Empirical Gnollage: Installment 117 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment117.png]

Adding what seemed to be a disturbingly cheerful murder confession to the tension over the possibility of a frenzied gnoll biting people wasn't, in hindsight, a particularly good idea. Al felt some gratitude that the absurdity at least seemed to have momentarily pushed the guard-captain far enough past familiar situations to make him hesitate.

"We were attacked by a madman on the way here," Al rushed to explain before anyone decided precautionary violence was the right reaction, "We were bringing his body here to make a report."

"And collect a reward if there is one!" Wikwocket added, "We think he was hunting werewolves without a license!"

"We don't think that, it's just you," Al said, but was interrupted by the guard captain.

"Hunting werewolves?" the captain asked far less skeptically than Al would have expected. The captain drew his short sword from its sheathe and held it down at his side. "Why do you think that?"

"He had a lot of silver on him! He probably has all those silver rings so he could punch werewolves!"

"Show me," the captain demanded.

"Yes, s....captain," Al answered quickly. Careful not to make any sudden movements in front of the tense guards, he moved the packs off of the corpse and flipped back the bedroll to reveal the peaceful corpse's face.

"Charlie Smitherton!" the captain exclaimed, "Well, I guess just Charlie now that he's supposedly been disowned. A squad headed out this morning to Wayfarer's Rest to see if he'd fled the city in that direction and warn the people there to watch out for him. He's a dangerous fugitive, or at least he was."

"Wow, I didn't realize unlicensed werewolf-hunting was such a big deal!" Wikwocket exclaimed.

"He wasn't hunting werewolves," the captain said, looking down at the revealed body. "I see something took a big chunk out of his neck and shoulder. Looks an awful lot like a bite wound, but I'm guessing a werewolf didn't do that, either."

He looked up at Gruntle, who was crouched down next to Wikwocket, waiting. Al groaned quietly as Gruntle unhelpfully drooled slightly at the mention of neck-biting.

"No s...captain, that was Gruntle, he was defending us."

"The gnoll? You have a gnoll named Gruntle?" the incredulous guard-captain asked, getting a grunt of confirmation from the gnoll. "And it defended you?"

"He did, yes. He's honestly been unexpectedly helpful in surviving what we've been through since we set out."

The captain said nothing for several moments, silently staring at Al.

"I feel like there's a lot going on here that I'm not being told," he finally said.

"I am sure we will happily tell you all of the details," Bote chimed in, scratching their beard thoughtfully, "but perhaps it would be better in a more formal setting, where appropriate records of the report can be made. I expect that would be less stressful for everyone here, including your guards who are still wondering if they will be asked to charge and run us all through with lances."

The captain looked around at his guards, who still held their lances ready and did their best to keep their nervous horses under control. Then he looked back to the gnoll. Wikwocket smiled and waved, leaning with exaggerated friendliness against Gruntle.

With the point of his sword, the captain flipped the bedroll back over the corpse and with some reluctance re-sheathed it. He signaled the mounted guards to resume their escort. They raised their lances and took up their positions, and the march to the city gates resumed.

"This is only the second time, ever, that I've heard of someone capturing and keeping a live gnoll," he said to Al they the walked.

"Actually, captain, this is probably still only the first time. The retired adventurers who raised him convinced us to take him with us in exchange for some investment to get our own adventuring going."

"Figured you had to be adventurers. No offense, but you don't look wealthy enough to be regular Hell's Bathtub clientele, what were you doing down there?"

"Well, when we finished the job we were on south of there, Gruntle really needed a bath. We didn't want to go back through Turnipseed and we saw the sign for Hell's Bathtub so..."

"Back to Turnipseed? You went to Turnipseed in the first place?"

"They had work for us and we... didn't really know about Turnipseed at the time. It was our second job, after we saved the village of Henhaven from something that was murdering them."

"The backwoods baron out there has his keep near there, doesn't he? I heard he was kind of a weird reclusive shut-in."

"He didn't seem that way to me, he seemed quite friendly for a noble. Apparently he hadn't been at his keep for a while, and some caretaker was supposed to be maintaining it while baron Wulfcynn was gone. Um, it turned out that he was the one murdering the villagers, that's a whole story of its own. Wikwocket tells it better than I can."

