Empirical Gnollage: Installment 102 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment102.png]

Gruntle's sudden distressed yelp was almost a scream as he leapt backwards away from the table. The gnoll's back slammed against the wall as he moved away as far as he could, baring his teeth. Al found himself rising to his feet to defend Gruntle from whatever might be about to happen, but lady FitzWayne's expression of surprise and dismay made clear that she hadn't meant to do anything alarming. Al stopped his hand from reaching for his mace as he backed up to the corner Gruntle had pressed himself into. Lady FitzWayne seemed to be breathing too hard to speak, but she reached out a thin pleading hand with the faintly-flickering ring on one finger. Charlene rushed to support Lady Fitzwayne as Al reached back to put a hand on Gruntle's arm.

"It's all right, she's not going to do anything to you," Al promised as he watched Charlene trying to calm their host. Gruntle quieted down and relaxed into a crouch, leaving Al feeling a little silly about somehow having ended up needing to protect such a fearsome creature, and self-conscious about the fact that Gruntle seemed to think he was so good at it.

"Why... what...?" Lady FitzWayne wheezed, as Charlene attended to her.

"Calm yourself," Charlene quietly urged, "Deep, slow breaths now. You've overexcited yourself again."

Al began to feel bad for the sickly lady as she struggled to regain her breath and speak.

"When you say you covet his body," Al explained, "I can think of a couple of ways to interpret that. He recently had a bad experience with spiritual possession and I'm sure that's the one Gruntle was thinking of." A quiet grunt from Gruntle confirmed Al's assumption.

"No... no... I don't even know how... I would do such a thing...," Lady FitzWayne pleaded between breaths, the stone on her ring flickering in time with her speech, Al noticed. "Please..."

Wikwocket let go of BiteySue's hilt, looking as surprised at herself as she was at Lady FitzWayne's statement.

"Well, that was dramatic!" she said, "What did you mean, and are you all right?"

"No," Lady FitzWayne answered, sadly, "I am not."

The stone on the ring flickered in time with Wikwocket as well, Al saw. As the sound of running footsteps coming from the hallway outside distracted Lady FitzWayne's attention, Al muttered a brief chant and gestured, sensitizing his sight to magical influences. From this perspective, Lady FitzWayne's ring was the center of a waving mass of tendrils, tasting the air for information like some strange sea-creature feeding on plankton.

The out-of-breath butler rushed into the room, a wide silver bowl of cold, lightly-seared meat chunks in one hand, and a fireplace poker gripped tightly in the other.

"Lady FitzWayne, is anything wrong? I heard a dreadful noise," he said, looking surprised to see the gnoll backed away into a corner behind Al. Al gave the man a strained smile, then turned his attention back to Lady FitzWayne and her strange magical ring. Al watched the ring's tendrils of magical sense wave as if in a current of water as Lady FitzWayne answered, the simple magical spirit inside the stone sending out small pulses of light in response.

"It's fine, Percy, just... a misunderstanding. Thank you," she answered.

"Ah, I see," he said, and Al watched the ring respond to his words the same way, "Well, I have brought some of Darling's meat for our guest." He held up the bowl and looked from Lady FitzWayne to Gruntle and back, uncertain what do to.

"Uh, Lady FitzWayne," Al suggested, "would you give it to him? It might help."

He tried to keep his focus on Lady FitzWayne's face to avoid giving away his interest in the ring. In his peripheral vision, though, he could see the magic around it tasting his own words and the light flickering in time with them.

Lady FitzWayne nodded to the butler, with a small smile on her lips as he gave her the bowl of meat.

"I admire how freely he commits to being what he currently is," she said, and held out the bowl towards Gruntle. "Please. Come back and eat." Her hand wavered and she had to set the bowl down on the table, though she held onto it. Al gave Gruntle an encouraging nod, and the gnoll stalked cautiously back to the table to lean down and sniff at the bowl. His jaws opened wide and he sank his teeth into the pile of meat chunks. Lady FitzWayne grinned softly like a child feeding a stray puppy. Al returned to his seat and reached for the tray of small cakes, only to discover that nearly all of them were gone. He took the last one with the cherry on top and sent an accusing glare in Wikwocket's direction.

"Wha?" she asked around a mouthful of pastry, holding several more in her small hands. "You guyth weren't eatin' 'em." She swallowed and threw one of the small cakes at Gruntle's head, yelling "Catch!"

Gruntle's head snapped up and turned, expertly snatching the flying pastry out of the air with his mouth and chewing it with the meat.

Lady FitzWayne laughed, then sighed.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

"He is beautiful," she breathed, admiring.

"So, uh... getting back to the point, when you said you covet his body, what exactly did you mean?" Al finally had to ask as he began to feel uncomfortable.

"I mean I envy him. I envy his strength, his vitality, his freedom. I would be just like him, if I could."

"You... want to be a gnoll?"

"Yes. Or anything else that isn't... this," she answered, gesturing towards herself with a shaky, pale hand.

