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Prologue II: Grephr Cleaves Some Skulls

You are Grephr Skullcleaver, favored son of Clan Chief Thrrae Skullcleaver, and also her only remaining son. You've heard stories of how she held her place as the chieftain through each of her pregnancies, slew giants, and cleared forts full of mercenaries with only a handful of warriors at her side. Though you believe these stories concerning her to be greatly exaggerated, you've seen her settle disputes both inside and outside of the tribe, and these disputes usually end in a bloody mess for anyone foolish enough to earn Thrrae's ire.

The "bad" internal fights stopped before your memory begins. Your elder sister Liaka earned her place in the pack heiarchy when Thrrae began uniting smaller tribes under her command, though her twin was not so fortunate. When the tribe grew, you lost many of your younger siblings to envious tribe members who had yet to warm up to Thrrae's rule. Some never did, and they would resort to what the more civilized races would call "dirty tactics."

At fourteen years old, you and your younger sister Shyrla confronted the daughter of a smaller tribe's former chief, smelling the blood of your elder brother and another younger sister. Between Shyrla's halberd and your battleaxe, this pretender to the tribe's head lost half her immediate family as well as her head, but before you and your siblings could make a proper feast of these conspirators the remainder of that sect had pushed you into a retreat.

They demanded the remainder of Thrrae's offspring as a sacrifice, calling her inept, undeserving of their loyalty. And Thrrae, being Thrrae, followed along with their demands.

"You can have my son," she told them, "in front of the tribe, in the dueling grounds. He will carry neither axe nor spear, but neither pack nor hides shall protect you. You fight in the circle, and dine in the circle. If he falls, you face my eldest. If you fall, another may try, but anything carried into the circle stays there."

It was a horrifying proposition: next to either of your sisters, you are the runt of the litter. You tower over humans, elves, and lesser warriors, but your lean build marks you as easy prey when gazed upon by another gnoll, especially the amazonian females. What few realize is that your relatively small body consists entirely of muscle under your dirty, spotted fur coat, and though you are known for both your dominant tendencies when wrestling with older packmates and your frequent sparring sessions with the chief, you had never taken a life before the day you and Shyrla sought vengeance, and you had never fought with anyone but the chief beforehand: thus, you have never known victory in battle.

The next day you found yourself in the circle, face to face with one of your siblings' killers: Dagnyr Fire-eye, son of the dread priest Grerr Fire-eye. He stood before you in naught but a pelt covering his pelvic, yourself clad similarly but lacking an axe. He wasted no time charging at you, swinging with every ounce of strength in his body, but with a mix of quick thinking and reflexes, you ducked out of his way with a harsh kick to Dagnyr's shin, sweeping your powerful leg underneath him and using his own momentum and to knock him onto the ground. His axe nicked your rear when you went straight for his throat for a quick finish, but when your teeth met the dread-apprentice's wooden shield, your hands met his and the fight devolved into a wrestling session. For minutes the two of you rolled about the circle, struggling to render one another weakened from repeated kicks, punches, bites, and clawings, but it was only when you wrested Dagnyr's shield and axe from his tight grip that you were able to end his life with a single cleave through his throat.

Dagnyr fell, and it was glorious.

Then his sister fell, as did his brothers.

Then their father stepped into the circle, with two animated skeletons at his side. The dread priest bore an expression of fury in his one good eye, howling out a magickal spell as he commanded his two minions to charge straight at you. One managed to get a good cut into your arm, but by the time the priest had managed to strengthen his resolve with a call for divine aid, your sisters Shyrla and Liaka were at your side, morningstar and halberd in hand, covering for you the moment Grerr began reanimating the corpses of his own pups. He wore scaled armor: heavy enough that he could shrug off a few swings of yours while working a few curses into his own axe, and when it bit your shoulder you could feel a source of gloom working its way into your psyche. Still, when his axe met your shoulder, yours cracked his cranium, and he fell over while his skeletons and sons turned to dust from the magickal backlash.

Thrrae stood, cackling at the audience, "You, who think me unworthy, enjoy what children you've taken. Take another, and you will be lucky to face them in the circle. Hope that I do not find you and yours first. Know that any means of protection will only delay the inevitable, and even without a blade of his own, the lowest of my blood is not to be trifled with. Know that dishonoring my blood, my pack, will only win you the treatment you give your thralls."

And then you realized her intention: this dueling session was just as much a threat to the dissenting sects of the clan as it was a lesson for you. In order to survive in this clan, you would need everything at your disposal in order to compete with the others, and though your physical capabilities are only slightly above average (with the exception of your immense strength), you have keen senses and tend to think things through before committing to an action. You're no less active than the rest of your tribe, but your mind tends to wander when you lie around.

