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Prologue VI: Intermission

You lie in the grass, fatigued and bloody from the last two encounters, and perhaps a little bit thirsty and woozy from bloodloss. The sounds of Taaru skewering the fallen watchmen have a nice rhythm to them, slowing with each thrust until you see the spear snap in two, with the lupin accomplice of yours holding the handle while a large part of the end stuck out of the elder's chest. Your vision blurs when you try to sit up, a sharp pain in your side coaxing a yelp from you. The dagger-wielder must have cut you deeper than you thought.

"Taaru!" calls your elf, motioning toward you.

The lupin looks just as exhausted as you feel when you see him, but that expression leaves his face when Aramil pulls your hand from your side. "S..Sorry, I..." he stammers out, but quickly shuts up and sets his pack on the ground near you, picking out a few different objects, unraveling the last night's bandages, and examining the other cuts you've picked up tonight. You don't mind those as much, but when his hand nears the wounds from the knight and the dagger-wielder you growl at him.

"Hold still," Taaru speaks up, "This will sting, but if you don't let me work, you could die tonight from bleeding, or in a fortnight from an infection. I don't think these people clean their tools." You growl once more, reaching for your axe, but Aramil stops both you and Taaru from doing anything just yet.

"The wolf sees a weakened hunter, and would eat the competition," you mutter, "We have no more need of one another. You can leave now."

He watches in silence for a moment, then nods. "After we mend you," is all he says while reaching for his salves. For a moment you make eye contact, and as hazy as your vision is, you feel no malice in what little of his expression you can see under his bone helm, nor the touch of his hand. This is probably the first time you've ever looked past the lupin's helm and body language, not as a potential threat the moment you outlive your usefulness, but as a person. So you grit your teeth and nod, preparing yourself for what's to come.

It stings. Burns, even. It takes most of your strength to not start swinging, but you succeed in controlling yourself. Taaru sends Aramil off to grab one of the watchmen's robes and bring it back, and soon enough you've got a thick, black cloth bandage around your waist, as well as an elf applying pressure to it to staunch the bleeding in both spots. It takes a large amount of cloth, but you interpret the fact that you aren't getting hazier as some measure of success.

When midnight passes, Taaru returns to your side, unwrapping your bandages and muttering a number of syllables under his breath. You can scarcely hear the language leaving his maw, much less interpret it, but the moment he taps your wounds, they close up and some of your stability returns to you. "Take it easy," the lupin tells you, "a day's rest should have you feeling good as new. Probably won't even have any scars from tonight."

So you stand, looking between Aramil and Taaru while rubbing upon your once-marred hide. "You must be crazy," you inform the lupin, "taking the time to stand me up again. Your people would know better."

"And you're crazier to trust me," You both grin, even if his looks half-hearted. Though your hand finds its way to your battleaxe, you don't reach for the handle, preferring to trace a fingertip across the head. No sense in scaring him after tonight. "but the only people of mine are those I hunt and sleep with."

"Even those who see you as their enemy?" Aramil pipes in, looking perplexed.

"I'm no mind-reader," Taaru states with a yawn, turning his back to you as he continues, "and I would prefer not to make assumptions. Your origin shapes you, but it does not become you. I learned that.. from my wife." A pause. "Then again, perhaps I am naive. You are a warrior, and you came here for a reason."

He's right. He also has his back turned, and his spear is broken. You could easily kill him right now, and add his body to the piles of already-stiff carcasses without breaking much of a sweat, though you would need to go through the albino wolf at his side. Between yourself an Aramil, you should have no trouble at all with such a task. But, you ultimately decide that this lupin is okay. He watches your back, covers for you when you slip up (that fire trick was pretty amazing, even if it was supposed to be your doing), he cleans the sorts of cuts you would merely lick away with much greater proficiency, he lightens your workload when your elf cannot.. This one's more than just the best of a terrible situation. He's almost good, even if his people are uptight fleabags who wish they were elves or humans or whatever, and what good has ever come of those creatures?

