'Fabulous Fleeb & The Great Pungle Revolution'

A report by Imperial Scholar Isenbert Lauterbach -

The subject of whether gnolls are common or extremely rare is very seldom considered any matter of import - even amongst the scholars specialising on the fauna and flora of the known world.

Why is it that gnolls are considered so trivial? To this scholar's mind - we are wrong to dismiss such a potentially gifted race, based purely on the fact that their natural geography rarely sees us interact with them in any significant manner.

If we draw upon one known location of gnolls; The Guerac Circle of Mousillon (thus limited human contact) - then we can use the irregular evidence here to speculate similar behaviours in gnoll warrens that are known to be dotted around our planet.

A rare substantial evidence source involves a small company of Imperial halberdiers and auxiliaries, vassals of the Bretonnian Lord of his Imperial won fief 'Sigmarshiem' - ordered to support a Questing Knight to locate a key pass towards the long and treacherous path that ultimately leads to the circle itself. Mission completed, the halberdiers set-up camp moving as far in the opposite direction of the knight as humanly possible with all due haste for the dangers of this place are well known. After setting up camp, most of the men fell asleep with the guards sitting around a fire - feasting on a white boar that they managed to hunt close by to their encampment.

A letter written by one of these guards was located on his person, right on the edge of the forest itself... he almost made it out unscathed; but was discovered, entirely prone by the very questing knight that he aided towards The Guerac Cicle (albeit it on his return journey). To his credit the noble Bretonnian rode hard to get the delusional casualty to a healer - alas. He was too far gone in regards to his shattered mind and although the body was saved, the survivor now resides in a healer's mercitorium - no sense can be ushered from this once brash youth.

The letter reads thusly:

'Funniest thing - little men! Four of them! It will sound like I've been at the cheap wine again but I swear blind to Sigmar! One all dressed in pink, one all in orange, one all in blue and one all in green and no word of a lie - skin to match their little outfits!

We didn't know if to wake the others but decided not to scare them off - it was obvious they were looking at the pork we were cooking up. So I said; let's give them some grub, they weren't bearing teeth and didn't seem hostile. Better to be safe and make friends rather than new enemies right?

Well we did just that and those little men gave us big smiles! They never came too close but they took the food and walked away, all casual like. But then... some hours later. More turned up - this time about twenty! All different colours with matching finery, couldn't believe it... like a fashion parade in Aldorf itself I imagine. And so they smile and point to the fire, but then they point to the very same meat we handed them some hours earlier, them clutching it in surprisingly clean little multicoloured hands (why hadn't they eaten it yet?) - by this point food was running low; we got a bit tough and told them that they'd already had their gift and to not play silly buggers! We wearily forced ourselves up with halberds in hand to show that we were men of The Empire and not just lost caravan guards. Anyway... I tell you what, those smiles instantly turned into the most unnerving frowns and then they turned their backs on us something defiant and just walked away... just as casual as before.

But they weren't leaving... they went and made a circle around us and suddenly more of them appeared... dozens more, out of holes in the ground I think... but they weren't covered in mud or filth... each and every one was immaculate looking - ugly as sin but all well kept and groomed to the best of their ability in such a wild place.

So then this one gnoll... he had a moustache if you can believe that, a turquoise moustache at that! Sigmar knows it! And all turquoise and covered in shiny teal gems with strange iridescent metal clasps and buckles... he marched right up to our captain, and he saw an old supply crate. So he flipped over the crate making a right fuss and making sure that we were all staring as wide-eyed as you can imagine. And I just then noticed that the little chap was wearing gloves! Gloves! These jade green gloves... he slipped one off he did, no no wait for it! And he looked our captain who was SEETHING with rage at the indignant little thing dead in the eyes and yes, yes I swear it - it slapped him right across the old bastard's stubbly jowel, then the other one and finally draws its tiny little glowing sword! The gnoll... challenges our captain... to a duel!

