Froggacuda's Weblog

Episode I

(part 1)…We join the slightly buzzed Froggacuda in one of the Taverns in Mythril Manor, after a long and grueling Court Session. Something is amiss in the new Land…

::The Frogg Prince brought his chair down to the floor with a thump. “What was that?” he raised an eyebrow, his waterglass of fine whiskey stopped halfway to his toothy maw. Cries and screams were now definate outside the thick walls of the castle. “Aw, fiddlesticks!” muttered the mutant Frogg, “It must be those things that I can’t pronounce…” The Froggacuda finished his liquor and dropped a hasty handful of coin on the tabletop. He loped from the room to the sound of the change falling to the floor.

“Bokrug! It’s a mess out here!” the Frogg yelled to a bewildered guardsman as they surveyed the legions of the Tinar’ri, both ground and air. The invaders were horrible and vicious, destroying everything in their way. The smell of smoke singed his nostrils and gills.

Magical energies poured forth from the windows and arrow slits of the fortress, bringing down many of the hordes of attackers, but still more replaced their ranks, eager behind wicked teeth and gleaming talons. A huge Dragon hurled himself from a high parapet to lend his might to the fray, but the Tinar’ri, though shaken, were not dissuaded from their mindless assault.

The Froggacuda batted away a small specimen of the Tinar’ri with a large fist, sending it to hit the hardpacked earth in the courtyard. A window across the way exploded outwards as a struggling man at arms carried a writhing Tinar’ri flyer out and to their mutual death. “Mighty Cthulhu,” breathed the Frogg, “This is a little more serious than I thought!” Spinning lightly on a webbed foot, the Frogg grabbed a nearby bowman. “The castle has been breached over in sector…I mean quadrant…” he fumbled for words and then pointed out the newly destroyed window in frustration, “Over there! See?” Several Tinar’ri flyers were carrying a heavier ground unit to the balcony of the shattered window and unloading them into the shambles of the room. “Get some help!” The bowman ran back the way he had come, screaming for assistance.

The Froggacuda stood on the parapet, feeling helpless, until he noticed one of Lady Silvar’s decorative banners hanging limply between two of the minor towers of the gatehouse; it was quite a ways up and out, something that nobody in his right mind would actually think of with a raging battle going on beneath him, but then again, this was no ordinary Frogg…(TBC)

Episode II

(part 2) We return to Mythril, where a battle rages around a mighty fortress and a Frogg is perched upon a high stone battlement, pondering a problem…

“Holy Mackeral — that’s a long way down!” thought the Frogg Prince while clutching a torn end of a tapestry to keep his precarious balance. This was the nearest he could get to the banner he had spotted; what made matters worse was that an ugly Tinar’ri had accidentally lit one end of the banner on fire as it plummeted to the ground, shot full of fiery arrows from the castle guard. The banner was smoldering furiously now, and wasn’t moving any closer to the Frogg. The Tinar’ri had definitely established some sort of foothold at that window, and he had lost count of the numbers that had swarmed inside.

Tensing his powerful muscles, Froggacuda prayed. And leapt.

“Yup — I knew it,” he thought mid-flight, “I’m going to fall short.” The arc was graceful, and he was close, but the Frogg Prince was passing the banner three feet shy of the reach he needed. Tumbling awkwardly through the air, an idea hit him in the form of a surprised Tinar’ri. Bouncing off of the confused creature, the Frogg punched it twice, confusing it more, and shot his legendary tongue out to wrap around the smoking banner. He bungeed his way up his own tongue and clutched the banner tightly. “Glad they don’t skimp on good fabric here in Mythril,” thought the Frogg. Arrows flew by him, embedding themselves in the banner and in several obnoxious Tinar’ri that were circling the huge Frogg malevolently. “I think I had better move.”

Hand over hand, the Froggacuda made his way across the expanse of courtyard towards the ruined window. The balcony was a veritable sea of twisted Tinar’ri, cackling with glee and throwing the room’s furniture down on the pikemen in the courtyard.

