- Oct 22, 2022
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The proverbial banners are all but unfurled now. Chilledstar has called for a crusade, and it is a crusade they shall receive; indiscriminate slaughter awaits the bevvies of frog spawn festering in every pool and watery patch in the territory. At long last, a bold move towards resolution.
Shadow-streaked legs lead the charge, pressing forward from camp on long strides and into the swamp's deeper recesses. In tow is the deputy's noble detachment of Forestshade, Stryker, Laurelpaw, and Basilpaw, all led forth by a unified cause and the resolve brought with it. Dusk looms heavy on a world drowned in frog cry, humidity clinging to fur like pestilence. A lifetime spent in this land informs him that the patrol's quarry thrives during the nocturnal hours. When the sky gives way, the scourge is released. Such is what happened the night camp fell to the invading horde.
Steps dwindle to a fault when the uneven footpath devolves into pure bog. The party has not ventured very far from the hollow, and yet even now a telltale shadow coagulates just under the waterline: frog spawn, wriggling and swelling in the dim light. Swamp froth lathers his paws as Smogmaw pivots around to inspect his soldiers, before pointing a drawn claw towards the nearest glut of eggs. "That right there, that's what we're after," he informs his team, only acknowledging the visual impairment of his lead warrior after the fact.
"Forestshade, you've known long what frog spawn feels like," says the tabby at a glance towards his highest-ranking comrade. "You, along with the apprentices, will scoop out the eggs close to the footpath. Squish 'em or eat 'em, then move onto the next batch." His commanding focus next falls upon Stryker, amber eyes slow to break contact after the initial lock. The former loner (or rogue, Smogmaw still wasn't certain) displayed an alarming aptitude of actually listening to orders given to him. "Me 'n you'll be taking the deeper sections."
Once all is said and done, and the deputy finds himself the slightest bit confident that his orders were both heard and heeded, the tom steps out towards deeper, brackish pools. What with the subdued lighting situation and how murky the waters look, not much could be observed past the surface; especially since every pawstep only served to cloud up the marshy substrate all the more. But a moment comes along where Smogmaw snatches sight on a shape drifting about, and by that moment's end, his head is fully submerged, his jaws a vacuum for eggs.
@FORESTSHADE @STRYKER @Laurelpaw. @BASILPAW
Shadow-streaked legs lead the charge, pressing forward from camp on long strides and into the swamp's deeper recesses. In tow is the deputy's noble detachment of Forestshade, Stryker, Laurelpaw, and Basilpaw, all led forth by a unified cause and the resolve brought with it. Dusk looms heavy on a world drowned in frog cry, humidity clinging to fur like pestilence. A lifetime spent in this land informs him that the patrol's quarry thrives during the nocturnal hours. When the sky gives way, the scourge is released. Such is what happened the night camp fell to the invading horde.
Steps dwindle to a fault when the uneven footpath devolves into pure bog. The party has not ventured very far from the hollow, and yet even now a telltale shadow coagulates just under the waterline: frog spawn, wriggling and swelling in the dim light. Swamp froth lathers his paws as Smogmaw pivots around to inspect his soldiers, before pointing a drawn claw towards the nearest glut of eggs. "That right there, that's what we're after," he informs his team, only acknowledging the visual impairment of his lead warrior after the fact.
"Forestshade, you've known long what frog spawn feels like," says the tabby at a glance towards his highest-ranking comrade. "You, along with the apprentices, will scoop out the eggs close to the footpath. Squish 'em or eat 'em, then move onto the next batch." His commanding focus next falls upon Stryker, amber eyes slow to break contact after the initial lock. The former loner (or rogue, Smogmaw still wasn't certain) displayed an alarming aptitude of actually listening to orders given to him. "Me 'n you'll be taking the deeper sections."
Once all is said and done, and the deputy finds himself the slightest bit confident that his orders were both heard and heeded, the tom steps out towards deeper, brackish pools. What with the subdued lighting situation and how murky the waters look, not much could be observed past the surface; especially since every pawstep only served to cloud up the marshy substrate all the more. But a moment comes along where Smogmaw snatches sight on a shape drifting about, and by that moment's end, his head is fully submerged, his jaws a vacuum for eggs.
@FORESTSHADE @STRYKER @Laurelpaw. @BASILPAW
