Roleplayer Guild - Forum Roleplaying Games

Please go to OOC thread first

Phoogli strode into the council chamber, realising this was the first time he had been in the presence of all three members of the council at the same time. He knew the situation was fast becoming dire but he did not let the opportunity to fully take in the moment slip. Thousands of people relied on the council to keep them safe, and the council relied on him to contribute the necessary information required to make accurate decisions. As they waited patiently for his findings, Phoogli chuckled at how the only person he relied on was a mongrel pony to watch his whiskey.

“I have been out further from our borders than I had hoped, yet it was unavoidable. After receiving no reliable information from my usual sources, who themselves were packing up to move out, I went to the high reaches of the Josolen Mountains, seeking an old friend. An elf who is both wise and sensible. He told me that although he could not discover the usual patterns, he was absolutely sure that magic is the cause of this widespread longing to relocate. When I say widespread, I really should say total. It appears that everyone everywhere is in the early stages of readying themselves for the trip.”

“You know me well enough to know I do not make exaggerations. I went as far as the Forbidden Lake in the east and found the same sights. I spoke to a fellow messenger from across the lake. He told me all he had seen in his travels around their kingdom were just as I had seen here. He had spoken to another messenger from the east coast and again, all were preparing to move. This is not just a threat to our land, but to all lands. Worst, I fear there may be nothing we can do to stop this event from taking place, for I have one last piece of information that sets my mind on that dreadful fact.”

“When I was travelling through the Josolen Mountains, I went through a village that is normally quite isolated. It resides near the mouth of a cave where a Hoargell lives. They do not fear the Hoargell because sunlight burns away all it’s flesh within 15 minutes of exposure. They developed a self sustaining spell that imitates sunlight and placed it at the mouth of the cave. It kept the Hoargell inside at night and it became a threat no longer. This village was the only place on my travels where the people were not preparing to move. Instead, they had been brutally massacred not even a couple of hours before my arrival. I also found the charred remains of the Hoargell a little further up the track. In all the records and stories I have read or heard, a Hoargell found dead from sunlight exposure is always facing back towards shade. This one was not. It was headed from the summit of the highest mountain where there is no hiding from the sun.”

“I first thought this a freak event. But the forests are unusually quiet. Pets were running away everywhere I went. Flight patterns of birds were all in one direction. Even an overturned stone showed all kinds of little grubs all moving parallel to each other, all in the one direction. I consulted the ancient maps my elf friend still kept in his possession and I believe I have pin pointed the final destination of these animals and, I assume, the people. It is a dense forest that has no known settlements inside. I have only ever heard it’s name in legend and myth but according to the maps, it exists. The forests name is Greambalue’s Heart.”

Myxius was bored. She hadn’t had a customer all day, she’d already finished building the orders that she’d gotten previously, and her brother Pax had not shown up for a visit, which he’d promised to do. She jumped at a nearby wall and pushed off upwards, catching a roof beam handing overhead. She swung along it thoughtfully, hand over hand, wondering when Pax would show up. As she was turning around to swing back, she thought she heard horses. She dropped to the ground and headed over to a shelf, picking up an object that she could pretend to tinker with. It always helped to create the illusion that she was a hard worker. She turned to the door as it swung open, and a tall solid human man stepped inside. He was dressed in humble clothes, but they didn’t seem to suit him – he had an air of confidence that an ordinary villager wouldn’t. He was carrying something in a sack. ‘Good day, lady,’ he said, in a deep clear voice. Myxius nodded to him. She didn’t trust this man. He cleared his throat.
‘I was hoping to obtain your services. You see, I have a…machine…of sorts, and I’d like you to build a replica.’
Myxius frowned, puzzled. ‘Why don’t you go back to the same inventor who built the original item?’ she asked warily.
The man shuffled his feet. Why does he seem so nervous? she thought to herself.
‘Uh, well he’s…dead, actually.’
Myxius narrowed her eyes. ‘I see.’
The man shuffled forward and offered the sack. ‘Could you take a look at it? I’ve been told you are the best inventor for miles.’ He offered a smile, but it seemed to be more of a grimace than anything. Myxius stepped forward and took the sack from him.
‘I’s not too sure about that sir, but generally if it can be built, I can build it.’ The man visibly relaxed, and glanced over his shoulder towards the open door for a split second. His eyes quickly snapped back to Myxius, but she definitely felt that something was a little off. Although she wanted to keep her eyes on the man, she slowly lowered her gaze to the sack. After unwinding the binding cord, the edges fell open and Myxius looked inside.

