Draft 6 – 5 October 2025 (C003/D007)

Autumn was distracted. While moving into his assigned position to observe the camp, he had stumbled across some suspicious spoor. It hinted at something that did not seem possible. Gnolls—vicious wolf-like warriors at war with every species around them—were no longer present on this side of the bay. Yet…here were canine tracks far too large and far too deep to be anything else.

He knew that Hunter preferred he stick to their carefully laid plans, but this seemed important. Gnolls were massive—towering, bipedal hyenas who outweigh large human men by nearly half. A single gnoll in close combat with a proficient human warrior will shred his opponent and then eat his corpse to celebrate. An elite human warrior, highly skilled with superior weapons, might…might prevail against a single gnoll. But a pack of gnolls with the advantages of surprise and darkness versus four armed deputies, a single coffle master, and a bunch of unarmed slaves…that would be a massacre. 

In order to assess this unanticipated threat, Autumn needed to know what and how many. The tracks he followed took him away from camp. Out of sheer bad luck, he was a considerable distance away on the riverbank when the first war cry reached his ears.

It did not help, in that moment, that the gnolls were immediately answered by nearby coyotes. Coyote cries were as common after dark in this valley as the calls of owls and the barking of farm dogs. So the occupants of the camp took no immediate notice of them.

Hunter, Scout and Autumn, however, were not fooled. Having grown up across the bay in The Wood, where gnolls were common, they understood the danger. They heard the war cry and immediately grasped its implications. The cries would draw attention to one side of the camp, but the attack would begin on the other.

Scout was stationed at the end of the camp opposite the war cry and realized that her position would soon be overwhelmed. Hunter, overhead in an everwood, was near the center of camp, too far from Scout to prevent the attack from starting.

Moments later, Scout heard the first footfalls of the gnolls entering the pasture from the place where the road to The Shadows entered The Beard. They were charging along the treeline that formed the northern limit. A glance at the adult slave posted nearest her position showed he was alert. Unfortunately, he was looking back toward camp and the yipping of nearby coyotes was enough to drown out the sound of the charging warriors. 

Scout stepped into the deepest shadows, readied her bow, and nocked an arrow. She prepped a second arrow in her bow hand, but knew she would not be able to fire until all the entire line of gnolls passed her. Firing too soon would give her position away and lead to a quick death. Best to wait until the line passed her and then pick them off from behind while they were silhouetted by the campfire.

She also considered the people in the camp. Even with the best efforts of the three in her party, most were sure to die. Since that tragedy was unavoidable, she would sacrifice the adults and do her best to save some of the children.

Scout counted nearly twenty gnolls. A few more, she knew, would attack from the other side of the camp. The watchman nearest her, hypnotized by the coyote sounds and unable to see in the dark, provided absolutely no warning to his comrades. The first gnoll took him from behind and ran him through with a machete. He fell to the ground clutching at his stomach, gurgling, trying to keep his insides inside.

Two heartbeats later, gnolls burst into the firelight and headed straight for the men rising from their bedrolls. One deputy broke ranks and bolted toward the river without stopping to draw a weapon. The others jumped to their feet, slid their long knives from their scabbards, and absorbed the attack.

After the last gnoll passed her hidden position, Scout stepped out from the treeline and loosed an arrow aimed at his back. Unexpectedly, the gnoll immediately in front of her target stumbled, forcing her target to take a quick step to its left. This caused Scout’s arrow to miss the trailing gnoll and strike the gnoll in front of him. 

While Scout was lucky that this arrow managed to drop the gnoll it actually hit, she was unlucky in that the gnoll she missed turned around looking for an archer. After quickly drawing her bowstring, she stood as still as possible hoping to avoid detection.

*****

At the other end of the camp, LT became aware of the gnolls as they reached the campfire. He drew his long, curved, single edged sword and was about to join the battle at the fire when a shout from overhead—“Look to the tads!”—locked him in place, defending the coffle.

Mayhem ripped through the camp. His comrades at the campfire did what they could. Two gnolls fell, but it was not enough. The survivors were immediately gutted by the larger gnolls. Coffle Master Wilson died first, cleaved by a machete from his right shoulder through to his left hip. In moments, the others disappeared in a mist of blood amongst a hail of blades and gnashing teeth.

