(05) - Hammers in Thelsamar

Griffonclaw was tired, but could find no rest.

He had walked into the Farstrider Lodge in Thelsamar, waved to his hostess, a puckish dwarven matron named Vidra Heathstove - who made the most delicious blood sausages from bear meat (among other things) - and almost fell down the stairs to his room. He had been renting a modest room from her since he had been sent to Loch Modan to assist the defense efforts after his vindication, and today - like most days - he arrived back from his work exhausted.

The war against the Horde had caused Ironforge to strip the frontier of anything but a small detachment under the command of Magistrate Bluntnose and Captain Rugelfuss, and the Church of the Light had chosen to send him here until reinforcements arrived - and it was an open secret that reinforcements might never arrive.

He had reported to Captain Rugelfuss as a courtesy, and the he had been given a warm
welcome. "After they removed the 27th Mountaineers" the Captain had begun, " things were quiet for about a month. Then troggs began to erupt from the ground, waves of kobolds came down from the mountains and took the Silver Stream Mines, and the Mo'grosh ogre tribe opened fresh hostilities."

"Any one of these we might have been able to handle" he continued, " but all of them at once have forced us into a defensive posture; now we defend the dam, the main road from North to South Tower, and Thelsamar itself. We just don't have the manpower to do aught else!"

"So, given that... feel free to pick any of those threats, and help out where you can. We've been forced to offer bounties the troggs, ogres, and kobolds, so you could even make a pretty copper penny while helping!"

Griffonclaw had taken him at his word, and begun small, helping regain valuable tools left behind in the mines for Mountaineer Stormpike, killed the trogg leader Grawmug and his two bodyguards Brawler and Gnasher, even provided escort for a shipment of blasting powder to an excavation east of the lake. Each day it was something else, like killing the rogue bear the locals called "Ole' Sooty", or thinning the local crocolisk population so the children could play at the lakesides again.

His days off - which were few, between erupting emergencies, he spent mining ore and making replacement weapons and armor for the garrison; since he had learned much of his trade in Ironforge, he was able to swiftly turn out bronze helms, trews, and gauntlets for use. He also took up fishing near the docks were the dwarven children played - with his weapons close at hand.

Yesterday he had assisted Chief Engineer Hinderweir VII foil a plot by the Dark Iron Dwarves to blow up the dam; he had spent the bulk of the day and all night slaying their ogre allies and killing their chief, a particularly foul thing called Chok'sul. Then he had gone diving at the base of the dam to defuse a bomb before straggling home - wet, hungry, and very, very tired.

He had lain down in his chamber, having downed a quick flagon of ale and some cheese left for him in his room by Vidra, but the common room of the inn was particularly loud tonight, and conspired with the stone-hardness of his bed - comfortable for dwarves, but nobody else, really - to deprive him of sleep.

He tossed. He turned. He tried counting slain kobolds. Nothing worked.

So he shrugged on his gear and headed up to the common room to see what the commotion was. As it turned out, the inn had been invaded.

By dwarves.

Virtually every seat in the place was occupied by dwarf or gnome, all of them wearing a tabard of red trimmed with gold, the sigil of Magni, Lord of Ironforge, proudly. One of them came up to him, and offered him a tankard. "The first drink tonight is courtesy of the Hammer of Magni" she said.

"And who are the Hammer of Magni?" Griffonclaw inquired.

"Well... we are!" answered the lady, who introduced herself as Ramona as Griffonclaw mentally slapped himself for such a silly question.

"Tonight is one of our public meetings - you're welcome to stay and listen - and we find that listening to our company's officers and leaders goes down much better with some cheese. And lots of ale, beer, and mead!"

She glided away, continuing to hand out refreshments, and Griffonclaw took a seat on the floor - it was clean enough, and it put him almost as tall as the sitting dwarves.

He half-listened as their leader - a dwarrow priestess named Tbelle - stood on a
chair and make a few announcements - someone named Orri was taking a leave of absence, and she'd be fulfilling the leadership duties in Orri's stead, and other things. Finally, she said something which caught his ear - she announced that Skallagrim was to be promoted to officer. Among the cheering, Griffonclaw made his way to where the fierce-looking dwarf hunter sat amidst those congratulating - or mock-mourning - his ascention, and said, in almost-perfect Dwarvish "My congratulations, Skallagrim - are you any relation to Egil Skallagrimson?".

Skallagrim nodded, his eyes brimming with pride at the mention of his eldest son. "Aye laddie, Egil be mine!"

"Then twice I congratulate you!" said Griffonclaw, saluting him. "It was Egil who
taught me the Civilized Tongue, and how to read the Futhark."

"Och, and a fine job he did with it... but let me guess... he taught you using..." began the new officer.

"...his own poetry!" they finished together with a laugh. Egil was a budding epic poet, and had written numerous long, rambling sagas when not on duty in Ironforge. He was proud of his work, and could be somewhat irritable when criticized - but never missed a chance to show his work to a new audience - even if the audience didn't quite have a perfect grasp of the language.

In fact, sometimes it was better that way.

Griffonclaw stood Skallagrim a drink, and Skallagrim returned the favor, introducing others of the company - Windsor, whose skill in smithing Griffonclaw already knew by reputation, having seen examples of his work praised by the Ironforge masters during his own training. He was introduced to Tbelle, who gave him a warm smile and hug (Griffonclaw having descended to his knees to converse, as was the polite custom). She recognized him as one of the humans who had stood with the military unit whose survivors - all three of them - had subsequently founded the Hammers of Magni under royal charter.

More ale was drunk. More tales were told, most of them taller than the tellers.

Griffonclaw distinctly remembered complaining about what he called his "exile". "Not that
there isn't plenty to do... " he slurred to his listener, who may or may not have been a Night Elf druid whose name utterly escaped him, "... I just like to have a choice, if you know what I'm saying..." He was interrupted by Ramona, who said "Shame you aren't a member of our Guild, Griffonclaw... we operate under a direct charter from the King, and if he made a request to detach you for service with us, well, the Bishop rat-bastard who exiled you here could hardly say 'No'..."

He remembered at least having three more ales after that. He also remembers Windsor offering him some chili, made with some mystery ingredients - like, oh, what kind of meat - that the chef declined to name. He remembers it being hot enough that Windsor could have used his open mouth to smelt mithril.

And he remembered needing to invoke the Blessing of the Light three times the next morning before he actually felt human.

Folded up on top of his armor and clothes was a small paper-wrapped bundle. Griffonclaw broke the string which tied it together, and unfolded a long, Human-size tabard, bearing the arms of the Hammer of Magni. There was a note, written in dainty little dwarven runes, which read:

"Thank you for enlisting with us - we've already sent word to our patron to petition for your re-assignment! Remember, the Horde is the anvil... and we are the Hammer!

Regards,

Tbelle"