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Taking the sudden shake of the cart very well, the sickly Klaus sat dead still as a Ksavir launched through the air. Like some poorly written romance schlock, his hand had nested itself in a highly unprofessional place. Accidents happen. The sea dog knew that much. Though, if Eldrid had chosen to exact some form of retribution, he wouldn't really interfere. Such was sea law to let such small trifles (hey, it wasn't mutiny) be sort out by those involved.

After they resituated themselves, a new noise made itself apparent. Something [i]below[/i]. Oh lord, it wasn't a giant worm, right? Worms were pretty gross. Not that Klaus couldn't stomach them, metaphorically or literally. Their ribbed bodies and weird movement were kind of creepy. He could't warn anyone else before a sudden feeling of weightlessness came over him. The carriage that protected them from the bog had began to spin, something theorized by most as "very bad".

For the first few flips, Klaus stuck inside the carriage, his rear practically glued to the seat. Around the fourth flip, his body was launched out of the carriage in the same position he had spent the entire trip in.

Dogs were not to meant to fly.

Klaus could swim and stay stable on any surface, but flying was out of his wheelhouse. Quickly turning to the advanced art of flailing, the wild dog spent his air time trying to land on his feet. Mud would soften the blow, but it was pretty much fetid shit. Probably had venereal disease in the muck too. But, by some miracle, he landed with enough grace to not get a face full of the toxic goo. His sleeve and pants took the brunt of the caustic mud. Thankfully, what did managed to splash onto his bare body had been rendered mostly null by the layers of fur that he possessed.

But now was not the time to ascertain the damage.

The MASSIVE wo—er, the reasonably sized (from his point of view) beast that caused all of the shit to unfold charged at Malon. It would require quick wit in order to get out of the bog unscathed.

Or plain brute force.

[color=9A9FAC]"I got'em! Tuck'n roll, Melon!"[/color] He bellowed at the marshrunner.

Without much hesitation, Klaus drew his cutlass in one hand and pointed at Malon with the other. In an instant, the tip of a ghostly brigantine formed around Malon. The ship—its cannons suspiciously missing—erupted from the pressure the mud exerted on it and [i]launched the entire ship directly at the beast[/i]. Thank goodness this was a swamp that smelled like liquid ass, Klaus thought for the first and last time in his life. Had it been regular dirt, his boat would have simply been stuck in the ground.

Instead, multiple tons of boat had been turned into a projectile headed directly at the beast. Not the fastest attack, but a big ass boat on a collision course with one's skull was something that couldn't be ignored.