12-13-2020, 08:22 PM
<p align=justify>It is I - Sir Huglava the 27th and a half (your kind might our spawning rituals odd but it is much easier to leave behind a leg with a desire to grow than to waste time tracking down mates. We Lava Frogs have far nobler causes, having impignorated our lives to protecting the Great Croaker, our mighty lord).
It rests in a burrowing mound in the distance of our hatching grounds. There it rises in the distance and even smokes from time to time. Our legends say that once there was such a great drought that the Great Croaker (who had no name then) buried himself beneath the Earth to wait for the rains to come again. When enough rain comes to soak the skin, only then will it finally wake. It slumbers beneath our webbed feet, waiting for enough water. There are also other adaptions to the tale - that there was Magic in the ground during that epoch. It was so thick in the air that it hung like fog but it reached for the roots as well, seeping into the soil where our Great Croaker slept. There it rests, feeding on the Magic and growing taller with each moon turn.
It is still there; for every thought of doubt that a non-believing amphibian has, the Great Croaker turns it into fire that comes burning down the sides of his sleeping chamber. When the Time of Watering happens, the mightiest amphibian that Beqanna could ever know - the Great Croaker - will rise. It is why we guard this place with such vigilance. That is why there are sentries posted all around this sacred mountain. I, alongside my brothers and sisters, protect our great god from those who would disturb him.
From those like the grass-eaters, like the one that has the audacity to step on my lunch.
<b>"Intruder!"</b> Bellowing in my most commanding voice, I stare at him with my burning red eyes. <b>"You shall not pass!"</b>
(We are normally peaceful creatures but the sky grazer has squished my meal. I am tired from overnight duty and my patience is very, very thin this morning.)
The grass-eater takes another step forward and I hop forward, ready to do battle. It is larger than I am but I am a decorated war hero from the Great Fowlout (egrets had come to roost along our coast and the Great Croaker smoked from below with a proclamation: no egrets, no surrender.) This grazer seems to understand that there will be no going forward for him. If we meet in battle, this will only end in his death (so says my unrelenting gaze).
He backs away.
I am victorious and the Great Croaker will rest peacefully for another day, thanks to my valiant efforts.
It rests in a burrowing mound in the distance of our hatching grounds. There it rises in the distance and even smokes from time to time. Our legends say that once there was such a great drought that the Great Croaker (who had no name then) buried himself beneath the Earth to wait for the rains to come again. When enough rain comes to soak the skin, only then will it finally wake. It slumbers beneath our webbed feet, waiting for enough water. There are also other adaptions to the tale - that there was Magic in the ground during that epoch. It was so thick in the air that it hung like fog but it reached for the roots as well, seeping into the soil where our Great Croaker slept. There it rests, feeding on the Magic and growing taller with each moon turn.
It is still there; for every thought of doubt that a non-believing amphibian has, the Great Croaker turns it into fire that comes burning down the sides of his sleeping chamber. When the Time of Watering happens, the mightiest amphibian that Beqanna could ever know - the Great Croaker - will rise. It is why we guard this place with such vigilance. That is why there are sentries posted all around this sacred mountain. I, alongside my brothers and sisters, protect our great god from those who would disturb him.
From those like the grass-eaters, like the one that has the audacity to step on my lunch.
<b>"Intruder!"</b> Bellowing in my most commanding voice, I stare at him with my burning red eyes. <b>"You shall not pass!"</b>
(We are normally peaceful creatures but the sky grazer has squished my meal. I am tired from overnight duty and my patience is very, very thin this morning.)
The grass-eater takes another step forward and I hop forward, ready to do battle. It is larger than I am but I am a decorated war hero from the Great Fowlout (egrets had come to roost along our coast and the Great Croaker smoked from below with a proclamation: no egrets, no surrender.) This grazer seems to understand that there will be no going forward for him. If we meet in battle, this will only end in his death (so says my unrelenting gaze).
He backs away.
I am victorious and the Great Croaker will rest peacefully for another day, thanks to my valiant efforts.