So we don't know what to do; to gasp, to laugh or to ready our weapons! Well... our captain never being one to screw around wrinkled his nose; all red faced as you might well imagine, unsheathed his own sword and before the challenger had time to so much as blink, remorselessly sliced the critter in twain from head down to what I suppose would be considered its nether regions. One side of it fell one way, the other the other and all the gnolls made a right old din, screaming bloody murder as they retreated down their holes. We didn't see them again...

The thing is... they hadn't gone. Things start happening. Bad things. My mate lost his halberd and so did several other fellas. Then our water supply got emptied... we still had two days trek to get out of this god forsaken place and then our tracker decided to go on ahead and lost more than just his maps... he lost his bloody head! We awoke from half-slumber just before dawn and his head was clearly missing from the matching shoulders; same story for half a dozen or so other chaps that I used to call friends. Another of our number soon fell into a brutal pit trap... whatever was inside that dark hole ate him alive in less than half a minute. Soon two more men got stuck with strange glowing javelins - we didn't even see the gnolls who hit their targets with no small amount skilled accuracy.

From the canopied gloom the arrows began to be loosed... small ones, just slightly bigger than pub darts I recon. We quickly put together some ramshackle barricades but they just kept finding ways of penetrating our blind spots, piercing vulnerable chinks with their poisoned barbs and before we knew it, our numbers were down to a clean dozen... our captain was still alive at this point. Why they chose not to take revenge on him yet is beyond me. Anyway, he certainly didn't look as haughty anymore I can assure you. Why he had to kill that little moustached thing is beyond me...

They somehow made a tunnel UNDER the barricade... they dragged four more of us down into the darkness kicking and screaming. The halberds were just too unwieldy to be of much use - we might as well have been holding shovels.

I'm ashamed to say - and Sigmar forgive me, we ran. Death was certain, for what it's worth - our captain did order the retreat. However, no sooner had he barked the words - a vine rope from above tangled around his neck... I grabbed his arm, and one of my few mates still standing the other but whatever was in that tree was unnaturally strong. He got roughly jerked up into the blackness and that was that, a bastard he was for sure, but let it be known - his last words rang out gutteral and strangled but still audible as he desperately let off a flintlock pistol into the black canopy 'FOR THE EMPIRE!'.

That fuelled us on to at least try to make a break for the forest's edge so that this story might be told, so that no more good men make the same mistake that we did following that Bretonnian demand!

One thing I did see... Ottokar threw down his weapon, surrendered - spirit broken... and I glimpsed them surround him. I swear they lowered their swords, their spears... he was shivering with fear, waiting for the end... but they took his hands, like the hands of a small child and then they gently walked him away from the rest of us getting stuck like wild pigs! They let him surrender? Why didn't we just do that before we were all DONE FOR!?

I just ran and ran... and Elser... I think he made it, he was right behind me... until he wasn't. I called out to him... Nothing. No one. Just me. I'm lost. I think I'm getting close to the edge but I just can't see. I desperately need to rest... I won't sleep. I can't. They'll have my head! I can't surrender. I killed one of them. Its blood is still all over me. No, I... I'll write this all down. Let the world know my story. When first light comes, I'll make a break for it.

One last sprint to the forest's edge. The sunlight will show me the way. Sigmar guide me... and mercy on my mates - they didn't deserve this. Gnolls! Of all the bloody things that could kill a man in this accursed Dukedom... gnolls! Haha - someone out there must have a sense of humour!

- Gottschalk Rosenzweig

Imperial Halberdier of Sigmarshiem

... 🪶 ... 📜 ... 🪶 ... 📜 ... 🪶 ... 📜 ... 🪶 ... 📜 ...

