Kregaxr was not having a good day.

By all accounts the day itself should have been a pleasant one. It was just at the end of the summer season, right as the leaves were starting to lose their green luster and be replaced with various hues of reds and yellows. The sun was shining brightly above, a gentle warmth that kissed the skin and warmed the body. It was a stark contrast to the fiery wrath he was accustomed to back home in the Salahad Desert. There, it was a constant searing heat that boiled the sands until they scalded your foot-paws and left every source of water a treasure worth dying over. Or worth killing over, something Kregaxr was no stranger to and knew quite well first hand.

The journey itself that he and his pack had taken from Bulwar was also quite enjoyable. Being entrusted by the newest Pack Mistress herself, or at least by the economic advisor on her council, who was confident this was to be an excellent opportunity to increase exports into the greater Western Cannor region. Kregaxr was to represent the Tluukt Gnollpack at a tournament being held in Ashfield.

Kregaxr had laughed upon hearing he himself was banned from participating, as well as any other gnoll banned from fighting in the tournament. Naturally he knew if he was to participate it wouldn't have been a fair fight between himself and any of the fighters the human nations could have been able to muster. Just as naturally to this was the fact he wouldn't have personally fought even if the organizers had allowed it in the first place. That situation would have been absurd. Kregaxr was chosen as the representative after all not because of his fighting prowess, but rather because he was a renowned Krah who operated the greatest pit-fighter ludus north of Gazraak. He was to bring a small selection of his finest trained pit-slaves to be showcased in the arena. And seeing that this was a business venture, his caravan had been financed and provided trade goods straight from the coin purse of Tluukt itself.

Cotton from Traz Suran, silks from Zanbar. Sugar cane from Suran Narit and fresh peppers, spices, fruits and more from the farm markets in Zansap. The raw value of the goods brought along held more value than the entire worth of several of the small nations the caravan had passed through along their way to reach Ashfield.

No it wasn't the bright blue sky above, nor the clouds floating by, nor the birds taking wing and singing their morning calls to any who would listen. No it was none of these wonderful, enjoyable things. The source of Kregaxr's thoroughly unpleasant day was one Mrs. Gertrude Frostmeyer, presently sitting behind the registration table at the tournament grounds.

"No."

Kregaxr snatched his papers from where they lay untouched on the table before Mrs. Frostmeyer. "What's wrong with them now?!?" he yelled, waving the papers in her face.

Mrs. Frostmeyer's expression remained impassive through the outburst. She was old, at the point where one had trouble placing her actual age, or perhaps it was Kregaxr who simply had troubling telling. His expertise with humans was while they were in the prime of their youth after all, none ever managed to live long enough in his profession to start worrying about the effects of aging.

Regardless, Kregaxr knew she was old. Her cheeks sagged on either side of her face to hang lower, giving her the appearance of jowls. Lines of wrinkles covered every inch of her face, from the top of her forehead down to her chin. Her lips were pulled thin, back and down on either side of her mouth by her hanging cheeks to give her a permanent scowl as she stared out from behind the horn-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

Mrs. Frostmeyer sighed, briefly adjusting her lenses before letting them settle back into position, the green beads on the attached eyeglass chain attached to either side of the frame lightly clacking together.

"As I explained earlier," she continued, her voice the mixed high nasally and low gruffness of someone who'd used a pouch of smokeleaf everyday for the last forty years of her life. "Anyone who wanted to participate in the tournament needed to have finished turning in their paperwork before the noon bell and we break for lunch."

Kregaxr gnashed his teeth in frustration. "The bell hasn't rung yet now has it?" he asked, resisting the urge to reach across the table and strangle the old hag.

Mrs. Frostmeyer glanced to a corner of the table where a miniature sundial rested, the shadow barely cresting the noonmark. She took a moment to adjust her glasses once more.

"I suppose you are correct," she admitted. "If they are in good order they may be submitted until the bell rings."

Kregaxr let out a sigh of relief. Placing the crumpled papers back on the table he took a moment to attempt to smooth them back out as best as possible before passing them over. Just as he held them out and Mrs. Frostmeyer started to reach out to take the papers, a chime tolled through the air. Once, twice. It continued to ring out loud and clear with twelve measured strikes, cutting through the noise of activities and preparations being done around the tournament grounds.