Besides *that* elf.

That said, the decision still weighs on you.

"I did come here for a reason," you agree, "my tribe needs these supplies. Wouldn't sniff around here if I were you. You're a snack to them, and nothing more." He turns his head over his shoulder to look at you for a moment, then nods to acknowledge what you told him. So you say your farewell. "Don't get yourself killed out there, lup... Taaru." Then he keeps walking, and before long he and his pet wolf are gone, and you begin the long walk back to where your tribe is likely still packing up for the migration.

~

"I heard that," Aramil teases in your direction after some minutes pass.

"Bite it, elf," you grumble back in an annoyed tone.

"He's a snack and nothing more, to them, but not to you," the elf continues, "You even called him by his name~" You growl, and the elf develops a smirk. "Strangest gnoll I've ever seen, letting easy prey go like that. Those habits could get you killed someday, if you're going to be a raider."

You say nothing. The elf has a point, and you still have Taaru's scent on you, so you try to brush it off with your hand.

"It's nice of you, but that one is likely to die out here." You look at Aramil again, still frowning, "Most lupin stay away from humans because of the smells, and the humans shun them because they think 'lupin' is elven for 'gnoll.' You'll see his ilk with mine, but rarely with the round-ears or the hairy round-ears, and almost never around your folk. Can't believe he stuck around."

"Never thought you'd be this talkative away from the tribe," you fire back, "You'd think I'm one of your furless friends in the pen, the way you talk."

"Plenty of time for not talking when everyone's looking at me like I'm some snack you're hoarding away."

"The dark meat has better flavour~" When the elf shuts up, you laugh and pat him on the head a few times for still being such a good guard-elf... thing. Weird. When did you start showing him respect? Even if it's just the sort of respect one gives their pets, the thought lingers for longer than you like. "Ah, cheer up," you tell him while tossing the strange book you found in his direction, "I've got a riddle for you~"

"Oh, the wizard's book.. Thought that one was a sorcerer, too." He starts fingering through the pages, but the frown on his face is telling, "You'd think a wizard with this much to work with would know better than to let his lackeys charge before firing something off."

"If you can use it, keep it."

"Some of it.. It's been a while since my studies, but it should come back to me."

And then you had the quiet you desired.

~

When you reach the mercenary encampment, you smell new smells: familiar scents. So you come running into the encampment to find the remainder of your raiding party, specifically the gnolls who were attacking Sandford on the southern and western gates. From what you can see, the southern group must have taken heavy casualties before coming here, but the western group looks like it held up well in the aftermath of the raid. They watch you with bright, yellow, widened eyes in the few seconds it takes for them to regain their senses. Aramil shrinks behind you.

"Grephr!"

They rush to surround you, clawing and nipping and giving you noogies while cackling like the madbeasts they are, and you can't help joining in. Overall, they're happy you survived rather than upset about a significant number of them being dead, and when you get a peek at what the others collected in their portion of the raid, you can see why: they hit the granary on Sandford's opposite side, as well as the farms and lumber mill, which would not only give the tribe enough food last through the season, but mules enough to haul it all back without the necessity of retrieving the slaves.

Sure, your own party lies dead with the exception of your elf and yourself, and you would probably be questioned about it were it not for the shield you carried: many of the gnolls recognized it, and cheered when you showed them which body you took it from, as well as the other bodies who learned their lesson about almost-killing a Skullcleaver the hard way.

One of the women pulls you aside while the mules are loaded with supplies and carcasses. You recognize her from the western party, less for her physical characteristics and more for the vicious-looking shaft strapped to her back, with two enormous cleaving-blades that were way too thick for the elven steel used for their creation. The blood-coloured feathers dangling from her ears and the fang-necklace about her neck tell you she was one who kept wandering off in peacetime and bringing back pelts for trade and decoration:Fyrri Scarletfeather, the huntress, second daughter of Mirrin Scarletfeather.

