The room dimmed as the gnoll female stood. Her legs were locked in a bent position. Her usual height of 6’6 shrunk down past that of most human males. Her pupils dilated as her heart thundered in her chest.

Her mind sharpened as the green wraith stalked forward. Dag knew, knew in the bones that had shattered, muscles twisted and forced into pins and wrenched until her joints popped, that this demon in goblin form could, would, and would be justified in the violence they radiated.

Matriarch Glora was someone capable of great compassion, but her capability for violence was far, far greater. Dag had seen the dexterity of her savior, her mother slow as the past two decades went on. But she knew, that this frail frame could match her youthful and natural speed without an issue.

“Greetings Matr-“ The gnoll was silenced by the drawing back of the revolver’s hammer. No words, no threats. Only a promise of one chance or she would not live to regret her waste of words.

Dag did not speak. She did not make a sound as the dust and energy faded from the cell. She could not hear anything, no guards, no riot. Glora had permission, or at least was too scary to be impeded by weak willed guards.

Her eyes, her body shuddered as everything, every implication of this meeting meant. And she knew it was deserved.

“Four, he, hund-hehe-red and seventy four gold… One, hehe, thirty silver… seventeen copper… and, hurh-“ the cold metal of a magical weapon pressed into the crotch of the gnoll. She could feel it against her nether and felt a new flavor of fear fill her. “One fifty worth of gemstones!”

The silence of the surroundings began to fill Dag's ears, as a minute passed in silence. Her adrenaline was slowing. Her fear shifted from an immediate scream of her instincts to flee, to the constant weight as the executioner walks towards you on the gallows. Her matriarch, her mother, wanted so, so badly to explode. They wanted to beat her like the street scum she was.

The revolver was retracted, the hammer lowered. The ghost of violence and righteous anger was not forgiving their target. They were stepping back so that they could pass judgement.

Dag knelt, slamming her thick skull against the floor with a slam loud enough to echo out. She could imagine the guards cowering as the only sound they had heard in a minute was that of stone shattering from a horrific slam against brick. The matriarch, however, did not react.

“You’se… You’se are no longer Dagger Miodog Glora. You’se spat and pissed upon the name I’se gave you’se. The name you’se earned!” There was a slam of boot against stone. The gnoll did not look up.

“You’se break you’se oath, you’se pact, you’se duty to this clan. You’se shame me’se, shame you’se brothers and sisters. You’se shame you’se self.” A gnoll was incapable of crying from emotions, but her eyes, throat and head burned in pain and self-loathing. “You’se clan, you’se pack! You’se convinced me’se to give you’se and Tanny my’se name! You’se spoke of the honor you’se felt when I’se bestowed it! You- You’se worthless, pathetic puppy!”

No falsehoods were uttered. The gnoll knew what this goblin spoke of. Knew her pride when she convinced her once matriarch to consider and eventually accept the proposal. And understood what was to come. Banishment. Removal of her now worthless name. She was meant to be the dagger at her mother’s side. But she was the dagger in her once clan’s back. None but her and the goblin truly knew how much she wasted. She was tasked to deliver it, tasked to hide it in one of their caches in the city. But the money did not make it ten blocks before she was dragged into warm embraces under red lanterns.

“You’se, I’se knew that you’se would struggle with you’se hunger, you’se need to breed, devour and satiate you’se desires. But this… I’se would have preferred you’se murdered an entire street gang for stealing the money to this!” The harsh, scratching voice grew in pitch, in fervor, in true furry and rage. “I’se have seen you’se grow bloodthirsty in fights. Seen you’se push you’se opponents to the edge and then over because you’se needed to do it. But this?! This is the behavior of the fools we’se rob! The people who’se cannot achieve more than the pleasure of the moment! You’se betray me, you’se monastic pledges, and you’se duty to wet you’se stick! You’se destroy my’se clan’s wealth, steal from my’se youngest children’s very mouths! And yet you’se, you’se sit, prostrated! You’se should have killed you’se self before Spoke woke you’se!”

Nothing. Nothing passed physically, mentally or emotionally through the gnoll’s mind as the words beat her down over and over and over. Digging the heel in and grinding what little remained of the former clan member.

The gnoll’s arm twitched, flashing out with her own claw to do just as the goblin suggested. A kick beyond any creature of the goblin’s size should ever be capable of, slammed in her skull, right between her body and the cold floor. Sending the heavy creature flying back as their neck was ripped away from the claw that managed to dig almost an inch into her throat before it was stopped.

The gnoll’s eyes spun in place, darkness filling her vision momentarily. Making her see false things, bright stars, swirls of light, and the terror in the eyes of a goblin parent.

****************************

The gnoll’s head slammed back and cracked against the wall with a resounding sound.