Hunter knew the camp was lost. Protecting the children was his only concern. Two gnolls who broke off from the campfire toward LT were immediately taken down by arrows—one in the neck, one in the groin. The last of these two stumbled into LT’s feet clutching at his crotch and was dispatched by a single chop of his sword.

The lone human deserter fleeing the battle was quickly overtaken by a pursuing gnoll. Hunter fired two arrows into the melee hoping to hit the gnoll with both in order to avoid his unexpected return later. Unfortunately for the cowardly deputy, the first arrow found a gap in his leather armor and pierced a kidney. He dropped where he stood and started crawling for the river on his hands and knees. The second, punctured the gnoll’s neck, severed his spine, and protruded from his throat. He expired gurgling on the ground close behind the injured deputy.

The gnoll looking for Scout quickly spotted her. As recognition sparked in his eyes, an arrow flashed toward him. His iron helm saved his life but the intensity of the blow knocked him back and watered his eyes. He never saw the second arrow, the one that ended his life. Nevertheless, his awkward death bought his fellow tribesmen precious seconds, allowing them to swarm the tents.

The attack from the opposite side of the camp began just as they arrived at the fire. The gnoll leader, flanked by two of his largest fighters, emerged from The Devil’s Beard and charged along the treeline. LT could not see them in the dark, but Hunter could. 

The distance was long, the target was moving, and leaves from an adjacent oak were partially blocking his view. Hunter aimed for the center of mass and loosed an arrow through a gap in the foliage. He immediately reloaded and loosed another. The first arrow pierced a gnoll in the side of his lower belly and stopped him, grunting, in his tracks. The second arrow struck the leader’s shoulder cap with an audible chink and ricocheted into the darkness.

LT heard the pounding footsteps and turned to see the gnolls coming. Positioning his two-handed sword low in near ward position, LT planted his feet and prepared for the coming rush. Hunter recognized the stance. Whoever this fugitive was, the Granite Brotherhood taught him to fight.

Cries of horror from inside the tents were quickly silenced. Scout took the bloody gnolls down one-by-one as they stepped out of the tents back into the firelight. With everyone now dead at her end, she dashed through the camp toward Hunter.

Autumn topped the slope at a full sprint just in time to see the leader and a flanking gnoll close with their black-hatted bounty. The flanking gnoll was half a step ahead of the leader charging LT with his sword above his head. As he stepped in close, LT shifted his weight, lifted his sword, gutted the gnoll and stepped past the collapsing corpse. Stopping his sword overhead in house position, he blocked the leader’s downward strike, absorbed his power and rolled clear of a second strike that just whistled past his ear.

The children tried to run, but since they were chained together, running was not an option. Instead, some screamed, some cried, and some pulled desperately at their chains. Several gnolls, having finished their battle with the deputies at the campfire, bolted to join the fight with their leader.

Knowing what must be done to end the battle, Hunter scanned for Autumn and spotted him cresting the hill. He slung his bow across his back, drew his staff, and jumped down from his perch hoping Autumn would see him in the open. He pointed at the charging leader with his staff and slid into position back-to-back with LT. The gnolls closed a circle around them.

“Cavalry’s coming, yo,” Hunter said over his shoulder, parrying an attack from a gnoll. “Get ready to roll.”

“What?” exclaimed LT, shocked to have help, but having no idea what the stranger meant.

“We gonna roll out,” Hunter shouted over the growls and howls of the attacking gnolls. “Watch for a spot.”

*****

Scout arrived just as Autumn topped the hill and the gnolls closed the circle. She could not see Hunter behind the curtain of seven foot animals, but she knew where he had to be. She also recognized the magical gestures that Autumn was making and understood what she needed to do. Two quick arrows sunk deep into their targets’ backs, creating an opening.

The ground at their feet shuddered. The soil began rippling like water. “Now!” Hunter shouted, grabbing LT and rolling through the opening. 

