Poisonous Fox

I was unsure how long I had rested for when I awoke.

My headache had largely disappeared, with the exception of a slight pulsing pain, just under my ears. Uncomfortable, not debilitating.

The sky was still a dark overcast sky, though I now noticed spots on the horizon, where a slight orange glow peeked through. Not from a sunrise, but from reflected lights. Pit fires, maybe.

While sleeping had not been my intent, I could not argue that my body had required rest. I opened my flagon and took a sip, swishing the dust and stink from my mouth. The water still carried the aftertaste of the spiced beverage from before, though much, much diluted. I would have rather had more of the spice. But the water was fine too.

Now that I was up, I needed to take stock of my surroundings. Like figuring out what had woken me up.

I kept my ears sharp.

Faint, but I could hear it, just barely. Irregular and differently pitched, at least compared to wind breezing through canyons and whistling over peaks. I crept back to the slope, keeping three points of contact with the ground at all times, until I could peer over the ledge of the cliff.

There were popping sounds, almost reminiscent of gunfire, but at a higher pitch. A whistling whine, that left my ears flattened and my teeth aching. I wondered if it was the strange muskets I had seen earlier, except no bullets plinked off stone.

Less frequent, but still present, were the pained shouts and yips from the gnolls.

But when I peered down into the valley, I saw no evidence of a fight.

I considered searching for a secondary camp, before I realized that the sounds were coming from down below, and they were muted. The combat was from within the base. Which meant the gnolls had broken in while I was sleeping–recovering. Did the gnolls enter through the front door though? Considering that no bodies were littering the valley below me, I thought not. Chances were there was another entrance to the mines, and that the gnolls had known of it.

More importantly, this meant that my opportunity was not lost, that the distraction was still incredibly current.

I hurried back down the cliff, as fast as I could, which felt much slower than climbing up.

Regardless of the time I spent, by the time I reached the bottom, the fight was still going on.

I snuck to the door and pressed my ear against it once more. The fighting came louder, but not directly opposite the doorway. I unsheathed my knife and slipped it through the crack between doors and probed until I found resistance.

A bar locked the doors into place.

I set my knife to the bottom of the bar and pushed up. The bar was heavy, and the leverage awkward, but after straining at my grip, I was able to slide the bar up and out from the slots, allowing the door to crack open.

I slipped through, confirmed I was alone, then rebarred the doors locked once more.

Inside was a stone atrium with minimal furnishings. A chair, a table, a moldy looking tankard with a sour residue around the rim. It still stank of people, not the tankard, the room. Unwashed bodies. Residue of fecal matter. Trace amounts of urine.

I convulsed, just slightly, from disgust and I covered my nose.

At least there was nobody waiting. Only a single tunnel stretched out from the atrium, a winding tunnel, carved in the same uniform fashion that the gnolls had crafted, though rather than short and wide, these tunnels were narrow and tall, and the stone had the same melted wax appearance. From deeper in, the sounds of conflict came. The strange high pitched, ear-flattening, teeth-clenching pop-pop-popping echoed from further in, along with much less frequent yelps and cries of pain.

While it might have been foolish, I had come here for a purpose, and I would not find a better opportunity than now. And so, I continued on, at a crouch, and ready to drop an Illusion at the drop of a pin.

“The … they doing?!” a brutish voice shouted from further in. I caught snippets of conversation and suppressed a groan. Motherswear it! I could not afford another headache. There was nowhere for me to hide.

“... not this aggressive!” a woman answered from ahead. “Aim for the chief!”

More popping sounds. Another yelp. The pressure under my ears began mounting, my heartbeat growing far more noticeable than it should have been.

“... empty!” the woman shouted. “Get me another charger!”

Mind: 49 (+1)

The tunnel ended in a natural cavern, likely carved by an old underground river, with the rock here largely what could have been limestone, as opposed to the more volcanic strata I had grown familiar with. Unfortunately, whatever disaster had hit the landscape had dried the river completely, for not a single drop remained.

Lanterns cast soft, yellow, and flickering light across the wrinkled stone. With the uneven ground and walls, there were plenty of shadows in which I could choose to hide. The slavers had taken advantage of the space, with partitions set along the walls, from stacked mudstone to cheap looking wooden planks.