Perhaps that is why you show favor to the guardian of roads when you worship alone. The majority of your people venerate the Dread Prince, but your own family seems content enough to spread terror without getting a deity involved. Thrrae never pushed Yeenoghu's will upon you, and though others in the tribe would, you found the tales one of the elven thralls would spin more interesting: Fharlanghn, the guardian of roads, who would aid travelers deserving of his favor, those who wandered the roads in search of knowledge. Lots of the stories would involve a human and an elf, or a young elf and an older elf, with either the young elf or the human being outsmarted as a theme. These stories lacked great feats of strength and common gnoll wisdom, but after a few visits you would share some of your own stories with this elf, and though they broke the format of the elder being the wiser of the pair, this elf did admit after a few weeks that he enjoyed the conversations: most gnolls lack the wit to understand the teachings of Fharlanghn, as well as the refinement necessary to appreciate them. Clearly, he doesn't appreciate his station in life as the servant of superior gnoll warriors, and has the gall to insult them while in shackles, but settled elves treat everyone that way, and this one appears to respect you.

It's easy to see why the elf would openly insult the tribe, however: slaves kept by gnolls are often malnourished, abused, and eaten the moment they stop being useful. Perhaps this one simply desires to delay the inevitable. You would oblige him without hesitation, but he does have a point: few gnolls appreciate anything beyond the simple pleasures, and the "art" of debate is lost on people who dictate superiority through battle prowess. You only differ because you spent more time daydreaming and studying random things that caught your interest than you did with your weapons training, mating rituals, or feast brawls.

1. What should be done about the elf?

Eat him

Torture him for his insolence

Keep him for yourself (Should he primarily be a servant / bodyguard, a source of comfort, or something to take your stress out on?) (If he's not an object for your sadistic tendencies, will you treat him like you would any other slave, would you give him better treatment but still treat him as a subservient party, or would you give him a chance at friendship?)

Ignore the insult, keep visiting to pass the time

Ignore the elf, depriving him of social company

Something else (Specify.)

2. Would you like to ask him anything? If so, what?

Note: Gnolls don't really ask questions when among their own people, as such a thing is considered an act of weakness, but this elf has been around for long enough to understand gnoll social customs, and won't take information grilling personally. In this update, "questions" will be rephrased to the imperative, but in future updates, you'll need to specify whether you're asking a question or telling someone to give you information.

In the coming months, Chief Thrrae decided it was time to pack up and move the encampment, and with an empty stomach troubling many of those around you, you found it difficult to disagree. The moment she gave this command, she had half the warriors guard the tribe and the slaves, while the other half ventured out into the neighboring lands to see what everyone was willing to part with, and then to find what they weren't willing to part with. As people of all races tend to be stingy about what they presume to be theirs, this was expected to be a bloody move. Thrrae herself would be with her husbands, terrorizing the dwarves and goblinkind. Shyrla and Liaka took to the forests with their own warriors to focus on the elves, and you were amidst a group of warriors yourself, not the most dominant presence, but respected enough to be above some of the women after your many rounds in the circle.

You would be raiding human settlements.

The first three were simple enough: a few outlying hamlets with their own chapels to sack, with naught but a few holy warriors to supplement the towns' defenses that otherwise consisted of little more than woodcutters and militia men. Even at the flank of the vanguard unit, you were able to cut down more than your share of warriors, and thus these humans were robbed of leather goods, metals, and livestock, though half of the cattle and sheep you plundered fled through your group's perimeter due to poor organization. The horses were easier to handle, as they had bits and bridles attached to their heads, though without any feed they were doomed to become little more than meals for the tribe, but not until the tribe ran out of humans to sacrifice. Horses could survive on grass, after all.

When it was time for your fourth supply run, you had your sights set on a larger target: the village of Sandford, which has been a great source of thralls in recent months due to travelers "mysteriously disappearing," but other than that the tribes have been leaving this village alone. The palisades along the perimeter make raids tricky enough without the organized guards on patrol, but it's nothing too far out of the ordinary. As your group was joined by more warriors, you took the time to study their patrols before the assault, and gave the other small bands their own plans.

You yourself scaled the walls, sneaking in to take the eastern gatekeepers unaware, while two more groups did the same for the western and southern gates. The idea was to split apart into different groups so the townsfolk and guards would be spread thin in the chaos, making them easy to pick off due to everyone's superior strength. As you forced the wooden gates open to allow your companions inside, you caught sight of the gate crew's reinforcements charging straight at you, only to be met by your squad the moment the gate had widened enough to squeeze through. With axe in hand, you rejoined your group on their flank.

3. What are you looting? (choose four)

Silver

Tools

Preserved Meats

Wood

Weapons

Leathers

Livestock

Textiles

Smokables

Mead

The raid went well. You don't know much about this St. Cuthbert fellow other than the fact that he is a complete jackass (as most who preach of "orderly conduct" tend to be), but his church had many riches as ripe for the taking as his priest's lives were. A few of them were clad in iron scales and chains, making it a touch more difficult to bring them down in one or two swings. There were more of them than you were prepared for, but you only lost three warriors to their last stand, and as you carried your loot off to the encampment outside of the village, you took a moment to start a few fires on the buildings nearest to the gate, to slow any pursuers that might think to follow and hopefully distract them as well.

