A nameless gnoll watched as her opponents approached her side of the building. The wide open, and mostly cleared area was the main loading dock for the warehouse. A flat and clear arena was exactly what the Pit King preferred. The exact opposite of what their sister’s cluttered and shadow filled section held.

The former Dagger held the gaze of a short and silent dwarf. His beard was a thick, braded piece of art for the sensibilities of his kind. The scent of alcohol and pipe smoke was oddly not present on him. A spiked mace, and a multitude of throwing axes hung around his waist. The dwarf was clearly angry, but not at her. His gaze shifted back to the patriarch, a clear burning to fight her in his eyes.

The other, a gnoll that was smaller and thicker than her, walked with a sense of determination. His hackles raised and full height pushing him over her hunched over size. A loose, deep, navy-blue toga, draped over his patchy fur and bulging form. Where her bestial savagery pushed her towards sudden and deadly speed and sprints. His was raw, wrathful might.

As they two stopped, around 40 feet away, the male’s anger towards his female counterpart grew higher and higher. A furious anger as she simply stared at him, unflinching and unapologetic. She had not many of her kind since being taken in by her mother and patriarch, but the few times she did, they had usually one of two reactions. A natural, or learned submission, usually as female gnolls were the pack alphas and leaders out in the dunes. Or, what this one was displaying. A deep seeded anger and hate for any who displayed the same sense of assured strength that a pack leader, or veteran warrior in her case, held. Born from a rebellious and arrogance that was rare and vile.

The males looked her over. A bare chest and legs. The only covering besides her loincloth was a pair of bracers on either arm. One of a matching set that she, Tanny, Spoke, and Glora all wore. Along the belt or band of leather around her waist, were a series of darts that had been hidden before, but now sat on display for all to see.

The female looked across the way to her sister and the box her brother hid in, and then to her mother who was slowly approaching the solo elf. Her gaze was brought back when the male let out a series of grunts and chitters that his companion could not understand.

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

“You are going to die, false alpha. I am going to rip out your throat and sever your clitoris and savor it after I devour your flesh.” Zoh Dirtgall, the striker of the Black Hands Council, cackled in the Gnoll language.

Zoh could feel his blood pumping as his heart thundered in his chest. The sight of the female, was enraging him. It was filling him with an energy that started as a tingle in his chest, but slowly radiated out.

He was born the runt of a gnoll tribe. The smallest, youngest, and weakest of his kind. Forced by those around him to do as they willed. The other males did so much less, but the females enjoyed it. They delighted in the sadistic tendencies their demonic origins instilled in them. And raping the weaker pack members and captured slaves was just one way they did it.

Gnolls could generally be divided into two camps. The “wild” and the “civilized” was how the soft skins and almost all but demons and gnolls divided them. Among their groups, their heritage was usually what dictated the minor differences between they gnoll groups. Do they more closely relate to their demonic mother, Yeenoghu, or their creation mother, Madra.

Yeenoghu was the hyena-like demon who escaped and was sent on an all-devouring rampage. Madra was the goddess who took pity on the scavengers who followed their instincts and ate themselves to death upon the feast left by the demonic creature and gave them a second life. Birthing a knew race in Yeenoghu’s wake.

Inside the feral gnolls, are the “Blood of Red” and “Sap of Green.” The representation of the two “mothers” of the gnolls. Those of Sap are less haphazard with their sadism and demonic tendencies. Seeing the restraint that self-control can bring as a tool to enable their further expansion or life. While those of Blood shun all control. And simply live as their instincts demand.

Neither Blood nor Sap is inherently better or more “evil.” One simply does not deny that they are how they are. One does. One views self-control as a vehicle for later indulgence and variety. The other does not. Both have the same practices, just to different degrees.

For Zoh, his Blood pack was not much different than the Sap pack he believed Dagger to originate from. The differences came from who they did or did not inflict their sadism on. With Saps often being more harsh to their younger pups, as that was who they limited themselves to.

This male held a hate for the females of his kind, that many males held. That their oppressive matriarchs did not deserve their positions as alphas. They did not deserve the natural physical superiority that they held. And loved and longed for nothing more than to tear down and ruin the females who stood above them. Not for any reason of equality. So, they can stand above them instead.

Zoh watched the female’s ears twitch, registering and processing his threat. In his experience, the best way to anger females was to insult or threaten their feminine traits. Seeking to scratch at insecurities or other emotions to distract them. But she did not react. She simply shrugged and entered a fighting stance.

“You arrogant, spinless female. Will not stand to the challenge of a ‘lesser?’” Zoh’s shoulder shook in rage. She was looking down upon him. She was attempting to humiliate him.

