Empirical Gnollage: Installment 100 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment100.png]
Al found himself once again annoyed at the scale and complexity of the hallways in the Hell's Bathtub building. He'd thought he knew the layout by now, but some wrong turn had sent them all off into a completely unfamiliar area. It didn't seem to be a very busy place, either, so there wasn't even anyone to ask directions from. He took a guess at the next crossing hallway and turned right, but this one turned out to dead-end at a massive wooden door, reinforced with polished steel band across it. The steel was engraved with a pattern of intertwined serpentine dragons.
"Well, I admit it, I'm lost. Any of you know which way...," Al asked, turning around to address his companions, only to discover he'd lost them as well.
"Gruntle? Where are you? Bote? Wikwocket?" he called loudly down the hall. The only reply came from behind the door. The booming voice called out in challenge.
"What foolish adventurer dares approach my lair?" it demanded to know with a forcefulness that would cause consternation in most anyone. Al was no exception to this, though the source of his consternation was different than it would have been for someone else.
"Mooooommmmm!" he complained, grasping the door handle shaped like a dragon's talons and pulling the door open. His mother stood inside, next to the table in the sitting-room of the family home. She appeared as she did in waking life, and wore sturdy cloth and leather clothing suitable for outdoor work under a fine hooded cloak embroidered with gold and scarlet threads in a pattern like scales.
"There's my missing son!" she said, holding out her arms for a hug.
"I'm not missing, you did this just a week or so ago!" Al complained as he approached and provided the demanded hug. His mother's dream-self was just as strong as her physical self, and the embrace squeezed a quiet "oof!" from Al's dream-self.
"You might have been eaten by kobolds since then, as far as I know! You're a daredevil adventurer now, a lot can happen in a week!"
"Well, yes, I can't deny that. We've been very busy. But, do we even have kobolds in Casusia?"
"Not that I know of, but you can never be sure. Don't let their size fool you, those things are devious and industrious. They could be building a whole city in the capital's sewer system without anybody noticing. But, never mind that, tell me what you've been doing! Also, you smell funny, have you been bathing properly? And since when do you carry a sword? You haven't given up wizarding, have you?"
Al sniffed himself before remembering this was a dream. He looked down at his left, and saw that Purgatio was hanging from his dream-self's belt without a sheathe, shining with a noticeable silvery-white glow.
"No, that's...Why is that there? I mean, I do have a sword now but...," he stuttered, scratching his head. "Well, I should probably start from when we last talked. But first, yes, I'm bathing, we're literally staying at a luxury bath resort right now."
"There had better be an explanation of how you got a gnoll into a luxury bath resort somewhere in what you're about to tell me," his mother demanded. She gestured to the table, inviting him to sit and share the imaginary tea that was set out as they talked. Al sat, and began recounting their visit with Baron Wulfcynn and his odd game. His mother nodded knowingly and recounted a time when Baron Smedley-Smythe had sent out dinner invitations to a number of prominent families in the barony that included Bright Peaks, and when the guests arrived they'd been coerced into playing "hide-and-seek" to determine the seating arrangements. He was a little annoyed when she laughed as he described the ambush by the goblins, saying that they weren't sophisticated but they were "sneaky little bastards". Al hurried through their time in Turnipseed for fear that his mother would think he was making things up, along with his reluctance to relive the experience. She seemed disappointed that the adventure seemed to be "deliver some flowers", but perked up as he recounted the various dangers inside Darius' tomb. She nodded approvingly as he described how they bravely but not stupidly faced the threats as they looked for the hero's resting place. He stopped when his mother interrupted him.
"Al, are you all right?" she asked with an uncommon softness.
Al was describing how Gruntle had been mortally wounded in the fight with the monstrous insect. His mother's question brought him back from his memories, and he realized his teeth were clenched in a snarl, Deep red flames flickered on his fingers for a moment before going out.
"Uh...yes. I'm fine. I think it's just...well, this was the first time one of us was actually that close to dying. He got pretty badly mauled by the beast in Wulfcynn Keep but even there I wasn't worried he was about to die. I think I just really don't want to have to face the others or make excuses to the nice folks at Notamimic Manor over someone getting killed."
"That didn't look like social anxiety to me, that looked like anger and maybe an urge for revenge," his mother countered, but then smiled. "I approve. Your father wouldn't be impressed but I think it's right to feel that way if someone tries to take something valuable away from you."
"I guess that kind of is what it felt like," Al admitted.
"Of course it was! The real treasure is the allies we make along the way!" his mother quoted, "and sometimes the world needs to be reminded what a bad idea it is to steal something from your hoard."
Al groaned. "Hoard?"
His mother just laughed at his discomfort. "Hey, if you weren't so much fun to tease, maybe I'd get bored of doing it! Go on then, what happened next?"
