It was a stormy morning on the Frogmarch River. Occasional drops of moisture seeped through the mucky walls, and dripped atop Boophis as he tried to meditate. Despite the downpour, it remained as beautifully warm as ever.

The young Boggard sighed, he tried to focus his mind on prayer. Oh Mother of Boggards, please grant your most faithful the power to spread your wonder. I offer you this sacrifice, may their blood moisten the sod, and their soul pass back to you, the same way it entered…

The fat Boggard waited patiently, as he had always done, and like usual, the Mother did not answer, he sighed, again.

With possession comes awareness, I suppose. Maybe it will be a surprise? No, today is too crucial, I must know what gifts she has given.

Boophis reached into the small rat leather fanny pouch on his belt, and pulled out the five-pointed red stone, focussing his mind and intention on the rock. The Mother is all around him after all, she is the Swamp, she is Nature, by paying attention to the stone, he will discern something.

The stone felt cold in the grip of his webbed hand. This is obvious, from my fingertips, I Innately hold the ability to blast frost like an arrow.

A bead of water seeped down from the ceiling and dropped onto the stone. Today I will command water? From the palm of my hand - no less!

His stomach rumbled. This is a new one, but perhaps by eating the rat, I can unlock hidden power? Or maybe I am just hungry. I should not insult the Mother’s blessings with these  thoughts.

He gave up on meditating. The Priest grabbed his only healing potion, and plucked the skewered squirming rat from the stake, storing both in his fanny pouch. Boophis squeezed out the small passageway of his hut to get outside. The sky showered him with warm water, condensation leaving a mist which obscured the tribe. That sod-house is getting too small, I'll have to claim a bigger one later.

Boophis was quite fat for a Toad-Folk. He wore a ceremonial cap, decorated with white waterfowl feathers. He carried a bone-knife made from the Schulterblatt of a baby boar he slew when he was young, held to his person by a rugged leather belt pilfered off that human. His sacred tattoo stretched from his belly to his throat, it was the symbol of the Boggard deity, Gogunta, the Mother of all toads. Boophis felt his connection to nature strengthened without armour, and thus only wore a loincloth under his belt. In his hand at all times, was a wand, which recently received the addition of a human skull at the end.

Boophis started his day the same as he did every other, reminding himself of what his people lost.

He gazed into the Hurricane. The storm allowed that human to infiltrate his mind again. It was like a plague, locking him into an imaginary argument.

“The Eye of Abendego, it destroyed [us]… and put you in charge!” The idiot human whinged at him.

Boophis balled his fist into the dirt, ‘What ignorance!’ he thought, ‘just because there are now more of us, you see this as a boon to our people?’ Boophis turned his gaze downwards, he sat on a precarious overhang at the edge of a cliff. If he fell, it would be hundreds of feet before meeting his demise at the bottom of the Frogmarch River. ‘That Hurricane was the worst thing to happen to us too, Human.’

Once again, he had bested his imaginary foe, yet still it placed him in a foul mood, a curse from beyond the grave. Something shoved against the back of Boophis’s shoulder, and he instinctively gripped a nearby clump of grass to avoid falling.

‘Oi Snake, your water broke yet?’ It was bull again, Boophis prayed to Gogunta for mercy.

‘Stop trying to be clever, Bull,’ Boophis went back to staring into the Hurricane, ‘I know you didn’t think of that one yourself, what do you want?’

‘I did so!’ Bull spat, literally, into Boophis’s face, ‘Jelly’s dead so you lost the bet, go get me some grub,’ his otter-hide armour could not hide the fact he looked and acted way more Toad than Folk.

Boophis looked round at Soror-Reed, the crippled clutch-handler looked busy tending to the spawning pits near the west side of the tribe. He looked back at Boophis and shook his head. 

‘Dammit,’ muttered Boophis, ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have any grub, how about I knock your teeth in instead?’ Boophis wanted to say, but he was in no mood to fight that pissant, he would rather mourn the loss of Jelly the toad-spawn. 

‘I mean,’ Boophis asked after consideration, ‘what else made you come bother me, I was praying.’

