Installment 007 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment007.png]
Al knew Wikwocket was just putting on a show, but he still couldn't bring himself to argue with that pleading face. Instead, he turned desperately to Bote.
"Bote, please, back me up on this. We can't just..." He waved questioningly in Gruntle's direction. "...right?"
Bote's answer was delivered with that piercing stare they had when they felt they were announcing divinely-inspired wisdom.
"I don't believe this is a question of *can*, but rather one of *should*, perhaps even *must*. I feel this is why we have been guided here." They paused for a moment, silently considering, or perhaps listening to real or imagined supernatural voices in their mind. "I cannot say if he is to leave with us, but I am certain that we should at least hear his story and evaluate our decision fully-informed."
"You seem more reluctant than your companions." spoke Malagriel, still blocking her peripheral vision with one hand so as to continue not to see food being thrown. She very deliberately didn't see as Wikwocket suddenly launched a small hunk of goat meat at Gruntle's head. Distracted by the ongoing discussion, he didn't notice in time. It lodged itself momentarily in Gruntle's right ear, then dropped out and fell to the floor. Al stiffened, expecting an outburst of violence, but none came. Instead, Gruntle reached down to pick it up, and ate it.
"For one thing," Al said, pulling his gaze away from the compellingly strange sight of the gnoll swallowing the floor-scavenged meat as he thoughtfully considered which piece of food to throw back, "none of us really have the knowledge or skills to maintain whatever charming-spell you've cast on him."
"Oh, this is no spell." Melissa said, taking a sip of her wine. "What you see here is the result of a carefully guided upbringing. Would you like to hear about it?"
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Three entire families of isolated settlers out in the borderlands had been mercilessly slaughtered one by one before a survivor managed to get away from an attacked village to bring the news to others. She stumbled into town, exhausted from pushing herself on foot all night in terror. Before collapsing into unconsciousness, she described a raiding horde of vicious demons charging out of the nearby forest without warning. They speared, cut, bashed, or simply bit the unprepared villagers that were around and had begun smashing down doors to get at the residents inside the village's small houses. The survivor had just been heading away from the other end of the village to gather firewood the evening it began, and she'd started running the moment she saw what was happening.
The nearest Casusian militia was too far away to be reached in time to do any good. However, by happenstance a certain group of moderately experienced adventurers had been spending some time relaxing there while they decided where to go next. The members could not in good conscience ignore the pleas of the townsfolk for help. They put on their adventuring gear in haste and accepted the lending of some horses. They were on their way out of town at a trot within an hour of the news.
"You know," Melissa said as they rode, "if they are actual demons we are probably getting in over our heads."
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"I know, but something has to be done. We're the best chance of saving anyone that might be left and preventing any further slaughter," said Bob.
"Agreed," Malagriel said with conviction. "We're also the most likely to survive investigating, even if we end up having to retreat. At least we'll be able to bring a more accurate account of the danger and help gather whatever forces it might take to deal with this threat."
"The good news," said Melissa, "is that the general description the poor woman was able to give us could be a number of things besides actual demons. We could be facing anything from Unseelie fae, to rabid or enchanted beasts, to spiritually-possessed ordinary people, or something in between. If her description was accurate enough, though, I think we may be up against a clan of gnolls."
"Don't know much about gnolls," Grakthor said, "They kill us?"
"Well, they might, and they'll certainly try if that's what they are. However, depending on how many there actually are, a group with our abilities has a reasonable chance of surviving such an encounter as long as we're not stupid about it."
"I don't know much about them either," said Bob, "though I've heard of them. They're some sort of demon-spawn aren't they?"
"The literature isn't entirely clear on that matter, but it's generally agreed that their ancestors were ordinary beasts. They were grassland-dwelling pack-hunters and scavengers referred to as 'hyenas'. I'm not certain where that name comes from. In any case, some accounts say gnolls were intentionally created from those beasts by some demon-lord who had found its way into our world, others suggest the transformation was accidental, due to packs of hyenas following this reputed demon-lord, scavenging from everyone and everything it slaughtered and being warped by their exposure. There are one or two accounts that blame incautious wizards or crazed alchemists but they are far from the consensus. In any of these cases, what we'd be facing with gnolls would be something like a band of large, strong bandits with violent and impulsive natures. Now, if we're dealing with fae on the other hand..."
Melissa spent much of the rest of the trip giving an impromptu lecture on all of the things she could remember that might conceivably match the vague description they'd gotten. None of it was very reassuring.
She was just winding down her discourse on what she remembered about the spiritual possession that afflicts were-beasts when Grakthor spotted the smoke over the hills surrounding the village. They selected a small grove of trees to tether the horses in, and carefully made their way on foot to the top of a hill at the edge of the village.
The sight was not as horrifying as they feared, but only because the more gruesome action had clearly finished many hours ago. Most of the village's buildings were still standing, but all seemed to have suffered damage - every door had been smashed down or torn away, the windows were broken holes in the walls with tattered remains of curtains. Next to the well in the middle of the village a bonfire raged. Wood from village structures mixed with bodies of victims fueled it.
The assailants were gathered around it. They were large beasts mangled into a mockery of human-like shape, most wearing random bits of clearly scavenged armor and carrying crude and poorly maintained spears, swords, axes, or clubs. There were between 20 and 30 of them of varying size, from "small man" to "much larger than a man". They were either lounging contentedly on the ground or fighting amongst themselves for any un-gnawed bones or scraps of flesh that could still be found littering the ground.
"This is the first time I've seen gnolls in person," Melissa murmured, "but they match the descriptions and illustrations I'm familiar with quite well."
"They got no discipline," Grakthor quietly observed. "Big and a lot of 'em though. Enough to mob us."
"No matter. They need to be stopped and destroyed before they can commit further atrocities," Malagriel insisted. She was already drawing her sword, her normally serene face a mask of rage and disgust.
Bob gently put a hand on her shoulder.
"Plan first, then divine retribution. Please?"
"You know how much I hate being at the front of things," Melissa mused, "but I think I'm going to need to."
Malagriel closed her eyes, scowling. "Custodella preserve my patience," she muttered. "What's your plan?
"You see that barn there just ahead of us to the right?" Melissa pointed as she explained, "If I can get inside and up to the loft without being spotted..."