This toad, this…grotesque swamp behemoth, launched itself at me with a ferocity that belied its bulky form. Its skin, a mottled roadmap of warts and slime, shimmered sickeningly in the half-light. I dodged, feeling the rush of air as its massive body hurtled past me, the swamp churning under its weight. The water splashed against my legs, cold and foreboding.

What the hell? I thought. A beast this big and it just…lunges? Don’t toads have, like, long tongues for snatching? What’s its game?

Then, I realized it. That was a test. Likely of my reaction. I saw something akin to intellect in its evil eyes and scowled. It was slowly waddling, turning in place. Why didn’t it just hop? What was the deal here?

Then Marshlore seemed to bubble-up into life, and I almost felt like I’d experienced a cut scene and now I was getting to the real show.

KRÆKJA HERRA

The words shifted in midair and became knowable.

CROAK LORD

This made me actually laugh. Loudly.

“Croak Lord?!” I demanded aloud, “Seriously?!”

But, then I saw something I hadn’t seen before, underneath the translated name were the words REQUEST MORE LORE?

“Shit,” I breathed—this was a new one. Somehow, I knew—likely because of the magic itself—that something had happened with Marshlore. That’s, in fact, what this was: a better version of the Galdur than before; like the Bog had given me a software update. I also understood how to access this extra information, and it was…quite intuitive.

“I request more Lore,” I stated.

The world suddenly slowed—which I was thankful for, since it would give me time to process. Then, a tale began to unfurl in my mind, the words appearing like ghostly script in the air before me:

In a time forsaken, before the clans rose and ere the coadunation of the wetlands, there resided a lord of vaunting ambition and boundless yearning. Lord Hyrus, so he was named, reigned over his dominion with a grip as unyielding as iron, his words resounding through the vast corridors of his many stately halls.

Yet the aspirations of Lord Hyrus stretched far beyond the ken of mortals. Driven by an insatiable greed for riches, he ventured into the shadowed realms of the forbidden, seeking dominion over the primal elements themselves. In a moment of grave folly, he forged a pact with a creature of the fen, an entity of ancient guile, which vowed to bestow upon him wealth unimaginable.

Alas, the boon granted was naught but a malevolent curse. As the coffers of Hyrus swelled, so too did his form warp and bloat, transmogrifying into a visage monstrous and grotesque. No longer did he bear the countenance of nobility, but that of a toad colossal and repugnant, his once-commanding voice now but a series of coarse croaks. Cast out, the lord-turned-toad was doomed to wander, a prisoner of his own voracious greed.

The spite of the fen creature extended further still. For his transgressions of avarice and the tyrannous wielding of his power, Lord Hyrus was stripped of his tongue, rendering him voiceless save for his bleating croak—a retribution most apt. Bereft of speech and authority, the one known as the Croak Lord was fated to haunt the marshes, a bloated sentinel, a guardian of his own tragic legacy.

In hushed tones and cautionary tales, the legend of the Croak Lord endured, a somber reminder against the follies of unchecked desire. Yet, whispers linger that within the engorged frame of the toad lies a sliver of the lord's once-shrewd mind, silently observing, ever awaiting the hour to reclaim that which was once his...

As the words faded, time resumed its normal flow, and I was left standing there, chilled. The Croak Lord, a once-great lord, reduced to this... It was spooky. Upset my stomach a little, too.

There was something more to that, though…

The term “coadunation of the wetlands,” that was something odd. I knew the term, if only vaguely because of Mr. Rollins and his habit of using —as the rest of us joked about—’hundred-dollar words.’ Coadunate meant to “combine,” I think. So, there’d been some sort of combination of wetlands at some point? What would cause that? For a long time now, pretty much since I got here, I’d noticed that terms like ‘bog,’ ‘swamp,’ and ‘marsh,’ were used interchangeably. Now, I’m no outdoors expert,or nothing, but I was pretty sure they were similar yet entirely different things—at least ecologically. Now this was talking about fens—another type of wetland.

