Full of Rage and Full of Rot

"Coming from anyone else I would expect hollow lies.." Grelvere muttered quietly, their eyes shifting from Charles to the others once more. A glare, as no one else wished to fess up. "Now, stop looking so miserable.. I am not angry with you. You don't do magical bullshit like that." Grelvere's voice was a low hiss still. As if they were on the verge of speaking in Abyssal once more. Something they'd wished to teach Charles, alongside what different whoops, groans, snarls, and bellows meant to Gnolls. Grelvere knew it would come in handy, it surely did with an owlbear a long while ago. A tale told around the campfire with Charles a long time ago. Old groups, and old wounds. Then came another apology, accompanied by a familiar hand. His hands always so cautious. As if Grelvere would snap at any moment, but there was always a silent devotion in their heart for the other. Their fangs were never meant for Charles, not anymore. It was something soft, these feelings. Something that they'd long tried to stamp out, as they knew what true weakness was. A tender spot and a fault within their own guarded heart, and it was where Charles lay. Tucked away safely within the Gnoll's ribcage. A more gentle low groan came next, not one out of pure frustration but a quiet acceptance of the 'I'm sorry.' The words Charles has come to use so frequently with them as of late. The groan was accompanied by the usual tender press of their cold nose to Charles' temple. It was out of habit, and they often did so in an attempt to soothe frayed nerves through action rather than words. It was display of quiet affection so easily missed if others were not paying close enough attention. A slow long sigh left them next, "Do you know how long this will last? Or is this a waiting game." Grelvere had nudged Charles to a quieter corner away from the others as much as possible. Though privacy was a luxury in a group like this. So instead, the Gnoll made sure to use their body to block any eyes on Charles while speaking in a more hushed tone. 'Do not make me look soft, Charles.. it is hard enough not ridding you of the dead weight in this group. Though perhaps keeping a healer of sorts would be smart.. hm.. maybe the bird..'

There was a silence, a barely contained snarl because of just who this was before Grelvere. All it took was a bite. A single bite of food. They had never felt so.. ill. Sure they’ve made a few simple mistakes of eating poisonous plants leaving them with an awful bellyache. But this was entirely different, they felt weaker. Like genuine shit, as they’ve never known disease. Is this what others felt like when sickly? “Of- Of all—!” They could not find the words, not right now. Their own eyes darted between the others, the rations on the floor, and then Charles’ face. “Ooo..” The start of a low guttural groan that was more animal than not, “There are not enough words in common for this. Fuck, even in my mother tongue I don’t know how else to describe this- this-!” Then came the foreign language of Abyssal. Harsh, guttural, nearly hissed out. The language of demons. Whatever Grelvere had said was likely some form of a swear word. They’d wanted to break everything in this laboratory. To smear the walls with the blood of Charles’ new little friends. Every breath the others took was a genuine mercy. But… now they were weakened, useless even. Their threats would hold no weight, not anymore. “I’d rather feel the blades of betrayal take my ear again and merciless claws try to rip out my eyes a second time than whatever this is Charles.. Is this permanent or not..?” Their voice slightly calmer and more clear compared to the growls that bubbled up in their throat moments prior. The anger was never truly directed at Charles of course. But to whoever tainted the rations. As they tried desperately to not associate any malicious intent in the sole comfort they had here. The warlock would never truly mean to hurt them. Right?

