(03) Grassy Gnolls

Griffonclaw lay flat against the slope of the hill, surveying the coastal valley between his position and the drop-off to the beaches. He was overlooking one of the encampments spread up and down the coast, the war-like gnolls clustered around it, seeking solace against the cold ocean wind and the chill of the night.

It was the fourth such encampment Griffonclaw had been to this night - the other three lay behind him to the north. Those camps also had burning fires, fed by Griffonsbane so that they might burn until sunrise - but the warmth of the fires had nobody living nearby to appreciate them.

It had been two days since Griffonclaw had reported to Captain Danuvin, of the People's Militia. Griffonclaw had followed the trail of the Defias Brotherhood to Westfall, and had paid a courtesy call on Danuvin, who'se militia attempted to protect those who would reclaim Westfall, which had once been a rich farming area, from the ravages of the Horde occupation.

"Stormwind has abandoned us" Danuvin had bitterly begun. "A foul wind of depravity rustles through the plains of Westfall. This was my homeland and I will not turn my back on the citizens who choose to remain here. We, the former farmers, shall make our stand."

"If you would help us, Griffonclaw, track down and slay the vile Gnolls that seem to be working in conjunction with the Deadmines thieves - lets see if we can knock one of their supporting legs out from uder them!"

Griffonclaw had worked his way to the north end of Westfall and come south, scouting out Gnoll encampments... and putting them to the sword. The gnolls had proved to be not particularly inventive, with each camp following the same doctrine - place a few patrolling scouts, and huddle by the fire. After observing the routine, Griffonclaw had made his plans. He would mark the path of the sentries, and when they reached the point in their routes furthest from the camp, he would ambush them, frequently taking them down before they realized they were under assault.

And when the scouts failed to check in, the camp would send out someone to investigate. And then another. By the time they realized that their scouts weren't coming back, there were generally only a few left in he camp itself.

Killing three at a time would have been beyond the means of most warriors, but Griffonclaw was a Defender of the Light, and could call upon the grace of Light to help him. Calling upon the Light, he would charge his foemen in an almost berserk rage while the Light protected him from axe and sword. Three or four enemies would hammer at him, and Griffonclaw would be hard-pressed at first, spending as much time filled with the Light as his wounds healed as he would striking past the guard of the gnolls... but ultimately he would wound or kill one gnoll, then another... his wounds would knit, only to be reopened, and then healed again.

The gnolls had no such ability, and died, one after the other, until Griffonclaw stood over a field of carnage, viscera and ichor dripping from his blade and armor, shaking with exhaustion. While the Light could heal, it didn't eliminate the pain of his wounds as they occurred; sustained fighting in this manner was an agony that only long practice and a stoic nature could mitigate. By the time three or four gnolls were dead, Griffonclaw's body had been drained of energy, and it would be all he could do drag himself out of the firelight to replenish himself with melon juice and roast meat jerky. After a short rest, he moved on to the next camp. And the next. Until this one, they had all followed the same pattern.

This one was different. It had the normal complement of gnolls in scavenged armor, with rusty weapons, but it had something more as well. It had a gnoll shaman and what looked to be his bodyguard or servant, and the shaman was preaching.

Or at least Griffonclaw assumed it was preaching - he didn't speak the gnoll's debased tongue.

Obviously the tactics he had used before wouldn't work here, as the shaman would be able to stand back and give them the same edge that he'd enjoyed, while still being
outnumbered. He thought. He pondered. And then he used a tactic taught him by Arthur the Faithful, in trying new approaches to problem-solving through role-playing. He asked himself "What would Nalani do?"

Nalani was a dwarf priestess with whom he had often debated theology when he had served Valgar Highforge in the Ironforge Hall of Mysteries, their main temple. She served the titan Khaz, and unlike most of her race was an advocate for peace with most of the Horde - the Orcs and Taureans were honorable and merely sought to survive, and the trolls were to be defended against, but not unfairly persecuted so long as they stayed in Horde lands. She and Griffonclaw spent hours debating, sometimes passionately, about the validity of the struggle against the Horde. They also spent some time together being passionate without any debate at all...

Aside from her theological and sensual attractions, Nalani was also an accomplished tinkerer, and her backpack consisted of many small clever mechanical devices, one of which she had passed on to Griffonclaw - what she called an Advanced Target Dummy - a mechanical decoy. He thought a moment, and then put his adjusted plan into action.

Circling around so that he was positioned outside the firelight but directly behind the gnoll shaman and his bodyguard; the part of him that had done personal protection for officers of the Church of the Light scoffed and rejoiced at the bodyguard's lack of professional acumen.

Readying his hammer, Griffonclaw lobbed the Advanced Target Dummy over and across the firelight to the other side. As he had hoped, the impact activated the device, and it sprang to life like a threatening adult Jack In The Box toy.

Most importantly, it startled and attracted the attention of all the gnolls around the fire, including the shaman and his flunky. Griffonclaw was already in motion, his hammer coming hard over his shoulder in a powerful downward strike, aimed for the juncture of Shaman head and its thick, furry neck. The shaman fell hard, his incantation cut short, and Griffonclaw switched targets to its bodyguard. A sideways strike stove in both armor and gnoll ribs, and the follow-up strike with the spiked hammer butte ripped its jaw from its head in a spray of gore.

The other three gnolls had finished dismembering the poor Advanced Target Dummy, and turned to face their paladin attacker.

Griffonclaw smiled a feral grin.

Three gnolls and himself around a campfire.

"Business as usual" he thought, as he charged forward.