Empirical Gnollage:Installment 79 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment079.png]
The flowery oils made Al feel greasy and wet at the same time, but seemed to be doing an excellent job of keeping mosquitoes and flies away from them all. Most of the bugs flew by as though not even noticing their presence, and the occasional insect that landed on one of them tended to immediately take off again and leave them alone. The slightly sulfur-scented humidity in the air made things a little uncomfortable, and Al had to watch his steps to avoid tripping over the uneven remains of the ancient paving stones, but otherwise the hike out to the turn-off to the Lavatio was peaceful. They turned left and headed through the pine trees, following the faint remains of the old small road. Less than an hour later, Al discovered they'd reached the site by tripping over the remnants of an old stone building foundation that had been obscured by the weeds. The area they found themselves in wasn't clear of trees, but the pines were younger, smaller, and sparser than what they'd traveled through to get there.
Al got out the copies of the map sketches that they had, and they made a hasty survey of the surface. Traces of old foundations were the only thing left of most of the surface buildings, but their locations seemed to correspond reasonably well with the markings on their maps. In the approximate center of the site they found the the Lavatio itself. The above-ground portion of the building had long since collapsed, and eroded remains of stone columns, stone walls, and clay roof-tiles cluttered the badly-worn granite floor stones. However, the steps leading below ground on the eastern side of the Lavatio were there, somewhat smoothed by time but still obvious and usable. They led down to an archway that formed the entrance to the underground space, and the Elven script across the top read: MUNDABERIS.
Beyond the archway appeared to be a wide open space, but the light from outside only made the first few feet of dirty stone floor clearly visible. Al took off his pack for a moment to fetch a torch from it, glaring a bit at the others to discourage comments about his poor human night-vision.
"In case anyone was planning to make a smart remark about my difficulties seeing in the dark, maybe some people who can see in the dark want to sneak ahead and take a look before I come down with my attention-getting torch."
"I wasn't going to say anything!" Wikwocket insisted, "At least not until you tripped over something."
"Thanks," Al said sarcastically. Wikwocket and Gruntle looked at each other, and then headed quietly down the steps - Wikwocket leading, and Gruntle following ten or so paces behind.
"Is it just me," Al asked Bote as they watched, "or is it kind of weird how well they work together?"
"I'm not sure I would call it weird, even if it is unexpected," Bote suggested, "Wikwocket seems to have committed to coordinating with our gnoll from the very beginning, though I do think it was at first only for the excitement and novelty. She has consistently and frequently interacted with him and seems to enjoy it. I perceive that they have some commonalities that help to make their cooperation more natural. Both enjoy simple, visceral experiences - Wikwocket by choice, and Gruntle by nature. And of course they both have substantial experience at sneaking around, even though this is due to entirely different practices before they met. Given her efforts, I would be surprised if they did not work well together by this point."
Wikwocket came back up the steps.
"Looks clear," she announced, "It's pretty dirty in there, but nothing obviously dangerous. There's a big statue of some half-naked elf guy in there. At least, I assume it's a guy. We see at least two old, warped wooden doors in the left and right walls, the one on the left has a big hole in the bottom of it. Come on down and take a look!"
Al commanded his torch to light itself, the simple fiery magic trick coming to him even more easily now. He followed Bote down the steps.
Just as Wikwocket had described, the large square room beyond the open archway was littered with dirt and dead leaves blown in from outside. Marble columns on either side of the entrance flanked a massive marble statue of an elf in the center of the room. The carved folds of the elf's stone toga hung loose from one shoulder as he scraped a curved sickle-shaped implement down one arm.
"Munditio," Bote explained, "god of hygiene."
The decaying remains of a tall fresco behind the statue appeared to depict an idyllic bathing scene, from what could be discerned of the portions that hadn't flaked off already and weren't covered with lichen. Al spotted Gruntle off to the left, quietly stalking the door in the wall that had a hole through the bottom of it. Wikwocket scurried over to consult.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Food," Gruntle growled quietly, grabbing his flail and taking hold of his shield.
