Griffonclaw - Forging a Future

The smelting fires of Theramore was blazing hot, giving off waves and waves of blistering heat as the human with the steel-colored hair and hazel green eyes carefully rendered iron ore into a stream of molten metal and slag.  The run-off slag was drained into a channel while the fellow poured the molen metal into ingots for storage, eventually to be used in various engineering and tinkering projects.

"This is so much more pleasant that the Great Forge" he thought as the breeze from the sea swept through the open forge building. The Great Forge, located in Ironforge, was the center of the city, which was located inside a great mountain in the middle of Dun Morogh.  The story often told of the Great Forge is that Dwarven blacksmiths often brought their lunches uncooked, and that by the time their meal break happened, the food was cooked to prefection. Griffonclaw had spent hours working in nothing but a sweaty breechcloth and leather apron, drinking prodigeous amounts of water to remain hydrated; naturally, he was the object of much good-natured teasing among the Dwarven workmen.

As he worked, he reviewed the milestones which had led him here to Theramore, and his employment by the militia group Phoenix Ascendant. He had been born the barony of Silverpine, one of the northernmost lands of Gilneas, an acknowledged bastard of the Silverlaine family.  When he was old enough, he had been assigned to page duties in a household in Andorhal, and then became a squire to a paladin in service to Prince Arthas Menethal.  He had rebelled from serving his knight, who had participated in what history called the Culling of Stratholme, and become part of Sir Uther's forces, which had helped to defend Mount Hyjal. He had been raised to paladin by Uther himself, for bravery in the defence of Nordrassil.

After Hyjal, Griffonclaw had returned to Stormwind, serving in the Stormwind chapter of the Order of the Silver Hand until he had interfered with the attempt by Scarlet Crusdaers and their sympathizers to lynch an accused warlock without trial.  He had kiled several of the Scarlet Crusaders in the ensuing conflict, and the political pressure was enough to have him expelled from the Stormwind chapter of the Order of the Silver Hand, and earned him the title of "The Tarnished Knight", branding him a heretic and a warlock sympathizer.

Fortune was with him; the dwarven battle unit he had helped on the slopes of Mount Hyjal convinced him to go to Ironforge, where he was sworn again to the Order of the Silver Hand, albiet the Ironforge chapter.  The branches of the Order of the Silver Hand were independant of one another, and the dwarves despised the Scarlet Crusade.  They gave Griffonclaw a home, and awarded his service with citizenship in Ironforge.

Shortly thereafter, his superiors in the Mystic Hall had been informed of the tragedy which had befallen the milita organization Phaoenix Ascendant, who were temporarily housed in a refugee camp in Menethal Harbor. They sent Griffonclaw has a healer to help the wounded, and he was welcomed by the Grand Marshal.  When they recovered and moved their base of operations to Theramore, Griffonclaw sought and was granted a dispensation to continue in their service.

And now the question was - what to do next?  As he moved the full ingot molds to the cooling area, eh pondered that question without conclusion, except with the firm knowledge that the Titans laughed when mortals made plans. Chaos, the Burning Legion, the Scourge, and the Horde would being work a-plenty in the fullness of time. Until then, Griffonclaw would enjoy the sea breeze.

Greyhawk - 20 Silver Coins A Day

My name is Davros Greyhawk, and I am a Private Investigator.

I was born in Kharanos in Dun Morough to Dhaeven Stonefist and Morra Greyhawk.  Yeah, my father was one of the Stonefist clan, which is why I go by my Mom's name.  The Stonefists have a long history of working for one or another of the bosses of the Hidden Circle, the dwarves who run every crooked scam in Ironforge - everything from illicit and illegal drugs like Sa'Diablo and Kryff to prostitution (what there is of it in Ironforge) to forgery and fraud to theft and extortion.  Blackmail.  Murder for hire. Alright, you get the picture - but while the occasional clansmember like Tilda Stonefist served in the Alliance Navy, far more of them were part of the Defias like my Uncle Dashel or practitioners in dark warlockry, selling their abilities to the highest bidder.

As you might imagine, dinners in the Stonefist clan hall were a little... tense. 

My father finally left, working in the mountains Dun Morogh, supporting his family with smelted copper bars he'd dig out of the mountainsides. Mother was a human hunter that had been gored by angry Goretusks, and been nursed back to health during a particularly cold and vicious winter by my Father.  She was short for a human, and my Father was tall for a dwarf; being partially human as well.

What, you don't think human women take dwarven mates?  Some dwarves are rich, and dwarven women are...rare. While dwarves usually shoot blank cartridges (why do you think they live so Fel-damned long?), sometimes the bullet hits the target, and children result.  

These kids don't do well - dwarves consider them humans because their mothers were human, and humans... well, let us just say that the history of Humankind is not overly stained with the Milk of Human Kindness. So most of them stay in dwarven demesnes, where while they may not be considered "real" dwarves, they aren't persecuted and killed for being mongrels.

I grew up like a sprout, and my parents loved me, which is more than I can say for some.  My Father taught me to find, dig, and smelt copper and my Mother taught me how to mix my own gunpowder, how to load and fire a flintlock pistol and blunderbuss.  Both my parents taught me to roll and use explosives.

Like my Father, the Stonefist clan considered me something of a "White Sheep", and just as soon as I could, I enlisted in the Alliance army. I went through a couple of weeks of training as a spear grunt when my training sergeant noted my stalking abilities; Mother had made sure that I could track and sneak up on snow leopards, after all, and kill them so that their hides could be taken and sold.  

Compared to snow leopards, Orcs are easy... anyways, I got sent to Scout school and learned to draw maps and make lists. How to sneak around, and how to sabotage things to really screw up Horde logistics. How to kill with knife and sword, but as silent and deadly as a yeti fart.

Uncle Dashel would have approved.

In any case, after eight years I found myself with an honorable discharge and no job.  I didn't want to reenlist; I don't like taking orders much.  Uncle Dashel wrote me a letter of introduction to a Defias in charge of the bandits looking to steal Northshire Abbey blind; while I really did not want to be dipping my toe into that particular pond, it beat starving.

 As I passed through the gates, I head a voice shout out to me. "Greyhawk!  What in the seven silent sentinels are you doing here?" Willem had been my training officer in the Scouts, but had recently been deployed here as Deputy to Marshal McBride, the guy in charge of the defense of Northshire Valley. I tossed him a small keg of Honeymead I'd brought with me, and he told me that they had been so under-staffed that the Marshal was offering a bounty for every Defias sash brought in across the river - no questions asked.

I tossed the letter to the Defias leader into a cookfire, first chance I got. I was a disgrace as a Stonefist, but the idea of making my way killing bandits and helping people rather than victimizing them appealed far more to me.  

And compared to sneaking and killing Horde soldiers, Defias bandits proved easy. When Willem introduced me to Marshal McBride, it was as a private investigator and a veteran scout... and that is when I started that career.

I work out of Goldshire, mostly - its a good spot to gather information on what is happening in Lakeshire, Darkshire, Westfall, and of course Stormwind.  I get 20 silver coins a day, and expenses when I can, and when I don't have a client... there are always more Defias to kill for beer money.

Defias are like rats breeding in a sewer; at least, I will never starve.