I didn’t have much time to sit and ponder, though—ol’ Croaky was moving again. He’d turned completely around, and it was obvious the fight was fixing to start in earnest. So, I prepped myself, lifting up my club and glaring across the short expanse between us for good measure.

Well…let’s do this, then.

The Croak Lord advanced, launching itself forward. I swung Chess as I strafed to the side, blasting this big ol’ mother-effer with the full brunt of my strength. The impact against the creature's hide was less satisfying than I'd hoped; it absorbed the blow with a nauseating squelch. The beast then turned, slowly, one of its bulbous eyes finding me and narrowing.

"Son of a biscuit eater," I spat, frustration boiling inside me. This wasn't going to be as straightforward as I’d hoped.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

We circled each other, an unholy two-step in the swamp's gloom. He moved again, pausing a moment before launching forward, mouth open as if to scoop me up and eat me. Like before, he seemed only able to attack this way in a straight line, so if I timed it properly…

I struck, a series of heavy, desperate blows, but the creature was relentless. It snapped at me, a mouth full of jagged teeth clamping shut inches from my face as it moved, the stench of its breath a putrid wave that threatened to overwhelm me.

Then, I felt it—the first twinge in my chest, subtle but unmistakable. That weren’t just his stinky halitosis… Each of my own breaths became a struggle, like inhaling through a wet cloth. My eyes started to water, and I realized, with a mounting horror, the air was thick with those…spores. The vapor. Tiny, almost imperceptible, they floated around the toad, a toxic cloud that followed its every move.

Panic clawed at my throat, a wild, feral thing. I coughed, trying to clear my lungs urgently, but it only made things worse. My head spun, my vision blurring at the edges. I was fighting more than just the toad now; I was fighting to stay conscious.

This big bastard doesn’t need to actually hit me…he can just get close enough to me to make it hard for me to do anything.

I was having flashbacks of the serpent venom all over again.

Fool me once…

"Focus, Leo," I muttered through gritted teeth, trying to push the fear down. "Can't let this swampy fucker get the best of you."

So I ran…a little. I dusted off a few paces, then stepped out onto the water, activating Waterwalking and stepped a bit further. This, I had to think, was the move. The way I figured it, it wouldn’t be able to charge me from the water, as it probably didn’t have Waterwalking as well—considering it had emerged from beneath the water in the first place.

This, I found out, was a mistake.

The moment I was far enough away on the surface of the water, that’s when the Croak Lord decided it was time to show off another one of its moves: it leaped.

Thirty feet in the air it flew and fifty feet forward, I had to dive out of the way, sliding on my stomach across the water tension as it slammed like a cannonball into the water. The ripples it created hit me, splashing over my body like a tsunami. While I didn’t go under, I couldn’t get my balance on such an undulating surface, and I kept falling. Long enough for the toad to get the drop on me. I saw its giant shape beneath me in the water, coming up fast. I couldn’t think to do anything else, so, now in a sitting position, I jammed one of my new fang daggers into the water right where it was heading.

SLINK!

I went flying.

The toad had barreled right up beneath me, and I think the only saving grace was the sharp point of the fang, because it closed its maw right as it got punctured. However, it was already moving, so it had hit me from beneath full force with its mouth now closed and I was airborne. Up I went, my body aching from the blow. I will admit it. I screamed.

“Gaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

I flopped through the air like a ragdoll and came crash landing some twenty feet away on the water’s surface, knocking the wind out of me for a second time—just as I’d caught my breath. My vision started to redden—my Vitality had apparently taken a huge blow.

This ain’t it… I thought blearily. But, man, that had hurt like a sumbitch.

I lay there for a moment, just trying to breathe, while twenty feet away, the toad was thrashing in pain. From where I was, I could see the bone handle of the fang dagger protruding from the beast’s snout.

Good.

Slowly, I staggered to a stand. It was a good sign that the fang dagger worked for damage, especially when pummeling the sweet baby bejesus out of it with the club did diddly squat. That meant I had options. Unfortunately, I’d need to find a place for my club, then. I couldn’t just drop it here, it would sink to the bottom, and it was a bit too heavy and unwieldy to use one handed if I wanted the other hand free for the fang dag—

WHOOSH!