LT felt something grasping at his boots, but they rolled free and came up in house position, weapons held high ready to block an attack. As the snarling beasts pivoted toward them, long grasses, grasping thistles, and thumb-thick saplings snaked up from beneath the soil entangling their legs, slithering through gaps in clothing and armour, wrapping their arms, curling around their throats like bark-armoured pythons. Two fell and were immediately overcome by the coiling vegetation. 

One broke free, stumbled during his escape, and dropped to his knees at the feet of LT and Hunter. With a quick downward swipe, LT removed his head. A second broke free and took an arrow to the brain from Scout. Moments later, all remaining gnolls were immobilized and the battle—for the moment—was paused. 

Hunter lowered his staff. LT pivoted to face him while maintaining his defensive posture. 

“Who the hell are you?” LT demanded.

Hunter circled the entangled pack, carefully examining arms and legs to ensure that none could break free.

“Who the hell are you?” LT repeated.

Hunter ignored him, completing the circle and walking back toward the camp.

“Stop.” LT ordered as he sheathed his sword and followed the elf. “Where are you going?”

Autumn went to the children. Scout wrapped a kerchief over her face before checking every gnoll corpse to make sure they weren’t playing possum. She also began the process of retrieving every arrow loosed—broken or unbroken.

Hunter stopped first over the coffle master’s dead body.  He searched it, took a key from one pocket and some folded papers from another. Shaking the blood from the papers, he tossed the key to Autumn as he walked past on his way to the treeline. The papers were folded and stuffed inside his tunic.

“Take the chains off the tads. Replace them with corpses.”

Autumn nodded.

“The gnolls gotta break the chain when they haul them away.”

“I get it,” Autumn replied.

“I’ll answer your questions,” Hunter said to LT, stopping to examine the ground at the spot where he had put an arrow into the coward’s kidney. “But first you’re gonna answer mine.”

“Depends on the question,” LT replied, squaring up his chest and putting his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Hunter scoffed, shook his head, and squatted down for a closer look at the ground. “What’s LT stand for?” he asked, following a blood trail across the meadow in the general direction of the river.

“It’s my name.”

Hunter looked at him skeptically.

“It’s my nickname. Stands for Little Tanner,” he volunteered. “My dad’s name was Tanner. I’m Little Tanner.”

“Was?” Hunter asked.

“He passed.”

Hunter paused for a moment to consider whether or not LT was being sincere. “Sorry to hear that,” he offered before turning and following the blood trail down the hill.

LT tagged along. “It was five years ago”—LT’s eyes widened—“You were in the tree,” he blurted, in a moment of recognition. “And you three…I saw you in town.”

Hunter stopped halfway down the hill, gazing at the ribbon of river reflecting the moonlight.

“What are you looking for?” LT wondered aloud, searching the darkness.

“Blood trail.” Hunter pointed to the ground, tracing a line with his finger. “Leads to the water.”

“What…how the…It’s pitch friken black out here,” LT exclaimed.

“Naw, son,” Hunter replied. “You just night blind.”

“So there’s a guy in the water?” LT asked, half drawing his sword.

“Most likely,” said Hunter before turning and walking back toward the camp.

As Hunter strode up the hill, LT followed along in silence, gathering his thoughts, trying to make sense of it all.

Approaching the camp, Hunter saw the shivering children in their filthy blankets gathered around the fire. Scout and Autumn were dragging corpses to the slave chain and affixing collars to their necks. The lower half of the coffle master was dumped next to his upper.

“Find some water in those wagons and give those tads a drink,” Hunter instructed LT.

Hunter turned and walked toward the entangled pack of gnolls.

“You understand that I’m a deputy, right?” LT called after Hunter. “Those kids are the property of The Shadows.”

Hunter kept walking.

“Oh, honey,” Autumn chuckled, shaking his head, “if he thought you were one of these guys…”

GNOLLS

Hunter approached the heavily entangled gnolls with no misconceptions. They could speak, but they were animals notwithstanding. 

Fierce growls and glaring yellow eyes tracked him as he circled the densely packed thicket of tangled canines and twisted vegetation firmly rooted in the soil, but they seemed to have dropped out of bloodlust—which was helpful. Their clipped ear tips and warpaint identified them as Moon Pack—a pack he knew well. With a little luck, he might be able to get some answers. 

