The Lad and Lass looked between each other as they sat surrounded by the books and scattered papers that made up the Glora Clan’s Library. Spoke was its caretaker, but he never had the handle on organization that was required to keep a proper library. Most books and shelves could be described as having some logic. But on the whole, it was simply a mess.
“Madra’s Mighty Mountains…” The gnome lad sighed, looking at the stack of ‘recent reports’ from the sources of monster and beast sightings the clan received regularly. “Why does he not spend more than a day a fortnight sorting these? We could use these for training rather than the job board?” He said with exasperation. Throwing his hands up towards the stack larger than their clan head.
“Cuz it requires time he can’t spend flirtin’.” The halfling lass spat, less out of truthfulness but in shared annoyance. “How are we gonna find somethin’ worth huntin’ when we have to verify the source and accuracy ourselves? This is a load of dung.”
The two siblings continued their mutual grumbling about lazy siblings and time-wasting tasks. But they both knew why their clan head had assigned this task to them. As a test.
Tanny informed them the previous night that the two of them would be responsible for planning, verifying, and executing a clan hunt. All by themselves.
This was a test of their abilities not just as warriors, but as clan members. To use the resources and influence of the clan in ways that will accomplish a goal and strengthen themselves. To put on display all they had picked up and learned from their siblings and grandparent. To prove that they were worthy of a Clan name.
The two were stunned when they were given the task at first. A clan hunt was something that ranged from a simple mission of one or two members to kill a specific creature or preform a specific objective. To a clan wide event where every hand was needed to ensure the success of a mission.
These hunts usually were done at least once a month for each member. Where each clan member would have a task to complete outside the city to accomplish. Usually because of a direct request for the clan to handle something.
For Tanny, it was usually an assassination of some kind. Spoke would receive requests to handle bandit groups harassing caravans coming to the city or traveling through the desert. Dag was almost always a monster pact or a challenge for position in the Pits. Where he would either need to compete with another fighter in hunting or killing a bigger or specific type of creature first. While Glora usually only received a hunt once every three months. Where they would go on their own to usually kill either a massive threat or a horde of monsters causing problems but was too risky or expensive to use the guard or hire mercenaries to deal with them. Why hire a thousand men when you could use half or two thirds of that amount to hire a single living weapon to handle it?
The hunts that required multiple clan members were usually only done three or four times a year. While full clan hunts without Glora were an annual event. The two youngest had not seen a full mobilizing hunt until the previous night. Where every member of the clan was required to accomplish their goal. And they were approaching two years with the clan.
They were not given any parameters on what this hunt level would be. Only that it required them both to be a part of the hunt for its completion. Their options ranged from something the two of them could accomplish, to choosing to tackle something as a whole clan. It was all up to their judgement and planning abilities.
And the siblings were determined to make their clan proud as they tackled the piles of reports and began to devour them like ravenous beasts.
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The gnoll formally known as Dagger stood in the corner of the office of Garrus Sirtius, the Pit Master. The man in charge of the largest pit and coliseum on the Isle of Madra, was a massive hulk, a slab of violence and muscle who once was “the” pit emperor. A creature who scraped and ripped their way from a slave to the ruler of the fighting pits themselves. Garrus was a minotaur born in and lived every second of his life for the blood sports of the pits. His chipped, cracked and resealed with gold horns were his crown that tore into and won him both freedom and control of his home.
Garrus Sirtius was a being molded by violence, shaped and guided by it until it was as inseparable from him as his own soul. And now, it was his trade and empire in the walls of Barg’s Refuge.
Glora, head of the Glora Clan, sat across from the master of blood sports, only a third of his size, but certainly not any lesser for it. The goblin was swirling a mug of blood wine and sipping it as the master considered their offer.
“Lord Glora, you… You are asking me to, to actively create a match up against one of my five kings, where the king has little chance of survival?” The large, grey eyes of the bullman stared hard and pointedly at the goblin. Seeking some trick, some sign of underhanded plot that the master had been made to be a part of by so many greedy fools in the past. But he saw only seriousness from a being that made his very bones rattle in fear and respect.
“I’se don’t know why it was hard to understand. I’se want my’se Glora Pit King to undergo the same challenge you’se did. A Blood Rebirth.” Glora stated without concern for the insanity spewing forth from their mouth.