For centuries the existence of gnolls was laughed off my most races. However, the disappearance of entire regiments, warbands and even small armies eventually led to a deeper delve into these curious and isolationist beings. Although there is still much to learn about gnolls; what is known continues to baffle and confound even the sharpest minds among men, dawi and elf alike. A wholly improbable race that has existed for far longer than most, entirely fixated on trivial obsessions... colour coordination, ornate fashion and of course wild boars. Examples of ludicrous behaviour exhibited from this race include 'world wars' over a single rare plant with petals of a certain hue, a tribe taking decades to decide the name of itself whilst an object matching the exact same colour of their beards could be tracked down (in the other side of the planet) and gnoll babes being thrown repeatedly into the air (and presumably caught) so that they could become a more attractive shade of 'sky blue'. For all the insanity of gnolls; they actually possess unorthodoxly keen minds, amazing social skills and creativity far beyond their ability to contain. Some Imperial scholars believe gnolls to be a sub-species of goblin, akin to the gnoblars of the ogre tribes and yet nothing could be further from the truth. Gnolls are not cruel, bitter, treacherous, self-serving or driven by a destructive nature. Gnolls wish to live in peace, to be left alone, to create beauty in the world at a pace and technological level that they feel comfortable with. However, when crossed the diminutive gnolls who are rarely taken seriously as combatants can quickly show just how dangerous they CAN be. Using varied bizarre tactics, crude ensorcelled weapons, vicious mounts, unstable magic and unpredictable creatures loaded with lethality these little people can erase any evidence of your existence with ease. Their guerilla warfare tactics are unparalleled in the old world and once wronged they make a dwarf look forgiving as they use every available resource to eliminate the enemy.

One day a gnoll was born in The Guerac Circle of Mousillon. A gnoll who changed everything. For the first time ever, a mottled gnoll of every colour imaginable was born unto this world. He was immediately taken before 'The Great Uniter' by teeming masses of gnolls of every variant... they nervously awaited the judgement of their living god. Was this babe an ill omen or truly the miracle it seemed? 'The Great Uniter' was tired on the day the rainbow gnoll babe was presented to it. The Uniter shrugged and with its huge carving branch drew what seemed to be a crude illustration of a castle, with that castle it squinted as it scribbled an undecipherable thing. It then pointed at the babe, pointed around vaguely indicating the huge audience that had convened on this most special day and then airily motioned back to the dirt sketch carved deep into the Field of Dreams. Yawning wide 'The Great Uniter' laid on its side with its back very much to the grand congregation surrounding it and promptly went straight to sleep, snoring with such force that fruit fell from the bountiful orchard trees that littered this sacred place. There was no need to summon the council... their quest was clear. This youngling Fleeb was special. Fabulous Fleeb indeed. He was born into a hero's destiny to travel to Castle Mousillon, inside which was an object that 'The Great Uniter' needed. What the object was. Why it was needed. The dangers that this boy must face. All trivial. For the rainbow child must succeed and enact the will of the great protector.

Number of available units for roster = 29

Fabulous Fleeb / The Pungles: Rainbow Gnoll / Mixed Gnolls * [1]{12}(🍀)/[12]{1} // 'Fleeb is no mage but he is like no other! I do not know Fleeb but Fleeb is my brother! Fleeb is not my shade but IS and all other! Fleeb is no swordsman but Fleeb he will fight yer! And he'll win every time! So says our Uniter!' ~ unofficial marching song of The Pungles

Once the legend of Fabulous Fleeb came to be, the fanatical excitement within the race of gnolls spread like an unstoppable wildfire of epic proportions. Gnolls flocked in their droves so that they might get a glimpse of this chosen hero, this special champion, the rainbow warrior himself... Fleeb. Volunteers to join him on his assigned perilous quest were ludicrously vast and so the various gnolls of great import gathered as a council and concluded that action would need to be taken to stop crushing disappointment from turning into rioting (or worse!). It was decided that a pungle lottery would be held and that a single gnoll from a dozen warrens (also selected via an equally dubious and complicated lottery) would have the honour of serving as a squire and serve the noble machinations of the most famous gnoll to ever be born into this world. Thus a dozen random assorted gnolls now boast, brag and proudly proclaim their place attending the actual 'Spectrum Prince', 'The Mottled King of the Guerac Circle'! In battle they fight with a determined zeal that far outweighs their various average employments, skills and knowledge for they all know that death will lead to another gnoll filling their literal boots (for each is gifted a pair of rainbow boots upon accepting their new position) in less than twenty blinks. Therefore this desperate dozen form a tight-knit guild of sorts, protecting one another with true shared interest. However; their greatest ambition is to find a way... no matter how small or trivial, to assist Fantastic Fleeb succeed on his quest into the very heart of darkness.