There was a low hyena-like groan that bordered on another growl of sorts when Charles tore Grelvere from their thoughts with three little taps. It was quiet and more on par with how younger more aggravated  adolescent Gnolls might’ve responded to an elder scolding them. Half tempted to snap teeth at them, in a more half assed attempt at being a little much with the dramatics, but they decided against it. If one of the others were to wake and see Grelvere pretending to bite at Charles, they’d likely get to enjoy some sort of magical attack or blade plunged into their body. No one took Grelvere’s play as true play, it always looked more violent than intended. It’s not their fault others were so squishy compared to them. “Stubborn.. You are a stubborn, stubborn manthing.” Grelvere began as once more Charles refused them once again. Only to bare their teeth in a fake snarl to feign disgust at Charles for not taking their word as truth. “You argue with me like I cannot fit your entire skull in my jaws. I snap femurs like they are twigs and yet you sit here and you argue? Hehe…hehehehahaha..!” The start of their laugh was slow before it turned into a hushed staccato of shrill giggles many knew Gnolls for, all while they just smiled at Charles. “You are my Charles.” They’d puff softly, “Okay, we will call this a draw. It is too late and I am too tired from that damn fight. Hated that big ass cage too.” Grelvere would grunt softly. Leaning more into Charles. A bit greedy to enjoy some form of comfort after the whole ordeal. Going as far as to tilt their head down more to press into Charles’ hand that was nice and warm against their head.  “Can’t you use your big scary magic to know what I am thinking? Hm?” Grelvere used two hands now in order to hold onto Charles still, mindlessly starting to fiddle with his fingers some. Curling his fingers or softly pressing their thumbs into his palm. “I am thinking, yes.. I am always thinking. Even if everyone thinks of me to be a stupid simple beast,” Grelvere rolled their eyes some but knew at the end of the day being underestimated always led to their opponent’s swift death. “I share with only you. Ever. Not something you should be taking lightly, you know?” Grelvere grinned a little, their fangs poking out from their scarred lips. “Many have died from breathing stupidly around me, but Charles can touch freely and not lose an entire arm.” They snickered a bit, but then paused once more to think. Grelvere would huff a bit when focusing on their dear friend. His warmth and the gentle weight of his hand still resting on their head. Sighing softly after a few more heartbeats of quiet. Trying to maintain their composure as they desired nothing more than perhaps a real nights rest without the paranoia eating at them now that Charles had returned to them. "You are.. you are staying.... right?" The question was damn near a plea. It was one of the few questions and thoughts that buzzed around in their mind that Charles seemed so interested in knowing. "Because if you are staying then it does not matter what I am doing here. All that matters is I am doing whatever the fuck here with you, now. " The Gnoll kept their side and shoulder lightly pressing against Charles. Ever the tactile one despite their distaste in being touched by others. Silently hoping to get across their desire to stay close, even now that there were new people at play. Hoping that Charles might somehow soothe the fear of losing the small shred of home Grelvere had found in him. To somehow lessen the tightness in their chest with the way anxiety always dug its claws just under Grelvere's ribcage. Bringing forth the fears of somehow being replaced by all the people here. "You wonder how? Well firstly, I did not fucking die to the shitty mountain rocks." Grelvere rolled their eyes, already trying to focus anything but the way insecurities flooded their skull. "Bad weeds do not die. Or whatever the fuck the saying is. I mean fucking look at me, I am covered in scars. Back to front, and head to paws."

‘I’m sorry.’ Their ears perked up immediately. Staring at Charles for a moment, as if they’d said something outlandish. It had been so long since they last heard the other actually speak words. Well, words at least spoken with his mouth. In some ways, Grelvere enjoyed hearing Charles in their head. It was a comfort they’d missed for some time.  'I missed you.’ Such a foreign concept in truth, as not even Zhal had stayed nor acted like he would miss Grelvere. It was a name once mentioned to Charles in passing, and he was spoken about as if dead. That damned Orc was spared by Grelvere’s own hands on the battlefield a long while ago, even if their healing potions were bitter because they were handmade by the Gnoll. Grelvere had gone as far as to learn sign language for him and taught it back to the Orc once it became clear his vocal cords would never heal properly without extensive coin or a kind hearted powerful cleric. Only for him to get up one night and just.. walk away. The Gnoll had tracked him for days until the trail went cold and his scent faded. Going as far as to whooping or letting out a nervous inhuman hyena laugh like they would for those within their warband.  Grelvere had tensed ever so slightly when Charles came closer, their fur bristling if only for a few seconds. The weaselly bastard didn’t shy away, of course not. Sitting right beside them instead and actually speaking still. That alone almost had the Gnoll flinch. Almost. Slowly did Grelvere lean down to get a true good look at Charles, then a small sniff for extra insurance. No tricks, no magic, just Charles. When the other didn't shy away from the intrusion, Grelvere allowed the briefest press of their cold wet nose to Charles' temple. “You don’t owe me an apology, I told you to keep going if something happened. I didn’t follow my own advice. I acted like a cub, that's what makes it childish.. that’s on me...” Grelvere’s voice was a quiet rumble, as their muscles slowly relaxed. It was something subconscious and out of old habit, as their brain registered this was the very same person who helped pay for healing potions when not a single cleric wished to aid them. The same person who they’d know would not shy away when Grelvere had feelings so big that it came out as something ugly. The same hands that were gentle when changing out bandages or assessed a new wound. Grelvere scooted just a little closer, their tail moving to make a feeble attempt at wrapping around Charles. The Gnoll’s tail wasn’t very long, but an attempt was made regardless. “I…” They cleared their throat, eyes still trained on the offered hand, “I missed you more, I think.” With plenty of caution taken into account, Grelvere gently took Charles hand in their own. Being mindful of their claws Grelvere would then give a gentle squeeze, pleased to feel the weight of his hand in their own. It was something solid and tangible. Real. The Gnoll had never been good with these types of situations, and especially not with those outside of their clan. Would it be wrong to want to squeeze the near life out of them in celebration? Had they lost that privilege? Were things still going to be the same? Like before? Charles could recognize that look as always, Grelvere looked serious and like they were glaring daggers. Their jaw set a bit tight, keeping the Gnoll silent, as their ears remained stiff. But in reality, they were just getting all wrapped up in their mind. Either pathing something out or working themselves up. A coin toss really, but it was often the latter.