Glora stood, staring down at their son, their daughter looking up at them.

The volcanic eruption of their rage and furry had been swallowed by a lake. And now, all the heat was diffused throughout themself. The fire in their chest had not lessoned, but it was no longer concentrated in their words.

“You’se … You’se have a choice now puppy… the third choice I’se have demanded a decision from you’se in this life. You’se may be disowned and orphaned. Tossed back into the garbage from which you’se spawned and left to rot like you’se deserve.” Glora did not grip their fist tightly. They had trained enough to control their emotions to suppress those tells in all but her speech. A reminder of the lost. “Or… You’se return. Follow me’se as a nameless puppy once again… But know, that this is not a mercy. You’se life will not be that of a loved child allowed to experiment and explore the world as a child should. You’se will be treated like a working dog until you’se have earned the chance at another name.”

The gnoll had not moved from their spot. But Glora knew. Could see the minute and shallow movements of her daughter’s chest. See the twitch if ears so minute any but the most observant would not suspect anything at all. Their daughter was truly a gifted child, even if she failed the clan.

The puppy did not move or speak for another minute as their blood trickled slowly from the cut on her neck. They only moved again to press their chin down in a bow, the only strength Glora’s daughter could muster, used to show her subservience to her “Matriarch” once again.

****************************

On the continental isle of Madra, there exist any number, form and kind of creature. It is the physical and territorial manifestation of the All Mother, Madra. The one from which the plane of reality sprung. From whom gives life to any and all kinds of existence. It is the source of every form of life, and from it, all spawn. The demonic, the devilish, the elvish, the orcish, and the humans. All races and kinds of life exist in some way, shape or form across its massive size.

An unknown number, to all but the Mother Herself, of millennia ago, a Prince of Demons escaped its prison and rampaged across an unprepared land. The demon, a humanoid hyena, slaughtered, not to eat, or hunt, or satiate themself. They only killed because it was all they wanted. To destroy the life it hated but loved to snuff out. And like always, when the environment was upset, someone, or something used it to fatten themselves. The carrion animals came out, following the wave of destruction. They did not kill, hunt, or do anything besides follow this being of butchery, eating their ruined scraps.

Some point along the trek, these animals began to die. Not because they were being killed. But because they had eaten themselves into death. Gorging themselves until their bodily functions began to fail. They had become bloated, obese, grotesque in their desire to feed before this “blessing” faded. Animals that did nothing but follow their instincts began to die. And Madra could not bear more suffering as Her forces gathered to end this threat. She took pity on those foolish hyenas and gave them a second life through their death as mere beasts.

From the grief and pity for innocent scavengers and victims of this slaughter, was born a creature tainted and blessed. An abomination to all the worlds. The gnolls were born from the demonically tainted corpses who spent days gorging themselves on the bodies of anything in the demon’s path. And in each of them, was the spark of life granted by Madra. A spark that would be cursed by her followers for centuries to come.

****************************

A haze of smoke curled around the office the size of most commoner’s homes. No natural light entered from the covered windows; the room only lit by magical flames burning in candle holders. A Dark Elf, a female Drow sat with her eyes closed, full, deep and purple lips wrapped around the tip of a long, elegant pipe. Her form was slim and full, draped in the lose robes of travelers to ward off the harsh rays of the sun. Yelzumin Nisaphosh sat, leaned back against her full, padded chair. When she received the daily reports this morning, a message was left from one of her more... excitable citizens.

As the mayor of Barg’s Refuge, she cultivated relationships and expectations with her more... Disruptive folk. The thieves, ruffians, assassins, muggers and general criminals all belonged to one organization or another that communicated important happenings to her. The merchants or items being targeted for future theft, locations of traps for muggers, territory shifts of the gangs for which citizens did or did not pay them protection money. Yel gathered this information, used it and plotted with it to her own ends. And, of course, the betterment and expansion of her city and citizens. In exchange for this information, guards were given instructions on who, how, and what or when certain crimes or people were to be stopped, guarded, harassed, and other duties. The guard did not pursue crime actively outside certain kinds, like unreported murder, and enslavement or rape. The criminals, if they wanted to remain profitable, and tolerated, had to grow smarter, more organized, and more willing to follow “rules.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

But this morning, the Wraith of Glory dropped off an urgent message to her and the guard captain in charge of the dungeon and prison. “The Matriarch is coming for their pup. Expect damage. Allow their entrance.” Anyone who had never heard of the Matriarch in the Refuge was either new, or killed before her name was known. But only the leadership spoke about that goblin’s past. For if it was to spread, any responsible would never speak again. The Mad Gunman. The Glory Defiler. The Executioner of Ceisiwier... He had many names, all earned and written in the blood of mostly elves.