The Kettlewell Guard: Mixed Gnolls * [3][2]{6}{1} // The Kettlewell Guard is currently led by the fierce and uncompromising gnoll Commander Clementine Kettlewell. Kettlewell's natural demeanor could not be further from the average apricot gnoll and she has not even the slightest bit of silliness or mischief about her. Stout, severe and with one eyebrow perpetually raised in disapproval; her task is to seek out the best shields that gnolldom can provide. Her training regime focuses exclusively on defense as her hired shields form one of the most elite bodyguard units known to gnoll. Leaders of great merit, small trading outposts struggling to survive sustained goblin assaults and even the occasional gnoll mother have all been safeguarded or their lives outrightly saved by the timely arrival of the Kettlewell Guard.

The Tsk Force / The Stargazers: Pink Gnolls (Pinkies) * [9]{1.5} each unit / Current Leader = General Tsk // One of the most aggressive variants of gnoll, pinkies are known for their lack of patience and limited empathy. Pink gnolls are usually the first to gather at any conflict, no matter how small and of course, the last to leave (unless the conflict leads to a dead gnoll of course). Pink gnolls rarely show any real diplomacy or indeed compromise among their own kind, let alone other gnoll variants. They are incredibly untrusting of other races and would only ever concede to non-agressive solutions to outsider presence if significantly outnumbered by rival house voting. Though not truly cruel (like gnoblars for instance), pinks are some of the most merciless of gnolls. In war they only ever take prisoners as a means of ransoming them for treasure or some other significant reward. Being so quick-tempered and fighty, pinks find it difficult to make friends;  and what's more, members of the opposite sex from other houses are slow to trust them. However, other gnolls who eventually dare to make this leap of faith will realise that despite their inherent violent natures and limited devotion to benefiting the race as a whole, to those who tenuously reach out and bond with a pink... that they are in fact extremely protective and loyal, even risking their own lives if need be to shield their chosen few close-kin from potential harm. Because of these traits, despite being a newer sub-species born into the world, some of the finest gnoll guards, warriors, captains, generals and lords all wear pink along with a solum frown.

The Tea Leaves: Green Gnolls (Mints) * [12]{1} / Current Leader = Earl Green-tea // Of all known sub-species of gnoll, minties are the most devoted to the preservation, care and maintenance of their natural habitats, which tend to be some of the most hidden resource-rich nooks in the Old World. Mint gnolls, known for their light green shading are so obsessed with the protection of nature that their efforts have even been noted by the equally  insular asrai who have coexisted with the creatures in various flora rich isolated areas for thousands of years. Mints are experts at identifying every known local plant and animal species and through (somewhat) gentle scientific approaches are able to work out useful or interesting properties of each living thing. Mints trade their research notes  with other mints. Local trades are soon exhausted as the green gnolls complete their individual records which they keep about their person, often at the significant cost of over-encumberance with scrolls, books and even roughly made tomes strapped to backs, waists and even crafted into stylised hats. However, by renting wild boars to cover large stretches of land; it has been known for expeditions of green gnolls to form and make pilgrimages to other warrens. However, gnoll warrens are rarely close to one another and so these trips are rare and, gnolls being gnolls, take decades to prepare for. If successful the mints can double their natural world knowledge which improves standing within their respective house and allows them extra showing-off potential when crudely drawing exotic beasts and explaining how deadly each is in turn to their bemused fellows. Mints have curious and patient temperaments and have one of the highest natural desires to preserve life in all of its forms, with the exception of the most delicious plants and animals... which are still killed, cooked and consumed (in moderation of course!).