Crugeon looked at Phoogli as he always did, at first with disgust at his looks then he remembered Phoogli’s devotion to the town and his loyal service and he lightened his cold hard stare. He listened intently as Phoogli told his story and formulated his thoughts, like a clock the cogs of his mind began ticking away devouring the information and spitting out answers. Crugeon liked to take his time with his thoughts he wasn’t in any manner of means going to put 2 and 2 together and produce 5. Crugeon gazed into the deep colors of the gems in his rings looking for some lost knowledge when he snapped out of his daydream state as easily as he had slipped into it, he knew that name the name Phoogli said as soon as it had rolled from his tongue, Greambalue’s Heart the Forrest he had no emotional tie to but memories of it haunted his nightmares, he did not know why. All he knew was when he was young he had dreams where he would be looking up into the sky through leaves he would turn to his left and see a beautiful young girl but when he turned and looked back to the sky a horrid face was staring down at him covered in warts with teeth protruding out of the lower jaw of his mouth a bag was forced over his head and a blow was dealt to him it was then he would wake up in a cold sweat, for years he searched in every village he pillaged for any information of the man in his dreams it was not until the gypsy village until he finally found what he was looking for the old woman he took the rings from knew the man and told him the name of the Forrest he lay in, in his dreams………Greambalue’s Heart.

edit...... Crugeon looked in cynthia's direction as she spoke she had formulated her plan as he has sat and thought of the past how weak must he look the master general with no strategy. he listened as she detailed her pland and found it suiting of his own needs as she looked to him for his consent he nodded, as she continued he thought of his own agenda for this trip and decided he must join with these troops she thought to send into the Forrest of Greambalue’s Heart when she had finished talking he watched as cynthias gaze flickered in his direction and that of the parent no words were needed they were all connected on this matter and knew something must be done........

Crugeon stood up abruptly and slung his cloak over his robes as he left he bid them a quick farewell and was on his way storming down the entrance to the grand tower that housed the council of the 3. Crugeon rounded up 5 of his best troops jumped on his loyal steed and they set off out the entrance to the town in to the setting sun

A long table rested in the center of the council chamber, its legs bent into ornate curves. It was of the highest quality, as were the cushioned chairs on which the members of the council sat. The carpet was soft and dark blue. The wallpaper featured intricate vines passing over a white backdrop, and it framed several valuable paintings. In short, the room symbolized the pinnacle of luxury – at least, for a room in which business was conducted. Cynthia found it ironic that it was in a room so characterized by trifling fancies that the direst of needs were discussed. Today, the need was greater than usual, greater than any other need Cynthia had faced thus far. It would take all of her wits – and courage – if she were to address the need effectively. She could only hope that her peers were better prepared to do so than she was.

Cynthia’s eyes rested on the tiny creature that was addressing the council, relating everything he had learned of the matter at hand. It seemed that the problem was even greater than she had been told, and more widespread. When the half-goblin had finished telling his tale, Cynthia found that her gaze had shifted to the ornate cup that waited in front of her, half filled with clear water. Phoogli had given her much to think about. She had not known that people acted on the urge to migrate everywhere; she had thought that, perhaps, the citizens of Little Gleam had detected a flaw in the country, and were leaving because of it. She had even decided that the flaw might well be her fault. Her own desire to leave had barely bothered her; she was under much stress, and it was only natural to want to flee from a problem like hers. She suppressed a shudder as her thoughts drifted to Gray Scale, and forced her mind back to the matters at hand.

The reason for migration offered by the elf from Phoogli’s tale was even more disturbed than the one she had suspected. How could magic cause the whole world to move? No one was powerful enough to cast a spell that great, and magic could not act on its own – at least, she did not think it could. The very thought of magic without a caster was disconcerting. The only way to stop a spell of great magnitude was with another spell, and who could wield magic against magic itself? The elf had to be wrong. If he wasn’t, then she might well be the last to be called the Crown of Little Gleam. But right or wrong, it seemed that Greambalue’s Heart was central to the problem. Of that mythical forest Cynthia knew little, but she would make due with what she did know, and what she could find out. She had no choice but to do so.