Yel was waiting for the visit after the “release” of the Glora Clan’s gnoll, with his father. The Drow never understood the goblin’s strange reaction to their gendering. He never refused or corrected anyone on it. He only accepted it and moved on. She never saw him as a woman. With his bloodied air and gate, his rough voice that sounded like glass ground between stones, his preference for firearms. But, in the end, none of it mattered. As only his strength, influence and power mattered in a place ungoverned by true laws, unclaimed by any nation.

The scuff of boots smothered by the thick walls and doors barely peeped through them, heard by the mayor. She did not react, only continuing to pull softly on her pipe, and feeling for the call of her powers to give her courage.

With a knock, and then the rude push open of the dark wood doors, in stepped two figures. Yel’s eyes opened partly, leaving her gaze partly lidded in a display of confidence and nonchalance. Her lip curved in a lopsided smile at the short goblin, carrying a cane in his hands, held so as not to tap and give their presence away too soon.

“Patriarch Glora, I have been expecting you.” Her dark eyes shifted up to the gnoll standing behind her as a bodyguard. A tall, and powerful fighter she enjoyed watching, but his thick and firm body was hunched forward, as if a tree bowing in some strong winds.

“Madam Mayor.” The goblin tilted their head and hat down in a sign of respect, before straightening. “I’se assume you’se are aware of my’se reason to be here?” He waited and she nodded in affirmation. “I’se have come to apologize for this gnoll’s stupidity and interruption. He’se not only overstepped his allowed parameters, but assaulted a guard when he’se was finally awoken after passing out in a ditch.”

Yel’s eyes shifted to Dag once again, taking in the beaten and mud caked fur. His frame shrunk down lower, and she realized Glora didn’t address him as his child. This must truly have been egregious whatever the pit fighter did.

“I understand, many of my citizens end up in bars because of our night life.” Her eyes shifted back, filled with a twinkle of mirth. “But I assume you left a suitable ‘bail’ with my jailors.”

The dark hat bobbed in affirmation and continued. “Yes, and my’se youngest boy will be going by later to assist in fixing the damaged door.” He gave her a smirk, but she did not react with the sigh that welled in her throat and simply waved for him to continue.

Glora stopped then and looked to the shamed gnoll. Keeping their eyes locked on their taller companion. Yel watched the gnoll, his face scrunching up, before loosening in reluctant acceptance. He stood up straighter and pushed his chest out, putting on an air much more reminiscent of his pit fight appearances.

“I, hehe, I will be competing in, houhou, Barg’s Gauntlet. As will, will our youngest in the lower challenges.” Yel watched the gnoll, watched his lips shift into a scowl of annoyance, both at speaking, and with the idea itself. “I will... I will...”

Glora let out a quick, low growl, one that sounded to Yel like Gnoll, but she wasn’t quite sure. And what next left the gnoll’s mouth shocked the governing drow more than would be expected.

“I will be, heh, challenging the Bruisers for their territory in the, hehheh, merchant district. A death challenge. If I win, the, hou, Bruisers’ goons will be gifted to the, heh, Red Star brothel... The area will be given to the Black Hand after a week.”

Yel’s mind ran away with itself. Political and criminal power shifts like the one Dag was reporting would create waves large and small. It would create an initial disruption and could start a territory brawl if not handled discreetly. But this could, would, create opportunities. The kinds she cultivated this very kind of relationship for.

“Are you sold on giving it to the Black Hands? Or was it for another reason you will be selling the sewer access location to the assassins?” Yel focused on Glora, knowing he had made the decision. Her reply would mark the first step of her plans, even if it was half a decade earlier than she originally planned.

Glora smirked, shaking his head no, and prepared to begin his negotiations.

****************************

The gnoll locked her legs as she stood behind her once again master. A small bit of fear had filled her heart for much of the slow slog through the city to the mayor’s mansion. Glora had stopped at every corner on the way, making sure that she was seen with her jailed gnoll clansmen. It was easy, but expensive, to pull someone from the prisons, and the sooner a group removed them, the more influential they appeared.

The Clan was much smaller than 90% of the other criminal groups and needed to maintain their appearance when appropriate. With former Dag arrested, it showed the clan’s discipline might be lacking, and could be exploited as a possible weakness. The speed of release was meant to fight back against those beliefs, displaying more of their power in wealth than what they lost in their reputation. The Matriarch was powerful, but she was only one being. One being who took on the task of raising children and slaves. And accepted treating all members like family.

The Glora clan was only unique in the power of its figure head, not its structure or function. Most people were born in and had some allegiances to their clan or family. The families who were strong enough and gained enough influence would become recognized by the others as an organized Clan. An honor that was as much a shield as it was a marker. Most organizations, once they grew beyond one or two hundred core members, broke their connections to the clans, and began to form their own smaller guilds or gangs that fed up into the higher levels.

