Empirical Gnollage: Installment 99 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment099.png]
"The more important questions, then," continued Cyrus when he was emphatically assured that, yes, Gruntle does indeed like violence, "are - can I assume that he..." Cyrus paused and coughed. "Sorry, I'm still getting used to thinking of a gnoll as someone that can be spoken to instead of something. Gruntle, I think I can safely assume that as a gnoll you don't mind killing people. Can you engage in violence that doesn't kill someone?"
Gruntle stared, his brow wrinkled with confusion. His head slowly cocked to the side questioningly.
"I think what he's asking," Al tried to explain, wondering what Cyrus had in mind, "is when you start hitting someone, how do you know when to stop?"
"Stops being fun when they stop moving," Gruntle answered.
"I can work with that," Cyrus said, nodding, "that should improve your chances. Tell me, would it bother you if people watched you fighting?"
Gruntle's head slowly tilted sideways in the other direction, and a short growling, grumbling noise came from his throat that Al thought sounded like disbelief and confusion. What difference does that make?, Al guessed was the intended sentiment.
"If you're planning to study how he fights to learn how to fight other gnolls you might not get what you expect. I doubt any typical gnoll out there has been trained by a professional warrior the way Gruntle has," Al said to Cyrus.
"No, nothing like that. In fact I think it would work out better with him having some well-developed skill alongside the intimidating brutality," Cyrus explained, "No promises yet, but as a professional merchant I do have some contacts. One of them just happens to be the steward for the penal arena at Southwall. I can't make any promises right now, but occasionally criminals are sentenced to fight wild beasts or to duel with skilled members of the city watch or the militia. The spectacle generates a lot of revenue for baron Smitherton, and given the reputation of gnolls I would imagine a criminal sentenced to fight one would attract quite an audience. The criminals aren't always sentenced to death, though, so if Gruntle is capable of fighting without intentionally killing it substantially improves how useful he can be."
"Now, hold on," Al objected, "the criminals don't necessarily lose, do they? This sounds dangerous."
"Less dangerous than adventuring, I'd bet. These are meant to be punishments, after all, the condemned are nearly always put at a disadvantage," Cyrus responded, with a dismissive wave, "Injuries are likely, but modern medical alchemy is potent and reliable. Uh, assuming it works on gnolls, that is."
"I know that answer to that, at least," Al admitted, but explained no further. Cyrus smiled.
"There, you're catching on quickly!" Cyrus said, raising his wineglass and taking a sip, "Information has value. Save it for now, no need to complicate the ledger any further."
Al looked up at the ceiling and shook his head, then returned his gaze to Cyrus.
"Okay, so, what you're proposing is that we dump Gruntle into an enclosed space to smash and possibly bite people while we're in Southwall?"
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"Not dump him, no. Hire him out! If there's interest from the arena - and I feel confident there will be - as the... caretakers of the gnoll you'd be paid for his use. From what you told me of him at our last meeting, I would imagine he'd enjoy it, too."
"Shocking brutality performed by a fearsome monster for the excitement of a cheering crowd?" Wikwocket fantasized, "That sounds amazing!"
Al was taken aback. "You didn't seem like the kind of person that enjoys egregious, gratuitous violence," he observed.
"Hey, there's more than one kind of story," she countered, "variety is a good thing! And, besides, this isn't gratuitous, it's a penal arena. It's for punishing bad people who deserve it! When you think about it, it's like an actual civic duty, like paying taxes, or overthrowing corrupt nobility!"
"Overthrow...No! You're going to get us in trouble, and then nobody will want to hire us!" Al complained. He looked up at Gruntle, who was lapping at his mug of wine but seemed to be following the conversation. The gnoll noticed Al looking at him.
"They give me someone, and I can hit them until they stop moving, and nobody tries to stop me?" he asked slowly.
"Yes, that's right!" Cyrus encouraged, "Well, sometimes they'll want to stop you before you kill someone, but you'll still get to indulge yourself in some violence."
Gruntle's muzzle stretched into a distrubingly happy grin. Al groaned.
"All right, all right, we'll at least consider it," Al conceded, "but we're not agreeing to anything until we get more details."
"I'd expect no less," Cyrus agreed, "but I think we'll all profit from this if I can sell the steward on this idea."
"What exactly are you getting from this?"
"If I'm correct about how much this will interest the penal arena I'll get a payment for the work of arranging everything, and I may just end up having the steward of the Southwall penal arena owing me a favor once everything's worked out. If everything goes as I hope, I'd consider neither of us owing anything to the other in the end, though maybe the experience will help ensure you think fondly of me. Having a good relationship with adventurers is smart for someone like me who trades in... antiquities and such to make my modest living. Not everything is about the cause."
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"It just feels like there's too much happening lately," Al confessed to the others as they walked back from their meeting with Cyrus. "It's like we're on a cart pulled by runaway horses..."
"Or a donkey!" Wikwocket interrupted.
"...right. But, it's like I'm too busy trying to yank on the reins just to steer us away from hazards in the road, so that I don't have time to actually think about where we're going or how to slow down."
"This is not an uncommon feeling for leaders, I am led to believe," Bote suggested. "You cannot lead well if you do not feel concern about where we are going."
"I didn't actually want to be a leader, you know."
"It is unfortunate that you are the best suited among us to handle the duty, then," Bote countered with a grin.
"You just want to sit around reading your dusty old books, don't you," Wikwocket accused.
"They're not dusty, but, yes, I do need some time for that. Between our gnoll and what we found when we were chasing the beast around Wulfcynn Keep, I've got a lot of education on the infernal that I really need to learn about. I want to make sure we're ready for whatever demonic threat might come up next."
"Well, if Gruntle's going to become a celebrity executioner for justice when we get to Southwall, that will free you up to do boring stuff for a while until you're ready to conjure up a demon slave and cause the downfall of the nation, in accordance with the prophecy!" Wikwocket said cheerfully.
"I keep telling you, it's not a... wait, what prophecy?"
"I don't know, but there's got to be one like that around somewhere!"
"Well, keep it away from me. Things like that are the reason I want to avoid having gods notice me."
Al ignored Bote's amused snort.
"I feel pretty nervous about putting Gruntle in front of strange crowds. I'm not sure there's a better option though. I don't think we'd be able to sneak him in somehow and keep him hidden, and we're not leaving him alone outside the city just so I can go read a book."
"It will be necessary for him to be known," Bote said, "so that his presence does not deter those who have jobs to place before us."
"I suppose," Al said. "This whole situation just feels unreal to me. Just a few weeks ago, I was expecting to be excited to maybe help scare goblins away from a village or check out some unthreatening old ruins that the locals are superstitiously afraid of or something. Now I'm walking around a luxury resort having meetings with magical secret societies about how I can intentionally bring a gnoll, of all things, into a city. What gets me is that it's starting to feel normal. It's like some kind of bizarre dream."