We must away, ere break of day

As the moon began to rise and cast its reflection over the black waters of the Sfair Wetlands, a sympathy of sounds began to play. Frogs croaked, owls hooted, crickets chirped and the trees creaked and swayed as the wind blew. Moonlight filters down through the moss covered timber and illuminates the entrance to a rather large cave. The opening is surrounded by thick undergrowth and slow running waters that pool in the muddy footprints on the ground. Some creatures huddle together in their burrows and hollowed out trees. While the nocturnal hunters kept their guard up. For all knew what dwelt inside and that it would wake soon.

Inside the cave there was a sound like no other swamp creature. It was as if a hurricane trying to escape through a snake's den. Then it vanished but only for a few seconds. Then again the terrible noise started anew. Further down the dark and winding tunnel lay the source of the ear wrenching ratchet. Atop a large makeshift bed made from tree limbs, mud and other various debris, laid Nurghoul. The inhabitant of the cave slept on his bone color belly while his green limbs hung over the sides. All six eyes were shut tight as the heavyset dragon dreamed. On the ceiling above the sleeping behemoth lived a small colony of bats. Usually he'd evict any pest or trespasser that dared enter his home. But these "little blighters" ,as he called them, had recently given birth to their young. Thus Nurghoul stayed hand and sub sequentially had to move his bed to avoid the blighter's...messes.

With a grunt the groggy male woke. Extending his four legs and stretching his wings outwards he let out a long yawn. He cranes his spine covered head up and greets his tiny guest with a , "Good mornin'." They squeaked and screeched in response as they flew by his face. Another night of hunting for the little blighters. Dragging himself out of his nest he looks across the cave at the pedestal holding his father's skull. He stumbles over to the simple structure made from rotting logs and mud, "Morning, Father." Nurghoul leans in and nuzzles the sun bleached skull with his snout. "Sleep well?", he asks pulling his head back. A few moments of silence pass as his father speaks to him. The voice in his head is interrupted as one of the rotten logs holding his father up splits down the middle. This causes the pedestal to tilt suddenly but before any damage can be done Nurghoul snatches the skull and holds it to his chest. "I got ya, I got ya," he murmurs to the piece of bone before gently setting on the ground. With a low rumbling growl he inspects the shoddy structure. "I'll get you some new logs after I grab some grub," he says as his claws poke at the moss cover trees.

Turning his large frame around he heads for the entrance. As he emerges from the cave he takes in a deep breath of the muggy swamp air and exhales slowly. A few steps out of the opening he turns his head back and waves his front claws towards his home. Whispering a simple incantation his father taught him a thin wall of mud seals the entrance. And with he sets off to find a meal.