A volley of sling bullets, arrows and thrown daggers are hurtled down the narrow stairway as Vandal braces himself for the next attack of the giant frogs. The frogs rock back and forth, split their maws and shoot their long prehensile tongues at Vandal again who has dropped his sword and grabs one of the pink protuberances with his giant hands and seizes it in a vise-like grip; the frog thrashes about in the water letting out high pitched squeaks and croaks, utterly helpless and unable to reel its tongue back in. Grima and Ganelon strike the other frog with missile weapons and; it writhes in pain and dives into the murky black water and disappears, leaving a cone-shaped wake behind it. The hulking mountainman, then yanks the beast out of the water and up the stairwell as he walks backward. Once at the top his companions quickly cut the thing down.
In the aftermath of the fight, Maddie and Vandal can't help but wonder if the thing might be worth something cut up and hauled back to town, either for its massive frog-legs for meat, or some of the glands under its tongue. Either way, neither shows much skill filleting and flensing the meat from the creature's bones and thick, copious gobs of a tar like ichor flow out of it in a rush and cover the two in gore. The stench is putrid beyond belief - easily as pungent as a skunk's musk, but like rotted meat. Horrified, Madeline walks down into the water with a bar of soap, lent to her by Daphne. She spends minutes scrubbing the lye soap on her arms and face and though she makes a little progress, the dead frog's mate returns to the stairs to finish what it started. The thing latches its long tongue on to the young woman and would have hauled her into its gaping maw if not for the forethought of tying a rope around her waist and having Vandal hold on to the other end. The barabaric warrior, plays the most bizarred game of tug-of-war anyone is ever likely to see, with poor Maddie nearly crushed by the rope and tongue pulling her in two different directions. Grima, the acrobat, sensing a moment to shine rushes forward with his sword held high, mere moments after another of the company smacks the beast with a sling stone. He skewers the creature and it expires, in a bloom of black ichor in the nearly black, peaty waters of the flooded barrow.
Feeling fortunate that no one is injured the troupe wring themselves out and decide what to do next.