Empirical Gnollage: Installment 92 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment092.png]
The steam rose from the warm swampy ground and collected into growing wads of ground-hugging fog as it met the cooling air of the early evening. If someone happened to be standing nearby, they might have been startled to see a strange bestial head rising into view as the head's owner walked warily backwards up the sunken steps leading up from the entrance to the Lavatio. Gruntle's eyes and ears were fixed on the archway at the bottom of the stairs that led back inside.
"You need not be so concerned," Bote assured the gnoll from further down, "Cleodora is content now, and thankful for us."
"Can you blame him?" Wikwocket said in Gruntle's defense. "Her way of greeting us was really scary, and then she took his body away from him and made him watch helplessly while she forced it to do things for her."
A quiet whine came from Gruntle's throat and he turned and rushed to the top of the steps like a child fleeing an imagined monster in a dark basement.
Al actually growled, just a little. "I'm still kind of angry about that. I'm not unhappy that we helped her out, it was the right thing to do and I'm glad she's happier now. She could have just asked us to help her instead of trying to steal our gnoll, though."
"In her defense, she actually did ask before she acted," Bote pointed out.
"So you said at the time, but she didn't wait for clear permission, either."
"Was not me. Not me," Gruntle mumbled to himself, shivering and still watching down the steps as the other three adventurers came up to join him. Al felt compelled to put a hand reassuringly on his inhuman colleague's shoulder.
"Don't worry, she won't try it again. If she did, I might forget that I'm trying not to be quick to use magic for violence," Al told him. He was surprised at how effective that seemed to be to calm the agitated gnoll, who grunted once in acknowledgement and relaxed.
"I think some leniency is called for under the circumstances," Bote said, "Her remains have been down there probably for centuries, and while it was not clear how long she has been awakened from death for, it seems it would have been at least most of a century, during which she was entirely alone, confined to one room, and obsessed with the frustrated need to fulfill her purpose. I am skeptical that any of us would have been any less eager to leap upon any means of progress that presented itself to us under similar circumstances."
Al sighed. "I'm not sure I can deny that." He looked up at the gathering fog and the slowly-darkening sky. "Now's probably not a good time for that kind of philosophical discussion anyway. I'd like to get back before it gets dark, and then we can get some real food and I can finish annotating the map."
The prospect of real food spurred Gruntle into action. Psychological trauma entirely forgotten, he loped back up the path they'd arrived from to scout for hazards.
"I guess he'll be okay," Wikwocket said, grinning. "I was a little worried."
"Our gnoll," Bote said, with amused emphasis, "derives a great deal of resilience from his simplicity."
"I'm almost envious," Al admitted. "Come on, let's catch up before he finds something he shouldn't be eating."
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"We're back, we're not vampires, I promise!"
Al ignored Wikwocket's disappointed huff when he called out to the guard before they got near. Larry's shift had ended, and Al didn't recognize the new one who was standing by the shack in the light of a nearby lantern hanging from the top of a pole. She was startled by the voice unexpectedly coming from the dusk's shadows on the disused road, but recovered quickly.
"And I assume your tall friend there isn't a werewolf, either?" she asked as they came close enough to be clearly seen. "Larry said to keep an eye out for you. He's kind of embarrassed, but I don't think he's entirely convinced you're not bloodsucking monsters from the swamp."
"We could be," Wikwocket insisted.
"But we're not," Al countered. He set down his pack and dug the permit to return out to show to the new guard. She tilted it to catch the light of the lantern so she could inspect it, then nodded and handed it back.
"Looks like everything's in order, though if you don't mind I'd like to check something else," She said, and reached into a pouch hanging from her belt. She pulled a palm-sized flat metal disk from it. She Examined her reflection in the smooth, polished surface, then turned it to look at the reflections of the adventurers. "Okay, all good," she said, putting the mirror back with a wink. "I promised Larry I'd check."
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She unhooked the ring of keys from her belt, unlocked the gate, and opened it. She cleared her throat and spoke again with a grin.
"I am not inviting you to come inside," she said, still holding the gate open.
Al sighed. "Doesn't the permit already count as an invitation though?" he asked. The guard's smile widened.
"Oh, that's not going to reassure Larry at all," she said as the adventurers went through the gate.
"Um...," she began to say, looking up as Gruntle loped past. "...what...no, never mind."
Al turned back and saw her questioning gaze directed at Gruntle. "He's a gnoll," he explained.
"Yes, I see that, I just...it's nothing, enjoy your stay."
Al sighed. "No, it's all right, what did you want to ask?"
Still looking up at Gruntle, she asked: "Why a gnoll?"
Gruntle paused to look down, meeting her gaze and looking somewhat confused. Al held back the answer he was going to offer when he noticed that Gruntle seemed to be considering the question himself. The inhuman brow furrowed deeply as the gnoll considered the strange philosophical problem.