The small, extremely powerful elite clans, versus the massive guilds and gangs. Quality versus quantity. Simple versus complex. Complicated versus straight forward. If the gnoll belonged to any but the tightest knit of clans, she would have been either executed, or allowed to be imprisoned or sold as a slave. That was the fate of someone who so betrayed the organization. Only family could forgive, and most would fail to even do that for her.

The shame that burned in her chest as Glora walked her into the Red Star brothel multiplied when she asked politely of the outstanding tab of the “uncontrolled and hedonistic gnoll.” It was more than the lifetime wealth of many commoners. Without a break in her grandmotherly smile, the goblin requested that “you lovely lads and lasses refuse the coin of all the clan members of Glora until after the coming Gauntlet.” She left without a hint of the rage that must have filled her small frame. The gnoll had known she wasted nearly all her earnings there but didn’t realize how much she truly spent on her... Escapades...

The gnoll was brought back from her recent memories to the closing negotiations. Her sister, the lithe and slim Tanny, and her youngest brother had much better heads than her and youngest sister. Even Spoke was better at keeping his debts paid, and he spent even more time and energy in the Red Lantern District than she ever had.

The price of the Bruisers’ lot was steep. In the Refuge, the Mayor swore an oath to hold only a certain number of land lots and businesses within the city when they accepted the position. This was to prevent the growth of monopolistic businesses and limit the amount of direct benefit the mayor could gain. Even the gnoll was surprised when she was taught about the mayor’s many limitations. For the instinct was to consolidate power. And the city, the position, and the land itself limited their caretaker. 17 of the total 18 mayors of Barg’s refuge that lasted more than three months, all had at least one business and plot of land they held in the city. This mayor only held claim to her office and her sleeping chambers. She had no physical assets that the town considered to add to her limitations of power. In exchange, the current mayor has had the greatest connection both directly with and control of civil services and politics in the city and its extended tendrils. A dream come true for those political and power-hungry Drow. This didn’t even include the swaths of land and powers the Refuge gained as the mayor expanded it over her hundred plus years of control.

Yel sat back in her semi throne of a chair, the gnoll’s eyes drawn to the chest of the loose robes that still bounced enticingly with her shifts. The stab of a wooden cane’s tip into her hind paws showed her attention was wandering again. When the Drow spoke next, she did so with a heavy sigh.

“You seek to destroy the little wealth I have been allowed to amass in the city Patriarch.” She shook her head and spoke before the goblin could object. “I accept that price, but if you sell it to me, it will not go to me. I will pass it on to a new group that will be settling in the city.”

The goblin snorted, and the gnoll looked down at her with a puzzled look.

“You’se don’t have to lie to me’se Mayor. I’se know the Green Weavers have been here, been trying to spread they’se web in a more physical way for over the past half decade.” The drow’s shock and surprise were evident, even to the clueless gnoll. “Deary, I’se have encountered you’se folk as often as you’se ‘friends’ down below. My’se goblin son is from below like you’se.”

The drow’s eyes narrowed, seeking the truth or bluff that might lay in those words. But soon relaxed, seeming to believe the words. The gnoll, of course, did not know the weavers of which she spoke. But she had accompanied her matriarch on many excursions into the Underdark. Meeting most of the races in some way or form. She had only fought with Drow in the pits and cages, never down below.

“This is my city, Glora. The Cult of the Green Weavers no longer accepts me as their own.” The goblin scoffed at the notion, Yel only narrowed her pretty eyes and continued. “But yes. They are going to be who I sell the land and entrance to. A few months ago, an entrance to the Underdark was discovered by the Bruisers in the sewers. Do not ask me how or why they were down there, their report only mentioned the discovery.”

The goblin released her smirk and nodded solemnly. An opening under the city could be a natural occurrence or could be a deliberate attempt to mine up from below.

“I do not need to explain the consequences if the Empire seeks to start a war. Especially from right below our feet. So, I will ask that instead of a week, you give it to the Grove the next day. It will establish their wealth and connections as a new member of the city. And with the assumed connections to me, it will hopefully solidify their position enough that only two or three groups will seriously consider fighting for the land.” Glora nodded in agreement. Even the gnoll saw the sense in the decision. “Then, please. I only have, what, four hours to organize the bets and odds for the brawl between the Glora Clan and the Bruisers? I need to send word to the gambling houses.”

The gnoll snorted, laughing at the respected and feared Mayor doing such a job for the lowly bookies. She got a slam against her shin from her Matriarch but managed to control and hide the discomfort from her face or react to the assault. And with final words, they separated, and the gnoll felt the weight of her failure grow even more upon her shoulders.