(01) - Abbey-Normal

Griffonclaw crouched behind the wagon, the body of a Defias sentry cooling besides him where Griffonclaw had slugged him to the ground with his Militia Warhammer, which he had been given shortly after beginning his duties for Marshal McBride.

He had reported to Northwind Abbey fresh from his oath-swearing at the Church of the Light in Stormwind. Northshire Abbey was a small church surrounded by Northshire Valley, and home to a human settlement of farmers. The soil in the valley as especially good for grapes, and many families, including the Osworths, had set up vineyards whose produce supplied many of the vintners of Stormwind with wine.

Once his orders had been read, Marshal McBride, the commander of the local forces had quickly put Griffonclaw to work; he had helped to clear an infestation of Kobolds from the Echo Ridge mining camp, had thinned the local population of wolves which had been preying on livestock, and had stood endless watches around the Abbey itself, which was now the only reliable safe spot for the humans of Northshire Valley.

Most of the richest farmlands however, were across the Northshire River, and were now occupied by a large group of bandits who called themselves the Defias Brotherhood, under the command of one Garrick Padfoot.

"Garrick and his cutthroats had plagued our farmers and merchants for weeks" Deputy Willem had explained as he was giving Griffonclaw his new assignment. "He commands them from his base, a shack near the vineyards, which lies east of the Abbey and across the bridge.

Bring me the villain's head, and earn his bounty!" Deputy Willem was a good man, but both he and Marshal McBride were dismayed at the lack of help they'd gotten from Stormwind - the occasional mercenary, and all the priests and paladins the Church of the Light could spare. Even the schools of magic helped, sending their new graduates to Northwind to cut their teeth on the wolves and kobolds. "But be wary, Griffonclaw. Garrick has gathered a gang of thugs around him. He will not be an easy man to reach."

With that last warning, Griffonclaw had been dismissed. On his way to the bridge, he had met Milly Osworth. She and her family had been driven off their lands by the bandits, who used their vineyards as their own personal parade ground.

"Those brigands, the Defias, moved into the Northshire Vineyards while I was harvesting! I reported it to the Northshire guards and they assured me they'd take care of things, but... I'm afraid for my crop of grapes!" she'd said. "If the Defias don't steal them then I fear our guards will trample them when they chase away the thugs."

"Please, you must help me! I gathered most of my grapes into buckets, but I left them in the vineyards to the southeast."

Griffonclaw had agreed to see what he could do, and had scouted the lay of the vineyards the night before. The Defias were spread around the crops, eating the grapes from the buckets where they'd been left. They'd left two sentres - one at the bridge itself, and one at a wagon at the vineyard entrance.

The same guards who now lay dead. Griffonclaw had gotten two of the younger Osworth brothers to come with him.

"The bandits are scattered through the vineyards, and most of the vines grow tall enough that I should be able to work my way through them, taking them down in ones and twos" Griffonclaw had explained. "As I clear the vineyards, you two come behind me, and take the buckets back across the river."

They'd nodded, understanding the plan.

"We must be quick, and we must be quiet - if any of the Defias see you, drop the buckets and run like a demon itself is chasing you, until you get to the safe side of the bridge. I'll take care of any pursuit" he added, not mentioning that if a hue and cry was raised, he'd be hopelessly outnumbered.

The two Osworth lads nodded. They were impressed by the Holy Warrior, and fully understood that they were not to risk their lives trying to help him.

So, at the crack of morning they had watched as Griffonclaw crossed the river and took the Defias sentries down from behind. They led a pack horse and a small card, suitable for hauling as many buckets of their harvest as they could reach.

Griffonclaw had few qualms about taking down his opponents by stealth - while it lacked the romance and honorable appeal of a straightforward challenge, he was unde3r no illusions that single combat would be an option if he gave them half a chance, and there were at least two-score of the bandits in and around the vineyard. He didn't know how many of them he'd be able to kill before the alarm spread, but any reduction in their numbers would make reaching Padfoot easier.

And Padfoot's head was the ultimate goal; that he could do the Osworths a favor on his way was merely icing on the cake.

Griffonclaw swiftly moved through the rows, locating and silencing the Defias he found there - some were asleep, some were laying in drunken stupor, and others were already awake, preparing for their daily duties. None of them were given a chance to sound an alarm. Behind him the Osworth brothers located and removed the harvest buckets while Griffonclaw stood guard. They worked with a will and a purpose - and ultimately they reached the hilly ridge south-east of the field.

