Squib Ep.30 - Swamp Rot
(Start at the beginning here)
The night had stretched through its dark hours so that morning sat upon the crest of the world. Yet the hour showed anything but the dawning of a new and prosperous day. The cloud covered skies kept the world shrouded in a inky darkness and with the foul, green hued sorcery pervading the swamp, Herule was set only to think ill of the new day.
His new human charge lay asleep, curled up within the length of the great snapping dragon tortoise shell he’d scavenged the day prior. It had kept her dry and afforded her the first true bit of respite from the turmoil of the swamp since coming into contact with her. This, in Herule’s estimation, was good because she carried her injury with her everywhere, and from what Herule had witnessed it had failed to improve over their days of travel.
Beside her, with his head down by Bandana’s feet, Squib lay faintly snoring through a slightly open mouth. Herule was not yet comfortable traveling in the presence of the Goblin but while unconscious the little green skinned devil was at least tolerated.
The camp had been uneventful during Herule’s watch but for a foul stench that had consumed the gaseous air. The rain, falling lighter than the day prior had done little to suppress its presence leaving the Lizardman to wonder at its origin. It wasn't uncommon for such weather to unearth buried things and to wash them floating to the surface. Where as the mud without the rains tended to suck refuse down, absorb it, and act as a malleable tomb; given enough water the entire process could be reversed until it resembled a brown churning soup, causing things lost and long forgotten to surface.
Herule considered the time, judging as best he could given the circumstances and deciding to wake his companions. He rapped his knuckles over the shell, peered down onto the scrunching face of Bandana as she stirred. Her mouth moved as a string of words flowed out, only noise to the Lizardman’s ear. Groans, expletives, dissatisfied murmurs, a question perhaps. It didn't matter, “It’s dawn, we rise.” He instructed.
It seemed a hard thing leaving their little respite of open flame and dry shelter to head once more into the risen waters and falling rain. Fortunately the northernmost reaches of the swamp, much like the south, were of a slightly higher elevation unlike the vast expanse of its center. Soon enough the unavoidable need to swim gave way to the traversal of winding paths of sodden soil, where water ran south in wide rivulets and newly formed and gentle streams. What didn't change despite the location was the foul smell that clung to the air. It filled Herule’s nostrils, soured his scaly mood, and even began to bother the others who’d seemed less concerned about such a thing until Bandana eventually remarked on it..
“Whoa, what’s that smell?” She asked, waving at the air.
Squib sniffed, “Swamp rot.” He answered looking none to pleased at the stench. “Lizardbrain, you smell?”
Herule gave a nod, “Ssince the pre-dawn hours,” He sniffed again, “But it sseems sstronger now.”
The breeze came gently from the east but the source seemed closer, as though it were surrounding the Lizardman’s senses or located right under his nose. Moving, he stepped up the side of a nearby tree to gain some perspective and surveyed the area, looking for signs in the murky gloom.
“What’s it?” Squib asked, drawing near Herule’s leg..
Herule slunk back, gripping his weapon. “Ssomething approaches.” He whispered in reply.
Squib waved for Bandana to take a position out of sight. Herule cast out his ear, sure to keep the length of his long jaw from protruding the edge of the tree. The moment rolled on, the noise of slow laborious footfalls growing ever closer. Herule noticed Squib attempting to take a peek but stayed the Goblins curiosity by covering the entirety of his chest with a single hand. Squib frowned daggers back but a shared cause kept it from escalating beyond what was warranted. Finally the threat rounded the tree, walking by seemingly unaware. Herule reacted on an instinct and stepped out with a thrust of his spear. It sunk into the chest of the bipedal creature until it protruded out its back, a shower of gore flowing in its wake. Herule got a good look at it then, a face of slimy blackened flesh, eyeless, lidless, the signs of bone protruding to make some sort of walking horror. Its body was a ruin, part bone and part meat, all of it a rotting carcass encased in foul leather wrapping that’d been exposed to the elements for far to long. With it came an overbearing stench that signaled to the Lizardman to steer clear for death and decay was a thing to be feared. It was all to late for that now.
Only the horror slid closer, issuing a gurgling croak from a hole in its throat as it slid forward on the shaft of the spear. Herule hissed, swinging the spear away from the tree then back, slamming the horror into the trunk. There was the sound of cracking bones, and the jarring of the head and neck that’d send an average man or beast reeling. Instead it defied all logic and came on still, clutching at Herule’s arms with cold, bony fingers.
Herule lurched toward it, forcing the horror to topple back, thrusting with his spear while drawing the handle up to force it off its feet. The spear struck the earth and Herule toppled away, turning suddenly to see the spear become a post with the creature now pinned on its back. It lashed out with its arms, kicked its leather strapped feet, flailed left and right, roiling to get free. Herule sought after a rock but found a boulder instead. He bent low at the knee, wrapped his arms around the chest sized piece of granite and strained with every muscle to hoist it into the air. The earth released it with a sucking sloosh, and a heavy thud upon the earth under girded the sudden snapping crack of the skull as it was crushed beneath the weight of it. Herule stepped back and spat, turning to the nearby water to begin dousing himself in splashes of water.
Bandana moved closer along with Squib, her hand raised to shield her nose. She made some comment Herule did not understand, but he took her meaning to hold much disgust.
Squib held out his hand toward the now still corpse. “See? Swamp rot.”
(Continue to Ep.31)
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