After a moment, Cynthia intoned, “Thank you, Phoogli. You have gathered much information of value, and I am certain that we are better prepared to take matters into our hands because of it. You serve Little Gleam well.” Her voice was regal and musical; she could not let too much emotion show in the midst of a council. “Still, we need more information if we are to properly address this issue. If magic is behind the disturbance than we will enlist the aid of the greatest magicians in the land, and pay them well for their assistance. But we do not know for certain, not yet, and until we do any plans that we make will entail risks. I propose that we send soldiers of greatest loyalty to Greambalue’s Heart and charge them with the task of learning everything they can, and then returning to us. Which soldiers we send will be determined by the Master General, of course.” Cynthia briefly inclined her head toward Crugeon, then continued, “We must provide the soldiers with the fastest means of transportation and the most reliable long distance communication technology available. The latter will ensure that we get what information we need even if the soldiers do succumb to the temptation to remain in Greambalue’s Heart. Do I have your assent?” With those last words, Cynthia’s eyes flickered to those of each of her peers, the Master General and the Parent. She hoped that they would agree; she had been quick to suggest a plan, perhaps even hasty, but she could not wait long enough for Gray Scale to learn of Phoogli’s news – likely from her own mouth – before she acted. She did not see what objections the hydra was likely raise to her plan, for it did not seem to hurt him, but he would almost certainly get involved, and with his involvement loomed the threat of disaster. With his involvement, hers ended, or at least her role was reduced to little more than a messenger. She was tired of being threatened and forced. Though she was a puppet governed by her master’s pull, some of the strings connecting puppet to puppeteer were severed, and she would do whatever was necessary to cut more away. Almost whatever was necessary.

“So it has come to this? Am I to suffer the loss of operatives as well as resources?”

In the flat expanse of Cetheth’s Bog, a scarce three miles from the longest protrusion of Little Gleam, the terror know as Gray Scale stalked the fetid waters near his lair. He was talking to himself amongst his many heads for the most part.

“It is not enough that I labor under this blasted compulsion, but I have to have my power in the city weakened by slow-wits and dullards without enough will to hold their ground! I have toiled under this command from its first inkling and it beats upon my mind like the drone of a war drum. It has even begun to drive me to distraction…”

From the water the bubbling of something beneath the surface caught one of his eyes. With a sigh the body of the great beast shifted under the water. Erupting up came the form of a well-dressed man caked in mud and rotting vegetation. The man’s eyes goggled in terror as he tried to frantically swim back to the shore. With his claw poised above the man the entire time, Gray Scale never gave him the chance. With one swift stroke he pushed the man under the water and held him there, scraping the man against the mud at the bottom of the water as he continued to walk in this secluded part of his domain.

“Now, as I was saying. I can understand the need to leave. Truly I can. In fact I would have let you go if you had only asked. But you stole from me and my holdings in the city. You have weakened my position with your selfish greed. In a time like this I can afford no weakness! That is why you are being punished…”

From far away Gray Scale heard the pounding hoof beats that could only be the Master Strategist’s answer to the messenger’s news. Without a second thought Gray Scale plunged his heads beneath the surface of the water and waited for them to pass. When they had done so he rose slowly from the water, still dragging the man. With one flick of his claw he launched the man to the shore amidst sharp sticks and brambles that tore the man’s clothes and skin.

“You’re punishment will be to remain in this town. I will have my other agents bind you to a pole when you try to leave again. Since they will be your only source of food and water, pray that they last longer than you. In the meantime I want you to have Cynthia meet with me here. I’d very much like to hear what the little goblin kind had to say… And for all the gods’ sake clean yourself up, you look terrible.”

__________________
I wouldn't touch it. That thing is made out of like 95% pure, unadulterated, badger-in-my-pants crazy...
-Geist Panik

My scroll

“You have an amazing knack at thinking clearly and quickly right when we need it, your highness. You are definitely worthy of the Crown. Although I sense you don’t feel so. With all due respect, your highness, you should trust yourself more. Have faith. I do.”

