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Prologue V: In Which We Discuss Breasts

Two berries go straight in your mouth, their juicy yet disgustingly sweet taste enough to give you pause: you're tired, not quite recovered from lightning coursing through your veins, and cut up in a few places from being in the brunt of the combat. A good nap would be perfect for your recent brush with death, but the area around the encampment doesn't feel right. So naturally, you go through the bodies and supplies again, picking out a mace and a battle-axe to replace your sword and the morningstar you threw out before filling your supply back with lots of dried meats and a human-sized suit of scaled armour. Though you grab enough to last you a while (especially when supplemented with slain enemies), you don't come close to emptying the supplies.

Aramil takes some food for himself, as well as the longbow. He also pays more attention to the spoils of your daring raid, helping himself to a woodcutting axe, a crowbar, pots and pans, a knife, a purse full of silver, and a hairbrush and mirror for some reason. You also tell him to grab a tent before you stagger off in search of a better place to sleep. You don't wait for him to follow, but you do look back to see him chopping at that ridiculously thick-skinned human's limbs.

The summer night draws on, with you wasting very little time finding a secluded place between two hills to lie down. Even at this hour the strong winds and savannah heat make an unpleasant mixture, but you are eventually joined by the elf and lupin, each with a tent, and the elf with grilled human in a large bowl. Taaru has his nose covered and looks like he might hurl, but once the bowl is passed to you he joins the elf in setting up camp for the night.

And despite your problems with stiff meats, the bowl of ribs and drumsticks is surprisingly tender. You scratch your head at this, remembering that the mace-wielder was able to shrug off a spear stab as well as your sword-swing without any form of armour. Upon voicing your confusion, Aramil explains that he was a sorcerer, and sorcerers have ways of making their bodies resilient to physical harm in the place of armour. It must have taken some time to cut through the his body.

But Simon was delicious.

While your two accomplices busied themselves with food that was not the delicious Simon, you lazed about in the open with a dozen or so thoughts rushing through your head: how to face the tribe after the embarrassment of being the only survivor in your group, why the elf didn't try to flee or at least warn the other mercenaries, the joys of seeing new sights, why the mysterious lupin is being so helpful... these are only a fraction of the things on your mind, but easily the most prominent. So you turn your attention to the wolf, resuming your observations from before your earlier assault.

Taaru sits upwind of you, still dressed in his battle clothes, though he's put the weapons away except for the sickle he keeps at his hip. The hides covering him are difficult to distinguish from his own furs in the night, and all you can see of his face is the lower half of his snout and cheeks, the top half covered by the skull of a large buck, complete with antlers. It's a strange helmet that casts a peculiar shadow: visibly unsettling toward the humans you fought, but to you it only looked like ceremonial ritual clothing, befitting of a shaman or a druid. You briefly wonder how he learned so much about this Watchmen Council's habits while dressed in such a manner, before he speaks up.

"You've done this before," he observes, "Guess I should have expected that, but.. It's new for me." This would explain the unattentive posture from earlier, though you don't care at this point: lupin knows how to fight, and he didn't shy away from outright killing the mercenaries earlier. He's probably just more accustomed to dealing with wildlife than people.

"Obviously, if you're with a gnoll," Aramil chides, "Don't you ever hear the stories about slavery, cannibalism and people-butchering?"

Taaru's ears flatten a bit. "Every time a see a human, they think I'm planning that. They never say that about elves, though. Caught me off guard." Cue a chuckle from Aramil.

"You're not bad for a lupin," you tell him, "Never thought I'd see the day one of your kind tried to prevent my death. Usually they do the opposite. Not smart of them."

He tilts his head to the side, then glances elsewhere. "Probably not my best decision to raise you back up either, but that hasn't bitten me like a bad mushroom yet. Had I gone with my instincts and confronted the Watchmen alone, I would be dead."