"Good kills," she says with a grin, "the others mentioned a nasty spellcaster, but it looks like you got him and the crazy knight. And burned his friends alive, too. You are a terror!" She pats your back, "No wonder they don't take things from you like they do the other males. You're practically one of us." You grin.

She called you a woman. It's hard to not feel proud after that.

The remainder of the night passes without any interesting interruptions. The mules, cattle and what few horses that haven't taken to fleeing in terror are loaded with pack saddles, and you make the long walk back to the tribe, with everything but the mead that mysteriously vanished. Fyrri walks alongside you, watching Aramil as he stays close to your opposite side. Joking aside, you have some trouble discerning whether the elf is scared or just defensive whenever other gnolls draw near.

After some time and conversation, and a few weird looks after she sniffs about, Fyrri steers the conversation back toward the thing that impressed her earlier. "I would like to know your story, following the raid." So you tell her, changing a little bit here and there like deliberately having a plan in place for the elf to infiltrate the mercenary group, and the inferno that took the knight's followers being assisted by tripping snares rather than magickal vines. She laughs at that part, particularly the idea of making a complete fool out of the knight while he had you surrounded. The group of chanters, she takes less interest in but remains curious about why you would go after them as well: they had nothing worth taking.

"Their leader slew everyone with lightning."

"But you survived."

"...Barely."

"You survived, and then you go on to tell a crazy tale you've proven to be true, when any sane warrior would be happy to just be alive, except you and the elf don't look injured. Cut up a little, but not wounded. Tell me why."

1. "Errm...."

a) "A shaman patched me up. The wizard killed his wife, so I took him with me."

b) "I made this lupin-druid help me, then got rid of him when I was done."

c) "He missed me, and I hid to take him by surprise later."

d) Something else (specify)

e) Change the subject?

f) "The elf is a healer."

~

Your return to the tribal grounds is met with celebration and feasting, because your were not the only one to return with the corpses of your foes: Shyrla brought elves and wine with her, Liaka contributed an enormous naga to the feast, and your parents (all four of them) were seen with many drow, lizards, and treasures (and drinks!) of dwarven creation. Thrrae explains that she had a truce with others during her dwarven excursion, and was forced to "haggle" when the non-gnolls demanded a larger share. To do anything less would make her a bad chieftain.

It was no giant, but it got the laughter started.

And it was fun.

2) What all did we eat / drink, and how was it?

You spend the night where you always do: inside your tent with Aramil and your other belongings close by.

~

The next day is perfect, if a little warm. Half the tribe is hung over, so there are few loud noises about. You spend the day with your new acquaintance, lying about and watching her keep busy. Her morning consists of sharpening the blades of her... cleaving-staff-thing, testing a number of arrowheads and studying everyone that comes into view. It dawns on you that she's probably thinking up different ways to kill things, if her congratulatory remarks over all the humans you put down are any sort of hint. She also appears to have a trapmaking hobby: three bear traps are set near her pack, and one of her loose bags is on its side, with visible caltrops inside. She also has a longbow fashioned from a large set of minotaur horns, almost as tall as your are.

Around noon, Fyrri finally takes a break from her busy schedule to join you in not being busy. So you, Fyrri and Aramil walk around, listening to tales of her hunting trips and her run-in with two knights during the raid. Apparently they both carried a shield that looks just like yours and originally rode horses, up until those bear traps were found, but one of them slipped away while the rest of their men were fighting a losing battle.

You are eventually stopped by another female, clad in bones and scales and wielding an enormous double-headed axe. Keeping it short, she's a dread-priest and she looks pissed. "You! You dare to step into our sacred ground, smelling like that!" It occurs to you that it takes more than brushing your nails through your fur to get rid of lupin-scent. "Explain yourself! We don't need a gnoll in our tribe who lies down with the enemy, especially not one with such little regard for ancestral tradition and divine might! Yeenoghu decrees a pox upon you and yours, proven for your group suffering in the raids!"

"Spoken like a priest," Fyrri muses, "condemning a warrior while never fighting herself. Probably eats by taking from the little ones without parents to feed them."