With a wink, Phoogli turned and gathered his travelling gear from the door. “I hope you don’t take offence, your highness, but you are quite a fetching young woman. I often wonder why you don’t have a big strong man at home…..” and through a chuckle added, “…trying to control you. In another lifetime, I may have even tried my luck!” Flashing his charming smile, Phoogli turned and left the room. He new the Master General well and it would not take long for him to cut through Cetheth’s Bog to cross the path he would take. Phoogli did not doubt the courage and will of Crugeon and believed he would return with news of what he saw, but it was unknown what he would find, and if more than just feelings would try to keep him there. Crugeon was an expert at warfare and combat but Phoogli was more than a match for the general in stealth and sneaking.

His beautiful Goblin Steed was ready for travel, fully equipped with fresh kegs of whiskey, and Phoogli had no time to waste. After a quick pint to whet his whistle, he took off with all haste toward Cetheth’s Bog. Even the beautiful sights that never ceased to catch his breath could not tear him from his troubling thoughts. Most people believe you must be able to wield magic in order to understand it. Phoogli was an exception. His elf mentor had assured he knew more about magic than many magic wielding mages. It was part of his charge to give correct information about all things, including magic. One thing Phoogli knew for sure was that no number of mortal beings could create a spell strong enough to affect all living creatures. This was beyond anything imaginable.

Phoogli had breached the swamps borders without realising. As his senses returned, he sensed a great wrong in the swamp. Something was here that should not be anywhere. He slowed his steed and listened for anything out of the usual. Insects buzzing and swaying branches dominated his hearing, then the beating of horses on the path. “Crugeon…” he muttered to himself. He still had not found the sound of the great wrong. Turning his face down and closing his eyes to avoid distraction, he listened more intently, trying to block out all others. Still, he found nothing out of the ordinary. The sense would not leave him though and he refused to let it slide. Phoogli opened his eyes, waiting for them to refocus on the water, and was struck by inspiration. Hoping off his steed and taking a deep breath, he sank into the murky water and listened for the submerged life. The hoof beats of the horses pounded in his ears, amplified by the water, but he heard what he was looking for. Something moved slowly in the water. Something much larger than anything that should be in these waters. Rising up from the water, Phoogli removed his musket from its holster, along with a cartridge. He would need more than his steed to bring down this beast. Loading the gunpowder into the priming pan, he moved to a large fallen branch and settled himself. With the rest of the powder going down the barrel, followed by the round bullet, he evened his breathing. Cocking the gun, he took aim….and waited.

When the hydra raised its heads from the water, Phoogli’s composure broke. It couldn’t be THE hydra, could it? he thought. He had heard the stories but this was beyond belief. This couldn’t be true! It’s not the first fact in reason times to be unbelievable. What if the two were connected? What if slaying this beast was a solution to the whole ordeal? Composure snapped back into place and the musket was up in an instant. He had the element of surprise. If he could get the creatures attention, it would turn its back on the riders. Hopefully, Crugeon would react faster than he had and the beast would be slain without casualty. What are the odds on this plan succeeding without a hitch? he thought. Aiming at the back of the largest head, Phoogli said a silent prayer and pulled the trigger.

Crugeon traveled as always at the front of his pack of men he always rode at the front it wasnt only a role of power but it was to his own advantage. the elf half of his biology graced him with far sight so if any attacks or spys were watching he would know they were there before they wanted him to. The rings Crugeon wore on his fingers each held a power of there own each coloured jewel held a special talent if he was to lose 1 of these rings the power of that ring would be lost thats why he held these rings so close and never took them off.

as Crugeon sped through Cetheth’s Bog toward Greambalue’s Heart he used the power from his blue jewel he felt it flow through his body his finger tingled and the jewel glowed unusually bright, his sences hightened all around his time seemed to slow and Crugeon heard and saw more than any one possible being could at one time he found the use for the blue jewel first when he recieved the rings it was the easiest power to tap into it was simply heightening your sences gracing you with a sort of foresight and allowing you to have sences so accurate and able that you could hear and see a pin drop over a mile away and smell and taste things in the air.

Crugeon laughed as he rode he senced Phoogli following way before he was even close he didnt mind Phoogli was a great asset to the 3 as more than just a messenger as Crugeon new more about Phoogli than Phoogli knew about himself Crugeon never let on he kept the secrets of phooglis past to himself for if he knew these secrets he may look far differently on Crugeon than he did at the moment Crugeon and Phoogli were far closer than just loyal companions.