"That you would, stranger," Aramil pipes in again, "But hey, you've proven you can fight and you've got some people who share your enemy. Not sure what you're expecting for tomorrow night, but for now we've got more mead than we can hope to put away. It's not royal wine, but after today I'm sure it'll feel like it!"

And so the three of you talk, introducing yourselves in a more formal manner, trading jokes and drinks, and generally working out of the gloom and aggression that built up over the course of the night. Aramil seems a lot more open and relaxed than his usual self, likely from only having one other gnoll around him and no humans, and even the lupin loosens up enough to smile a few times.

But, eventually Taaru turns in for the night, leaving you alone with Aramil, and without anything better to do you turn your attention toward him. When things quiet down enough to hear the crickets chirping, you speak. "You should have been born a gnoll," you tell him after a long yawn. His frown tells you he would disagree, but he doesn't look insulted.

"I would miss taking baths," he responds in his usual distanced manner, glancing away for a moment before looking at you again, puzzled. "Why?"

"Fewer strange looks," you start, "wouldn't have to tell others not to eat you, fewer fights about that, wouldn't need to sleep so close together.." His laughter at this last one catches your attention.

"You like having me around!" The exclamation is enough to throw you off, and you don't bother hiding your frown from the elf any more than he bothers hiding his amusement, though once the laughter dies down, you shrug and turn away to hear him speak again. "But, I suppose it's not the worst life," he says more quietly, "traveling and scavenging supplies. Even if the ones who don't think me a meal would call me a traitor, it's nicer than staying indoors all year. I would tire of all the infighting, though. Too many stupid fights, and reason usually eludes them."

"Your people are no different," you tell him after a moment, "Someone thinks what's theirs is theirs, and then someone stronger takes it from them. If someone thinks they're better than you, you prove them wrong, and they don't walk over you anymore." Then you pause, recalling the recent bloodbath, "Humans think this way, elves think this way. Orcs, lizards and goblins are the same, and they don't try to deny it."

"My people and the round-ears don't lead by strength," he retorts, "but other than that.. it is pretty similar." At this point, you can't help smiling, even if it is just a little.

"That is why they hide. Still..." You close your eyes, choosing your next words a little more carefully, "...glad you didn't make me put you on tonight's platter. You're a good fighter, Elf." And with that, you crawl into your tent and are alone with your thoughts once more, and while most of them are the same thoughts from before, a new one joins the bunch and pesters you in the night: 1) What the hell is a bath? Do we care?

Eventually you settle in for a nice, long nap while the elf and lupin trade watch shifts. Sometime in the night Aramil joins you in your tent, his armour folded off to the side as neatly as one can manage with a suit of leathers, though you only notice his presence upon awakening. Then you walk outside to take a leak, finish off the Simon-bits that were cooked for you, and sleep again.

~

By late afternoon you feel much better: your cuts had healed, and your bruises don't even ache when you touch them, the wind wasn't as bothersome as it had been the night before, and Aramil had even prepared dusk-brunch in the form of three grilled hare and chopped mushrooms that Taaru had deemed edible.

And so you eat together. All in all, it was a pretty nice day, though you always think that when you get to sleep in. Not having to crack someone's skull open for poking their nose into your pack was just a bonus.

"Your wife's cooking is delicious, Grephr." Taaru breaks the ice, and both you and Aramil immediately stop eating, make eye contact, and stare at the lupin afterward in awkward silence.

"I'm a male," the elf eventually states before returning to his hare.

"Really?" comes the next inquiry. You still look bewildered at Taaru explains himself "I thought the long-haired ones were all female."

And then the little gears in your gnoll-brain start turning, so you help the guy out. "No, the females are the ones who have those lumps on their chest, even when they don't have little pups nursing on them."

"They always have them?" Suddenly Taaru looks perplexed, though he mumbles something to the effect of that explaining a bit, before he speaks up again. "But they only have two of them! How do they keep all of their pups fed without the other four?"

"I know, it's weird!"