The tingling in his chest spread further as his eyes closed. Down his limbs and extremities. He would show this female who viewed him as weak, what true strength was.

There was a spike of pain and a disgusting squelch of muscles and bones as Zoh’s arms bulged out in disfiguring ways. Jewel, his dwarf partner for the battle, backed away in shock as the bulging worked its way down his arms, to his hands. Then began in his legs. In a dozen seconds, he had gone from a normal looking gnoll, to a large monstrosity in the general shape of a gnoll.

“You Saps love the whore of a goddess. You forget where the Blood of our creation was supplied from.” Zoh let out with the soft, horrific chuckles of the gnoll language.

“The name of Madra’s moist mound, what is that?” The dwarf looked upon his fellow’s shape change with horror. Unaware of the gnoll’s ability.

But Zoh did not care about the soft skin. His red eyes opened to stare at the smaller female. His height now just over ten feet.

Nothing. No reaction. No fear. No excitement. Only preparedness.

And he charged forward, letting out an enraged howl to demand some reaction from her.

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

Spoke sat, prepared for this moment. He, like the dwarf, did not expect the massive transformation of the gnoll, into some drooling, ravenous, and bestial gnoll. But a surprise like that doesn’t hold back a prepared spell. With the whisper of Lance in undercommon, an invisible spike as big and long as a true lance of psychic energy shot out and into the skull of the hulking figure.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

It let out a silent scream of pain before losing its footing and falling to his knees on the floor. Sliding forward and stopping just ahead of his sister. His small fingers gently and softly stummed his metallic banjo. A soft tune that sounded soothing one moment and ear grinding the next, floated into the ears of the massive gnoll creature. Only to be replaced by the ringing of fist and claw against bone.

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

The female gnoll felt her mind sharpen, focusing as the abomination charged her. She waited and saw the moment her brother made his move. A spell distracting the beast with mind rattling pain. His heavy frame slide across the stone and concrete. With two strikes, she slammed her fist into his face. And then spun on her heel, swinging her foot into the thick skull, stunning him further.

A gentle rustle brought her eyes away from the massive lumbering form and to the whirling hand axe flying at her through the air. With a deft grab and continued spin, she returns the axe, sinking it into the shoulder of the dwarf. But his speed wasn’t slowed. And kept charging, making quick, fast stabs that barely missed her slithering form.

Spinning, she dashed around the large and still form, chased by the renegade dwarf. But her fists weren’t aimed at him. Fist and claws ripped across the back of her fellow gnoll. Escaping the reach of the dwarf just as the wild gnoll rumbles and throws themself to their feet. More of the strange, grinding music and notes filled the ears of them all, but especially the male.

Through the slits of the crate came a harsh, slightly green glare. Piercing the towering beast and feeling it with a sickening feeling. Their steps were staggered, slowed and sluggish as they tried to swing wildly at the female.

With barely any effort, she ducked or rolled away from each massive paw. Only to be caught from behind with a bolt. The sneaking dwarf had used the moment to hide and catch her off guard. The wound burned with a poison that drew a light hiss from her mouth. But her eyes were not off the largest threat.

Without another chance to swing, she slid under and between the lumbering monster’s legs, and with three slashes across his thighs and another powerfully stunning strike came up with a swing of her leg right between his. With a pained, awful whimper, her fell for the second time to his knees.

She drops down as another bolt, followed by two more axes fly through the air. Grabbing from her belt, her favorite dart, she slams it into the opened back and spine of her target. Letting go, she lets the electric charge fill him, and slashes out again as he shifts and moves under her claws raking his body.

From the corner of her eye, as she rolled away from the giant turning to try and strike her, a flying rapier soared with purpose through the air and into the unsuspecting side of the dwarf. Stabbing with the violent gleam of steel and decretive jewels. With a wild growl, the similarly named dwarf swung his mace against the sword, locking blades with it and trying to send it off with a hammer blow. Only managing to knock it away, while destroying his own cover.

The giant however, managed to catch the female with a scratch across her arm, drawing a fair amount of blood, if not truly harming her. Turning away from the frantically battling dwarf, she flung only a single dart in his direction before charging the massive figure after dancing away from his remaining strikes.

The dart was dodged, less by the dwarf knowing it was there, but more that the rapier was pressing its assault and pushing the dwarf away again. Landing two more blows before being knocked away and flung back toward the direction of her brother. Slamming against the side of the crate and falling to the ground, limp and unmoving.

The giant gnoll kept pressing his attacks, brushing off or ignoring the grazing attacks the female kept throwing at him, despite his sickened movements. The furry in his eyes burned as she harmed his manhood. Seeing it as an opportunity, she slid between his legs again, targeting it with a powerful upward strike.