The Sage Council: Yellow Gnolls (Butters) * [12]{1} / Current Leader = Ol' Sage Knutter // Without a doubt the most lackadaisical and frivolous of the known gnoll variants are the butters. Bumbling little procrastinators one and all, the butters are usually the last to do anything of merit in any given situation. Although they frustrate other variants with the sheer amount of time it takes them to ready into action, they are, infuriatingly... the most intelligent of them all. Well, either the most intelligent or the most reflective, with an aptitude for recalling past  successes and failings and reasoning a course of action based on all prior experiences. This means that a gnoll debate; a long-winded and drawn out affair on its best day, is commonly started over when at the last possible moment a butter will finally have collected its thoughts enough to make a fresh remark or counter-point which undoes the entire legitimacy of the argument's conclusion. Butters are given jobs with very generous time-frames as they are too slow to act as lookouts or snipe wranglers. More often than not they are in charge of administrative procedures, gnoll bureaucracy, scroll transcript copying or stone watching (stone watching is a gnoll pastime that is steeped in tradition, although the logic behind it is still unascertainable by the world's brightest scholars). Butter gnolls will join the fray in battle and their basic reflexes sharpen to a point of being able to attack and defend themselves on a basic level. Due to their ability to recall the past with particular clarity, some butters have been used more for military advisor roles or diplomats between the different houses. Members of other houses will approach old butter gnolls to seek wise and carefully considered council, although to do so requires striking at least half a day from one's calendar in order to be present for the actual answer.

The Riptide Five / Shallowshell's Castoffs / Shallowshell's Castaways: Turquoise Gnolls (Lagoonies) * [6]{2} each unit / Current Leader = Baron Blue-babble // The lagoonie gnolls are lorded as masters of stealth and surprise. Some Imperial scholars have reckoned that gnolls are a form of goblinoid. Those with the strongest evidence for this assumption are the men who have witnessed the cunning and guile of the turquoise houses. 'Lagoonies', named for the colour of the water that they bathe in whenever possible (fully dressed no less through fear of garb theft) are natural sneaks, hiders, spies and on very rare occasions... assassins. However, lagoonie gnolls are not dark-natured creatures, in fact, of all the gnoll variants they are probably the most level-headed with very balanced and logical temperaments. Lagoonies may be natural subterfuge types with sharp reflexes, keen minds and silver tongues but they are also entirely neutral towards almost everything. Only when a clear danger to their house presents itself do they rally, drawing upon their natural skills for guerilla warfare, picking off enemies one at a time until either no threat remains or survivors surrender themselves and accept new lives as 'passals'. Lagoonies are hired as personal guards, spies, assassins and burglars but also sailors, guides, shepherds and monster hunters. Their range of natural skills in conjunction with clear minds means that they can have many strings to their bow and be successful with multiple career paths simultaneously. However, they are notoriously difficult to soul-bond with, for they dislike the notion of being unable to adventure due to gnoll children keeping them grounded. Usually lagoonies breed just before being too old to biologically do so and then regale their children with tales of past glories so insesantly that many leave home as early as possible just to get away. Of course, when near-elders themselves, they repeat this exact behaviour cycle after a life full of their own escapades.

The Carnelian Players: Apricot Gnolls (Cotters) * [12]{1} / Current Leader = Lord Bungholme // Cotters are the silliest of the known gnoll variants, the most mischievous and meddling of the bunch. Cotters tend to be diminutive even by gnoll standards and congregate in small huddles whenever possible. These 'cotter balls' as they are known are formed so that the spontaneous congregation can hatch a quick plan, prank or trick and execute it with impressive partisanship. Apricot gnolls have a persistent craving to be both a nuisance and a source of amusement to their fellows which usually means the average cotter is both loathed and loved in equal measure; making them some what of a conflicting influence on a tribe. Cotters will jest, joke and jape non-stop around the clock which some find hilarious and others (such as the pinkies) find irksome to say the least. Apricot gnolls tend to make fine poets, players, wrestlers, bards and jesters. They obsessively organise warren parties, holiday games, special feasts, carnivals, beer festivals and anything else that they can convince the current chieftain to approve. They are also master mixologists and naturally keen alchemists, though they usually only use this skill to make alcoholic brandies, sherries, rums and other liquors rather than any potions of healing merit (unless forced in-line to be altogether more sensible during times of strife or war). Cotters are roguish and untrustworthy soul-bondees and promiscuous in their wanderings. Because of this, cotters tend to have many children (though rarely admit it openly) and only tend to settle with a forever partner when age finally catches up with them and their fun is finally almost at an end. Militarily speaking, apricot gnolls are used as scouts as they tend to be some of the fastest sprinters within a gnoll community; what's more they are naturally gifted at communicating with motley boar which means that they are rarely mauled, killed or indeed eaten by their mount should they find themself conscripted into a cavalry division.