Al ran quickly through the rest of the eventful exploration of Darius' tomb and their eventual encounter with his ghost, including how Darius had practically forced the sword on him against his will before departing the waking world for his long-overdue meeting with the gatekeeper.
"I even tried to get one of the others to take it, but Gruntle's the only one that has the training to use it properly and he outright refused. It seems to have some kind of divine influence on it, so maybe the bit of him that's demonic just doesn't like it. Anyway, when we got out of there, we decided we really didn't want to go back to Turnipseed and we were all really filthy, so we took the road towards Hell's Bathtub instead. I do not recommend traveling through the Bloodless Swamp, and if I have any choice in the matter I never will again. We kind of freaked out the guard at the gate when we finally got there, but things calmed down when another guard noticed I was a wizard. It turns out Hell's Bathtub has multiple customers that like to walk around there transformed into some non-human shape, and they assumed Gruntle was just somebody who hired me to transform them into a gnoll. Some people seem to be starting to wonder how I make it last so long, but it's working so far. Well, except...oh. Uh, I don't think I should be talking about them, but there's one person there who seems to have gotten us roped into some sort of secret society. I'll admit I'm still a little suspicious of them, but they seem benign and I don't want to betray their trust by talking about them."
"Well, only the hottest fire can melt the silver of the moon," his mother replied.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing, never mind, what can you tell me about them?"
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"They did help us find our best job so far, and through them I will hopefully get a chance to read that book father insisted that I study before I try dealing more directly with infernality. We just finished the job yesterday. Well, the first part of the job, we're going to be going back..."
Al stopped as his mother held up a hand, looking around the room as she rose to her imaginary feet. Al saw what had caught her attention. The room had changed. Half of it was now bookshelves, and part of the table they were sitting at had become a desk. Al's mother cracked her knuckles and rolled her head to loosen her neck.
"Not sure what's going to happen here, I've never seen anything like this before. That's not mine. Be ready to dream about fighting for your life if it comes to that."
Al stood up as a bookshelf against the far wall swung open. His mother raised her hands to deal with whatever threat was posed by the person who emerged from hallway behind the bookshelf.
"Ah, there you are, Al, I got your letter...," the middle-aged woman in the white-and-gold robes with a magpie perched on her pointy hat began, halting when she noticed Al was not alone. She raised her own hands, ready to engage in magical fighting if necessary.
"Are you in danger?" she asked Al, at the same moment Al's mother asked, "Is she dangerous?"
Al's mother smiled broadly and relaxed, and the newcomer did the same a moment later.
"Al, aren't you going to introduce us?" Melissa prompted.
"Oh, uh, right," Al said, after a moment to shake off the surprise. "Uh, this is my mother, Agatha Arcanisen. Mom, this is Melissa Browne, she's the wizard I told you about who's been studying Gruntle and the other gnolls."
"Oh, she's the one who finally talked you into learning magical violence?" Al's mother asked in a tone of obvious approval. She stepped towards Melissa and held out her fist in greeting. Melissa obliged her, and the two dream-selves touched fists.
"I'm happy to finally meet you, even if the circumstances are unexpected," Melissa said, "I'd long assumed that something like this would happen if someone was subjected to this magic from multiple sources at the same time, but I never thought I'd be testing that assumption. Do you use this magic often, Ms. Arcanisen?"
"Just Agatha, please. And, yeah, a mom's got to keep watch over her innocent little boy!"
"Mom!" Al complained, "I'm an adult!"
"You have less experience being an adult than I do, so you're still my innocent little boy."
"He truly is," Melissa agreed, to Al's horror. "I must say you've raised your child well, he's a good-hearted young man. I was nonetheless surprised to discover that he'd set out adventuring without any means of using magic offensively."
"Oh, he's always been like that. Well, don't just imagine yourself standing there, come on over, have a seat and join us for some tea!" Al's mother insisted. A third chair appeared at the desk-table as she spoke, and a third cup and saucer sat on the table in front of it.
"Gladly, thank you," Melissa answered, "I'd love to hear more about the young man in whose endeavors we've invested." She took the indicated place at the table and poured some of the golden dream-tea into the cup and admired the imagined scent of it.
"Well, there's not much a proud mother would like to do more than brag about her perfect little angel of a child," Al's mother said, taking her own seat at the table. "Well, almost perfect. What was that about a letter? He never writes to his poor worried mother..."
"Okay, well, if you don't need me I'll be on my way back to normal sleep," Al said, having gone well past his embarrassment limit. He turned to head for the door he'd dreamed he came in through, only to find it missing.
"Don't be rude, Al, we have a guest! Get back over here and sit down," his mother insisted.
"Besides," Melissa added, "you seem educated enough to realize that as the subject of these workings of magic, if you leave, the dream will end, and this delightfully serendipitous meeting will end with it before I have a chance to properly meet your mother."