"OK now..." Griffonclaw began, "we've done as much as we can here, boys - time for you two to take off and give those grapes to Milly".

"What about you?" one of the boys asked.

"I'm going to have breakfast with the Defias leader... and see if I can get him to see reason." Griffonclaw smiled a feral smile. His warhammer would help to convey his arguments.

He accompanied the boys back to their wagon, wary for stray bandits, and saw them safely across the bridge. The shack the that Padfoot was using as his base was back up against the hills, and Griffonclaw used them as cover, remembering all the things his friend Storvid - now called the Shadowhawk - had tried to teach him. He was successful enough to surprise a rearguard sentry near the back of the shack, and his warhammer quickly cut off any chance of her getting out a warning.

Its hard to sound an alarm when you're dead.

Griffonclaw crept slowly to the back of the shed, and climbed to the slanted roof, moving slowly as to minimize the sound of both his climbing and his patched, loose chainmail tunic. The roof of the shack slanted backwards away from the front, and let him peer down.

Three bandits were standing around a fire, cooking their breakfast of porridge in a pot suspended over the fire by an iron tripod. Two of the bandits were dressed much like the rest of the Defias bandits Griffonclaw had seen - ragged leather armor, shortswords and daggers sheathed at their waist. One of them - and Griffonclaw could only assume this was Garrick Padfoot - had a better class of gear, well-oiled leathers, and a long tapered broadsword.

Griffonclaw made note of his surroundings, and crafted a plan. Whatever he did, it would have to be swift - he needed Padfoot dead before the scuffle summoned reinforcements if he wanted to survive the mission (which, while not paramount, was near the top of his priorities).

He began a quick prayer. "Oh Lady of Light, please grant me your favor as I smite these malefactors in Your service". The familiar feeling of the grace granted him as a Defender of the Light filled him with a sense of righteousness and outrage - how dare these footpads infest the Northshire Valley, displacing the hardworking inhabitants, and taking the fruits of their labors.

Gathering his legs under him, Griffonclaw leaped into the air, and landed feet-first with his mailed boots crunching noisily into the face and collar-bone of one of the two guards. Griffonclaw let the force and impetus of the impact turn him towards the other, and he swung his war-maul as the second bandit struggled for his blade. Griffonclaw winced at the impact, feeling the bandit's ribs give way under his thin armor, and rolled to his feet.

Garrick had drawn his broadsword, and was swinging it in a powerful two-handed overhead stroke, attempting to cleave Griffonclaw from head to waist. Griffonclaw caught the descending blade with a heavy grunt on the head of his mallet, letting it slide off to the right as he brought the butt of his weapon around and forward, catching Padfoot in his armored torso.

Padfoot stumbled back but quickly recovered himself. Griffonclaw and Padfoot began to move sunwise in a tight circle, each just out of range of the other. The bandit chief had taken a long knife into his off-hand, and Griffonclaw had begun to chant another prayer to the Light in a low voice.

Padfoot charged suddenly, unleashing a flurry of punishing blows with his broadsword, obviously trying to force Griffonclaw to parry the broadsword so he could bury his knife somewhere vital. However, the bandit had obviously never fought a Defender of the Light - Griffonclaw finished his chant and leaped forward as the head of his war-maul began to glow with a azure nimbus. Broadsword struck, cleaving the flimsy links of Griffonclaw's hauberk and sinking into flesh - but leaving his own body exposed. Griffonclaw was already chanting a second spell as his hammer crushed the collarbone and upper chest of his foe, driving him to ground in defeat.

Pain wracked Griffonclaw as he finished his second spell, and a golden light suffused his being. The deep gash in his side began to magically close, the flesh melding together, the wound knitting. He felt an almost sensual pleasure as the pain ebbed, luxuriating in its absence.

Padfoot's own broadsword sufficed to sever his head from his shoulders, and Griffonclaw grabbed his grisly proof by the hair, fading back into the hills behind the shed and back towards the Abbey. Through the grace of the Light he had managed to kill the bandit chief, and he hoped that meant that the bandits, leaderless, would decide that Northshire Valley was too dangerous a hunting ground for them.

But a small voice in the back of his head told him that they were more likely to elect one fo their own as a new leader, and continue their occupation. Too many things about the Defias Brotherhood didn't add up; they were too well-armed - and armed and armored alike - and too well-trained to be just a random assemblage of cut-throats and bandits. There was some intelligence behind them.

Griffonclaw had won a battle, but the war to end the Defias threat to Stormwind was just beginning.