"So far the only part of this that makes sense is the part where you would rather walk through the Bloodless Swamp than go back to Turnipseed. How did you even expect to sneak a gnoll in?"

"Well, like I said before, everyone seemed to assume he was some rich merchant or noble that was paying me to make him look like that, so once everyone got over the initial shock they just had him take the oath to the goddess with the rest of us and we went in. That was probably the weirdest few days of my life so far."

"A gnoll. Took an oath to a goddess."

"Yes, he wrote his given name in the book and everything."

"A gnoll. Took an oath to a goddess. In writing?"

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"Yeah, that part surprised me, too. He's not good at it, but apparently he can read and write some."

"Adventuring sounds tiresomely full of surprises."

"It really is, sometimes," Al agreed.

"Still, I imagine it has its perks. Danger-loving adventurers with a gnoll must be able to get some nice discounts from shops."

"Why is that?"

The captain gave Al a knowing look. "Sure would be a shame if my buddy the gnoll thought we were being overcharged, he might get upset."

"I honestly don't think he cares, as long as he has plenty to eat and a comfortable place to rest. Wait... do you mean we should extort discounts? I don't want to do anything like that!"

The captain studied Al's face for a moment, then nodded. "Good. See that you don't. Southwall may be the edge of civilization here, but my city is civilized and I intend to keep it that way."

Sounds like I passed a test, Al realized.

"So," he asked the captain, "what exactly did Charlie do that's got everyone looking for him?"

"Animal fights, and running an unlicensed gambling establishment."

"That's pretty horrible. I take it Southwall is strict about getting its share of tax revenue from gambling?"

"Yes, but that's not the part that's the big problem. Intentionally causing animal fights is very illegal here, and organized animal fights are extremely illegal."

"Not that I disapprove, really, but why?"

"Werewolves."

"Uh..."

"You don't know about the werewolves? You ever been to our arena before?"

"No, it's not the sort of thing I usually do for entertainment. I know criminals get made to fight there as punishment for crimes."

"We administer a lot of different punishments there for public spectacle. It brings in money for the city, keeps the citizens amused, and reminds them that criminal behavior has a cost. We used to sometimes condemn a criminal to fight something like a bear or hungry wolves. The crowd loved it, it was very popular. Then, the murders started. Ugly ones, people ripped apart, half-eaten, blood and gore everywhere."

"Werewolf?"

"That's right. High priority case since a lot of the victims were city government. A lot of good guards were killed or injured before we figured out what we were up against. A druid-priest told us it was retribution for unnaturally forcing animals to fight, but we finally found out it was one of the arena animal-wranglers that was doing it, after we finally caught up to him with some silver-tipped spears and saw who he turned back into when he died. We thought it'd be over, but then the murders started up again. Always seemed to be going after people in city government, but they didn't seem to care who else they killed along the way. Turned out to be an accountant for the city who liked attending the events with the criminals fighting animals. Swore she didn't know she was doing it but transformed right in front of us and tried to rip her way out. Caught Diana pretty bad before we put the werewolf down. Townsfolk didn't like it, but we outlawed animal fights and the murders stopped. That's probably why the warden is interested in your gnoll."

"The warden?"

"Patrick, steward of the arena. He's also the warden for the prison attached to it. A gnoll isn't a natural animal, so the nature-gods shouldn't object if we make it fight condemned criminals, and the bloodthirsty crowd will love it."

"I don't think we'll need to make him do it. The only thing I worry about is if we can get him to stop. Sometimes the punishment isn't supposed to end in death, right?"

"I'll let Patrick figure that out if he's interested," the captain said, watching the gnoll lope ahead of the donkey and cart. "How do you intend to keep it under control when it's not eating criminals?"

"It really hasn't been as much of a problem as you might think. He really is pretty well known in Silveroak."

"Don't be offended if I have trouble believing that, if that's really a gnoll."

"Well, since I'm apparently our mighty clan shaman he seems to have some respect for me. I'm a lot less worried about him now than I was a few weeks ago."

"That's good, because if we let it into the city, you all are responsible for anybody it eats."