"Oh, not again," Al grumbled as Wikwocket ran lightly and quietly to the side and then up to the door, grasping the latch with her left hand and BiteySue's hilt with her right. She exchanged glances with Gruntle, who was beginning to pant through an excited grin. She pressed the latch and pushed on the door as Gruntle charged.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The warped door stuck slightly but Gruntle's bulk slammed it open the rest of the way as he went through. Alarmed squeaking came from inside along with sounds of the heavy flail smashing down on something crunchy. Wikwocket charged in immediately after to join the violence. Al struggled to unsheathe Purgatio without dropping his torch as he headed the same way with Bote.
"You will try the sword?" Bote asked, unlimbering their hammer.
"If this is just more big rats, it's probably safe to try to get used to using the sword on them," Al answered, finally getting the faintly glowing sword loose as they reached the doorway and looked inside.
Several angry rats as large as some dogs were swarming Gruntle, or at least the survivors were. One was already smashed messily against the floor, and another dangled limply from Gruntle's prominent teeth, muffling the gnoll's barking laughter. Wikwocket ducked out from behind Gruntle and skewered a third as they watched. A sudden movement by the gnoll forced away one of the rats biting at him, and Al lunged clumsily for it with the tip of his sword. He imagined the rat's squeaking was mocking him as it dodged aside and turned on him. Bote smiled gently and aimed a casual swing of their hammer at the same rat, missing widely but forcing the rat to split its attention between the two of them. It leapt at Al's throat, but Al stepped back just enough for the rat's teeth to clamp down on robe and chainmail instead of his flesh. He shook the rat loose and skewered it as it tried to move away from the encroaching Bote.
The two remaining giant rats moved apart as Gruntle's flail smacked against the floor between them, and then they rushed in to bite at his ankles. Wikwocket aimed a lunge between Gruntle's feet and stabbed deeply into one rat's neck. Al tried to get the other one, but had to lean away to avoid the wide swing of Gruntle's flail as it came around to bat the last rat across the room and into the wall. It flopped to the ground, twitching, then was still. Ignoring his own blood dripping from bites in his legs, the gnoll scanned the room hopefully for more. Seeing none, he took a deep breath and relaxed, aside from the clenching of his jaw as he closed his eyes and bit the rest of the way through the dead rat still dangling from his jaws. Blood dripped down his muzzle and the rest of the remains dropped to the floor.
Al held his torch higher. There was no obvious danger remaining, though suddenly noticing the elf standing in the middle of the room startled him until he realized it was another granite statue, this one more life-sized.
"Which god is that one?" he asked Bote.
"That is no god, just an elf."
"How do you know?"
"I just do. When one works as a messenger for the gods, it is necessary to know from or to whom one is taking messages. I do not know this one, therefore he is no god."
Al looked around the rest of the room. The remains of the wooden benches were warped and rotting, and mildewed curtains had once covered the openings of three slightly raised alcoves along the far wall. The lower portions of the curtains had been gnawed into strips and piled up in the middle alcove. The floor was damp due to a stone basin full of dirty water that was dribbling over, as it was fed by a drip from a pipe in the wall. To the right, a hallway led away further into the complex.
Al was distracted by a sickening, meaty cracking and tearing sound.
"Can't you at least cook it?" he complained,
"Sure!" Wikwocket answered, and snatched Al's torch from his hand. She ran across to the alcove where the rats had been nesting and set to work trying to get the pile of cloth to catch fire.
"Okay, okay, I guess I did ask for that," Al said, resigning himself. "At least pull the skins off so we don't have to smell burning hair, and don't take too long please."
In the growing flickering light of the short-lived cookfire, Al went a little ways down the hallway. The remains of artwork on the walls seemed to be more bathing scenes, which Al suspected would have been beautiful before time, neglect, and dampness destroyed them. He returned to the room and took out some paper and ink to sketch out a rough map of what they'd seen so far while he waited.
He had to admit that the smell of cooking giant rat wasn't really so bad, for the few minutes that the cookfire lasted before dying out. The ripping of meat and crunching of bones didn't get any less distracting, though.