Mrs. Frostmeyer let out a small grunt, pulling her hand back and leaving Kregaxr holding his papers over the table. "Hmph, it would appear that you are out of time. All paperwork should have been turned in before the noon bell when we break for lunch. Excuse me."

With that, she pushed her chair away from the table, stood up, and left. Kregaxr stood dumbfounded for a moment, not quite sure if the scenario he found himself in actually just occurred. Realizing she was in fact serious and not coming back, he howled in frustration, ripping the paperwork he had been forced to redo three times and then still fail to have turned in into shreds.

Panting, he stared daggers towards where Mrs. Frostmeyer had disappeared as the shredded bits of paperwork fell around him like confetti. Eventually he turned his attentions elsewhere and left the registration table. He would have his revenge on Mrs. Frostmeyer, he was sure of it. In the mean time however, a more pressing matter was afoot.

The primary reason for the whole endeavor was a complete failure, without being able to compete in the upcoming competition, the slaves he had brought with him all the way from Bulwar were useless, dead meat. Instead of *earning* coin for each, he would now have to factor in costs for continuing feeding and housing them, both of which would cut into his profits severely. Worse yet, the further westward they had traveled, the more people had frowned upon hearing of his available slaves. Something Kregaxr found ridiculous; if you want to call them indentured servants instead of slaves, you only care about the name of the product not what it actually was. The unnecessary confusion between two of the same only caused confusion in business deals, and something that caused confusion in business lead to a potential loss of business. No, Kregaxr preferred to call them as they were, much to the disgruntlement of several of the potential buyers he had already spoken with.

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Regardless, the situation meant it would be even more difficult for Kregaxr to sell off his available stock on hand. The tournament was supposed to help them break into the local markets, but now he'd have to find some other way to turn a profit with them.

He continued his musings until eventually he made his way to where his caravan was being unloaded. Several members of his pack were directing the process of moving and storing the various goods they had brought along, while the rest were relaxing underneath the shade of the pavilion tent already set up. They had been assigned a plot of land where they could sell their wares during the event and all around them other hopeful traders were also setting up their stalls. Within the day the area surrounding the arena where the tournament was taking place had transformed from recently harvested hay fields into an impromptu shanty town crossed with a grand bazaar. Kregaxr had heard of national or regional fairs that were described in much the same way and he was impressed that it could somehow exist without immediately breaking down into petty thefts and grand melees over the fine selection of goods on hand.

Then again, as the thought crossed his mind he couldn't help but look at the bungled mass of furs and hides left laying in the open ground in the plot directly across from where his pack was setting up their shop. Or more precisely, he couldn't help but look at the giant blue creature lazily sleeping on top of that said mass of furs and hides.

Where Kregaxr and his fellow gnolls easily stood over a head taller than any human, he could tell the sleeping monster that was happily letting his drool puddle on the furs it had shoved under its head as a makeshift pillow would have towered over any of the gnolls in the pack had it been standing upright. His experience in training pit-slaves against all manner of wild beast let him easily pick out from its physical features, such as the extruding tusks from its lips or the massive bulge of muscles nearly hidden under the dirty rags it wore, that anyone it caught stealing from its hoard of pelts wouldn't live long enough to enjoy it once it caught them.

A loud crash sounding from behind him interrupted his wandering thoughts, followed by curses and threats yelled out in the harsh language of Kregaxr's mother tongue overlayed with the sharp crack of a whip. Turning, he saw one of the slaves had dropped a crate from the rear of one of the wagons and now lay whimpering as a Packmate struck him for its incompetence. The wood had smashed open from the fall and sent the brightly colored citrus fruits inside scattering across the ground, some even rolling past Kregaxr.

Kregaxr sighed, yet another waste. He'd have to be sure to torture this one tonight before killing it to make sure the others think twice before letting merchandise fall like the unfortunate fool on the ground did.

As he was about to call out for one of the other slaves to start collecting the product he heard the creature he had been observing awaken from its slumber. With a loud yawn, it rolled off the mound it had been sleeping on before blinking idly at Kregaxr. A dim flicker of awareness in its beady eyes told Kregaxr its size had obviously been offset by its intelligence. A moment latter it started snuffling with its nose, drawing deep, short breaths in as it caught a scent. It soon found the source and Kregaxr watched in curiosity as it scooped up several of the scattered fruits and a noticeable amount of dirt surrounding them in a single hand. Holding the fruit and dirt directly to its nose, it sniffed several more times before shoving the whole handful directly into its wide maw. It chewed several times and swallowed the mass, a rumble of satisfaction grumbling out as it reached for more of the nearby fruits.

