies are cloaked in living moss that shifts with the seasons: bright and fresh in spring, lush in summer, earthy brown in autumn, and nearly black in the soaked hush of winter. Motionless, they are indistinguishable from the forest floor, seeming like nothing more than a mound of moss beneath a root or stone.

They move only when unseen, slipping from shadow to shadow, and they are said to hum softly when the rain falls — a low vibration, like the marsh remembering its own song. Wanderers who have strayed into their hidden glades describe a strange stillness, as though the wetland itself is watching.

The Mosslings are caretakers of damp places. They gather moisture where the soil dries, guide the spread of moss, and keep decay in balance so that the marsh thrives rather than rots. Their presence is never obvious, yet where they linger the ground stays soft and fertile, and the air feels alive with hidden patience.