~

Eventually the three of you finish dusk-brunch, with Aramil struggling to not cough something up from laughter at the subject matter. You feel better about your group after last night, not sure whether you hit the mead too hard or something else coaxed you into opening up to the druid a little more than you intended, but while you keep your eyes on him from time to time, you find yourself keeping watch on him a little bit less, and paying more attention to your surroundings. Eventually Taaru returns the favour.

After breaking camp, a few hours pass before a shout reaches your ears.

"Sir, I've found them!" It was the voice of a human, female, faced in another direction. She carried a longbow, though you did not see her very well in the darkness, as Aramil's torch only coloured a few meters around you. Unfortunately, this meant she saw you very well, and before you could instruct your accomplices to strike her down, a small group of warriors appeared from the sparse woodwork to give chase. Or, they would, but you don't enjoy fleeing when you don't know exactly what you're up against, so you let the group approach. Two move to encircle your party to discourage flight, though your attention falls to the bulk of the group, headed by a human in shimmering chainmail.

"You!" he shouts, "You killed my men, did you not? Speak, gnoll!"

"I do believe he wishes to have words," Aramil muses aloud. You almost fail to hide your grin.

"Nah, not me," you respond with veiled amusement, "Don't know you, don't know your men, have plenty of food. I wouldn't do that." You can almost feel the knightly one's rage pressing against you, though you ignore it for now. A glance toward Taaru has him signal that there aren't very many human-scents in the area, which gives you an idea. "Probably those tribals. They've been running around lately."

"You look like tribals," the armoured one responds, drawing his blade, "What makes you different from any of other monster out there?! Gnolls are running rampant, and now I've got two and an elf standing in front of me! Bunch'a lawless savages, you lot!"

"I'm not a gnoll," Taaru's tone turns cold when he replies, though the knight only smacks his blade against his shield to shut him up.

"Fine! A gnoll and an elven gnoll. You're still abominations!" Whatever that word means.

"Oh, hello," you cut in once you realize this isn't going anywhere, "My name is Grephr, and I'm not judging you for your looks or your tradition of killing anyone who looks different." The knight's eye twitches, but at least he stops shouting. Good. You continue, "Was just saying, we saw some tribals earlier carrying lots of things. Probably the ones you're looking for. Carrion-scraps, them."

"Huh. So you're willing to give their location up to save your skin. They always said you lot were cowardly when alone." Your eyes narrow.

"There is difference in not starting a fight with everyone you meet, and running away," you tell him like your mother told you many years ago, "But by all means, if you want to take your chances with us and be battered by the time you find the main group, we can play a little."

Your grin after that last line is enough to give the knight pause. "But if we spare you, and you lead us to this group.."

"We won't join up with them for the fight, nor warn them," you cut him off.

And that's how you ended up walking with the remnants of those mercenaries you slew the night before. You learn that the leader is named Marcus, and that he works for that Cuthbert fellow you've heard so little about. He has half a dozen people accompanying him, counting the two archers trying to keep their distance, but most of them look nervous, if their position behind the knight is being interpreted correctly.

So you walk, and walk, and walk, and soon you find the little patches of dirt you turned into a mead-trap the night before. You don't know how well the canvas held up in the meantime, or how much of it was still in the ground, but soil was still soft to your feet. So you take Aramil's torch and throw it on the ground.

Everyone watches the fire spread, while Taaru walks a bit further, and though the flame covers the entire circle, it is far from the mighty inferno you imagined when you made the trap. The knight and three warriors charge toward you as you draw your axe, ignoring your fire-trap beyond the small hop it would take to clear it, though only the knight makes it across. The others trip as the fire spreads across a much broader area than what you covered in mead, and just outside the fires you see what's spreading it: vines growing out of the dirt.

Terrified screams fill the air while Taaru charges toward one of the archers, leaving you to a very angered warrior with blade and a heavy round shield in hand. He locks onto you, swinging with all his might, only to have his sword hooked between the handle and head of your battleaxe. You pull his blade upward in an attempt to wrest it from his grip, or at least create an opening, but your swing from that position is awkward at best, and collides with his shield. Aramil manages to cut through a section of his scales from the opposite side, but it's not enough to make him lose his edge.