“A Blood Rebirth is the outcome. You are asking me to put Dag, one of my top money makers, through a Blood Drowning!” The massive stones the minotaur pretended were meaty fists shook his desk with frustration. “You are asking me to push Dagger through an unrelenting battle of blood and death. Where the arena is filled with so much blood that its most likely you’ll fall unconscious from exhaustion and drown in it!”
The furry of the minotaur’s words was clear. Not only was this an expensive event, but it had also only been successfully attempted twenty times in the entire history of the Refuge. With usually one or two attempts every five years, hundreds of some of the greatest warriors and pit fighters have fallen to this rite.
“Regardless of my’se clan member’s victory or defeat, I’se will agree to participate in one fight of you’se organization.” Glora did not let the man’s furry bother them. They replied simply and calmly before taking a sip from their mug. “I’se have never participated in a pit fight. My’se first, my’se only fight. You’se will organize. And I’se will fight in it. No matter who’se my’se opponent. You’se rules, you’se pit. The Butcher spills their blood in you’se pit. A legendary event. And all you’se must do, is accept this and run a single event for me’se.”
The gnoll and minotaur stared at the tiny goblin with surprise and horror. Tales of brutality, the vicious and lightning quick madman, Glora, were known to all to some degree across the continent. Someone who waged a war against an entire race, by themselves, and won, was a figure of legends on their own. But their later exploits as an adventurer were not something to scoff at. No mortal being had accomplished as much death as the Mad Butcher in the last century. But this event, this opportunity to pit the Mad Gunman against anyone and anything the Pit Emperor could put together… This was an event that could only be rivaled by historical moments like the Sundering for the master. For the gnoll, she was watching her mother essentially prostitute themselves for her failure, for her chance to regain honor in the Clan’s eyes. Something that made the shame burning in her chest grow into a blaze.
“You… You are, Lord Glora… I cannot refuse your generous offer… But you are demanding this rite be completed-“ A sack of platinum was tossed up from within the coat of the goblin and landed with a thud on the desk. “Two days. It will be ready in two days. And Dagger’s next match will be moved to tomorrow.”
Glora tossed their mug and head back. Gulping it down before standing and setting the mug on the desk. “Thank you’se for you’se cooperation.” They said plainly and turned to walk out with their hunched and cowed fighter.
The minotaur watched the goblin leave and then took the sack to inspect it. A sack of copper with platinum coins on top was meant to spill free. The emperor chuckled, not caring about the cheap trick. He had just been given the fight of a century to plan. A battle and headliner that would eclipse his own rise to his position tens of times over.
“Glora… I don’t know if you will survive this Gauntlet, but I hope you know, I am honored by the opportunity.” Garrus spoke into his empty office, visions of tens of thousands clamoring for a ticket to watch a single match filling his mind.
This year’s Gauntlet would be like no other.
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Tanny and Spoke sat together in a meeting room, listening to the reports and numbers about the Clan Alliance that attacked the Black Hands guild and multiple other guilds the night before.
It appeared to all, like the Black Hands had completely lost their position within Refuge. Their entire council was dead, their elite core was decimated, and their main centers of command were raided and destroyed. Any remaining loyal Hands were fleeing towards their next strong hold across the great river. Those native to the Refuge seemed to have mainly become satisfied in being absorbed into the street gangs and other guilds, using their knowledge of the Black Hands’ workings for preferential treatment and deals.
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It was an unimaginable success for all involved, including the Glora Clan. Until speaking with and confirming with their youngest two members, it was believed that the two or few remaining council members would retain some control of the guild, even if it fell into a very weak state. Until their testimony, the other clans believed the remaining young council members to have fled or been delt with internally.
This was a concerning development. As the Black Hands guild would most likely retaliate against the Refuge for removing them. But what that would look like and when it would arrive could only be speculated and prepared for.
“We cannot know, but as we discussed before, the Glora Clan consents to becoming the focal point of blame.” Spoke delivered his words in his posh, noble accent. Grating the ears of his sister. “My mother is the reason this entire event occurred. We chose to advance the violence and planned on killing most of the council. When we killed them all.” The gathered voices of the clans all still looked at the goblin in shock. The news gave them a new respect for the Lad and Lass of Glora. “And we will be the ones who deal with the remaining loyal forces who seek revenge, as their main targets for it. Spread the word about the Glora Clan having spear headed, maybe having bargained for the other Great Clans involvement. Blame us for it all.”