The Croak Lord dropped outta sight again, submerging itself and swimming under the water.

Oh, hell! It was going to try to get me again. So I started moving. It was slow, but what else could be done? I no other recourse. I couldn’t run with Waterwalking—yet, I assumed—so my little shuffle was the best I could manage. And I was still reeling a bit from the toxic fart cloud it had blasted me with. Still, I removed another dagger. I could try to drive it in if it got too close, maybe aim for an eye or—

WHOOSH!

The toad exploded out of the water right behind me, its maw open.

“Gah!” I shouted, and relying purely on instinct, I dropped Waterwalking with a very quickly sputtered, "MARSHRELEASEMYSTRIDE!"

FWOOP

I dropped into the water like deadweight, the toad’s mouth closing over the spot I’d just been. But this created a whole new issue—I was heavier than before, and weighed down not only by my club, but by the array of weapons strapped to me. This was bad. I couldn’t use Waterwalking without saying the damn incantation, which I couldn’t do underwater. The toad’s body churned in front of me, pulling me along in its literal wake. There was only one thing to do. With a pang of regret, I released my hold on the club and let it drift away from my grasp.

Sorry, Chess! I apologized mentally. I’ll come back for you!

Turns out, I might not have had to. The toad shifted, it’s huge body smashing into me and the club, sending us both careening to the side. The club made slow circles, end-over-end in the water and I watched as it thunked into something below—it’s handle still upright.

So, at least it ain’t as deep as I thought. Which meant I was closer to the shore. I kicked off, swimming desperately for the bank of the swamp while the toad pivoted below the surface and went after me. Then I had both of my remaining daggers, one in each hand. I blew out the rest of my air, sinking as I did so, my body dropping below the path of the toad. Then I struck.

He was moving too fast to stop me, but I dragged the fangs across its underside and flank, gouging into the beast and watching as trails of dark ichor streamed out of it. The Croak Lord stiffened and finally stopped, releasing the warbling song of his namesake and pivoting once more to try to find me. But I didn’t wait. I didn’t have much longer, literally outta breath as I was, so I stabbed into his hide with both daggers and held on for dear life.

It thrashed, turning over in the water to try to shake me off of it. It didn’t have limbs that could do anything to me, so this was its only recourse.

I need to figure out a way out of this! I’m finna drown!

It wasn’t a lie—I mean, typically, a situation like this would have had me reeling from panic at the drop of a hat. In case you didn’t know who you’re dealing with, I’m a guy who took myself to the Urgent Care facility one night because I’d accidentally gotten rain water in my eye that had dripped off a rusty eaves trough—but this was a little different. It was a lot of water and only a little air, my heart pounding in my jugular, my lungs screaming for a sweet breath. But I held on. Then, because, at times, I’m an ornery cuss, I removed one of the daggers and shoved it in a foot higher. Then I did the same with the other one. Slowly, I started scaling this beast’s body like it was a rock climber’s cliff.

Stab, shloop, stab, shloop, stab—you get the idea.

Each time, the Croak Lord…croaked. Loud and proud, shaking the shit outta me, but I managed to hold on, even though now, my vision was darkening.

Finally, though, I reached the top, outside the water. I pulled myself up, gasping, and trying to keep myself from going back down as the beast thrashed. Then, suddenly, it stopped. Getting quiet.

Uh-oh. I looked around for any sign of danger. I knew it wasn’t dead because I could still feel its heart beating beneath me. Then it croaked again, but this one was…lighter? Not filled with the menace it had been administering…this one was almost gleeful.

“Are…you…laughing?” I gasped. But the sound continued. Then I heard a different sound.

SHLUNK.

I turned to look and realized with a start that one of the warty boils on its flesh had burst open, and a cloud of vapor sprayed out, enveloping me.

“What the—”

But I stopped, because I’d inhaled more of it, and suddenly, everything inside me was on fire.