Crugeon enjoyed the company phoogli brought as he followed Crugeon felt slightly safer as his men may be well trained but they didnt hold and skills close to that of phoogli one clean shot from phooglis home made musket would be of far more use than three of Crugeons men.

Crugeon noticed that phoogli had stopped and he silenced his men and they slowed to a stop just near the entrance of the forrest leaving the bog behind he turned to look for phoogli but he saw no movement ofcourse there were many things in the way of him and where phoogli had stopped so Crugeon closed his eyes and focused his mind flew meters ahead past the rocks and trees blocking his view his heightened sence was not needed in the next few seconds beczuse he snapped straight out of his mental focus as soon as the blast was fired he knew that noise it was phooglis musket no question about it

he thought fast as any good strategist does like a master of a chessboard predicting the moves and all possible outcomes he knew phoogli reserved each shot of his musket for real danger he wouldnt wase one of his iron shots on a mere beast he possesed far more skill weilding a blade .... no his musket was reserved for special events ....something must have startled phoogli something huge something monsterous..........

a split second decision and Crugeon chose his massive claymour something that required phooglis musket would require something big of Crugeons crugeon felt the weight of the evenly balanced sword in his hand and charged forward his men followed no words needed to be said they were trained well enough to know when Crugeon led an attack

Crugeon sped towars the sound of the echoing blast he did not need to find the source of the blast for the reason behind it towered in the bog a mighty hydra.......... impossible Crugeon thought but his well trained mind didnt let him flinch he soared into battle on horse back like a scorpion with a huge stinger his claymour pointed at the huge body at the base of the masses of heads he lunged throwing his first attack at the huge beast driving his claymour forward at the huge mammal

OOC: Serial, I will assume that your character agreed with Cynthia’s plan since you seem to be going off on a mission. I will also have to assume that the Parent agreed since we do not have one yet.

It came as a relief to Cynthia to see that the other council members had accepted her plan, but uneasiness followed the feeling. Gray Scale would not be pleased that she had acted without him, and he might try to punish her somehow. Of course, he could do nothing to harm her directly; if he did, someone would surely question her injury. However, it would be only too easy for him to force her to act foolishly to harm Little Gleam, and although it would not be Cynthia’s fault if he did so, she would still feel guilty about it. She might well be made to regret her rash action, but it had been necessary. She had to cling to that thought. If she didn’t, she would go mad from questioning herself. She could not afford to let the hydra make her doubt her own judgment.

Phoogli, however, did not seem to doubt Cynthia at all, and he said as much. She felt a mix of gratitude and irritation at the goblin’s words. On one hand, it felt good to hear someone voice confidence in her ability, although Phoogli did not know the situation. Cynthia wanted to tell him, tell anyone, everything that had happened to her since she had been named heir to the Crown, but she could not say a thing about her troubles, and that weakness led to the irritation that weighed so heavily on the other hand. The goblin seemed to read Cynthia’s thoughts, and she did not appreciate his willingness to discuss them in front of the other two leaders of the land. After all, she had to be, and usually was, seen as strong. Even if she did doubt herself, others could not know it. Especially not the others with whom she had to cooperate to run the country. A weak leader lost power in all but name, and quickly. Cynthia would not be a weak leader, and yet her cheeks reddened slightly at the advisor’s attempt at reassurance. But the words that followed… those were not appropriate for a private visit, let alone for a council. Cynthia’s lips curved into a mild frown as the goblin spoke them, but that was all she showed of her annoyance. “Thank you, Phoogli,” she repeated dryly. “Now that we have formed a course of action, we must see it forth at once. Take care in your planning, my friends, for any mistake you might make could cause more damage than we can deal with under the current circumstances. This council is hereby adjourned.” Cynthia wanted to wince at her own audacity, but of course, she did not. Still, for her to tell others to be cautious was unthinkably ironic. If her involvement with Gray Scale was ever revealed, she would be punished harshly indeed, and humiliated. The very thought of it made her want to shiver. She suppressed that urge, too.