"Hey!" Kregaxr shouted at the beast. It stopped and stared at the gnoll standing across the way from it. "Those are mine! You understand? You are eating my fruit, where's my money? You gotta pay for that."

The creatures eyes glazed over, looking no different than those of cattle. Kregaxr cursed that he didn't know what the beast was, much less whatever language it may have spoken beside the local Common.

He tried again, breaking his speech down as simple as he could. "That mine, me. You eat, pay. Give me, or no eat," he said, pointing at each thing as he was talking before holding his paw out.

A glimmer of understanding crossed the creature's face and it nodded. Reaching under the pile of furs it pulled out a comically large coin purse that was still too small for it to use properly. Shoving its fingers inside, it rummaged around for a moment before pulling out some of its contents.

Pushing itself to its feet, it crossed the pathway between it and Kregaxr in only a couple massive steps, squishing several of the fruits underfoot in doing so. Reaching out, it dropped several coins and small chunks of blue rock into Kregaxr's waiting paw. Then it squatted down on its heels, barely eye-level with Kregaxr.

"Me pay. Funny cat-dog feed yum food. Me eat yum food," it rumbled out as it starting scooping up the spilled fruits in the area.

Kregaxr took a quick glance at the coins in his hand, seeing they were worth more than what the entire spilled crate was. And he didn't know what the bits of strange rock were, but by the way they clacked against the coin's surfaces told him it must be some sort of metal ore.

"Yes good," he said nodding his head. "You get spilled fruit. But you want more you pay, yes?"

The creature happily nodded in agreement, juices from crushed fruits dribbling down its chin as it continued to stuff handfuls of the citrus down its gullet. Kregaxr tossed the coins in his paw, a new idea slowly taking form as he watched the hungry beast eating. Turning his attention back to the slaves finishing unloading the last of the food goods from the wagons, Kregaxr thought maybe there was some way to salvage his current situation after all.

---

Kregaxr was having a good day.

Immediately after he had set up a fire-pit and grill, his Bulwari Shish Kabobs had become a massive hit. Most of the tournament goers had never even heard of the peppers and other vegetables he seared over a bed of hot coals, sandwiched between thin slices of meat and covered with the spicy seasonings and desert salt that were the stables of foods in his far away home. His only wish was that he had the forethought to have brought a spit and plenty of flat bread to have done proper doner kebabs. Still, his pack's pavilion had seen non-stop business for the last three days, and by the end of the tournament they had managed to sell off all of the goods they had brought with them, establishing several new trade deals for both exporting out of and importing various wares into Tluukt.

The trolls alone, as he soon found out what his neighbors across the way were, had eaten more than half of all his sales. Even better, he had found out the bits of rock they had been paying with were pieces of crushed Damestear, a resource far more valuable than the mere gold and silver coins everyone else had traded in.

Kregaxr giggled to himself, the foolish trolls had been *eating* the stuff when they weren't shoving kabobs or fresh fruits in their mouths by the fistful. Absolutely fascinated, he was determined he would have to establish a better line of communication with the simple folk and find out where exactly they called home.

Whistling to himself as he watched the rest of his pack finish the tear down and packing of their pavilion, he climbed into the rear of one of the now empty caravan wagons and stretched out to relax. He had managed to collect over three pounds of crushed Damestear from the trolls alone, and another pound from underground market traders over the course of the event.

His Pack Mistress had been discreetly looking into possible ways of awakening the magic potential in her blood, a feat that even her mother had failed to accomplish before passing away. Perhaps with this mage stuff, she might be able to finally enable her magical arts. Kregaxr cackled to himself, perhaps with this he might be richly rewarded himself. He had heard the Pack Mistress still hadn't conceived and was looking to spawn a cub. *"A rich reward for a rich success indeed kekekek,"* he giggled to himself.

Soon enough his pack had finished loading the few items they had left to bring back home and the caravan was on its way. While he wouldn't have minded the extra protection, ultimately he was confident he and his pack would be more than sufficient to protect his precious cargo of Damestear all the way back to the desert sands of Tluukt. He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head and let the gentle rocking of the wagon lull him to sleep, happy he didn't have to worry about the extra costs of feeding the pit-slaves after all.