The Willowbane Cable / The Deadly Nightshades: Indigo Gnolls (Gogos) * [6]{2} each unit / Current Leader = Lady Miss Mauve-bloom // When the first indigo gnoll was born she stunned the gnoll world. A gnoll of dark blue / purple skin that could somehow harness that most elusive of things to such a crude (yet charming) race... the ability to use magic! Yes, it was just a purplish puff of smoke that appeared as the babe clapped its little hands together, but this magic miracle was the first taste of the arcane that a gnoll had ever generated. The gnolls held a great summit, all the tribes from across the lands made the pilgrimage to decide what should be done with this 'master magician' this 'indigo wizard'. Well, she was taken before 'The Great Uniter' followed by millions that would flock to this holy site to learn of this new birth that heralded the greatest change in all of gnoll history... would mastery of the winds of magic finally become part of the gnoll's simple lives? The short answer was... no. 'The Great Uniter' chuckled gently at the babe and allowed a crooked smile before crudely drawing a bushy shrub next to a classic wizard's floppy hat in the mud with a splintered tree trunk. A huge amount of murmuring lead to millions chattering and then near deafeningly arguments about this prophecy. And so it went on for 11 days and 11 nights until at last the eldest butter gnoll at The Field of Dreams wearily pushed his way to the grand council's debating tent and scuttled inside. The council stared at him in stunned silence before the ancient gnoll adjusted his bottle-top spectacles on the brim of his nose and barked out 'they're destined to just be simple hedge wizards you idiots!' and so it came to be. No master magicians or wizards of great renown but indigo gnolls at least have a very basic ability to use magic in its simplest forms. A puff of dark smoke to conceal, a bright magenta witch flame, the ability to turn invisible albeit it momentarily, to create a barrier of air akin to a shield though it lasts for only a moment, a handful of other parlour tricks but perhaps most impressively... the ability to shapeshift, so long as the gnoll has touched the living thing it wants to replicate since the last dawn and even then, like all their magic, the ability is fleeting and drains the user of most of their energy and senses for hours after the spell is successfully cast. Despite all of this, even base magic in its crude and raw form with spells that seem poultry to an actual mage are enough to make them revered within a gnoll community. Gogos are relatively uncommon and the chances of getting an indigo offspring is always  very unlikely (for gnolls of the same colour will never mate). However, when one is born there is always a great celebration within the warren and a great moon party is held to welcome the new hedge wizard into the fold, for one day his little spells might be the difference between a tribe's success or complete destruction in this strange, ever-shifting world.

Pignut's Tusktrotters / The Whitesnout Singular: Motley Boar * [1][4][1]{3}{2}{1} each unit // Gnolls and boar have had a symbiotic relationship since both walked the world at the same time. Gnolls for whatever reason are fascinated by boar. Indeed twenty-seven holidays, festivals and celebrations are held annually linking specifically to the humble wild boar. Eventually, gnolls discovered deep in the wild places where few others tread a sub-species of boar like no other. What would become known as the 'motley boar' to them and the 'white boar' to all other races. White, the perfect canvas for dying, painting and tapestries of various materials. Motley boar became THE boar of choice for any gnoll worth his salt and before long piggots (boar breeders) exclusively bred, reared and sold this specific type. Usually motley boar are purchased as piglets in grand auctions and gifted to young gnolls destined for service in the cavalry divisions of a gnoll army, although many gnolls also seek to acquire their own for transport outside of the village should their work prove important enough to be permitted leave from the warren for any significant duration or geographical distance. Motley boar are quite horrible animals, vicious even when hand-reared and with mouths that can open much wider than one would imagine. They are capable of killing a gnoll in a matter of seconds and the largest of their kind have even been known to swallow a gnoll whole, boots n' all. Some gnolls possess the ability to speak motley and can crudely communicate with the beasts, this can (potentially) calm even the most pig-headed motley if the right words are spoken in the right order and so quite unbelievably boar translator is an actual respected profession within a gnoll community.

