(09) - Goldshire Gutters

Griffonclaw wobbled slowly out of the Stormwind main gate, heading south. Two days ago he had been ejected from the Defenders of Light, the Order in which he'd been ordained as a Paladin. His career within the Order had been tactically brilliant - he had never failed to accomplish a mission assigned him - but strategically flawed. Almost from the beginning he had made an enemy of Bishop DeLavey, who to Griffonclaw seemed more politician than priest, culminating in the Bishop calling for his excommunication. Only the friendship and loyalty of Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker, the head of his Order, had prevented Griffonclaw from that dire fate - but in exchange, Lord Grayson had been required to expel Griffonclaw from the Order.

All his life, Griffonclaw had trained and prepared for his life as Paladin, although unsure of whether or not he was tempermentally suited for such a role. He had proved that he had the combat skills for such a life in the field, and the temperment for defending the helpless from the aggression of the Horde. He despised the Undead of both Scourge and Forsaken, and had put many of them back in their graves. Unfortunately, perhaps Griffonclaw's sense of justice and fairness was too well-developed, and his curiosity too well engaged; he had applied the same standards to Horde as to Alliance, and slain several soldiers he had found in the midst of rape, and for his actions been called to court-marshal. On another occasion, he had refused to divulge the identity of a Warlock who had sent tempting, evil dreams to corrupt him.

The last straw had been when he had followed the chain to expose a traitor to the Alliance - but to the benefit of Lady Jaina Proudmore, the political rival of Archbishop Benedictus.

And for those offenses, he was now stripped of his vows.

Curiously, not of his abilities. Apparently the Light didn't particularly care that Griffonclaw had stepped on political toes - it continued to grace Griffonclaw with his abilities, which somewhat mitigated his misery. A Flash of Light worked wonders on hang-overs...

Stripped of his status as a Paladin and released from his vows, Griffonclaw had begun to indulge in a deluge of self-pitying behavior. There were 127 different types of spirits and alcoholic beverages in Stormwind, and he had done his level best to obtain a goodly supply of some of the ones whose potency had caused him to avoid previously.

He was just reaching the Lion's Pride Inn when he became aware that he was both thirsty again, and out of Dwarven Stout. The Lion's Pride Inn had once been a quiet place, but recently many of the lower elements had begun to frequent it; habitual drunks, exotic dancers, whores, cut-throats, and footpads were the rule rather than the exception now, and they chased away a better class of clientele with their antics.

Griffonclaw thought it a perfect place for a disgraced Paladin to refill his tankard.

The tavern was indeed packed with precisely the sort of customers that once Griffonclaw would have found repugnant. Drunken revelers made rude comments, faces were occassionally slapped, and the main area was replete with dancers, some of whom also
offered "private shows" upstairs. The patrons of the common room didn't give Griffonclaw a second glance as he made his way to the bar, where he ordered two flagons of mead. The first flagon was downed as soon as it arrived, and the second Griffonclaw carried with him as he looked for a place to sit and watch the other patrons.

He was aware that he was more than a little inebriated himself, but he was doing his level best to stay level.

The human dancers showed little evidence of skill, but given how little they were wearing, skill wasn't precisely their selling point. Griffonclaw watched a pickpocket work the room, rotating among his potential victims (who were busy watching the dancers). Once he would have felt compelled to - at the very least - have a quiet word with the fellow, but he wasn't feeling very much like a Paladin at the moment.

Carefully getting to his feet, Griffonclaw stumbled upstairs, looking for a place to lie down. His quest is unsuccessful - all of the rooms are occupied, mostly by the type of customer who pays the hourly rate rather than for the whole evening.

However, Griffonclaw remembers that the long table as one entered the inn was untenanted, being too far away from the dancers and the hearth fire to be popular. He stumps downstairs and clears the table-top with a sweep of his scabbarded blade. Several patrons turn to watch, but when he lays down they lose interest; he wasn't about to start table-dancing.

His snores could barely be discerned over the raucious din.

While Griffonclaw napped, the crowd about him ignored him; although he wore no insigna, his armor and weapons were in good condition, and obviously well-used. One of the local rogues was heard to comment "Its not that we're afraid of him, like... its just that there are easier pickings with likely more money, and fewer potential consequences!".

He was prodded awake by a gnome member of the Town Watchmen named Stoutheart.

"Ayy there, Mister... get up. The rooms are upstairs!" shouted the Constable above the
background noise.

He prodded Griffonclaw with his baton. Griffonclaw groaned and rolled over, snoring once more.

"Right" said the Constable, who grabbed the collar of Griffonclaw's Green Iron hauberk and
pulled with all his might and main. Griffonclaw left the table and met floor with a crash.

"You there!" commanded the Constable. "Up and out, you! Go sleep it off at home."

Griffonclaw slowly gained his knees, looking the Constable in the face. "Listen, you pint-sized pathetic policeman!" Griffonclaw responded. "This is my home at least for the night. Leave me alone!"

