A Grim Day in the Slaughtered Lamb

A Grim Day at the Slaughtered Lamb

The Slaughtered Lamb. The tavern with the pernicious reputation. The place to stay away from if you didn’t want trouble, or to be associated with it. The place with the spooky name and the coven of warlocks in the basement, and a tomb below that. The place that drew highly questionable personalities regularly, and where bar fights were just part of the atmosphere.

A place any Cheshire Cat wouldn’t even blink at before sauntering right in.

The Lamb was crowded this evening. People of several Alliance races filled every chair in the tavern, and four young women – one blonde with black pants and a loose white blouse with three brunettes, one in a red mage’s robes, one in tight green pants and shirt, and one wearing matte black plate armor lined the bar. Everyone was talking over everyone else. A trio of Kaldorei conversed in hushed tones in the far corner. A party of Gnomes was making a racket just inside the door and out of the way. A Deathrolls game was going on at the larger table, and that group was loudest and rowdiest. The table in the back held a small gathering of human and Dwarf males, drinking heavily and making catcalls at the four human women speaking to Jarel Moor, the bartender.

Such was the scene when a towering figure opened the door and blocked the waning light of the setting sun with his burly frame. He stood there for a moment, silhouetted impressively, then took another step forward and into the bar, closing the door behind him. The man stood nearly six and a half feet tall, with long raven hair pulled behind his head. His middle-aged face bore gruff expression only half-hidden by a black mustache and goatee. Beefy arms extended from a tight shirt that sculpted his massive, triangular chest from behind a black tabard with a cracked, grinning red skull on it. A quiet sense of confidence and power emanated from the man, enough so to draw a look of interest from the somewhat younger women chatting with the bartender. But what drew the eye most was the man’s hand.

The beastly man’s left hand was unlike anything the bar’s patrons had ever seen before. The whirring gears and gizmos on his Titanforged mechanical hand dwarfed – in more ways than one – the mechanical hands of even the Mechagnomes, and the emeralds that matched the one in the crown on his head made it all the more riveting.

Behind him came a much smaller figure, a human woman, though she sported somewhat more weight than did the average adventuring woman. She had wide, dark purple doe eyes, long, pitch-black hair with a gemstone-encrusted hairpin depicting butterflies in it, a black dress with silver trim, and a black cloak bearing the same crest as her companion's tabard, and she didn't seem to care a whit that it clashed a bit with her dress. Indeed, she seemed quite proud of it!

Grim’un Oakenbloom and Natasha Ebonlocke stared quietly around the bar for a moment, Nat eyeing at the Deathrolls game with an excited expression as Grim immediately noted the rowdy table of Dwarves and humans, and then the Kaldorei trio in the far corner. The Gnomes just inside the door seemed to be making their way out, talking animatedly about exploding decoy woodchucks that they planned on using on a fishing expedition. As Nat made her way curiously to the Deathrolls table, Grim's gaze came to rest on the young women batting their eyes at him last, and, to their surprise, he flashed them a warm smile. One keen-sighted young lady gasped as she noted his elongated incisors. They bunched off to the side as he approached the bartender, watching him with interest, whispering excitedly behind their hands to each other.

“Bourbon, Jarel,” he ordered simply. Jarel nodded, grabbing a pristine shot glass and pouring in the bourbon. He passed it across to the beefy man in the Cheshire Cat tabard, accepting the requisite coppers for the shot with a quiet word of thanks. Grim downed his shot in a flash, then turned to eye the tavern again. His first look was at the dice game to check on Nat, but she seemed to have spotted friends and was already rolling her black dice with the bold purple numbers with them. Grim looked around again, his eyes came to rest on the young women eyeing his tabard, his bulk, and his hand.

“Evening, ladies,” he said, nodding at them. His brow furrowed as they giggled in response – he had a preference for something a bit more fiery than that. Still, they were attractive enough to chat for a moment with, if nothing else. He waited for more of a response.

“I like your hand-thing,” one bold blonde spoke up, drawing enthusiastic nods and giggles from the other three, as well as from Nat, who seemed to already be Dared to sway back and forth wildly and make absurd faces.

“Yeah,” one of the three brunettes said. “It’s really shiny and neat!”

“Well, thanks,” replied Grim. “I’m Grim’un. You can call me Grim, or, if you earn it one day, Grimmie.” Grim smirked at the women, a look that was ten percent manners and ninety percent playful challenge.