Wood that had to have come from somewhere green. Unless it predated the ecological disaster, though I doubted that.

As I was at the junction between the tunnel and cavern, I had to decide which way to go.

To the left, I heard combat. Shouts, snarls, and bashes. To the right, I picked up several interesting scents.

I went right, following the slope downward. Less than fifty yards later, I found an old wagon that had been locked in place and propped up by stones to keep the bed level. Someone had put bedding down, turning the wood into a makeshift bed. It was a mix of straw, cloth, and furs, with an old pillow. The stench was thick about it though so I kept my distance. That smell had not been what drew me in this direction.

Behind the wagon was a partitioned alcove with barrels and crates. It smelled both bland and spicy at once. The best smells originated from a shelf full of brown glass jars with handles about the neck. There were also burlap sacks stacked on a pallet, unlabeled, but likely some kind of grain.

I checked the brown bottles first. I picked one, popped the cork, and took a sniff. It tickled my nostril, with a sweet burn. Some sort of rum or brandy. A part of me wanted to take it, but I could not survive off of booze alone, it just would not be very healthy. With much reluctance, I set the bottle back. On second thought, I swiped it and packed it away in my knapsack.

Next, I went to the barrels. The lids were unsealed, which meant I only needed to lift the top to peer inside. I found roots and tubers in most of them, though one held dry leaves that smelled worse than gym socks. I put the lid back on that one quickly. For the canvas sacks, I split one open and found rolled oats. I found a smaller sack to fill, which I stored away in my bag. Considering that I needed food, I also grabbed a few tubers as well. The tubers were under protest. I need calories, I reminded myself.

That left the crates. I had been hoping to find weapons to better defend myself, maybe a map, but instead I found bolts of cloth, wood stock, and ingots. I left that where I found them.

A moment later, I heard a familiar gait approaching, along with padded clawed feet. I remembered well what those sounded like.

I hurried from the pantry and slipped between a wooden partition and a stone wall, once again thankful for my limited stature. It was still a tight fit however, and I was forced to leave my knapsack on the ground at the base of the partition. It should be fine. It was unobtrusive there, difficult to spot.

The footsteps grew near. There were at least two, one sniffing the air, and the other rummaging through the wagon, then the pantry.

“Smell, den,” one of them said. I was not worried about their sense of smell, as Traceless Tracks should leave me immune. But the snuffling only grew louder.

“No care,” the other said. “Grab eat-meat and go. Den Mother say.”

“No you. It close. Other denmate?”

The other gnoll yipped and I heard something slice through the air. The first gnoll growled and made space between them, before following its nose back outside of the pantry. I heard it getting closer, slowly.

But that should be impossible.

I kept telling myself, over and over, that I was scentless, that I left no tracks, that they should not be able to follow me. But the gnoll was following something. Maybe another gnoll had come through here before I did?

The gnoll stopped just above where I had set down my knapsack.

“Found!” it said, with a gleeful snarl. “Den Mother right! Humans stole!”

“We no have time! Hurry!” the other reprimanded the first. “Grab and come!”

I was not about to let them steal that which was mine. Even if it was ill-gotten gains, I had put in the effort to take them. I wondered if I could stop them. I might scare them off with an Illusion, although I would rather not spend all my energy when enemies could come around the corner at any moment. I also was doubtful of my chances to win a fight.

But, I did not need to win. Not necessarily.

I crawled back out from where I had stowed away, and fell on my rear over the backpack. I kept rolling, pinching my tail painfully, and I landed in a crouch, facing the wrong direction. I sprung at the wall, kicked off it, twisted, and landed back on a crouch facing the gnoll, a hand on my knife. I confirmed that this particular gnoll was male.

“Back off,” I snarled, unsheathing my knife and swiping the air.

“What you?” the gnoll facing me asked.

When I had leapt out, he had made distance, jumping backwards reflexively. But now he was pacing around to the side, while his friend stopped rummaging in the pantry and prowled out to join him. I thought he might have been attempting to flank me.

“What am I?” I asked for clarification. I found myself using their guttural language without thinking about it, but once I realized this, my tongue stumbled.

