The Gnolls

So, Vyscaria, the gnome, is taking more shape in my mind. I’ve decided she’s going to end up being a druid, though she’s starting out as just a Chameleon Gnome. I think I actually will stat her out at some point, because yes… I’m that kind of nerdy. She’s neutral in alignment, generally very curious and standoffish. She’s planning to catalog every “monster” she comes across in her journal, and eventually to publish her book of little songs. Educational material, you understand, to help people learn about the dangers of the world around them in a memorable way.

She might pick up a companion sometime down the line due to my husband’s jesting. He said the songs thus far bring to mind goblins for their love of songs. Wouldn’t that be an adorable traveling pair? A goblin bard and a gnome druid prowling the world together seeing everything they can and make ridiculous songs?

I like the idea. For now though, onto the Gnolls…


From the Journal of Vyscaria

Well, as it turns out it didn’t take long to run into someone hunting monsters, and by that, I mean gnolls. But yeah, he called them monsters, and by their reputation I suppose the label fits. I asked if I could tag along, but he said no. No surprise, I suppose. It’s not like I’ve any real skill to offer a monster hunter. But you know what I do have? Determination. In spades.

So I followed his tracks instead. Of course I changed my hair and skin color to better blend in with my surroundings so he wouldn’t notice me… And he didn’t. He was too focused on what was in front of him… Which let me have plenty of time to observe… My only regret is that I lingered long enough to see what they did with the poor man… Not like I could have helped him, but still.


The Gnolls

They are short, with heads like hyenas,
And fierce, they’d excel in arenas.
They fight like a pack,
Each guarding one’s back,
Together they make their attack!

I’ve seen them stalk the fields and hills,
And from their battles claim their thrills!
They see in the dark,
They kill on a lark,
They all obey their leader’s bark!

Beware, beware, they hide in dells,
Beware, beware, their cultist’s spells!
They may be a slaver,
Or playing for favor,
Regardless, it’s blood that they savor!

They’ve natural prowess at the hunt,
Right down to their smallest grunt.
Don’t be mistaken,
For food you’ll be taken,
Should their cruel instincts awaken!

Their hunters keep their clans alive,
While cultists serve to grant them drive,
Cruel sergeants, so grim,
Lead them by their whim,
Their enemis’ futures grow dim.

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