"So, I suppose you both want me to tell you about how our most recent job went?" Al offered as he sat, hoping to head off any embarrassing stories of his childhood. He hastily launched into a retelling of the adventure at the Lavatio and almost immediately stumbled right into an embarrassing childhood story when he described the nest of giant rats.
"Oh, I thought you liked rats," his mother teased, "you were so fond of Mister Cheese."
"Mister Cheese isn't a real rat," Al answered tersely.
"He has a large cloth rat stuffed with wool," his mother explained to Melissa, "He used to carry Mister Cheese around with him everywhere and slept with him every night."
"Mom, I was four years old when I got Mister Cheese!"
"And it was adorable!"
Melissa was unable to completely hide her amused smirk. Blushing, Al decided to drop the subject altogether and press ahead with the rest of the story, leaving out the giant undead zombie-making spider and the mysterious group that had come to fetch it. Both of the women in his audience nodded approvingly when he described his successful applications of shooting magic fire from his fingers.
"And how is Gruntle doing after his spiritual-possession ordeal?" Melissa asked as Al finished.
"He seems to be getting over it. For some reason, it seems to have made even more of an impression on him that nearly dying did, though. He doesn't seem to like being reminded of it."
"Why is that, do you think?" Melissa asked, leaning forward in a way that Al immediately recognized as tutor quizzing a student.
"Well," Al thought aloud, "I read the section of your treatise on gnolls and magic. You wrote that gnolls with a gift for magic-working are rare. They don't have the intellect or culture for scholarship so I expect even the ones that can work magic don't actually understand it. Something supernatural like spiritual possession must seem especially scary compared to something normal like being bitten in half by a giant bug-monster. ...right?"
"Well put, yes. Good, I can report to Grakthor that you are taking proper care of Gruntle for us. He won't admit it, but he's been worried. He said that if Gruntle was being well cared for that he'd be willing to help you familiarize yourself with your sword. That answers one of the questions from your letter. It seems to me you can probably answer the other one yourself. Would it be normal for a gnoll to sleep under your bed, and if so, why?"
Al flinched as he realized his mother hadn't heard about that yet. He ignored her raised eyebrow and tried to answer the question.
"That first night he did it, he said it was a place that was hidden and safe and good for ambushing people if they came to kill us. That much makes sense from what I've learned about gnolls so far, but why my bed?"
"Having a shaman makes a clan of gnolls more dangerous," Melissa prompted.
"Oh. Oh! Is he trying to protect me?"
Melissa laughed. "Agatha, I must again congratulate you on your son's upbringing, he's a very modest young man. No, Al, he's hiding under your bed so that you can protect him."
She imagined drinking the last of her tea and stood up. "I should get back, the others will want to know how things are going. They'll be happy to hear things seem to be working out even better than we'd expected. It was very pleasant to meet you, Agatha."
Al's mother stood as well to see their unexpected dream-guest off. "If you're ever up around Bright Peaks while you're awake, I expect you to come by for supper. Al can tell you where we are. Thanks for helping my son."
"It's a mutually beneficial arrangement," Melissa demurred, "it's no trouble at all. And, likewise, should you find yourselves in the vicinity of Goatminster, Notamimic Manor will always welcome you. I look forward to meeting you again."
Al and his mother waved as Melissa returned to the passage behind the bookshelf. It swung shut and disappeared, taking the rest of the bookshelves with it and returning everything to being a dream of the family sitting-room once again.
"I like her," Al's mother said, "a little bookish like you and Franklin, but I think she's a good influence on you. So...there's a gnoll under your bed, right now, while you're sleeping?"
"Yes?"
She reached over and ruffled Al's hair. "Thank you, Aloysius," she told him.
"For what?"
"For not being a boring child, and for indulging your mother's fun. You are just the best little hatchling."
"Mommmmm....."
"Just like that, yes!" she laughed. Then she leaned forward and kissed Al on the forehead. The door reappeared in the wall. "You will bring your friends for a visit sometime soon," she insisted.
"As soon as we can, I promise. Good night, mom."
"Good night."
Al turned to leave, then stopped and turned back.
"Please don't," he pleaded.
"Don't what?"
"You're about to wake up and tell father that I'm 'sleeping with a gnoll', aren't you?"
Agatha Arcanisen exploded with uproarious laughter. Al waited.
"Yes, I was," she admitted when she could speak again, "you have to admit, he has an interesting way of thinking."
"If you tell him that, he's going to think I'm ... doing some kind of intense physiological and behavioral research."
"Yes, that's what makes it funny," his mother chuckled, "but that's also why I decided not to. When you finally come to visit, I don't want to listen to him complaining that you didn't show up with an essay and technical diagrams with your observations."