"Can't you make a sacrifice at a temple somewhere and get a miracle to fix you?" Wikwocket asked. Lady FitzWayne shook her head sadly.

"No. I've been inquiring for years. If this was the result of some disease or curse something might be done, but this is just the way I was born. There are miracles offered that would restore me to a natural state, but this is my natural state. None have offered me a miracle that would change what I am."

"So I expect you have asked us to come so that you might ask how it is that Gruntle remains what he is?" Bote predicted. Lady FitzWayne nodded.

"Yes. I am no worker of magic, but I can read. I may be too weak to fetch the books myself, but I can at least turn the pages. I have made some study of shape-changing magic. I am familiar with magic that can transform someone into a natural beast. I have seen hints that there is magic known that can even transform someone into an unnatural beast, like your wonderful gnollish friend. What I have read confirms that the change is always only a short, temporary, thing that wouldn't even last a whole morning. Gruntle has been seen in this shape at all hours so I must know, what magic have you discovered that lets him remain in this shape for so long?" Lady FitzWayne shot Al a pleading look, breathing heavily again just from the exertion of speaking.

"Oh, uh, well, the magic is... unusual and complicated...," Al began. The light from Lady FitzWayne's ring went out. She glanced at it sadly, then looked back up at Al.

"Please," she begged, the light from the ring resuming, "I promise I will keep your secrets. I need to know."

It's tasting the truth of words? Al speculated.

"Well, if you promise," he tried, "you see, he's... been this way since he was very young. The influence of a demon was involved in making him this way. I suppose you could consider it something like a curse. He's been kept away from most populated places until recently." The ring continued its flickering light with Al's words.

"Do you know the demon's name?" Lady FitzWayne asked hopefully.

"No, we don't yet but... wait, please tell me you aren't considering asking a demon for help?"

"Yeah, the last guy we ran into that did that, the demon took all that he was, and all that was left was a hideous malformed beast going around murdering villagers and ripping out their hearts for a terrible sacrifice. That doesn't seem like something anybody should do," Wikwocket agreed.

"But, was he free?" Lady FitzWayne asked emphatically.

"Very much not," Bote answered, "All parties to a deal of this nature are effectively enslaved by it, and demons have a reputation for knowing how to arrange these deals to profit from the suffering of the mortal that enters into it."

Al nodded. "Yeah, the thing we found that had once been a man who made a deal with a demon had become horrible, afraid of the dark and nothing left of himself but fear of the demon and an obsession with what he'd made the deal over. I've been doing research on demons lately and that seems to be how things usually go for mortals."

"You've studied them?," Lady FitzWayne asked, voice hopeful, "You could help me find the right demon, and craft a deal that wouldn't be so costly?"

"Yeah, Al! Maybe your demon-slave will be able to help!" Wikwocket suggested with far too much enthusiasm for Al's comfort.

"No! And as I keep telling you, it's not going to be a demon-slave!" he insisted, feeling guilty at Lady FitzWayne's crestfallen expression.

"Come on, Al, what kind of magical sword hero can ignore this kind of suffering?" Wikwocket countered.

"Yes, look at me," Lady FitzWayne added, jumping on the opportunity. She held out her stick-thin arms, pale and shaking. "Look at this. Like this, I can barely walk. Sunlight burns my skin. The cold chills me. Winds could knock me over. I cannot run or climb or swim. The slightest sickness is a mortal threat to me. I can't even experience any real excitement without feeling faint. Relief from this torment is all too scarce. Please. Help me. I will give anything..."

The light of the ring went out, and she allowed a soft smile. The light returned as she spoke again. "I will give nearly anything that is within my power to offer to be rid of the burden of this form," she corrected.

"I'm not saying we won't help," Al said, relenting a little, "but I don't know where we'd start or how long it would take to come up with something. I mean, maybe there's something alchemical that could help, or some sort of magical spell or object, or something. It's not just me, though, we're a team."

"A heroic team!" Wikwocket amended.

"Who, I am confident, is here at this time for a reason," Bote agreed.

"Yeah, yeah, ineffably, I know," Al muttered, looking to Gruntle, who gave no obvious sign of opinion. He did at least look up from the bowl he was holding and licking clean of meat-juices.

"All right," Al conceded, "but only if you promise to wait for us and not to get involved with demons." He was reassured by how quickly Lady FitzWayne answered.

"Yes! Yes I promise! Thank you!" she gasped, as Charlene moved to steady her again.

"And, you don't care how it might change you?"

"All I've known of this shape I was born into is frailty and weakness. I have no love for it. I would gladly have another."

"And you're not going to ask what it will cost you?"

"Nearly anything I am able to offer will be yours!"

Al sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation.

"See, that's why I made you promise. Do you have any idea what I could do with that if I was a demon?"

A questioning grumble came from Gruntle's throat as he looked up. His brow furrowed in thought as he stared at Al for a long moment.

"Kill and eat," he finally suggested, to Lady FitzWayne's startled delight.

"He can even speak?" she marveled.