Froggacuda's Weblog

Episode I

(part 1) Our Hero, the Froggacuda, is searching for a bottle of whiskey…

He had given up on finding a medic in the Manor, what with all the Chaos going on with the attack of the Tinar’ri…or Tanar’ri, whatever. Mighty wizards and warriors were obviously gaining the upper hand in the battle outside; crashes of magical thunder and the light from explosions, the cries of the dead and dying Tinar’ri, the bellows of Dragons and battle cries could be experienced firsthand, even in the halls of the fortress. Mistress Alliah also offered this friendly and memorable advice to her troops: “Off with their heads and tails”.

But the Frogg hurt. He was no mighty Wizard or Warrior: at that moment, he wanted nothing more than to crawl under his lilypad. Since their was a dearth of ponds in the Manor (something he was aiming to fix in the near future), there were no lilypads. But there was whiskey!

The Froggacuda blinked his large eyes. His memory was failing him — he really wasn’t used to all of these hallways. “Crap,” thought the Frogg, “Left or right?” He shrugged and headed left, to a staircase leading downwards. “Aha!” he grinned to himself, “The wine cellar!” Descending the stairs, the Frogg found himself leaning against the left hand wall, and having a little difficulty breathing. “Gotta cut down on that Great Salt Marsh Fungus Tobaccus” he thought sourly.

Torchlight glimmered on the level floor ahead; the Froggacuda trudged out of the stairwell into a grey stone room. Two torches waved at him from either side of an archway; a corridor led away past this. The Froggacuda squinted again — the light seemed to be hurting his eyes — there was a pair of chairs and a table with a dealt deck of dog-eared cards on it. A shortbow stood in a corner, and a quiver of arrows was slung over a leather jacket on the back of one of the chairs. “Damn, I’m FREEZING down here,” the Froggacuda muttered to himself, laying the quiver by the bow and swiping the leather jacket. He tore the arms from the jacket and shrugged into it. It wouldn’t zip over his gut so he just let it hang. After a look around, he stuffed the arms of the jacket under the stairs and loped down the passageway.

On either side of him, down the length of the corridor, were huge wrought-iron cell bars. Dusty cobwebs festooned the bars like party streamers. “Yup,” grinned the Froggacuda, “Prime location for rare vintage.” His teeth bristling as he walked, the Froggacuda noticed that the corridor opened up ahead, into a sizable room.

A huge wrought iron candelabra hung from a gigantic wooden rafter some fifteen feet above the floor, illuminating stacks of barrels on their sides, some vats big enough for a horse. “Bingo!” The Froggacuda danced a little selfish jig in the middle of the floor. After quickly locating a forgotten mug, the Froggacuda set about selecting his first draught of wine. Walking sideways down the central aisle, he slowly examined the hand-painted labels on each barrel, pausing to squint at some of the words. Halfway down the row he gave up and turned the tap of the nearest keg into his container. Rich crimson wine flooded his mug; he stopped the tap and took a big swallow. “Ahhh,” he heaved a contented sigh, “I love being the Baron!”

Episode II

(part 2) We rejoin the Frogg in the Wine Cellar of Mythril Manor…

Several…okay thirteen…mugs of Petite Syrah later, the Froggacuda thought he heard something. He was sitting with his back to the barrels in the middle of the room, and was almost asleep. His Froggie sense had to poke him pretty hard to make him sit up more fully, and quietly put the mug to the ground.

“What was that?” thought the Froggacuda. It was quiet down in the wine cellar (or was that the alternate alternate wine cellar?), especially after the noise and rumpus of the battlefield. But it seemed almost too quiet. And then he definitely heard something. “Clothes? Footfalls? Water drops?” the Frogg’s mind raced as he was rooted to the ground, “Better figure it out, or you’ll have to get up.”

The Frogg climbed unsteadily to his feet, hanging on to the tap until the world stopped playing with his gyro controls. The room was darker than he remembered; several of the candelabra’s candles were flickering ominously, about to gutter out. He hunched the leather jacket a little tighter around his limbs, and he punched several of his back plates through the material by accident. “Hmm,” said the Froggacuda looking over his shoulder, “Glad it’s not mine.”

He was having trouble keeping his eyes open, even with the adrenaline flow he knew should have been kicking in. “What’s wrong with me?” Frogg thought through a haze; the answer came to him slowly: “It’s the wine.” His vision blurred and then refocused. Another candle went out.

The sound of stealthy feet echoed through the room. “Oh s*@t!” thought the Frogg, “This is NOT a test!” He lurched forwards as carefully as he could, and lurked down the aisle of barrels. Now that he was moving again, his mind cleared a bit. There was another archway; this one was darker, and at the far end of the room. Beyond the arch was another room; this one had a torch lying on the floor, lit, but almost out. The flickering light silhouetted two crumpled forms laying on the floor, unmoving. “I think I might have found the guards I expected,” surmised the Froggacuda as he peeked around the archway. Suddenly his head ached rather massively, and he fought the urge to vomit. “Aaauugh!” he groaned, holding his head together with his big webbed hands, “This is the worst AND quickest hangover I have EVER had!” The wound on his back throbbed.

The Froggacuda brought his hands down slowly; he stared intently into the room, all senses aware. “Something moved in there,” he affirmed quietly to himself. Flexing his arms in the jacket, he crouched and somersaulted into the room.

Episode III

(part 3) The Baron Prince Froggacuda in deep doo-doo…

Crouching next to the two bodies, he looked around quickly. “Lots of shadows, no immediate light source, big green Alienesque dogs…” the Froggacuda froze, “Nice doggie! Nice big doggies!” The two BGDs moved from the darker shadows into the lighter shadows, deep growls starting in their throats and thick muscles standing out in their shoulders. Silvered metal collars harnessed them to two loose steel chains which disappeared into the shadows.

“What of this one?” questioned a malevolent voice, which glided forwards into the dim light as a leather-clad dark-skinned Elven Priestess. The Froggacuda cautiously rose to his feet. A hugely muscled man emerged from the syrup of the shadows with the end of the dogs’ chains wrapped around one huge fist, “Bring him below.”

“Now wait a minute here!” said the Frogg Prince slowly. His legs felt weak and his face was dripping with sweat. The Tinar’ri wound was pulsing in time to the heartbeat pounding in his ears. “Who are you guys? What’d I do?”

Another pair of Dark Elves stepped from the shadows behind the Froggacuda, who turned his head to see them. They were dressed in a moonlight silver sheen of black chainmail shirts; they carried small crossbows at their belts and held metal studded clubs. Both Drow smiled at the same time, the white of their teeth matching their hair.
The Frogg Prince swayed on his webbed feet. The world was starting to spin and he knew it wasn’t the thirteen mugs of the Petite Syrah. The Priestess moved closer to the Frogg, apparently aware of his dizziness. “Oh, you poor Froggie,” she said looking up at him and passing a hand over his beaded forehead, “Did you get in a fight with some nassty Tinar’ri?”. The Priestess looked back at the sinister Big Green Dog owner and smiled wickedly, licking the sweat from her hand. “The poison has gotten to some of them, love!” she winked at him. Then she drew her hand back and drove the heel of it into his nose, hard.

He cried out and willed his arms to move, his legs to spring, but a heaviness like anvils had settled in his limbs. Even his eyelids felt the force of the unnatural gravity. His head exploded into stars and galaxies, and the Froggacuda knew no more…(TBC).