Cynthia left the council room regally, with her chin held high and without glancing to either side as she walked. Her staff swayed gently with her hands as she moved. But even without looking, she knew what lay to her sides. As soon as she exited the room, two armed guards moved to follow her, to ensure that she safely reached her destination. The palace halls were carpeted blue, with a long, deep red rug lined with gold paving the Crown’s path. On either side, various statues stood against the white walls, and several elaborate tapestries filled the space between large windows. Cynthia turned left off of the hall, passed through open doors made of fine wood, and entered a room much like the one she had just left, save for a greater width, a higher ceiling, one other difference. At the end of the chamber was a large golden throne with red cushions made to match the rug leading up to it. As Cynthia lowered herself onto the throne, she thought that perhaps Phoogli was right; she was a good Crown. All would be well.

The thought didn’t last long. Not five minutes after Cynthia had sat on the throne a man entered the chamber and bowed deeply before her. He was well dressed and clean, but something in his eyes was frantic and fearful. Cynthia did not need to hear the man’s words to know who sent him. “My lady, your uncle has sent word that you are needed at Cetheth’s Bog. He said that you should come as soon as you can.” The man spoke too fast; the fear was plain in his voice. Cynthia scowled at him; he would give everything away if he kept acting as he was! Nonetheless, she could show no sign that she noticed his terror. When someone told Cynthia that her uncle needed her, that meant Gray Scale summoned. The story she had constructed was that she had an uncle who lived in Cetheth’s Bog who needed her healing to survive. He was a private man who did not appreciate the company of strangers. Guards would follow Cynthia a bit into the bog, but no further; though they were hesitant to leave her on her own, she could command as she wanted. She was the Crown, after all. “You have done well to tell me of this,” Cynthia said, “I am grateful for your assistance, and I am sure my uncle shares the feeling. You will dine in the palace tonight, if it pleases you.” The man smiled shakily at Cynthia as she rose. She simply walked past him, instructed the guards to ready her carriage, and followed them out of the palace.

Thirty minutes later, the carriage had left the city with Cynthia in it. Of course, the carriage was not drawn by horses; it was powered by a motor, just like any common car would be. It would not do for the Crown to use an outdated mode of transportation, but she did not need the fastest, either. The outside of the carriage was marked by white and lavender patterns that made it stand out next to any other vehicle. The cushions on the back seat of the carriage were also lavender, and Cynthia rested her back against one as she gazed out the opposite window. Scattered trees populated the flat countryside, and tall grass stood half the height of the brushes along the edge of the road. The country was a beautiful place. Cynthia wished she had the opportunity to spend more time outside of the city, even if only a few days each year. As it was, she hardly left at all except to visit Gray Scale in his bog.

Once the carriage had entered the bog, the scenery changed almost dramatically. There were fewer trees, and the leaves on each supple branch hung lower. The wet ground rose and fell gently into a pattern of hills, resembling the form of a chessboard and occasionally broken by little ponds. The carriage stopped and Cynthia exited, telling her men not to follow her. Their leader made a disgruntled sound in his throat, but that was as good as an oath from the dutiful soldier. Cynthia was glad that she kept a pair of boots in her carriage for her visits to the bog; they were caked with mud by the time the soldiers were out of sight. Cynthia’s destination was a large body of water, bigger than any of the ponds but not so large as to be called a lake. She would follow the edge of that body of water until she reached Gray Scale’s lair. At least, she would have. Even before she saw the water, Cynthia's eyes fell on the massive hydra sticking out of it, and then the soldiers approaching it on horseback. Vaguely, Cynthia indentified one of them as Crugeon. She could not hold back a gasp, and she hastily stepped into the hanging branches of a willow. Gray Scale had gone years undefeated; it was not likely that Crugeon could defeat him, but neither could Cynthia warn him without inspiring questions. She could not, for the good of Little Gleam, even if it meant she would never sleep easy again. All she could do was hide.

Edit: Just fixed a few mistakes.

In the water Gray Scale hunted his quarry with a predator’s patience and grace. He stayed in his own form for the hunt, preferring it almost to forms that would have made the chase easier, but sometimes the chase was the whole point of the hunt. The target of his aggression was one of the bloated eel fish that inhabited the bog exclusively. Normally a fish of this size would have had a tough time maneuvering through the dense water, however the mucus that these strange creatures exuded allowed them to move with speed and grace. If fact the mucus had a strange lemony tang to it that Gray Scale relished.

Four of his heads snapped around the fish, driving it before him and wearing it down from exertion. Gray’s other heads stayed poised to strike when it would tire as all the others he’d hunted did. The tongues of these heads flicked out, tasting the mucus trail in the water as well as the creature’s fear. In one moment Gray Scale struck with all three heads. As the bloated thing struggled his other heads joined in and each tore off a mouthful with plenty of meat left over, such was the girth of the creature.