Ever since joining up with this group of.. How would they even put it? It was hard to truly decide how they felt over the whole thing, about being just here in this place with so many strangers. The old man spilled his guts without so much as the Gnoll lifting a claw. No threats were even made on their end, just a grumble and side eye. Even if after a long while Grelvere stopped listening the moment the old bastard said, ‘Charles,’ while regaling them in his years made some kind of prisoner. Could the old guy really mean the very same walking twig of a man? Creature? Whatever the hell they were as Grelvere knew what humans smelled of. They were not one of them.  Every part of Grelvere wanted to spit, to snarl, to rip apart every living thing in that damned shit tavern when that same unnerving feeling of an all too familiar voice practically whispered in Grelvere’s mind. “You’ve been with these fucking people the whole time? These weak sniveling little insects.” It’s what they wanted to say. To get that point across that Charles perhaps chose wrong by running from Grelvere. By choosing something.. Safe? Had they really been that off putting? Had those softer, quieter moments been some kind of ploy to find a tender spot to exploit? Oh but Grelvere was nothing but efficient. Loose ends never lasted long for the war general. Revenge was in their blood, as it had always been a mercy to be killed swiftly as opposed to waiting for the Gnoll to one day come knocking. That day was the tavern. A part of them hoped Charles felt doomed. Doomed so horrifically that they’d never be rid of a beast like Grelvere.  But.. "Oh..Charles..." A softer thought rang through their mind. So few had taken the time to meet them at their level. The blood never did dry after all. Only fools stood beside someone like Grelvere now. They learned a long time ago that trust was earned, and yet still so easily betrayed. Their horrifically torn ear was a testament to a lesson hard learned, a reason to never trust a wood elf nor any other humanoids for that matter. Grelvere was always stupid, always some mindless animal, and only ever useful when it was convenient for others. Just a weapon to be given a direction and praised when there was yet another kill under their belt. What’s the point of even trying to show others the high ranking they’d received when the first thing people see is some ugly scarred up thing? But Charles.. well they were something else. They acted as if the giant monster before them could be spoken to gently. Tonight was different, it was weird and all sorts of wrong. Scars old and new were bothering them, making sleep an unachievable goal. Grumbling and sitting up slow, a shakier than normal exhale would leave them. But quickly their attention was turned to the only familiar face amongst this gaggle of weirdos. Their ears moved first and swiveled to catch the words coming from Charles like they had been spoken. Slowly did their eyes shift to look at Charles, then their entire body. That same unrelenting and unsettling stare, though there was a hint of something there. Longing, perhaps. “I looked for you.” Grelvere’s low near growl of a voice echoed back to Charles’ mind, even if there was never any real bite. Not like when Grelvere spoke to the others. “As idiotic and childish of me as it was, I looked. I tracked what I could, and had hope I’d never smell your blood. I never did, but.. I didn’t know if that was because of the sheer size of those evil fucking stones burying you alive.” A few heartbeats passed between them all over again. Grelvere had opened their mouth as their expression turned to anger once again, before it fizzled out just as quickly. Replaced with a soft huff. Instead focusing on rubbing at the scars going across their right eye and cheek, as the skin there was more red in color tonight. Agitated even. “What the fuck are you even doing here? Where have you even been?” Grelvere’s questions this time, were projected much softer into Charles’ mind.