Hunter calculated the direction of the breeze and stopped upwind. Moving in close, he opened his mouth and exhaled, allowing his limited scent to wash over them. Their noses flared involuntarily as their brains took in the information. Hunter’s interest was in the pack leader alone. He hoped his scent would provoke a memory.

“Grrrrbu̇f,” Hunter said, addressing the largest beast in its primitive canine language. 

The grrrrbu̇f’s ears picked up and swiveled toward him. Then they laid back flat as the pack leader’s eyes narrowed and his black upper lip curled back quivering over sharp yellow teeth. 

“Moon Pack far from home,” Hunter continued with a string of barks and growls. “Why this place?”

The surge of bloodlust was subsiding. Struggling against Autumn’s entanglement spell was wearing them down. Their systems were crashing. They were all beginning to pant. “Grrrrbu̇f slaved,” the pack leader growled with diminished intensity. “Pack slaved. Taken from White Mountain.”

Hunter considered the response. Gnolls don’t lie. But they speak only one language and, outside of their own activities, they understand very little. “Who slaved Grrrrbu̇f?” he asked.

“You pack slave Grrrrbu̇f.”

Hunter was not surprised. The Beloved Council had been debating Moon Pack’s relocation for most of this century. Hunter weighed the vanishing sand of Autumn’s spell against the slim likelihood that the gnolls might know more. Then he addressed the pack in the traditional way.

“Grrrrbu̇f. Strong Grrrrbu̇f. Many kills. Much meat. Many bones. Strong victory.”

Grrrrbu̇f inhaled deeply, puffed out his chest. “Release me,” he growled, baring his teeth again.

“Soon,” Hunter promised. “We go. Then Grrrrbu̇f go. Keep meat. Keep all things. Strong victory.”

Hunter walked back to the camp, passing a slack-jawed LT, who had witnessed the exchange. “You get them all?” Hunter asked Scout, nodding toward the pile of corpses around the coffle chain.

“All but one,” she replied walking backwards, dragging a corpse by the heels. 

He nodded. “Fraid that one’s in the river.”

“Should I get it?” she offered.

“Naw,” he shook his head. “Too risky.” He turned to Autumn. “How are the tads?” 

“Alive.” Autumn shrugged. “Confused. Terrified.”

Hunter paused for a moment considering what to do next. At no point had he imagined the possibility that this hunt would end with him being responsible for human children. Obviously, he wasn’t going to let the gnolls have them. He also wouldn’t take them to The Shadows. Nor could he take them back to Old Mill.

“You’re just gonna let those animals eat the dead?” LT demanded, finding his tongue. 

“I think we needa let that happen,” Hunter replied. “Gotta look like there were no survivors.”

LT hesitated—thinking—calculating the logic of the elf’s unfolding plan.

“What about the horses?” LT asked.

“Gonna to have to leave them, too.”

“And let the gnolls eat them?”

“Gnolls ain’t eat horses…less they starving.”

Once again, LT paused to process the information then moved on.

“Wait a minute,” said LT, stopping. “What am I going to ride?”

“Dead men don’t ride horses,” Hunter said over his shoulder. Then he stopped and turned to face the young man. “Unless you’re one of them”—his head tilted toward the corpse chain—“dead is better than alive right now.”

Both men locked eyes in silence for several moments. LT’s mouth opened but words did not escape. His head titled almost imperceptibly. Then his mouth closed and Hunter went back to work.

“They’s a village up the hill,” he said to Scout. “Abandoned but some buildings still standing. Take as much grub from them wagons as y’all can carry.” Then lowering his voice and nodding in LT’s direction he added: “Make sure everybody gets some rest.”

“Sure,” she agreed. Her firelit eyes acknowledged his unspoken words above the mask covering her face.

“Can you cover their tracks?” Hunter asked, turning to Autumn. 

“Much as I can,” the druid replied, acknowledging the limits of his magic. 

“Do your best,” Hunter said, placing a hand on the young druid’s shoulder. “Maybe we get lucky.”