‘Your Father.’ Bull stated bluntly, ‘anyone else would get brayed for being late, but o’ priest you’re special seems like,’ there was more spite than usual in Bull’s voice, the toad started to make his way back to the centre of the tribe, where the strongest of their people lived. Boophis thought it best to march over there with Bull, cursing the Eye for making him late to the ceremony, the rain died down, as if in apology. It had to have been the Eye, after all, Boophis was not that scared of his father.

Breviceps, the grand Priest King, sat atop his sodden Ziggurat. It was surrounded by a quaint moat, filled with flowing water falling from a spring above a bedrock wall, which sheltered the tribe. The wall was blessed with a painting of Gogunta, from where Boophis sat it looked as though she embraced his father. The tribe had always been a bit too sandy and cove-like for Boophis’s liking, a proper Boggard tribe should be out in the swamps, not hiding in the side of a cliff-face overlooking a salt river several miles wide. Boophis understood why they were concealed, but it did not mean he liked it.

Flanking Breviceps’s Ziggurat, were the witnesses, seniors of the tribe: 

Shiitake, the elderly village druid - who seemed to have mushrooms growing on her warty back. 

Arum, a scarred one, and the tribes most rugged - so proud of his battle scars he had them painted on his hide armour for all to see. 

Ghost, a stalker, and the Juveniles’s mentor - even in safety, the young adult hunter is camouflaged by his leaf cape and with bow drawn; ready for battle.

Boophis had joined the circle of juvenile boggards around the moat, eight young fighters in total, including himself. Sitting on bloodied grass, ready to take their final step into adulthood. It seemed only yesterday they were tadpoles, now his brothers and sisters were around five feet tall, grown-ups in all but name.

Breviceps stood, his fat jiggling as he descended clay steps. The elder was approaching his forties in age, an impressive feat for a Boggard. His green flesh was going pale, almost white from age - which made the tattoo of Gogunata encompassing his torso even more pronounced. He wore pauldrons on either shoulder, one a crocodile skull, the other a boar skull, held on by a leather harness. He also wore a skirt of reeds, showing off his… “spirituality.” As he spoke, his vocal sac reverberated from the deep truth that his voice contained.

‘The next cohort, turning to the mature age of… three years. Under Ghost's control, you were a brutal force. Not only quick learners, but you punched above your weight many times. Gogunta blessed us, by bringing you into our tribe… yet…’

Breviceps made a parting gesture with one hand, the water around the moat began to rise, forming the shapes of toads, it utterly mesmerised the soon-to-be adults.

‘As you near adulthood, I can't shake the feeling you are reliant. Are you warriors? Or a chain?’ Breviceps clenched his fist, the watery-toads joined hands in a sequence, and shifted apart, a couple had their aquatic arms snap off, turned back to water, while the rest began to slowly sink back into the moat. 

‘One weak link breaks a chain, and in the swamp, chains rust,’ another sharp gesture, the water toads appeared again, three grew in size and raised their hands triumphantly, while the rest shrunk and sank back to the moat, ‘we must know which of you deserve survival,’ Breviceps let out a long sigh, and paused for an uncomfortable length of time.

 ‘Gogunta has not blessed me with vision to see who will let her down, only how many, so instead you are tasked with this: go and kill a sentient biped. Humans, Orcs, that sort of prey, just make sure they’re killed by your hands alone. Bring your prey back for us to dine on, however,’ Breviceps’s large eyes narrowed, and he flung his hand forth. The moat suddenly jettisoned a wave upwards, teeth sprang out, turning the form into a watery maw. It crashed back down onto the juveniles, soaking them, ‘return without a kill to claim, then you will be recycled.’

Boophis and the rest spat out the salt-water, after the fat Boggard recovered, he looked up. Arum seemed unhappy, then again, he always looked unhappy. Ever since Ghost was selected as lead hunter, Arum held a lethal grudge, the juvenile's mentor was never able to let his guard down. Regardless, to Boophis, that speech was rather straight-forward, however someone disagreed.

‘What if we don’t come back?’ A sonorous voice queried. Boophis faced her, as did the others. It was Zimmeri, one of the juveniles, she stood almost defiantly. The others often wondered how she survived the tadpole stage, what with how weak she was physically. Like Boophis, she preferred not to wear much, only a hide kilt and carried an awful sounding flute.

