Boggarts are muck-dwelling goblins that are all about the new: new sensations, new possessions, new experiences. Their lives revolve around the novel and interesting, and they stop at nothing to possess or feel new things. In fact, the sharing of new objects and sensations is the only real law boggarts have; those that break it are never forgiven.
Warrens of these crude goblins are led by "aunties" (though they aren't necessarily female), usually boggarts of great age and experience who explain the meaning behind things or sensations that are particularly puzzling. The greatest auntie of all is Auntie Grub, whose ancient tales still guide boggart behavior.
Boggarts are naturally drawn to new sensations, which causes them to be sort of accidental kleptomaniacs. They don't mean to steal the delicious pie cooling on the kithkin windowsill—they just couldn't help themselves. But there's one important rule among the boggarts: you have to share any new sensation you find with the rest of your warren. Those who do not share are exiled.
Feasts are one way for boggarts in different warrens to get together and share new things and sensations. As one might expect, these gatherings are wild and disgusting in the extreme.
Boggarts believe that each part of their bodies is responsible for a different sensation or a type of thought. Hands and feet, which have the most direct contact with the world around them, are sources of warning, often in the form of pain. Emotions come from the liver, analytical thought from the ears, and so on. It makes sense that beings who love sensation in all its forms would divide up those sensations in such a direct way.
Lorwyn's boggarts aren't the greatest at blacksmithing, weaponcrafting, or even whittling. So when it comes to arming themselves, they improvise what they can't steal. There's actually a measure of ingenuity to their improvisation. Whether they're firing hedgehogs from a slingshot, lashing frogs to a stick, or gathering hornets in a fragile glass sphere, they exhibit a range of creative solutions for the goal of making someone hurt.
Boggarts revel in discovering new sensations, from the texture of an otter pellet to the squeak of a dying warren mate. (Boggart Shenanigans)
Boggarts in Shadowmoor are no more than mindless eating machines. No longer do they have the intelligence or desire to even create fanciful tales or enforce rules. They want to do only one thing: satiate their never-ending hunger. All their impulses and instincts drive them towards this unattainable goal. Anything from rocks to forests to living beings can be a boggart's dinner, easily ripped apart by their sharp teeth and mercilessly digested. Instead of warrens, loose gangs form nomadic feeding frenzies that lay waste to anything that's unfortunate enough to be in their way. Even then, it only takes a brief lean time for some boggarts to start eyeing fellow members with that hungry look.
A boggart in Shadowmoor is less likely to sneak over the fence and steal a pie from your windowsill than to steal you as you hide quaking beneath the covers of your bed and ferry you away for the stew-pot. Their hedonism is alive and well, but now finds expression not in indulging all the senses but only the senses of scent and taste, with the more carnage the better. Boggarts still have a storytelling tradition, but no longer does it have anything to do with whimsy, and no longer are the deeds of Auntie Grub remembered; now, boggarts boast of their latest conquests and the horrible things done to achieve them, or of the food surely waiting over the next hill to fill the gang's empty bellies.