Title: ROC:Survivor Round Three: The Swamp
Author: Nine doomed beasts running and writing for their lives
Rating: PG-13 for violence and possible unsavory elements
Outcome: Uncertain. It all depends on you....

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Moonlight fell in long strands through the hanging vines and drooping trees to splash onto the marshy earth.

Weary beasts trudged in weary threes through moss and fern. Two weeks since they had entered this swamp. Two weeks since they had seen the sunlight clearly, muted as it was by the dense canopy. Two weeks, and walking every day.

A whip snapped; somebeast laughed.

Many, many weeks since freedom.

The stench, the murky earth beneath tired paws, the cloying humidity, and the tiny insects that never seemed to rest all could have been bearable in better company. But the captivity, and the relentless path towards it, only made the surroundings more viscerally offensive.

"Hold up, you lot. Tricky bit ahead, let's not go all at once."

They had approached a thick growth of trees and hanging vines; it seemed to stretch for miles. Gerin Steel, mercenary weasel and leader of the little janut, eyed it up expertly and saw no way around. They were going to have to forge on.

He strolled back through the ranks of slaves and his underlings. Pausing midway, he turned and called to the foremost: "First rank. Go on."

The first trio of beasts marched dutifully forward, flanked by their guard. They disappeared into the murky thicket.

A moment's wait.

"Well?" Gerin barked into the treeline.

"All clear, boss," came a faint but cheery voice.

Gerin nodded firmly. "On we go then, lads."

The slave train moved on.

All but three sets of three had been swallowed by the swamp when the atmosphere began to change.

First it was subtle, a sort of rumbling over the drone of insects. Then the underbrush rustled and shivered and the rumble became a growl. First came a curse -- then a yelp -- then the brush shook with shrieks and wails and sick sounds of tearing, moans cut off abruptly, bad crackings and crushings, and an overpining chaos -- and the sounds of something very, very big.

There was no time for thought. The slaves ran in one direction and their guards in another. Gerin Steel, at the rear, drew his sword and charged into the forest, a snarl of delight on his muzzle.

Fast through the thicket -- swift through the bayou. They moved with a speed that had been long since forgotten. Only when the light of day warmed their faces did the nine survivors slow and stop, sinking to the ground in weary relief.

They had made it.

Where were they?

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Where are they indeed? Who was that strange assailant? And who are these nine creatures, chained in each others' company, lost in a swamp full of dangers both sentient and feral? For character biographies and the full text of the story, visit rocsurvivor at Geocities (link on the author page). Then visit our message boards to chat with the other readers, and follow the links to cast your weekly vote regarding which characters live to fight another day ... and which one is sacrificed to the swamp.
For questions, leave a review and I'll be sure to get back to you -- otherwise, on with the game!