General opinion of gnoll's is a low one as common misconceptions persist in the way most scholars portray the creatures. Thoughts of fur and tooth come to mind when their name is uttered, as do thoughts of stupidity, mindless servitude, cowardice and general disdain. These lowly creatures are the dregs bred by man for menial labor, they are the footman in the beginnings of battle where human life is too precious and something expendable is called for, they are the lowly grunts, these gnolls bred into captivity.     However, there are others. Deep in the wilderness and across expansive plains, gnolls birthed in the wild life similar to wolves, roaming the land in large pack structured organizations, strong and ferocious cunning replaces book smarts, they are bred for survival.     One of a litter of six, Ghom enjoyed the carefree days of his youth, rough and tumble play with his brothers and sisters breeding the foundation of their later hunting abilities. Long days under the sun tumbling though soft blades of grass, in chase of one another, long night nestled close as they drift off asleep heated by each other's bodies.     Until the day the Slavers came. Humans must replenish their breeding stock some how, Ghom was later to learn and it was with frequent raiding of small gnoll villages. Waiting till broad daylight when most of the packs able bodied males and females roamed the plains on the hunt, the humans stole in taking the females, taking the pups, burning the village, slaughtering those they could not use. Ghom learned his playful days have passed, sold into slavery at the age of 10 winters.     Knowing his master only by the name he assigned himself, the Beater-man, and the Beater-man worked hard to prove his worth of that title. Long backbreaking hours of labor became the norm, the enslaved gnoll worked from sunup to sundown in the Beater-man's fields, frequently well past dusk. The only sparkle of light in this existence was the fact Ghom ate well, there is no sense having a hungry slave with no energy, he was frequently told.     The sun broke one fateful morning, signifying a day which would change his in yet another way. He had slaved for close to ten summers now, half his life in toil to this human. "Git yer fuzzy ass up," the man barked, "Ye tryin sumthan new ta'day.."     The beater-man's idea of new was gladiator style fighter, high stakes high odds, to the death, the man and his fellow farmers bet large sums of grain and coin on these battles. So, Ghom fought, and he fought well, bearing the scars of dozens of fights to bear witness to his quick learning.     Ghom was as happy with his new lot as could be, this was much better than the back-breaking labor, the Beater-man had new slaves for that, happy for a time until one fated day when he made a grievous error.     He spoke in common tongue, whispered words in the Beater-mans Presence, outraging the wicked bastard of a man.     "Ya fucking mangy mut how dare yaz speek my tungs… dinna' ah' beat yer azz enuf?" Pulling his rod from the wall was the worst and last mistake this miserable man made in his life. Ghom was tired, of beatings, of fighting for the man, tired of his slavery. It took not much effort for Ghom to quickly leap and tear into the man, a nightmarish whirl of fur and fang, ripping.. slashing.. rending flesh.     Pausing, chest heaving Ghom ran, back to the only other place he had known, the woods.      Ghom wandered for several winters, living as he did previous to his trapping, living off his mind, living off the land, living free. When he came across the Castle, he found a warm place, a meal and friends, things he hand long since grow to miss. Ghom befriended the small fae julietta and after a time were mated husband and wife, to live happily among the woods in a small forest cottage they share.