The voices of the other clans looked conflicted by the suggestion. Why should they empower the Glora Clan in such a way? This would give their reputation a boost in ways that were yet to be clear. As it could place the Clan as the ‘head’ clan in the Refuge, when it had little true influence beyond their direct power and their individual members reputations.
“Look, my friends, blaming us is not the same as us being the leaders. Emphasize that we forced the hand of the clans, otherwise this opportunity would have gone to waste. You could even frame it as us seeking to find penance for Dagger’s shameful displays. His time in the Red Lantern is infamous and shameful. You all know what my clan head seeks is not control. We seek respect and autonomy. Nothing more and nothing less.”
Spoke’s words were clear, convincing for most. Because most of all, it was simply the truth. The Glora Clan was the spark, the oil, and the arsonist who caused the war the previous night. No other clan was acting in any other way but what was within expected bounds. Striking at your enemy’s weakest state. In truth, the clans were already doing these things, but hearing the approval for their actions from the Glora Clan soothed many who treated the Mad Gunman with the proper fear and respect that title earned.
The two siblings continued the discussions and planning into the afternoon, only to leave once the voices needed to return to inform their clan of the information.
“Ssspoke…” Tanny hissed as the two left the clan meeting house and began down the alley ways towards the merchant district.
“Yes, my eldest sister?” Spoke said with a smirk, trying to make his sister smile with his noble accent. Only to drop it when he saw her frowning lips. “What Tanny? What can I do f’r ya?” He fell back into his normal speaking voice.
“I… How do you think I did in the meetings? Wasss I too quiet?” She spoke quietly, softly. Her eyes kept forward and shifted around their surroundings for any walls with ears.
“You did fine.” He leaned over to pat her side. “Your accent and tick have gotten less pronounced, an’ you did good not just bein’ my scary shadow.”
The tabaxi smiled down at her brother, reaching down to lightly scratch his head like he was a small dog. Only to be met with a mimicked mutt’s growl of protest. Causing both to chuckle.
“Tan, you don’t need to try an’ cover your tick like this. Its common for ya people.” Spoke gave his opinion with a kind smile, but a serious tone.
“It’sss annoying.” She shot his retort down without any mercy. “It marksss me asss unique, and isss an identifier for me. Your lesssonsss help, but I mussst resssort to not speaking when infiltrating placesss.” She gave a shrug, looking down at her toddler sized brother.
“Assassinatin’ someone does imply ya don’t wanna be remembered. Well, unless Brother is sent.” The two shared a smile and chuckle at the few times their brother had been sent to ‘deliver a message’ in the same way Tanny often was. It always ended in violence and usually a few fires.
“But you don’t have to worry about it so much Tan. You notice it the most, because it is your voice. It is your criticism. Momma for sure doesn’t have anything to say and would say you’re wasting your time and energy worrying.” Spoke reached up to grab his sister’s hand, stopping and having her look into his face as she processed his words. He stood on his tiptoes and made sure she recognized the truth before letting go and continuing. “Look, you talk fine. Most people think it’s cute. Ya worry too much, cuz it’s your job. Momma’s crazy, Dag thinks mainly with his dick, the younglings are still learnin’, an’ I’m smart enough not to get stuck tryin’ to round us up until Momma tells me to.”
Spoke was met with a nonverbal reply in the form of a smack of the flat of Tanny’s hand across his short, bald head. But neither seemed to mind. Smiles on their faces, as Spoke worked his word magic and Tanny seemed more relaxed.
****************************
Glora sat beside their gnoll daughter, waiting for their pit match to begin. The goblin had not left the gnoll alone the entire day after their meeting with the Pit Master. Neither spoke much, but for the gnoll, it felt like they were on a supervised parole.
They had left the pits the day before, and spent the day gathering raw materials, placing orders with merchants, picking up orders of special deliveries like books or information, and the entire time, the gnoll was humiliated as they were relegated to being the pack mule for the goblin. Carrying large amounts of resources to and from the main location of the clan within the city.