"It's what I am," he finally said, slowly.
Al was a little surprised that this seemed to be a complete enough explanation for the guard. "Fair enough," she said, nodding, "we have plenty of other customers in similar situations. I just never expected gnoll to be among them. Um...please don't mention that I asked, we're not supposed to ask personal questions like that."
Still looking confused, Gruntle gave a grunt of agreement, and continued on his way, sniffing as the scent of the evening food-vendors further up the road drifted through the air.
"Don't worry, we won't get you in trouble!" Wikwocket assured her.
"Yes, the philosophical exercise may be good for him as well," Bote added, following the others through the gate.
She waved, then closed the gate and locked it again behind them.
"Why am I?" Gruntle asked as they proceeded along the street towards the smell of food. This was such an unexpected question that Al stumbled over a cobblestone and nearly fell.
"That is a very complicated question, which many ask of themselves but often do not ever find a clear answer," Bote replied.
"Yeah, it's not a simple concept. It's the kind of thing maybe only gods can understand," Al added, "I think you kind of have to define it yourself after a lot of deep thinking."
"Oh," Gruntle said, appearing to lose interest.
"You two are so bookish!" Wikwocket accused them. "It's obvious! You're here to smash bad things, devour food, and relax!"
Gruntle smiled, satisfied, and Al wondered again how he could tell that's what the inhuman expression meant.
The gnoll pointed up the street at one of the food vendors in the distance.
"Meat," he said.
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Given the prospect of imminent lucrative payment, Al felt it was reasonable to indulge. The meat-on-a-stick vendor still seemed a bit nervous to be in such close proximity to a gnoll-shaped person but was happy to sell them enough food to satisfy them at the usual premium prices. At least they all seemed to be better cuts of meat than Al typically associated with street-vendors. They gnawed on their portable dinner as they returned to their room. Al waved over a passing staff member on the way and asked that they let Stephen know they had news for him.
Once everyone settled back into their room, Al got out his sketched map and set it on his nightstand. He sat on the cot and worked on finishing his annotations of what they'd found inside.
After considering what he'd done, he added a small arrow pointing to the hidden door leading to the water source and wrote Bring Elvish speaker, ask Cleodora how to get in next to it.
Wikwocket ran to answer a knock at the door, and found Stephen there.
"Good evening," he said, "I'm happy to see you've made it back. Do you have good news for us?"
"I think so," Al answered, picking up his sketched map. He stood and walked over to give the map to Stephen. "I believe we've cleared out everything dangerous, except maybe a couple of environmental hazards, like this slippery floor here where the ceiling is leaking." Al pointed to the map where he'd slipped on the slimy puddle. "The water source in here seems to be guarded but that's part of the facility, and I think they're what keeps the water flowing. They don't seem to be dangerous otherwise. Everything else that we found in there that was dangerous has been ... taken care of now."
"I think the magistrate will be happy that you've worked so quickly, I will pass this along to her," Stephen said, taking the map. "If you'd like some ointment for your bruises, I can procure some."
Al reached up to touch the side of his head where the zombie had punched him, and winced. "No, that's okay, I should be fine after I get some rest."
"Very well then."
"Oh," Al added, "I'd like to go back with the work crew for the first day, when you send them out, we found a magical formation on one of the doors. It's inactive and broken now, but I wanted to try to make a good sketch of it for study later before it gets removed completely."
"I shall pass that along to the magistrate as well. Will there be anything else?"
"Wine!" Wikwocket requested. "In a jug, with some cups! This was the best job so far, we should celebrate!"
"I shall fetch the wine steward."
"Uh, probably not necessary, we don't need anything too high-class, as long as it's the red kind," Al said.
Stephen nodded and left, returning minutes later with a dusty clay jug and some wooden cups.
"I didn't always work in a place as fine as Hell's Bathtub," he said with a small smile, "I know exactly what you need." He handed over the jug and the cups, then bid them good evening and closed the door behind him as he left. Wikwocket set the cups on the floor and popped the cork from the jug. She hefted the jug in her gnome-sized arms and filled the cups, then passed them out to Gruntle, Al, and Bote.
A sort of high-pitched groan came from Gruntle's throat, which to Al seemed contented. Wikwocket laughed, then held her cup up as if to make a toast while imitating the same sound. Al did the same, as it seemed appropriate, and Bote joined in, too. Everyone drank.
The evening passed in comfortable camaraderie. Proportionate to his size, Gruntle lapped up most of it, with Bote and their dwarfish tolerance for alcoholic beverages following closely behind, but there was still plenty of the cheap, potent wine in the jug for everyone. At the end of the night when Al went to sleep, he imagined the sounds of Gruntle's collected growls, groans, grunts, barks, snarls, and whoops echoing in his head through the light inebriated buzz as he drifted away from consciousness.