"Dishonorable curs," the human shouts, "To think I believed the tale.." When he takes a few steps to the side, you notice his eyes taking on new focus. The sword in his hand bears a faint glow as he continues speaking, "But you monsters give truth to the name, and thus have no place in this world! Get thee hence!" This swing gets through your defenses and you feel a deep cut in your ribs, though despite the glowing it hurts no more than a normal cut.

When his shield deflects Aramil's next strike, your axe finds the knight's helm a suitable target, while the flailing fighters on the ground writhe amongst the flames, their screams turning into pained cries for help. You put a nice dent in the helm, staggering your adversary while Aramil takes advantage of the pincer formation to dig at the knight's legs.

When he lies on the ground, you stand over him while your accomplices deal with the group's remainders. Some of them manage to flee a short distance before succumbing to the flames, but you're more interested in the spirited warrior who singled you out. "How," he mutters out in a daze, "How did you.. That attack should have carved into your very spirit... You, whom the gods.. Revile."

You shake your head. "Should have either focused on attacking the body, using your head, or not being such a pest." He actually mutters that last word back at you, arms quivering as he attempts one last swing for your legs, but your axe splits his skull open too quickly for him. You then eat your last berry and help yourself to the shield Marcus carried before returning to the hunt.

~

A full moon lights up the sky as midnight draws nearer, and at your instruction Aramil doesn't light up another torch: you don't want the two of you to be spotted again, especially by the group you're hunting. Instead, the elf stays by your side while you search, using the sound of your footsteps as a guide. It isn't difficult for him to follow in the general direction, though you have to be careful not to let him get too far away. When he tells you he hears chanting you tell him to point you toward it. While unlikely that this would be the correct group...

"Bonum, commune, communitatis."

Actually, scratch that. There is no way more than one group of suspicious people who meets at night while chanting that specific phrase exists.

"Bonum, commune, communitatis."

You signal for Taaru to go do whatever it is he's going to do, before grabbing Aramil and telling him to be quiet. Rather than draw your axe, you opt for the mace you picked up earlier, while Aramil keeps his sword readied. The two of you take a long route encircling the gathering, just in case somebody gets the brilliant idea to light one of their own torches up: you don't care if the lupin's confrontation is interrupted, but you still want to remain unseen when that red-clothed wizard starts firing spells off.

You soon find yourself positioned behind some bushes and a tree, with the elf taking a similar position from a different angle, within hearing distance of the robed figures. Their chanting has since died down into describing the activities of the families around the village, local gossip, and some hunt turning up no leads whatsoever.

"You!" The shout silences everyone present. You can see Taaru approaching the group, spear in hand. "I've been looking for you, Elder Frederich."

The robed one amidst the black-cloaked chanters chuckles. "We could say the same to you, Taaru of the Glades. Funny that you should vanish the day Sandford was attacked." The entire group gets a chuckle out of that before he continues. "There's talk that you organized the entire thing." You hear a growl, though it's faint due to the distance between its source and yourself.

"You know I didn't. I was happy enough at the farm, and would never have done anything to disrupt that life."

"My daughter's blood lies on your hands, Taaru. The least you could do is acknowledge that fact, yet you blissfully ignore it like the monster you are." You struggle not to yawn, but alert yourself upon seeing a dagger drawn.

"I didn't kill her! But I did see somebody fleeing her vicinity: somebody dressed in a fashionable black cloak. And seeing as there is only one group of people in Sandford conspicuous enough to wear such a thing in this heat, I want to know why one of your number would kill her. She has no children, and nobody else to inherit her land when she passed. Was her vineyard worth her blood, or were your eyes on something else of hers? Did she possess some precious family heirloom? Talk, damn you!"