But on the way back to the tribe from your encampment, you only caught a glimpse of your own ambushers before a bolt of lightning shot through you, and your vision faded into darkness with only the sight of a red robe fading into your subconsciousness.

You awakened several hours later, with the loot gone, and your companions' corpses scattered about the immediate vicinity. You ached, but you were able to pull yourself back to your feet. The dirt reeked of blood, liquor, death, and charred flesh, but before you could investigate properly, the presence of another caught your attention.

In the darkness stood a wolf, clad in heavy pelts of various animals, leaning against against a tree with his eyes closed, a spear at his back, and a farming sickle at his hip. His eyes shot open half-way on your approach, though his stance remain relaxed even as your hand found the grip of your axe. At this point you also noticed a sprig in his hand, green with its own leaves as well as a myriad of others. Though it is unusual to see one of these creatures in the garb of a druid, your eyes and nose cannot be fooled so easily in the dark: this was a lupin, a wolf who walks on two legs like a lycanthrope, but buried in the social norms of elves and dwarves. In truth they are neither gnoll nor werewolf, but being mistaken for either as frequently as they have over the years has given them a temper. They usually attack gnolls on sight, but their hatred for the lycanthrope runs much deeper.

You growl at him, "Tell me your business here."

He exhales a sharp breath through his nostrils, before standing more upright. The lupin looks like he's barely awake. "One foot in the grave, and he demands answers for all the unimportant things." You cannot tell whether he's talking to himself or to you, but just to illustrate the point that you are not to be mocked, you draw your axe and step closer.

"Last chance, lupin. Explain why you stand over my fallen brethren." His eyes light up, opening completely as he draws his spear into a defensive stance. Smart wolf.

"They were dead when I arrived," he begins, "and you were soon to join them." Your growls deepen at this skirting of the subject, and he immediately looks more intrigued, strafing to the side to get a better look at you. "But you didn't. You awakened, you stood, and you're piecing everything together. You travel, so you must know the humans are moving in greater numbers these days. Missionaries and war parties are everywhere, wildlife is scarce, and you stand in the midst of it all with your fallen comrades..." He trails off for a moment before continuing. "...demanding answers. You figure it out."

As he doesn't make any movements to attack or flee, you sniff around the corpses. There are human bodies mixed in with the gnolls, but nobody has anything useful on them. It takes a moment to register that the lupin's scent lingers on your chest, though the two of you never came into contact during your conversation. His scent doesn't linger on anyone else's body but his own, though the human corpses have many scents, and their trails point east.

And as much as you hate to admit it, you've lost. The plan was perfect, you saw the other groups pulling away, but something happened and your group lies strewn out in the open for the carrion to devour. The lupin isn't connected to this group, but he is the reason you stand right now. When you approach, your look of confusion is met with curiosity. "You dressed my wounds," you tell him, "and you hunt these people. It is only coincidence that you are here, but you cannot take them alone." You pause, thinking it through further. "You expect me to track them down and finish them off."

By this point the lupin has withdrawn his spear and resumed leaning against the nearest tree. "Not quite, but a good guess." Your eyes narrow as you approach once more. You're missing something here, but you can't be far off.

"A larger scale.. Something these people are doing doesn't sit well with you, but they are a symptom of the problem, not the cause." At this, the wolf looks taken aback.

"I have never heard of a gnoll thinking things that far through," he admits, "But I've never heard of humans doing that either. Are..." He looks nervous. "Are you a hallucination?" But you don't know what that word means, and you aren't going to ask. Part of you isn't quite certain that this lupin is real either: he hasn't attacked you, or howled, or spat any insults. You could probably take him right now, as delirious as you are from the near-death experience: he doesn't look like much of a warrior. He also smells kind of funny.

4. What are your plans for the night? You won't let yourself go home after a massacre like this one, especially not empty-handed. Those goods were yours!

Let the spoils of the raid go : you barely saw the people who ambushed you, and they nearly killed you outright. You've got another chance at life, and you aren't throwing it away.

Take the spoils back : From your observations around the battlefield, you can tell they've lost most of their fighters, and from the wounds it looks like the only competent killer among them was the wizard.

Something else (specify.)

5. What should you do about this new acquaintance of yours? He appears to be a druid, and probably knows a lot more than he lets on.

Kill the wolf : your people have been warring with his for centuries.

Befriend the wolf : He has no animosity toward you, and he can patch up wounds. (Is there anything specific you would like to know about him?)

Ignore his presence and continue on your journey.

Something else (specify)

6. Do you devour your fallen packmates to regain your strength?