A little known fondness I've developed over the past year involves Fantasy Races That Aren't Given Enough Chance To Really Be Prominent. I have something of a thing for the little guys of imagined society; I think it allows more in the way of opportunity to write them up into situations and roles - as characters - that prove more interesting to consider than your standard pack of 'Umies, Knife-Ears, and Foot Stools. Of course, little guy doesn't just refer to your standard Kobold or Ratkin; among my favorite of all the beasties are Gnolls.

Ever condemned to being murder-hobo cannon fodder; I got to imagining a different kind of Gnollishness that put them starkly in the role of the Survivors, the Scavengers. Hard living folk who rarely bother about the moral complications of their actions and professions when their livelihood is involved. This doesn't make them outright evil, per say; nor does it fit them into that "Noble Savage" crap either; but it allows a more creative template to work from.

So being unbound by a fixed alignment; what do you suppose the Gnollish equivalent to a Hero or Paragon would be if NOT simply the biggest and bestest breadwinner?

From a logic chain such as this, I got to writing this lovely lookin' fella up. Korrok Ghost-Eye.

So what's his story then?

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Korrok Ghost-Eye ( if you can't tell the name by his injury ) ended up in the unconventional role of starting as a highwayman and, rather than overextend himself and be killed for it, eventually found out that it was actually MORE profitable to hit OTHER bandits and thieves. See, he got it into his head the idea that these roads are HIS roads, cause he's an old enough bastard to have stalked them first when he was barely out of puphood, and these dirty POACHERS are stealing the meat from the mouths of his mate and his pups! So he brutalizes'em in the dead of night, strips them clean of goods, and then drags dinner back to his family and pack.

So in the frequency of doing this, because you know, natural law seems to dictate that a forest has got to have a bandit camp somewhere in it; BUT no bandits have been left alive or escaped up until this point to let anybody know "Gnolls here, do NOT fucking enter", they keep showing up, and Korrok repeats the process. He ends up doing it WAY more than he is stalking merchants and nobles and travelers and this is how he otherwise survives things that would obviously kill him and his people like the occasional knight band or troop of murderhobos. Why put in overtime, right?

What he doesn't know, because it's relatively out of his concern, is that there is eventually a pretty decently sized town just on the borders that is suddenly really prospering because wouldn't you know it; they've got such safe and clean roads without an attack in months, so all sorts of goods start pouring in. But amidst this prosperity, the then Sheriff couldn't help but shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before this unnatural streak would end with his town looking all too irresistable for whatever scum lay out there in wait ready to attack when the time is right.

It may have stunned him to realize he was right and, when finding that a Gnoll of all things had been unintentionally keeping his home safe, he returned to the town in a frenzy to tell all that he'd seen. He may have been laughed out then and there until they looked up and saw Korrok himself on the edge of the woods, having tracked the Lawman back in some misunderstanding that he was an escapee of the scene. Before general panic and hysteria sits him and the townsfolk can bring out their pitchforks, and before Korrok himself could escape, it was the Sheriff who restablishes order and faces up to the big fella. In spite of a lack of understanding in more Common than what he's heard from his quarries, Korrok is handed a golden badge from the big man in the armor and funny hat, and told to return to this spot the next day.

So he does, against all instinct telling him to pack up the Pack and flee.

So then truly began the folk tale of the Ghost Eye, legendary frontierman and honorary warden; stalwart defender of road justice at the end of his blunderbuss. A legend and a story to all but the town that owes him for their continued safety to this day; at least for as long as the local caravans know to let the occasional crate of meat or ale 'fall off the wagon' every once in awhile, so to speak.~

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This was all thanks to  fierglief for allowing me to at last bring visualization to my character. Thanks again buddy, it was worth every penny and I can't wait to do more with you. <3