"Taaru, Taaru... Such vulgar language." The wizard slowly stands, glaring at the lupin. "We of the Night Watch Council would never stoop to such petty, materialistic motivations. Our concern is for the Best Interests of the Best Village, and we are not obliged to tell you what those Best Interests are." He steps forth a few paces, prompting the remainder of the Council to stand.

"Well, since I'm not likely to be talking to anyone come daybreak, why not humour me anyway?" Taaru doesn't appear too phased, even as a pair of watchmen light up their torches. He does step back a few paces, however. "Why kill Rebecca?"

"As I said, our actions are in the best interests of Sandford. We didn't become the greatest village overnight." You stand once the torches fail to illuminate the area around you. "Everyone has to make sacrifices, no matter how painful, all in the name of the greater good."

"The Greater Good," the council echoes in eerie unison.

"How could her death possibly have served a greater good?!" Taaru's exasperated shouts cause Aramil's ears to twitch.

"The Greater Good," they echo once more.

"It's simple," Frederich continues, "We have to keep the filth out. Every accursed sorcerer that appears is a bad omen waiting to call forth a plague."

"Accursed!"

"Each unfamiliar, unnatural faith introduced by outsiders influences good people into blasphemous heresies."

"Blasphemous!"

"Let it all add up, and we eventually find ourselves knee deep in dog muck, children destroying decades of tradition, faiths dividing our people into fighting over petty differences, and crusty jugglers."

"Crusty jugglers. Crusty jugglers. Crusty jugglers. Crusty jugglers."

"Fine!" Taaru shouts once more, "But how does that explain Rebecca's death? She was your daughter!"

Having had enough, you start closing the distance between yourself and the group, noting that most of their weapons have been drawn at this point. Their backs are turned, so they don't even see you coming even when you step inside of the light radius. Frederich, meanwhile, continues his speech. "It is unfortunate, but... All of the above. Though the common folk may accept your presence, we can only tolerate it until it interferes with the greater good."

"The Greater Good."

"Stop saying that!" Taaru's voice echoes your thoughts.

"We cannot abide pagan, godless faiths spreading in our territory, but more importantly, it would be terrible if we had little half-gnoll, half-human children running around: what do you think our neighbors upriver would say? So I forbid Rebecca, may she rest in peace, from accepting your proposal, and when she refused to obey my wishes, she had to go." The growls deepen, to the point that you believe they originate from more than one source. "And to prevent this nonsense from happening again, you-"

Three howls cut the wizard off, and before Taaru can even engage him, you bash the wizard in the side of his skull after charging from the side. When Aramil stabs from Frederich's flank, the wizard is completely unprepared for Taaru's speartip colliding with his chest. When the two wolves join the fray from the opposing side, you turn your attention toward the five or so cloaked warriors you circled around.

While they try to swarm you, your shield deflects most of their strikes save for the one with the dagger, so you adjust your tactics for a more defensive stance and focus on blocking and dodging strikes while Aramil, Taaru, and those wild animals he appears to have at his beck and call do the work for you. The lupin spits out a few insults with each thrust, yet his tone had returned to its usual neutral, serious pitch that's almost as peculiar as the Councilmen and their chanting. Eventually they all fall, and Taaru makes a point to stab each one while they're down, ensuring their demise, if overdoing it a little.

Meanwhile, you find a book on the wizardly one, and almost nothing else of interest. The book itself contains foreign pictures, diagrams, and what appears to be text written in a language you lack the ability to decipher.

And eventually, you notice that Taaru has calmed down completely.

2) What do we think of Taaru? As we are returning to the tribe with our raid-spoils to bask in the victory, now is a good time to part ways. Is there anything we should discuss with or tell him before doing so? Alternatively, we could add his body to the pile. Gnolls like that sort of thing done with their hated enemies.

3) What would you like done with the book?

4) Any ideas for what to do when back amongst the tribe? Grephr can visit his sisters, his mother, his father(s), the dreadpriests, the slave pen, the hunter, and the common gnolls. (Choose three) Aramil will be accompanying, regardless of locations chosen. You can also provide suggestions of your own.