Captain's Log Four; Depths of mud, blood, and sanity.

This weakness, within... It must be purged.
 
Days 33 to 39, maybe. Who's counting?
 
Off, again. To the East, through rock and wood and watery sludge pools. The days were as damp and dark as any under the waves. Opposing winds came out of the East, refreshingly icy. The plains became spotted with pits of sinking brown brine. Soon enough grasping trees were clawing out of the brown and embraced me and my crew. Swallowed up by the green depths. Some of us would never emerge again.
 
I was with that beautiful bastard Adrion, he had one of them there Ranger Talismans so we made good time, though he was remarkably quiet throughout the first parts of our excursion. A Monk, Tarfu came along as well, and a Talent? Nitmor, never heard of such a thing before, blue it was. Had nice fire hands it did. Had a familiar bearing. Bloody nice magic though, kept us nourished for many a day. Kept the scurvy at bay.
 
Shame though, could have gone for some of the meat butchered across the fields. Deer, rothe, and herds by the score, skewered with nail like javelins. Not nails like you'd fasten a coffin mind you, nails as in the kind I'd carve a coffin with, after carving up you. I don't trust these "adventurers", any of you ever read the Captain's Log, I'll find you.
 
It was Manticores, to spoil a suspenseful mystery. Killing for sport, which I can only describe as . . . actually there is no word in the tongues of elves or men for how . . . wasteful, that is. A culled herd left for dead can't be sheared later. It takes a shepherd, not a savage, to make use of such things.

Whilst crossing the damp graveyard, a cry echoed across the wind. A cry that could only have come from a great beast. A beast that mayhaps, could be conquered, by a greater being.
 
Nothing more than a Griffin. Who's cave was besieged by two manticores. Adrion, quite expectedly insisted upon saving the ... "Noble creature." The manticores were taking what the strong deserve, everything. I'd have had no course to object but for the ferocity with which the Griffin held them off. Familiar somehow...almost ... motherly. ...Pathetic... but better a nest be plundered than torn asunder. So it began.
 
Adrion blessed himself and the rest, the ones who need such things. Hexes were muttered, flames fired, feet flew, and my Javelin struck true. After the initial flurry, by my might of will I commanded the smaller manticore to flee, less damaged and more prone to fear. The larger was, by the might of will of the Talent, restrained and butchered in short order. Its body was a pin cushion of spikes that erupted from its hide, The Monk caught and hurled them back at it before cracking its ribs apart with a flurry of mighty blows. The wounds of what was left were black and withered. More to this Monk than meets the eye. And clearly the manticores were not mighty enough to be worthy of existence.
 
I took the important task of taking the meat from the beast. While everyone else played princess of the forest. The Talent got its hand half cut off, The Monk tapped some health into it and Adrion did some praying to the moon...in the middle of the day. He looked the beastie in the eye, and it let out a big triumphant cry, as if its life was its own. It seemed to be at ease and it crawled back into its cave. Very unusual for it to nest in such a low lying region. Inside the cave, in a barbed nest of stick and stone stood nine eggs. One look at me and Adrion was already defensive... he's smarter than he looks. The Talent spoke directly into my mind and for some time we plotted, I knew Adrion would not allow it and The Monk was not about to aid us either and so ... they would still be there later, once less self-righteous company was present.
 
The night's watch was uneventful, apart from some spikes skewering a nearby tree whilst some slumbered, Adrion did push ups and I squatted. Never skipping leg day again.
 
The eastward march marched on. And the stinking salt only twisted the senses evermore as the gnarled arms of the trees scratched at my armour. A heat rose out of the mud, bellowing as a dragons breath. For some inexplicable reason, Adrion tried to pawn a cursed shield off onto me. I was almost proud. Then out of the green little gremlins came. A small army of Bullywugs armed with stone spears encircled me and Adrion and the rest. A large one came atop a toad, and that is what they all chanted while they raised their spears into the air. "Toad. Toad. Toad." Some savage saying of a beastial people. The Talent roasted a piece of flesh with his flaming hand and threw it to the dogs. They devoured it, and then they disappeared back into the mud that birthed them. I scoffed. And then the ground burped, and a log like tendril rose out of the mud, carrying a pixie like frog upon it. Then the ground shuddered, and rose up and the land upon which we were standing came out from under us and in its place rose a Froghemoth. Should have run away.
 
And so the battle began. In the thick of it, the mud that is, me and Adrion did what we do best, regardless of whatever he claims. SLAUGHTER. Strikes and smites cleaved into the green mountain. And when we ran out of smites, we struck some more. The Monk struck with furious blows and the Talent let loose its flames. I feared...no...never, feared. Thought the small ones might rise out of the water and drag us down, but the monster demanded my attention. The impertinence was unacceptable.
 
It seemed to be of a similar mind, its tendrils rose up and restrained us all even as we licked the blood of its wounds off our faces. Then its maw swallowed Nitmor whole. A last cry from me of "Why won't you die?!?!?" only heralded my own being a meal. Teeth took me, as did slime, and blood, and salt and acid and darkness. Boiling. Burning. Dying... No...not again...Never...never ... again!
 
A slap across the face, and there I was, half sunk in the mud, a divine warrior spewed out and bubbling in the brine and blood. Tarfu was clasped in a tendril above me, and Nitmor sat still in a shallow, watery grave. No... not again...Never...never ... again!
 
"Why! Won't! You! Die!" I should have healed myself. Instead I swung and struck and sliced it open. Whatever blow Tarfu had dealt to the monster had left it spewing its guts out and left it susceptible to its own mortality. And so, at the last, a final necrotic blow from Tarfu felled the beast. And its ruin sent waves crashing across the land.
 
Out of the mud the savages came again. And they chanted, "TOAD! TOAD! TOAD!" But they made no hostile move.
 
From the fathomless depths of the mud, under the monster's ruin, a glimmer shone out and my hand was drawn under and clasped a mighty chain tied around the Froghemoth's neck, adorned with offerings. I pulled it out from under it. Tarfu and Adrion took some trinkets.
 
I...held a mirror. I glimpsed the gleaming silver and I looked, and I saw ... myself. I saw Recarg Nraey. I saw God. And I asked myself, what future do you see for yourself, and the open opportunities of fate came to my mind. Adorned with all the treasure of the earth and beyond, wielding influence beyond compare, inside a capital befitting me. Adored by all. Foes vanished with but a whisper from my hand. And I looked, and I saw...me. As I was, buried beneath a layer of blood, standing amidst the sea of the nature world, "friends" beside me and foes fallen before me. Who am I.
 
And another destiny was known. One of armies falling by the score before one man, followed behind by his fearful subjects, of a war that would break the world and reign over it. Of blows breaking off my skin like rain off a mountain. Of an endless campaign, of an endless slaughter. And I knew, and I proclaimed unto myself. Yes...this is who I am. This is what I was born for, this is what I live for, this is what I shall never die for. My destiny, lies upon the field of battle. And the only promise I would ever keep was said unto myself, writ into the ages of my blood, a covenant conceived, a bargain struck, a wish made, a trick played, a contract signed and an understanding reached. Never, again.
 
And in my hands the mirror now had a heart, grasped and squeezed by skeletal, and furry, and amphibious hands wrought in iron and silver. I placed it around my neck, and my body was hardened, my spirit resolved and my mind clear, unclouded.
 
And so the Bullywug chieftain came, and gave unto us crests of leaves, and the subjects chanted, "TOAD! TOAD! TOAD!" And now I knew what it was that they said, truly. "GOD! GOD! GOD!" And indeed, now, I truly was. An immortal. A conqueror.