Stoutheart sighed. "They don't pay me enough for this..." Facing Griffonclaw again, he shouted "You want to create a struggle, then lets go outside where we can at least hear each other". The Constable stepped towards the door, turning to make sure Griffonclaw
followed. "Well c'mon, you big galloping galoot! Outside with ye!"

Griffonclaw peered at the Constable bleerily from his weary eyes, but staggered outside.

"Now then..." began the Constable, as Griffonclaw drank again from his flagon of mead. "Oh no, none of that!" he shouted, and struck the flagon from Griffonclaw's hand with his baton.

"My mead!" shouted Griffonclaw, more struck by the seeming tragedy of such a waste
than enraged.

"Here, drink this..." said the Constable, pressing a water skin into Griffonclaw's hands.

Griffonclaw took the skin and reflexively drank deeply.... and overbalanced, crashing down on his armored butt, water from the skin splashing down and around him.

"Disgusting..." muttered the Constable. Stepping closer to Griffonclaw, he said "Hey now, why don't you just relax there, and I'll call someone to come get you. Who should I call?"

"Nobody..." slurred Griffonclaw. "The Hammer of Magni shouldn't be burdened with a
disgrace like me..."

The Constable turned to one of his deputies, who had stayed outside but at hand in
case of trouble. "You there - take the subway to Ironforge, and tell the Hammers we've got one of them for them to pick up, here. And fast." The Constable winced as Griffonclaw started singing badly off-key, slurring the lyrics - all he could make out was "A Hammer in the slammer!".

Griffonclaw passed out again, leaning up against the outside Inn wall. Someone threw a cobblestone at him, and Stoutheart turned, searching for the malefactor. "Hey now, you just settle down and mind your own business, or you'll join this fellow in custody!"

"What fellow?" someone in the crowd jeered. Stoutheart turned, but Griffonclaw had vanished!

"They REALLY don't pay me enough for this..." Stoutheart mumbled again, and began to
search the paths and other buildings for his escapee. Meanwhile, Griffonclaw had returned to the Inn. As he had been sitting there, collecting what thoughts he could, a Night Elf woman had entered the Inn, dressed in a revealing gown of black and white silk. She saw Griffonclaw there in custody, and winked at him as she passed, saying "What a shame you can't join me".

Like iron to a magnet, Griffonclaw rose and ducked inside the Inn, following her into the gloom. He lost track of her momentarily, pushing his way further into the inn, and then he saw her over by the dancers, climbing onto the central table of the common room. She began to sway to the music, and slowly her gown began to reveal more as buttons were undone. Griffonclaw sat down at one of the few vacant chairs, and it seemed to him that she seemed to be almost everywhere at once... and very close to him, as he sat there, enraptured by her dancing.

She danced closer and closer, and Griffonclaw lost track of time, following her sinuous movements.

"My name is Azshalla" she whispered to Griffonclaw as she passed close to him. "I also do private...shows. Are you interested?"

Before Griffonclaw could answer the question, a familiar voice cut through the noise of the Inn as her blade cut through Horde bodies. "Griffonclaw... what in HELL are you doing here?" demanded Aarien, blademistress of the Hammer of Magni. She had responded to the call to take custody of Griffonclaw, and now found him here... like that.

"I am sitting..." he began, but before he could finish she pulled him up and propelled him towards the stairs. Decades of heavy combat training had forged her muscles in to slender steel, supple but no less strong. Upstairs she kicked open an inn-room door and gave the occupants a choice - leave through the newly-broken door, or leave on it when the gravediggers come to remove the bodies.

They chose to leave voluntarily.

Aarien hustled Griffonclaw inside, and sat him down at the table, removing her helm, kneeling next to him. In a soft, tenative voice, she said "Griffy... talk to me... what grieves you so?"

"I don't want to talk about it" slurred Griffonclaw.

"Your kind never do..." she responded. "But you're going to now."

"What, you mean Humans?" he replied.

"No. Men."

"Oh." Griffonclaw seemed crestfallen. There was no good way to argue with that statement. He leaned forward towards her, letting is face bury itself in her soft, dark hair. He felt her arms hesitate, the go around him, holding him close to her. He started to gently weep, and whispered "They took it away..."

"Took what away?" she responded gently.

"They threw me out. Of the Order. They made me not a paladin anymore" he said between sobs. "All of my life, everything I knew... gone, like that."

"It'll be all right, Griffy... you still have the Hammers, and we're your friends..." comforted
Aarien.

"You don't understand... we don't have decades to re-start a lifetime, like Night Elves do. All my life, all my training, has led to this... and now, its gone" sobbed Griffonclaw softly.

"But Griff... you can still fight for what you believe in... and you can fight for the Hammers..." she reminded him softly. "You still have a place with us, and we care for you."

"Well, all of you but Desmorta..." he chuckled through his tears, and Aarien joined him.

"OK, well, lets get you back someplace safe, so you can sleep this off." Aarien gently helped him to his feet, helping support the still-wobbly ex-Paladin. "My place isn't far from here...." and with that, she led him - still half-supporting him - down the stairs and home.