"You're not a bright one," you tell the priest after cutting the growl in your throat short, "or perhaps you missed what happened to the last priest to tell me that. You should be inspired by Thrrae's work, not looking to provoke her."

"And then the insolent pup tells me what to do," she mutters back, reaching for her axe as two more gnolls approach in a triangle around you. "Know your place, pup!" Her shout alerts a number of people around you, though most of them care more about the noise bothering their hangover than any sort of trespassing annoyance.

3) She's giving you ideas... Also, Fyrri is watching.

a) Provoke her into attacking, fight in self-defense. (Lethal or non-lethal?)

b) Take her into the circle.

c) Apologize, avoid a fight, torch her tent later.

d) Strike first, break a few limbs, give them all something to be terrified of.

~

Sometime after that little fiasco, you are lying near your tent on the outskirts of the tribe, and Fyrri has gone back to her tent to finish preparations for whatever it is she's planning. You can't sleep, so you lie in the grass looking up at the stars, trading riddles, fiction, and light conversation with the elf. It's a stark contrast from the first few weeks you would do this together: gone is the initial hostility and abrasiveness between you, replaced by calming laughter, a sense of comfort, and other things like that.

"Erf!" This is interrupted by a surprised grunt from Aramil, and when you look over he has a big frown on his face. More noticeably, he also has a gnoll chewing on him, probably having recently learned how to walk. The elf shakes his arm about in an attempt to push the little gnoll off of him, while you cackle in delight at seeing him annoyed for once, even if he is bleeding a little.

"Told you dark meat was tasty," you tell Aramil while prying the pup off of him. He looks really thin, and says nothing before biting into your hide. Thankfully, you barely feel a scratch despite your species' characteristically sharp teeth.

4) Feed the pup some of your food, or scare him off?

~

Still restless, you wander off to spend time with your mother, give her your report on the raids, and find out what's going on with the migration. You don't bother hiding the fact that you're alive because some lupin decided to waste time bringing you back: Thrrae wouldn't care, and even if she would, she'd be happier about the extra haul you brought back. It had just recently finished being organized, along with the haul your sisters brought in. You may have had the smallest group and took the heaviest casualties, but your victory was just as impressive as your sisters' own, including the spoils.

"All this silver won't do us much good," Thrrae tells you, "but the food, tools and leathers were a good choice. You've the mind of an adventurer. Maybe not ready to be chief, but this is good for your age." A pause. "I started out that way, and took my mates from different tribes. Would recommend it: it's important to know you have powerful children when you lead your own tribe, but more important to keep them close."

Your sisters soon join you, and after a review on weapon training, Thrrae leaves the three of you bruised and exhausted in the cave after telling all of you to come at her with everything you've got, while she held a stick. It would have been embarrassing, but you all held out longer than any of you expected to, even when circling around her to get around her defenses proved useless and she still managed to trip Shyrla on her own halberd.

"Hah, it takes more and more out of me each time I do that," you hear your mother brag as she returns into your field of vision, carrying three things with her, which are placed upon the ground between herself and her husbands, and you and your sisters. So you sit up to get a better look.

"You have each proven yourselves strong, capable, and mature. The world is nasty out there, almost as harsh as it is here, but from this day forward you are free to live your life as you choose. I won't stop you if you leave; I only want to know your plans before you go. You are still my pups, and I care about you, but I cannot keep you safe forever, nor do I expect you to need my help."

When she stops speaking, there is silence. You've just been given a lot to think about, yet you remain curious of the three objects in front of you. One is a mail made from reptile-scales, a dark red colour. Something about it draws your hand forth to touch it, and you feel a comforting warmth. Or at least, as comforting as warmth can feel in the summertime.