Ten A Penny & Shades of Pain: Gnoll Chariots * [2]{6} // Gnoll tinkerers, smithies and 'undoers' (because only by taking something apart can you truly understand how it works) are professions that are taken up by any of the gnoll variants. This is largely due to the fact that a unique blend of patience, impatience, creativity, methodicalness and lunacy are needed to create any form of gnoll technology. Chariots were initially invented when gnolls realised that on occasion through great desperation that they might be forced to migrate, en mass to a new warren. In order to fit all of their belongings, snarks and relatives onto one motley boar they began to assembly crude wooden containers and lash them to the beast's rage-filled body. After many sacks of pears, hide drums and great aunts had been consumed by the unhappy beasts 'Grubble's Guild of Tinkery' concluded it was time to adopt the foreign concept of a wagon in order to 'traverse more ground, more quicker with more stuff'. Eventually the humble wagon evolved into a quite lethal chariot in times of war and the motley boar who were once chastised for consuming living creatures were suddenly encouraged to do so. A fully loaded gnoll chariot is a cavalry piece full of deadly surprises which no enemy can truly predict for of course the crew never fully know their own battle plan until they are just moments away from smashing into the foe at 'full monty!' whatever that might mean. Gnoll chariots are rare and prized commodities within a community and therefore are usually (but not always) shared between various gnolls of significant import who come together to bask in the glory of manning these destructive, rainbow-hued vehicles. Each gnoll chariot is admired to the extent that every one has a unique name (akin to boats). Chariots are deployed in pairs so that in the event one is tragically damaged beyond repair, surviving gnolls can clamber aboard the remaining vehicle in order to fight on resiliently or otherwise make good their retreat 

Mother Mable / Mother Beavis / Mother Nettle / Mother Kletus / Mother Edith / Mother Treacle: Gnoll Mothers * [2]{6} each unit // As their namesake suggests, gnoll mothers are extremely caring and protective over whichever group of gnolls originally formed a bond with them. In the ancient days all gnoll mothers were various hues of grey. Grey not being a true colour did not sit well with the gnolls who first discovered these clumpsome brutes. Initial attempts at communication, negotiation and alliance proved disastrous and so the grey war dominated the better part of one hundred and seventeen years until finally; mercifully, a peace treaty was brokered with the arrival of 'The Great Uniter'. Although the details are unclear as to exactly what shifted the dynamic between the two races so utterly; gnolls went from hunting these isolationist cave giants to worshipping them as some kind of demi-gods. Now viewed as sacred beings, favoured by 'The Great Uniter'; arms were laid at the feet of their former foes and sacrifices were offered up to gangly, head-scratching simpletons. Luckily for the gnoll 'volunteers', cave giants are defensive but peaceful by nature and so refused to mulch their bound captives. This magnanimous mercy only made the gnolls more infatuated with their new allies and in time the giants allowed  themselves to be painted in the colour of the gnolls which attended each individual. Over centuries the dye masters managed to permanently infuse their inks into the skins of the once grey hulks, altering the very essence of each giant bloodline. With the rare 'birth' of a new gnoll mother, its skin was now naturally a subdued hue of the gnolls who worshipped it. Brighter pigments would then be applied by artisans and tattooists; each generation of mothers becoming increasingly connected to the small beings that had come to adore them, perhaps even more than their own kin. In battle a gnoll mother fights with the ferocity and desperation of a true mother shielding her children from harm and is thus near unstoppable. Their diet of rocks, crystals, gems and mineral ore is speculated to be part of the reason why cave giant skin is so difficult to lacerate or pierce making conventional means of slaying one such a monumental task (as the gnolls discovered over the course of 117 years).

