Croak

[WP] The thousand-year war rages. You and your war party have a new member. Rumors have it he wiped out an entire army himself. You are very surprised to be met with an 8-foot-tall bipedal frog.

*****

You met at a crossroads. Your party was beaten, exhausted, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. It was Lyssa's turn in the cart, to rest as well as one could in a splintered wagonbed being jerked along the broken cobblestone road by a pair of limping mules. He approached you there, tentatively, cautiously. He had only a helmet of some foreign make and a hooked shortstaff as his only possessions. He was easily twice as large as any other Frogkin you'd ever met, but along with the size came apparent strength.

You camped shortly after, with the Frogkin taking care of the cart and mules, allowing the party to slump down and rest. As he led the mules to the creek just a short walk away, Lyssa slid over next to you.

"Who's that?" she asked.

"Frogkin. Came upon him at the crossroads a few hours back," you answered.

"Can we trust him?"

"Not sure, but so far he's been more than a help," you say. "We'd be sleeping in a ditch if he hadn't come along."

Lyssa pursed her lips and hummed. "Well, I guess we'll just have to be wary and thankful at the same time."

You nodded, then turned as you heard him return with the mules. He picketed them near a mulberry tree, and came to sit near the fire.

You reach out your hand. "My name is Leander. I'm ... was... the leader of our party. This is Lyssa, my sister. We greet you and thank you for your aid."

He grasps your hand in kind, replying "Mishe. I'm happy to assist." His voice a far deeper and clearer than expected, with no hint of a croak.

"Well met, Mishe."

"Nice to meet you, Mishe," says Lyssa. "Well, no point in sugar coating it. We're stuck in it. There's a rather large horde of very angry rock gnolls on our tail, and we're not likely to make it much farther. While we appreciate your help, and your company, we'll not hold it against you should you wish to go."

Mishe looks at the two of you, silent for a moment, pondering.

"I appreciate your candor. No, I'll stay. I've some experience with gnolls," he says, then turns to the fire. "You two clearly need rest. I will take watch."

You exchange a look with Lyssa, and a sibling understanding passes between you. "We do indeed. Another thank you, then." Mishe takes his curious helmet and staff and set up, back to the fire, clearly not new to keeping watch.

You both turn to your bedsheets and blankets, tucking your daggers close, then fall hard into sleep.

An whisper of time later, you feel a soft prod and hear Mishe calling your name. You awaken to see the red beginnings of daylight shining off a fresh dew. It takes a moment for your mind to clear the sleepfog, and as your eyes clear, you realise that, no, the sky is yellowing, and it's the dew itself that is red. Immediately you look to Lyssa, and see her close by, looking at Mishe. Mishe looks between you two, then points towards the creek and explains:

"They came near moonfall. Only one warband, so I did not feel the need to wake you."

You look and see the remnants of roughly a dozen gnolls, all of them with either crushed skulls, caved ribcages or both. "You did this, while we slept?" you asked, incredulously.

"I did. I'm a little surprised you didn't awaken, but clearly your rest was needed," he answers. "I thought I saw Lyssa stir near the end, though maybe it was a sleep-shift, as you did not rise."

Lyssa looks from the corpses to Mishe, "Yes, I do shift from time to time," she agrees. She shoots you a look. "We should gather any supplies or rations we can find before breaking camp. Leander and I can do that if you wouldn't mind caring for the mules once again? They seem to have taken to you, Mishe."

"Surely done," he says, and moves toward the animals.

As you and Lyssa move to the gnolls, you feel her hand on your arm. You turn and see her looking off towards Mishe and the mules, saying "I did awaken. It was... frightful." Her head swivels sharply towards your, her eyes shining with memory. "Do you remember to stories Uncle Davan used to say? The legends of the wilderfolks whose dancing could crack mountains and songs could level forests?"

You furrow your brow. "Vaguely. You were always more taken with those than I."

"I think he's one of them."

"What makes you think that?"

She shudders. "The way he moves, it's like... nothing I've ever seen. It was like... the most violent dance. Back and forth, up and down. Just destruction. But even moreso because of the song."

"The song? What song?"

"He was singing the whole time, Leander. Dancing and singing, and swinging his staff and helmet in time to the tune. It was marvelous and hideous and beautiful and destructive.... and, damn it all, it was catchy!"

"What do you mean, "catchy"? You remember the tune?"

"Oh Leander, I don't think I'll forget it as long as I live!" and she started singing:

Hello my baby, hello my honey Hello my ragtime, summertime gal...

*****

THE END.