"I've a gift for each of you," Thrrae continues, "to celebrate your coming of age. This is armour forged from the remains of a fire-wyrm, imbued with magick to keep it sturdy." She motions to her right, drawing your attention to a silver ring. "This ring will grant you some protection from spellfire." And finally, she points out the object on her left, a greatsword too large to use in one hand. The blackened hilt has a few curves to it, but otherwise the purple blade looks fairly standard. "And this flamberge is my personal choice for the dwarven folk: it's the bane of their existence, the Beard-Trimmer." 5) Your mother then looks directly to you, acknowledging that you may choose your gift first.

~

Two days after the feast, most of the non-warriors and all of the slaves are ordered to finish packing everything away for the migration. You send Aramil to help, having packed his armour and weapons away to keep the other tribals from getting too nervous, but because you don't trust anyone to not snatch him up for a snack, you spend most of the day watching him and lying around. The other slaves don't like him much, you gather from the hushed insults and his exclusion from the water jug being passed around, but you don't pay much attention to anything beyond that, lost in your thoughts about what you intend to do with your life, especially if things go south with the tribe. Thrrae will likely raise another batch of pups while leading the tribe through the migration, but you simply don't have it in you to keep living in her shadow. Something could go wrong, and it could ruin everything in spite of having the entire tribe together, or perhaps even because of that detail.

When the day ends, the elf makes it to your tent and collapses at your feet. His face looks pale, feels warm, and breathing puts a strain on him. There's more packing to be done tomorrow. 6) Response?

~

The next day, you make your mind up and seek your mother out while the last of the tribe is packing their belongings. She seems curious about your intentions, but that doesn't stop her from keeping the chat casual for a while first. When she tells you that she plans to take the tribe underground, you realize that the cattle are likely to be the first of the food to go, followed by the slaves that have trouble seeing in the dark once the supply of torches and lantern oil runs low. So, you tell her you will be traveling to the northeast, away from the savannah and toward the higher altitudes. Both of you have the same idea in mind: escaping the summer heat. Except, you also desire a chance to cut the settled humans, elves and dwarves off before they lay claim to the remainder of the untamed lands.

Thrrae gives you another gift: the biggest hug she's ever given you in your entire life, and then she wishes you the best on your travels, telling you to take as much as you need as long as it doesn't slow you down. That includes some of the slaves and other gnolls, if they're willing to travel with you.

7) It's a given that we are taking Aramil (if he survives) and Fyrri (if she still respects us). However, should we bring a few extra warriors? (Warriors are useful enough in a fight, but they lack the degree of skill a properly-trained tribal, fighter, or anything with an actual skill set would have in battle; they're best as guards or extra bodies to bulk your force's numbers a bit) (if yes, we can gather from our friends from the raid, the slave pens, or both to increase our overall total, though the slaves might try to fight or escape when given the chance) (We have more than enough food to accommodate what we will be able to gather)

8) Should we bring any non-combatants? (Non-combatants will defend themselves, but aren't very powerful. They're better at things that don't involve killing people, such as weapon forgery, locksmithing, trading things and getting a good deal, shelter construction, gathering materials / food, that sort of thing) (Choose up to three professions if we're bringing any, and whether you want to scout amongst the gnolls or the slaves for someone to fill that role) (same deal with slaves being tempted to flee, but gnolls, by definition, are even lazier than you are)

Blacksmith

Tanner

Builder

Hunter

Locksmith

Trapsmith

Fletcher

Bowyer

Armorer

Woodcutter

Miner

Farmer

Shepherd

Stablehand

Adept (basically the peasant equivalent of a healer; uses both spellcraft and medicine)

Forager (gathers vegetation / medicinal supplies, as opposed to the hunters' quarry)

Sailor

Fisher

9) Should we take any children? (These can be trained into non-combatant or combatant roles, including character classes) (slave-children are unlikely to run away on their own, but in order to teach them, someone must already be experienced in the profession you wish to teach) (choose race and gender; we can have up to three gnoll orphans and three non-gnolls, and the slave pen houses high elves, wood elves, humans, kobolds, and dwarves)

Having made your decision, you make a mental note: tribals are likely to treat you much better than the settled races you don't own. It's going to be a long day...