.'Pals' * [12]{1} each unit // Accounts of gnoll warfare are rare for it's almost unheard of that survivors return from a lost battle against this enemy. It was presumed until recent times that the mysterious guerilla warfare tactics picked off retreating individuals until there were simply no souls left to pass on intelligence. However, over many many years a small collection of evidence has emerged that defeat from a gnoll army isn't necessarily guaranteed death; for according to a few questionable witnesses, hostages are very much taken. Amazingly; rather than ransome, enslave, execute or sacrafice their captives - it appears bizarrely and inexplicably... that they are able to assimilate survivors into their very way of life, somehow imbed them into a totally new and quirksome culture. How the gnolls do this is entirely unknown; for humans, greenskins, ogres and even on very rare occasions the lone elf or dwarf have been seen daubed in the colours of their new clan. Silently these 'pals' live and labour alongside their gnoll adopters and though they appear to listen to the constant chittering of the organisms that cluster around them in standard gnoll fashion, not a single word or sound do they utter - and in fact, their facial expressions remain relaxed but unchanging regardless of whatever the circumstances laid out before them. Pals wear the tattered garments of their former lives, patch-work repaired and stained in various hues of the clan they have now assimilated with. Perhaps most amazingly, races who were once mortal enemies are allegedly now entirely non-aggressive towards one another once a pal of the gnoll clans. To the shock and disbelief of scholars worldwide there have been accounts of goblin standing aside dwarf and Bretonnian shielding fallen man of the Empire during a still raging war between the two nations. One especially dubious account even mentions an actual living, breathing ratman on the back of a high elf fighting as a single entity! Such claims  are still entirely dismissed by all sensible folk, despite growing evidence accrued and it is now believed that these confusing units of such varied souls are formed from base illusion magic, grey magic in its rawest form for nothing so ludicrous could have any real foundations in our world's reality. Could it?

One-Thumb's Finest Produce © / Garth & Mistlethwaite's Pot-Plotters: Griddle Snipes and Bluck Swarms * [3s]{4} each unit // The greatest flora and fauna experts in the old world have tried desperately to study the various critters that coexist in some kind of animalistic gnoll garden. From the little understood about these assorted small beasts, they seem to share a hive-mind mentality and can be corralled by specialist gnolls as a potent living weapon in battle. Assorted stingers, claws, teeth and barbed appendages sink into exposed chinks of armour and the intoxicating medley of poisons and spores can quickly bring low even the most powerful opponent. The garden consumes all organic matter fed to it and so the position of 'gardener' in gnoll society is revered due to the horrific dangers involved in caring for even a small patch of these organisms. The snipes and blucks are raised primarily as a food source (ironically) and when 'ripe' will be subdued, transported to an arena and forced to battle an eager gnoll warrior (or three). It is not unheard of for the creature to come out victorious and slay the would be glory seekers. In typical bizarre gnoll fashion; a surviving beast will be adorned with a strange token by the local leader and then released into the wild, offered freedom in respect for its sheer will to survive.

The Willowfell Herd / Shepherd's Ruin: Grumpkins * [4]{3} // Unlike their solitary cousins the snarks; grumpkins (barely) tolerate one another. They begrudgingly exist in small packs, each doing its level best to prove it superior to those around it without resorting to violence. This is because when a grumpkin's natural irked personality finally reaches the tipping point into actual anger the beast falls into a malevolent and truly murderous rage. Packs of grumpkins that have co-existed for decades have been wiped out in a single night of rampaging slaughter with just a single victor found breathing heavily in the centre of crimson soaked fields. Such a beast sounds horrific to all but the gnolls who have learned how to placate these irritable, extremely volatile yet misunderstood beasts over centuries of domestication and careful breeding. In times of great need, the creatures of burden can be encouraged to fall into that truly awful frenzy and to take their interspecies war directly into the midst of the foe, the result of which is inevitably catastrophic.