The storefront and only public location of the clan within the city, a two-story workshop where each member of the clan had a dedicated work room for their trades. On the bottom floor was Glora’s workshop, the smithy of the building, and the resource storeroom. Across the street facing wall, were four large, rectangular box machines on either side of the single front door. Each machine and clockwork box held one of four types of goods. And accepted coins for goods that would be dispensed after payment.
The Glora Clan Storefront consisted of eight stolen and modified gnomish and dwarven vending machines. A novelty in the city and region, but not the only ones, just the most well-known. The Glora Clan’s machines were divided into four types. The first was a pair of machines, one dispensed packaged portions of firearm ammunition made in the most common and standard variations used. All made by the Mad Gunman themselves. The second of the pair held full sized firearms, which could be purchased in the same way. A locked compartment would open and allow the customer to reach in and take their pistol, rifle, or shotgun, before closing.
The second type sold vices. Mostly packaged versions of well-known smoking products, but most held magical properties that acted as the main draw. They also sold more miscellaneous and more “private” items for those in need. The third was a simple drink machine. Bottles of beverages sourced locally and held a rotating list of products that changed every fortnight. And the fourth was added within the last year. It was a gambling machine that gave the winner a chance to win a stuffed creature made by the clan, usually from the creature it was modeled after.
This was not a large portion of the profits that the clan made, but it was something that the elderly goblin fell in love with during their time in the Ashbrew Lake, and the mountains the gnomes and dwarves called home. The goblin did not have to pretend to care or make conversation with a merchant who was a better negotiator than them. And could just get the item they wanted without risking killing the merchant when they attempted to swindle the goblin or their companions.
So, the goblin, and their two furry children, literally went to the dwarves, bought a bag of holding from the shop owner, and then stole all six of their original machines. Bringing them back to the Refuge to use instead of running an actual storefront.
And during this day of being a laborer, the gnoll was made to fill them all. Feeling in those moments like a servant and tool for Glora, then the child or clan member they had been for the majority of their life. The gnoll, however, knew why they were being made to do this. They had brought it upon themselves.
The most recent incident was not the most infamous of her ‘indulgences’, only the one that most directly betrayed her clan. The gnoll could spend weeks simply being pampered and being attended to by those of the red lantern. And had spent most of their pit earnings there over the years. It was a problem, an addiction, that the clan had tolerated until this most recent incident.
When Glora gave into the need of her goblin son to be surrounded by words, to swim in language like Tanny did shadow and the gnoll did blood, the elderly goblin loosened their leash on the gnoll. Believing that as a full, adult member of the clan, she had the right to indulge in their natural desires to some degree. And the gnoll dove into the depths of their natural gluttony without any hesitation.
For the gnoll, this was a taste of solitude, the lack of connection to her clan and family she had nearly lost. And it was truly the foulest tasting experience for them. The gnoll knew, she understood what her mother was doing, was trying to teach them in a short time. The clan was most important, that the duty to it was more than just a name or fighting. It required dedication, devotion, and true desire for it to prosper. Something the gnoll had lost over the last few years.
Within the fighting pit waiting chamber, the gnoll felt it was larger somehow. That they filled up a smaller space in the bleak, iron smelling room. It was no longer filled by a Pit King, but a clan warrior and their clan head.
The silence of the room was not broken by the echoes and stomping feet of the spectators that rattled the stonework. It was not broken by the announcer and their clear, magically enhanced voice to carry to every corner of the arena. It was broken by the soft words of an aged goblin.
“Pup... Strike down my’se foes.” The grinding stone of Glora Cróga’s voice pierced all the other noise. “Crush them’se to bone dust. And bathe in their blood.” Each word, each syllable resounded in the gnoll’s chest and heart. “Remind them’se why my’se name is feared.”
The gnoll female, once known as Dagger, stepped out of their waiting chamber. Their mind clear, their focus sharp and ready. One word and phrase filled her mind as she stepped out of the tunnel to take in the cheers for blood and battle.
“Strike... Why I’m feared...”
The passive face of a humbled gnoll split open with a sharp toothed grin. The pounding of her heart slowly shifted to be in sync with that of the crowd’s rumbling stomps. And from the depths of her chest and soul, echoed forth from the gnoll something that silenced all in earshot.
The demonic, cackling and howling laughter of a creature given a new leash from which they can play. The Cackling Dagger, the Pit King Dag, was unleashed upon the pit fields in search of a new name, a new life, a true rebirth to come in a day's time.