As the blood, meat, and mucus washed down his throats Gray rumbled in pleasure. It was moments like these, when he sank down to his primal beginnings that the compulsion didn’t bother him so much. He sometimes thought that it helped him keep sane when the strongest urges came over him.

With his instincts still sharp he noticed something new probing into his bog. It was had to see in the water, but it was there all the same. He grabbed onto the carcass with his forelegs and broke the water’s surface to see exactly who or what this new intruder was. He didn’t see anything at first but when the shot rang out and one of his heads slumped down, lifeless, bullet lodged in the brain. He let go of his meal in surprise and turned to face his attacker in anger. His six active heads let loose a trumpeting roar that was cut short by the stab of a large blade.

Out of reflex Gray Scale backed away from the armed men and swept at them defensively with his claws. One head down and black bile pouring from his chest wound, Gray Scale forced himself into a calmer state lest he lose his concentration and fall prey to another hidden attacker.

His racing minds, burdened by the loss of one, before he settled on his usual tactic for defending his home. He backed far enough into the water so that they’d either have to trudge through the clinging mud on the shore and the water beyond to get to him. It also protected him from another leaping attack from the air, and even the most well trained fighter had trouble dodge multiple attacks while airborne. This buffer would also give him the chance he needed to heal properly. Already the wound was closing on his chest and in a few minutes his fallen head would come to life again. He just needed time.

“So,” he bellowed, recognizing Crugeon and Phoogli among their number, “You’ve come to kill me! This curse may addle my mind, but I will not go easily or gently into the folds of death. No one can force me from this land against my will. I have persevered against countless foes and the compulsion and I will persevere against you. Come test thy mettle against me!”

__________________
I wouldn't touch it. That thing is made out of like 95% pure, unadulterated, badger-in-my-pants crazy...
-Geist Panik

My scroll

Crugeons first blow was with all his effort aiming straight for the heard he drove his claymour straight into the beasts chest and sliced as he brought it back out the huge sword dripped the black blood that flowed through the hydras veins when the point of the sword finally emerged from the now gaping wound he holstered his sword again. Crugeon had to use every evasive skill he had to dip duck dive and doge the claws of the huge beast and the attacking heads he ran to the shore as the hydra backed off deeper into the swamp.

Crugeon had studied mythical lore and he knew of many beasts strengths and weaknesses he knew the hydra could fully recover in a matter of minutes the only way to truley defeat them was to either inflict a mass amount of damage at once so it cant possibly heal before it bled out or to deal a blow directly to the main head or to the heart both protected by either sword like teeth or huge talon like claws.

As Crugeon returned to the banks he saw the Hydra retreat to the bog his guess was to allow time to heal from the attacks served to him so suddenly and to think of his own plan of attack. see crugeon knew hydras werent like other beasts such as the Hoargell whose only fear was the sun but a hydra had many minds much stronger connected than any one could be seperate in that mass of heads there was atleast one mastermind.......

When he reached the shore he quickly gather his wits and looked for phoogli he scanned the surrounding area the land seemed to merge into the bog leaving no hiding spots then there he saw it a lone fallen tree with the little goblins head bearly visible throught the branches crugeon decided not to blow this valuable asset assuming the Hydra didnt know where he was hiding this could be of use to him Crugeon ordered his men to retreat he ran over the nearest hill and slid to the ground concealing himself his men followed almost tripping over him as the themself ran over the hill he noted them of his plan and told them there lives may well be claimed in this battle and how he would always thank them for there services if he himself were to survivethe men agreed that their lives could be placed in Crugeon hands and they circled him looking off in different directions incase they were to be attacked again.

Crugeon sat in the middle of the circle and focused all his strength his mind went blank and he felt a floating sensation he called out phoogli......... phoogli.............. phoogli .............. his lips never moved his eyes never opened and asif carried by his thoughts phoogli heard a voice in his ear he froze and moved his head left then right noone was there but he swore he heard it then again someone was calling his name it sounded somewhat like Lord Crugeon then more words started flowing into his head
"dont talk just listen answer only when i am done time is scarce i need to know your position on my plan phoogli are you ready?"..........................