Installment 005 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment005.png]
Despite the shock and horror, Al reflexively flipped back the corner of his wizard's robe and had the mace ready by the time his consciousness was considering what to do. She might still be alive, he thought, but she might not stay that way if things get any more violent.
"Let her...! If you..!" Al shouted, sputtering.
Wikwocket's body twitched, and a small, strangled noise escaped from her lips.
She might still be saved!
Al spared a quick glance at the others in the room. Malagriel had lowered her face into her hands. Bob was still staring with his hand clamped over his mouth. Bote had taken a step forward and leaned in, watching the creature closely. Grakthor stood straight as though at attention, though Al thought he saw Grakthor's eyes turn in his direction. Finally, risking a swift look back behind himself revealed Melissa had just the slightest expression of what seemed, oddly, to be pleasant surprise. Then Al's attention was back on the creature and its handler.
"Make it put her down!" Al demanded, "I swear if you've harmed her I'll make you pay!"
He wasn't sure how he would make them pay if they refused, but there wasn't time to think about it.
The creature's head immediately turned and its eyes met Al's gaze directly, with more awareness than any dumb beast should have. It lowered its head slightly and set Wikwocket's limp body on the floor, not breaking eye contact but baring its teeth in challenge. It's jaws opened.
And then it spoke.
"My...dear...fellow..." the deep, slightly growling voice began, enunciating slowly as each syllable seemed to crawl up from deep inside the creature's throat. Its brow furrowed as though choosing the words to recite was a substantial effort of concentration. "There is no need...for this...hostility. We are...merely...performing...for...entertainment," it finished.
The strangled sound came from Wikwocket again and finally burst out as her body convulsed...with laughter. Her pretend-murderer rose up on its hind legs with an animalistic barking noise that might have also been laughter. Wikwocket rolled nimbly to her feet, still laughing, and held one closed fist up towards the beast, who stared at it for several seconds. It's barking tapered off. Then, realizing what was expected of it, it tentatively reached out with its own large fist, bumping hers.
Bob's facial expression hadn't changed a bit and his hand was still clamped over his mouth, but a snort of amusement escaped from his nose.
"Gruntle," came the exasperated, muffled voice of Malagriel from behind her hands where her face was hidden, "you are embarrassing us. And furthermore, if this fellow had rained magical retribution down upon you, you'd have deserved it."
"Sorry, Pa." the beast replied gruffly, but without obvious regret. It tugged the rope out from under its collar and handed the end back to Grakthor, who took it and coiled it up without looking. He turned his attention instead to Al, who was still standing with his mace held at the ready despite his growing uncertainty. Grakthor evaluated for a moment and then smiled slightly, giving a small nod of approval. Al frowned in confusion but slowly relaxed.
"This is worse than the time we got to the tavern right when she started that impromptu performance of the death scene from The Poisoner's Apprentice for the other customers." Bote observed.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"You mean better," retorted Wikwocket. "You have to admit that was convincing, right? This time I had a real, live, ravenous beast who brutally slaughtered a helpless gnomish maiden!" As she said the last of this, she pressed one hand to her heart, and the back of the other to her forehead, then with ridiculous exaggeration she "fainted" against a nearby chair.
Al snorted in annoyance. "...'helpless maiden'...," he muttered. He hung the mace back under his robes again, feeling a bit abused.
"Ek-ek-ek-ek-ek!" interjected Codex the magpie from atop Melissa's hat.
"Yes, I had guessed that." Melissa answered.
Malagriel lifted her face from her hands, took a deep breath, and attempted to regain control of the situation.
"This is turning into a far less formal introduction than I'd intended." she said. "As I was saying - this is Grakthor, our warrior. And the unrepentant gnomish-maiden-murderer here has, until recently, been our party mascot. We've named him Gruntle."
Now that the drama was over, Al was able to spend a few moments examining the bestial, inhuman thing. It...he...rested in a relaxed crouch that resembled the posture of a man attempting to sit like a dog. Even in that posture, he stood nearly as tall as Grakthor, who himself was taller than anyone else in the room. Most of his body was covered with very short mottled hair or fur - sand-colored with dirt-brown spots. A strip of denser fur stood up from the top of his head and tapered down the middle of his back. The thin fur around his long, thick muzzle and eyes was blackened, giving the impression that someone had thrown soot in his face. Gruntle's legs and short tail resembled something doglike. His arms were shaped almost like a human's, though they seemed misproportioned. They looked longer than they should be and ended in thick hands, each finger tipped with a rough, stubby claw. The arms hung from shoulders that were more humanoid than animal, in contrast to his canine head and hindquarters. On the head were wide, upright, leaf-shaped ears that twitched and turned to catch sound, and heavily muscled jaws with a set of wide, sharp, jagged teeth. They didn't look quite as sharp as something like a cat might have nor were the fangs quite so prominent, but it seemed like they would easily tear flesh from bone, and then crush the bone. Close-set amber eyes watched the world from over his snout.
He wore only a belt with a rough leather flap serving as a "loincloth" - stained but not apparently soiled, thankfully, and a simple buckled leather collar around his neck. Taken altogether, he gave the impression of some predatory or scavenging animal that had been warped, enlarged, and twisted by horrible demonic forces into a mockery of humanlike shape. It reminded Al of something he'd read about once.
"You may not be familiar with his kind," Melissa spoke up from behind Al, "as they do not normally have nonviolent interaction with other than their own kind, and don't normally stay around in one place very long. His kind are called..."
"That's a gnoll!" exclaimed Al, finally remembering the set of illustrated scrolls he'd found in his parents' library, which had included some description of them. "An actual, demonic, vicious, murderous, man-eating gnoll! Like the ones that keep rampaging out east! You made that your party mascot?"
"That's right," Melissa answered, and then with a note of triumph added: "Successfully! He's quite remarkable, actually, and this has been a very productive experiment the results of which I am eager to publish."
Al looked, slack-jawed, from Melissa to Gruntle - who seemed to have gotten into a staring contest with Bote - then back to Melissa again.
"It shouldn't even be possible to tame a gnoll...should it?" he asked.
"Well, 'tame' is not really accurate," began Melissa, but was interrupted by a distant rhythmic sound of metal-banging against metal.
"Finally," muttered Malagriel. "Supper is prepared, why don't we move this discussion to the dining room."
Gruntle immediately lost the staring contest, rising back to his full height and loping eagerly to the last door, pulling it open and rushing through. Grakthor chuckled, and gestured for the guests to follow.
He patted Al briefly on the shoulder as Al went by.
"Better reflexes than most wizards." he nodded. Then he followed Al as everyone went through the door to the dining room.