At that same moment, a bolt and two more axes flew out from a new location. The bolt catching the female gnoll directly in the chest. The axes barely dodged as she fell back purposefully with the impact.

Rolling to the side, trying to avoid another thrown object, she rolls against the leg of the male. Her jaw opens wide and claps down with enough force to grind rocks to gravel. And a deep burrowing of her claws into his thigh.

Clawing up his leg, she brought herself back to her feet as her strike wore off and pain woke him again. His massive frame turned, his claws raised to strike and swing down with the force of whatever unholy power gifted him this form. Only for the strike of psychic forces to once again impale his mind with incapacitating ferocity.

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

Jewel growled in frustration as he took in the sight of his partner getting slaughtered. He knew some spellcaster was interfering. But could not see or find him.

Continuing to throw his axes and bolts, he wracked his brain and kept his eyes pealed. When one of the few memories he had of his life with the dwarven holds in the Ashbrew Lake. A lesion on the magical items they specialized in selling. A blade that could float and dance through the air with violence and grace. A Dancing Rapier... And after so long, it would need to...

His dark eyes tore from the writhing Zoh and toward the sword that treated him like a pincushion. The sword would fly directly towards its owner.

Slipping back into the shadows, he moved towards the crate, and pressed his ear to its side. Where he heard the muffled plucking of an instrument. Waiting for a moment, he threw open the top and saw, a goblin child. Without hesitation, he swung the mace down on the frail form below him with a sickening result.

The twig like leg shattered under the mace head. The sadistic glee that filled Jewel’s mind was replaced in the next as a rural, almost peasant's drawl, escaped the goblin’s snarling lips.

“Raulothim's Lance.”

And a mind rattling pain turned the dark contents of the crate to a blinding, white, blankness. As he writhed in agony like a fish gasping for breath. He heard the voice his out from above.

“Ya neck bread, overweight gnomeling!”

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

Zoh was exhausted, pained, enraged by this. He was not enough. He was too slow. To sickened. But despite the interference, he was no match. He could feel it in his burning soul.

Blood the color and consistency of dark red pudding leaked from each limb. Each twist of his muscles was forcing more from him. The female was too fast. Too nimble. She was stronger than he imagined. Her claws sharper, digging chunk after chunk from his flesh.

His movements were turning slower and slower. Another failed swing after another. So close. So close!

Move faster. Move faster! Catch her! Catch her! You are the alpha. You are the bringer of Yeenoghu’s will! His thoughts, his demonic core and being howled with rage and furry at his impotence to bring her down.

Four more strikes. His eyesight was blackening. He was dying. So close. SO CLOSE!

With one final howl of violence, Zoh screamed his rage, his defiance against the female as the last of his life was threating to drip from his ruined body.

He threw his body at her. Hundreds, nearly one and a half thousand pounds of muscle fell upon her form. Jaws opened wide. Dripping bile and corrosive saliva. And came together with enough force to shatter the teeth in his mouth to dust, on empty air.

His last thoughts, before his throat was ripped out with a similar bite, were of impotence and hate.

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

Spoke pulled himself up from the crate, slowly leaning over the edge to grab his fallen sword. His jaw clenched as tight as his fingers around the hilt of his rapier. With his leg busted, he looked down with his weight resting on the edge of the crate for support.

He was not used to the pains of combat, but he was not untrained to it. His momma had beat into him the ability to fight through pain. To grit his teeth and push through it all.

So, he did. With one hand holding his rapier, and the other his precious banjo, he strummed it. Not needing it for the spell, but as a comfort to push aside the pain blooming inside him, and hot blood pooling inside his crate.

“Lance.” He hissed in undercommon. The language his birth family would have taught him besides goblin.

Spoke felt the spike of psychic energy form from the mana he forced out with his words. He usually imagined it as the hissing syllables of the disturbing language forming into a physical spike that flew out to impale the skull of his target. And envisioned just that as another chunk of his magical reserves slipped away.

Calling upon the power in his bracers that had been expanded into a full set of leather armor, his hands moved in a blinding flash. The blade slammed home and true into the throat of his assailant. Snuffing out the remainder of his life.

Feeling his strength begin to leave him, his eyes turned to where scattered gunshots had been coming from. His eldest’s sister’s fight. They were approaching the offices, making their way around and between crates. Fleeing from the wraith. Seeing a perfect moment, he called upon the connection he held to his rapier and whispered to it.

“Dance. And be free.”

The sword did not stutter or shift. It floated gracefully from his hands and flew out towards his sister’s enemies. He, however, needed to rest, to fix his leg enough to walk before they moved to assist their matriarch. For her battle, was a war all on its own.