“You take?” he asked, his eyes flicking down to the bag, then back up to me.

“...no,” I lied. “Not you. Not take.” Their language truly felt awful to speak.

“Who this?” the second gnoll asked, finally reaching us. This gnoll, a female, carried a full rucksack over her shoulders, which she set down. She was gray with black spots, and was slightly smaller than the male. Neither wore clothes, except for their fur.

“It steal,” the male gnoll answered, apparently not believing my first lie. “No smell.” I knew I was scentless!

They both were crouched now, their clawed hands loose and ready, drool dripping from their muzzles.

“We fight?” the female gnoll growled.

“No,” I answered. “You go.” I pointed at the knapsack. “Leave.”

“What mean?” Both of their eyes widened in confusion.

I sighed. It was challenging to speak in their language. There were many words missing from their lexicon. But with some forethought, I was able to hopefully produce a sentence that made sense. I tried again.

“Humans come. Get food. Run to Den Mother.” I finished, feeling moderately proud I had been able to do that, hoping the point got across.

The male gnoll barked in that strange high pitched laughter of their kind. The female shrugged. “We take,” the male insisted, hefting the sack. “Ours.”

“No. Mistake.” I swiped the air with my knife once more, struggling to keep both of them in view. “You go. Grab food.”

The two gnolls paused, taking a moment to yip. The female’s scarred cheek pulled tight in a feral grin. They needed encouragement. A conflict at this point would result in failure for all three of us. How long until the conflict was resolved? And how confident was I in the humans winning this battle? There were still sounds of conflict, from pained yelps, to the soft ‘popping’ that I interpreted as gunfire. Though the sounds were quieting down.

“No time,” I tried to say, though I was lacking the sentence structure to convey most of the meaning. To emphasize my point, I lunged at the male to the side in a stab, then pivoted into a wide swipe at the female. Both of them leapt backwards, easily avoiding the blow.

“Slow,” the male said. They yipped in laughter, seeming to mock me. They needed more encouragement.

I racked my brain to determine a method of scaring them back. I needed space, and clearly I could not rely on them making the smart decision. Likely, if this continued, we would guarantee mutual destruction.

“Illusion,” I whispered, calling up a [Clone]. Shadows gathered and split off from me.

The gnolls snarled and tasted the air.

My shadow creation glided forward towards the female.

She clawed at the air, unsure.

I lunged once more at the male. This time, my knife slashed his hand and wrist, forming a shallow cut.

He yelped and snarled.

I pressed forward, while the female continued fighting the air. The sounds of battle clearly getting to her. I tried reaching his chest, but he kept a wary distance, circling towards the female, clutching his injured hand.

I switched targets, this time, rushing the female from the other side of the shadows.

The male barked in warning, but she was already focused on fighting the harmless shadow [Clone].

I dove through from the other side, stabbing into her thigh.

The male yanked her back by the scruff just as the blade broached her fur.

I allowed the shadow to dissipate and felt a burn on my right arm.

Illusion: 6/9 (+1)

Both of them were further back now, nearer the wagon and the entry to the pantry than me.

“Go,” I snarled, my lips pulled back revealing gum and canine.

“We go,” the two of them agreed. “With food.”

I nodded, standing protectively over my own knapsack, watching them warily.

The female grabbed her rucksack, and the two went back to looting the pantry, with the male standing guard and the female packing a sack for him. We kept eyeing each other until I had gone around another bend, and from there I hid.

I waited several minutes, ears peeled. From the gnolls, I heard nothing. The battle was dying down though, and I heard shuffling from further down the natural cavern, along with a cough. I smelled waste and poor hygiene, and the particular funk that skin develops when prevented from breathing from extended periods of time. I had a suspicion of what this was coming from, which would be another one of my objectives.

I traveled further into the cavern, further away from the pantry and the gnolls and the human slavers, towards what I thought might be the slaves. I hoped the keys were kept nearby.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 35

Mind: 49 (+1)

Spirit: 45

Talents:

Athleticism (2/9):

Climbing (5/9)

Stealth (2/9)

Trackless Tracks (3/9)

Closed (2/9)

Spells:

Illusion (7/9) (+1)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)

Gifts:

Obsession (2/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)