Then the banner really caught fire. A bolt of energy had brought down an extraordinarily large Tinar’ri that had been harrying the efforts of the great Dragon Aurelius, who was protecting the upper battlements and raining the battlefield with dead and dying invaders. The spell also had the unfortunate effect of torching the south end of the banner into bright and merry flames. The Frogg’s big eyes reflected their cheery light as his heart sank.

“I’ll bet Errol Flynn had a stunt double!” yelled the Froggacuda as the banner separated from the iron moorings with a ghastly ripping sound on the end that was engulfed in flames. The banner with it’s cargo of Frogg swung towards the balcony. Fourteen horrifying faces of Tinar’ri warriors looked even more horrified as 350 Earth-pounds of mutated half-Frogg/half-Barracuda careened towards them on the end of an advertisement for the weekly Mythril wine-tasting event, leaving a wonderfully artistic trail of thick black smoke. The Froggacuda crashed through several of the Tinar’ri, plunged through the window, and sprawled across the tiled floor of the alternate alternate meeting room.

Luckily, most of the furniture had already been removed, used a missiles by the Tinar’ri for the phalanxes of guardsmen in the courtyard below. The Frogg Prince raised himself on his hands, hearing the sounds of bitter combat in the hallways outside. The Tinar’ri seemed to have recovered some semblance of composure, and were grinning and flexing long talons. Some were casually picking up their curved scimitars; others were hoisting terrifying pole arms with tortuously creative blades. “You’re all under arrest, by the power invested in me by the Lady Alliah!” said the Frogg calmly, surveying the situation with a little more than mild apprehension…(TBC)

Episode III

Part 3…We rejoin the Crown Prince Froggacuda in the midst of a most pressing situation, in the alternate alternate meeting room of the Mythril Manor…

The Tinar’ri glowered at the Frogg, outnumbering him vastly. “Okay,” stated the Froggacuda wearily, “We do this the hard way.” His tongue shot out its full 15 feet and caught a Tinar’ri full in the face. Dragging the surprised creature to him, the Frogg beat it senseless and hurled it at the three to his left. Ducking a swing of a nasty polearm blade, he punched the swinger twice about where he guessed its kidneys would be and then stepped over it as it crumpled to the floor. A scimitar crossed his back, clicking past the row of raised Godzilla-like plates and removing a hefty piece of Froggskin. “Owwww!” bellowed the Froggacuda, anger flashing from his green and yellow eyes. He absentmindedly juxtaposed a Tinar’ri with the wall as he turned to the smirking one with the bloodied scimitar. Dancing past a heavy-handed stroke, the Frogg ripped the throat out of the Tinar’ri and threw it at the next incoming enemy. The sounds of combat were getting louder in the hallway; several Tinar’ri turned their attention to the arch of the doorway, where steel was meeting steel and throwing sparks.

The Frogg slipped on a pool of Tinar’ri blood, and landed hard on his back. A wicked glaive embedded itself in the tile floor next to his right earhole, and he grabbed the haft and wrenched it away from the creature. The Frogg shoved the butt end of the polearm into the nasty thing’s stomach four or five times and then kicked it out on to the balcony, where the remaining Tinar’ri were beating a hasty retreat. One of the Tinar’ri was throwing red powder about and cursing in a tongue that the Frogg didn’t recognize. He punched him anyways, letting him fall from the balcony into the furniture fire below. Two cornered Tinar’ri swung their scimitars madly at the Frogg, cutting him once and making him upset again; he bodyslammed them from the railing of the balcony to the cheers of the guardsmen in the courtyard. Looking around the shambles of the alternate alternate meeting room, the Frogg Prince relaxed and gingerly reached back to probe his injury. “This needs more than a Band-Aid, methinks,” he said to himself as guardsmen poured into the room. “Hey!” said one fresh-faced cadet with an unbloodied weapon, “You’re the one who was on that banner! Didn’t you hurt yourself?”

“No, not really, son,” replied the tired Frogg Prince, “But it sure tasted like s#@t.” He pushed his way through the astonished guardsmen and went in search of a medic and a bottle of whiskey.