Breviceps paused. The other boggards were silent.

‘Then you can go back,’ Breviceps explained, unusually calm, ‘to your real home. Hyrantum has nice weather this time of year,’ his gaze demanded she sit back down, she did.

Boophis exhaled. She is in luck, being told to “go and drown to death” is practically mercy considering my father.’

Breviceps un-narrowed his sagging eyes, and glanced around at the juveniles, 'are there any more questions?'

Boophis also examined everyone's expressions, at this point, it was practically his duty to silence any further insolence amongst his siblings before they got themselves killed.

Bull looked angry - he clutched his greatclub and muttered something about Hyrantum. For Banana to interrupt, the yellow and black spotted Boggard would have had to be paying attention, and not playing with his little pet turtle. Fallax? He was never much for talking, at the minute, he made sure his turtle shell armour was fitted properly, and besides - the muscular young toad was too busy eyeing up banana's pet. Mute had reason to be quiet, his voice box had been ripped out a year prior, evidenced by the deep scar across his throat, so if he had an objection, well - who would even know. Gray, the pale skinny sling thrower, was somehow even more dim-witted than Bull, it's doubtful he even understood the speech well enough to ask a question beyond: "could you repeat that?" Claw at least knows better than to object, he was inspecting his cudgel, as if that stick had anything interesting to see.

Silence continued to fill the tribe, Ghost was doing his best to speak with his eyes to the juveniles, Boophis assumed those words were “stay silent.” Arum was simply staring at Zimmeri, he had not taken his eyes off her since she spoke. Boophis concluded he'd rather not know what Arum was thinking, even looking in his general direction was difficult, he could feel the rage radiating off him. Shiitake… coughed, then plucked a red mushroom from her back, and ate it.

'Very well,' Breviceps said, finally, 'you have one hour to leave, may Gogunta witness your strength.'

The other juveniles hopped to their feet and retreated to their huts. The next few minutes were electric, young aspirants sharpening their weapons, taking inventory, saying prayers to Gogunta and heading off whenever ready. Bull and Claw  were the first to leave, followed by Mute and Gray. Boophis took his time. He sauntered over to the cave painting of the Frog-Mother, and spent the next few minutes in meditative prayer. His eyes focussed and fixed on the mural, in it, Gogunta was depicted as a massive Toad-Folk. In one hand she carried a whip, to teach the outsiders of the swamp their place - and in the other a morningstar, to inspire strength amongst her followers. Behind her were hundreds of tiny toads, prostrating themselves before her beauty. Soror-Reed was as pathetic as they come, but Boophis could not deny, the man could paint. Other hunters in the tribe would occasionally come and pay tribute, leaving a bone or a tooth from a creature they killed in battle, laying them in a little wicker basket. For Boggards to willingly give away their trophies, that was a sign of how much devotion permeated the tribe. Myself, Zimmeri, My Father, and Shiitake, Boophis’s mind wandered, the only ones among us who can use Gogunta’s powerful magic. I was raised on blue dragonflies, so was my father, and so must have Shiitake, but Zimmeri… how did she…?

'She wouldn't be happy with how much time you're wasting.'

Boophis's attention was shattered, the voice was gruff and threatening. Arum stood over him.

'N-No,' Boophis tried to find the resolve to explain, 'If you cannot find time for our Mother, then you are not doing anything worth spending time on.'

Arum placed himself between Boophis and the mural, then leaned over. His face was knitted with scars, one gash was so deep it exposed all the teeth on one side of his gnarled face, 'you're right,' he agreed, 'instead the other peons do her work for you.'

Boophis had to avert his gaze.

'...If your father had made me mentor,' he began, 'you'd be dead, just like you deserve. Do us a favour, save me the trouble, we’ve got too much actual work to do.'

Boophis felt something sharp scratch across his face, his cheek got warm, in a few seconds he tasted blood. Arum walked over to the basket and dropped in an alligator tooth, now dripping with red liquid. He turned to Boophis, and pointed to the mural. 

'When you meet her, you'll have at least one scar from a great warrior, remember the kindness I've done for you,' Arum chuckled to himself, and sauntered off, heading out to the swamp.

Boophis thought. A lot. He took the tooth from the basket, and stored it in his pouch.