“Isn’t **Melon **our pasta-faring priest? IE: The only one who can pretty much bring one of us back from the Great Beyond? That said. Alright, I’ll take your bet too then Frodo. But I can’t keep taking much more of these bets on just Melon. It’s just not sound business if our entire party but me bets on the Pasta-lover.”
“His Noodliness will allow me to remember who is betting against me when the time comes to heal the wounded.”
To the accompaniment of such cheery and heartening banter, the party trudges into the marshes. The ground around is wet and boggy with many clumps and tussocks of tall grasses and pools of stagnant midge-blown water. All around are the sounds of unseen swamp life - chirping and buzzing of insects, twittering of birds, and a harsh croaking that grows steadily louder.
“This isn’t good,” mutters Trotman. “Keep a sharp lookout.”
Melon wades through the knee-deep sludge, bracing and pulling himself against trees as he makes his way through the swamp at the back of the group.
“Trotman, do you recognize that sound?”
Mysterious noises trudging through the swamp… “It better not be ROUSes,” mutters Autolycus.
I chuckle nervously at Autolycus’s comment. I get out my holy symbol (it looks like a cloud) and go over some soothing prayers in my head. I also make sure that my mace is quickly available if needed.
I’ll ready my shield and make sure that my ad is loose and ready to use.
“Here we go Melon, time to meet that big pasta strainer in the sky.”
“ROUSes?, I do not believe they exist”
I’ll draw my sword and ready my shield.
"*The FSM is my strainer; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in red tomato sauce:
He leadeth me beside the noodles.
He restoreth my gravy:
He leadeth me in the path of deliciousness for deliciousness’ sake.
Yea, though I walk between the meatballs of the taste of awesomeness,
I will fear no evil; For thou art with me:
Thy noodle and thy meatball, they nourish me.
Thou preparest a meal for me in the presence of mine enemies:
Thou annointest my pasta with garlic seasoning: My spaghetti is yummy.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the Pot of my Lord forever.
Aaaaaaaah-men-ay.*"
.
The vexed question of the existence of rodents of unusual size is not getting any data at the moment, but what this marsh seems to have is frogs. Big ones. Great big ones. Probably the size of a small sheep, but with a waaaaay bigger mouth for its size. And plenty of them…
Trotman swears, and fits an arrow to his string. A hasty count shows up no less than six of the bleeders. There may be more, it’s hard to tell in this kind of terrain. The ones that you can see look… hungry. 
RIBBIT!
“Suffer not the amphibian to live!” Roars Melon, drawing his weapon.
Any large bushes around? Sure doesn’t seem like it. Damn.
I hang back away from the front-lines and sneak attack the first frog that is busy slurping somebody else.
Melon tries to stick to the center-back of the formation as the group inevitably fans out to form a fighting line. He attacks any of the frogs who come too near or who pick on the more squishy members of the group. As before, if a teammate starts to get swamped he’ll step in to relieve pressure.
I’ll wait for the opportunity to temporarily blind one of the amphibians of unusual size and then attack it with my staff
“Time to be a meat shield.” Sigh
I draw my ax and attack the closest frog to our spell casters. I’m going to mainly focus on keep them away from the spell casters and on defending myself.
If I can draw an arrow, loose it, and still have my shield out by the time the frogs reach the party, I’ll do so. Otherwise, I’ll prepare to defend the party wizards.
My mace is ready to squish some frogs. I don’t think I’ll last too long one on one, but if 2 frogs are targeting a member (and I’m not currently fighting one myself) I’ll attack one to draw it off of them.
I will save my 2 Cure Light Wounds for after battle unless (in order of priority) 1. I need it desperately 2. there is only 1 or 2 frogs left and someone else needs it desperately 3. it’s early and one of the fighters needs it desperately.
“These frogs have seen a little too much rain for my taste. I hope they like some more, because I’ll raining blows down on their face.”
“Prepare to croak, frog.” Melon flashes a grin to the camera.
How close are the frogs to each other (i.e. how many can I try to “Sleep”?)