"World of Warcraft: Rise of the Quilboar" went on sale today. Fans of Warcraft can check it out-it's a good read.
The fire crackled incessantly. Inside a crude tent sat a number of wolf-headed gnolls, their necks hunched. The furnishings were a chaotic jumble, rough and primitive. The gnolls sat wherever they pleased, seemingly discussing something, though it looked more like a feast. They clutched roast meat and kept stuffing it into their mouths, their sharp teeth working and their throats bobbing as they listened to a gnoll standing in the center speak.
Vorgan swept his gaze over the gnolls busily eating and drinking, his expression perfectly unchanged. Had this been any other race, such disorder at a meeting, with everyone eating and drinking, would have provoked an outburst long ago. For gnolls, however, this was normal. Gnolls had a miserable lot in Azeroth and still lived under the threat of starvation. Every year, a considerable number starved to death. Those like the gnoll Grand Marshal were better off, coming from the powerful Wolfhowl Tribe, just as Vorgan did. But the gnolls gathered from the smaller tribes had turned into complete gluttons once the orcs provided them with food. With nothing more than a little food, the orcs had successfully bought their wolfish hearts.
"Second Commander, what do you have in mind?" Once Vorgan finished speaking, the third commander put down his roast meat and asked the question. The moment he finished, he tore into the meat in his hand again.
Gnoll society was fairly primitive, and the hierarchy of this hastily assembled gnoll army was equally confused. Once all the gnolls gathered, they began assigning ranks like a band of outlaws: Grand Marshal, Second Leader, Third Leader, Fourth Leader.
They assigned them one after another. At least those titles