Al sighed. "I'm getting used to that."

The rest of the march to the city gates was spent in silence, the captain suspiciously watching the gnoll walking ahead of the donkey. The captain called a halt as they arrived. They waited for word from inside.

"Why isn't the donkey afraid of him?" the captain finally asked.

"He was out in a chicken yard to protect them from predators, we think. Maybe after a while he got the idea that he can just stomp or kick any predator that bothers him. I mean, he kicked Gruntle. It was supposed to be a fist-fight but obviously donkeys don't have fists."

"There was no lasting enmity," Bote added, "In fact, it was Gruntle to have Haunch his name not long afterwards."

"Stop," the captain insisted, pressing his fingers into his temples to assuage the growing headache. "Forget I asked. There's more crazy in that answer than I can cope with at this point."

"I swear we're not making that up," Al promised.

"I believe you, but that only makes it worse."

The gate swung open far enough for the rider that had been sent to find the steward of the arena to emerge. He hastened out to make his report.

"Patrick insists that we immediately bring them to him. He says he's got a place for them to stay and everything there. He was very excited."

"Great," the captain replied with profound resignation. "All right, if anybody asks, we're taking them for questioning on suspicion of unauthorized shapechanging magic. Hopefully that'll keep people from unnecessary panic. You adventurers, stay with us and don't do anything violent. Or weird. We've got a way to go to get to where the arena is, then you're Patrick's problem."

The captain followed up with some more orders for his riders, who reorganized themselves in front and behind the adventurers and their cart-pulling donkey. The gate opened wide, and the march resumed down the wide main road from the gate to the city center. The curious onlookers peeking out of windows and doorways were everywhere, making Al feel like they were some sort of spectacle. The faces he could see were variously worried, disbelieving, overwhelmed by wonder, or some combination of those.

"Hey, is there normally this much smoke here?" Wikwocket asked, pointing ahead. While there were plenty of chimneys crammed together in the crowded city, the amount of dark billowing smoke beginning to rise above the rooftops seemed excessive.

"Bucket brigade will take care of it, stay in line," insisted the captain, trying unsuccessfully to hasten everyone ahead before the frantic cries for help and the running footsteps reached them. A wild-eyed, middle-aged man wearing thick gloves and an apron rounded the corner at a run. He screamed and fell painfully on his butt when he nearly ran into the gnoll and the guards watching him.

"What did you burn this time, Ebeneezer," asked the captain in a tone that suggested this wasn't an entirely uncommon circumstance.

"Nothing! Please, I just went out to get some supplies, I saw the smoke just now when I got back! Please, you must help me!"

"Bucket brigade will take care of it, just be patient. I'm sure they're on their way already, we're a little busy here."

"No! You don't understand! My apprentice is still in there! And also my irreplaceable alchemical formulae! Please! I'll give you anything... you buy... from the store... at a twenty-five percent discount?" Ebeneezer offered, his urgent concerns at war with his merchant instincts.

"You hear that Al? This sounds like a call for some magical-sword-heroism! Come on!" Wikwocket demanded, then sprinted past the guards before they could react. Gruntle's swift rush to follow her startled the horses enough to prevent the riders from bringing their lances to bear before the two disappeared around the corner, headed towards the smoke.

"Get back here!" the captain shouted.

"Uh, I'll go get them, don't worry," Al said With an apologetic grimace, and hurried after the gnome and gnoll.

"I'm afraid it really can't be helped," Bote explained. "I promise you their intentions are good. Wikwocket cannot resist this chance to rush into danger to rescue someone, you see. I should probably follow as well, would you be so kind as to keep Haunch safe for us while we adventure a bit for the greater good?"

"Just...just go," the captain said, one eye twitching.

"Thank you. We will endeavor not to make you regret indulging us."

Bote give the respectful eye-ear-nose-mouth gesture of their religious order and jogged after the others.

"Quit screwing around!" shouted the captain at the riders who were still trying to get their horses to calm down. "Surround the building! I don't care what Patrick wants, of the apprentice gets eaten we're putting that thing down!"

"Wait...what?!" Ebeneezer exclaimed.