The young women all looked at each other and broken into excited giggles at that. Then they turned to look back at Grim again, and the bold blonde spoke up again.

“I’m Roxie,” she said confidently. “I bet I could earn it easily enough!”

“What a lovely name,” replied Grim politely.

“I’m Carol,” replied a short-haired brunette, the one in the tight green pants and shirt.

“Mandy,” a long-haired brunette with waist-length, darker brown hair said, the one in matte black plate armor, looking like she’d just come off duty from somewhere to join her friends.

“Noel,” replied a shy brunette wearing the red mage’s robes from behind the three with a nervous laugh.

Grim nodded at each of the women in turn, then offered to buy them all around. One glass of mead for Roxie, Carol, and Mandy, one glass of pinot noir for Noel, and one more shot of bourbon for himself later, and Grim found himself in the midst of a very confusing conversation in which all but the quiet, shy woman in the back were all talking over each other, and he couldn’t quite piece together where one’s life story began, and another’s trite story about learning to bake gingerbread ended. Amused, he grinned at them all, two empty shot glasses beside him on the counter, his mechanical hand whirring from time to time as he moved it almost subconsciously with his control gems. Another round followed, and the entertaining confusion continued.

The table in the back, meanwhile, had fallen deathly silent.

The dwarves and the humans were grinding their teeth at the huge, strange-looking man’s easy success with the women they’d been attempting to flirt with, and jealousy, anger, and irritation was etched into their features. They fell to muttering to one another after a time, drawing occasional glances from the street-savvy Grim, who knew what was coming if he kept up his conversation juggling with the young women at the bar. He was smart enough to be wary and keep an eye on things at the table, but had been a Cat long enough that the thought of them growing angry and picking a fight didn’t worry him much. Indeed, his thoughts strayed more to defending the women than himself.

Sure enough, it happened. A man from the table stood, coming over and fingering a matching pair of simple steel dirks strapped low on his hips, right at the length of his long, wiry arms. Short, messy black hair stuck up in every direction on his youthful head, evidence of the black hood hanging behind his neck having been up for some time that day. The tall, slender young man was dressed simply, a dark brown leather jerkin partially obscured under his black, hooded cloak, and patched, black leather breeches reached halfway down his calf before disappearing into heavy, muddy black leather boots. The man’s wiry arms and hands were bare.

Hands that were inching around the hilts of his daggers...

“Hey, freak,” he spat at Grim. “Who said you could come into our bar and hit on our women?”

The question drew nods and sneers from the man’s cohorts behind him, disgusted looks from the women, a loud gasp from Nat at the Deathrolls table, and bored, casual looks from old hats Grim and Jarel, the latter of whom began removing glasses and other breakable things from the immediate vicinity with a casual, bored air about him.

“Young fella,” Grim said replied in a tone as bored as his expression. “I do believe these lovely ladies were hitting on me."

“Yeah, yeah,” sneered the young ruffian. “Old man’s got a shiny toy for a hand. It’ll take more than that to impress a real man like me.” The young man rocked back on his heels as the hooligans behind him gave a cheer. Evidently, he’d said something impressive.

“Oooooh, yes,” replied Roxie before Grim could. “A real man like you! What was it you called him again, Mandy? Ol’ False Start Stanley?”

“OOOOH!” jeered the men behind Stanley, who whirled around and glared at his guffawing, cackling mates.

“Hey!” he barked at them. “I’d had too much to drink that night, that’s all! Stayed the night, then I sure showed her where Johnny hid the garden hoe the next morning!”

“Rrreeeeeeeaaaallllllyyy….” Mandy yawned back at him. “Was I drunk that morning, then? Because I recall it differently.”

“Shut it, you!” Stanley barked back, whirling on her next as his mates slapped the table, hooting and guffawing. “You don’t remember nothin’ right anyhow!”

Grim, who had been leaning on the counter and silently watching the exchange with a small smirk on his face, now stood up straight, glowering at the young rogue at the tone he’d used on the much smaller woman. Nat was frowning from where she seemed to be Dared to pour mead into her ears.

“Oh, what?” bit Stanley next. “You think I’m afraid of you, old freak? Get outta here!”

Grim remained right where he was, his expression still bored, but he was clearly not going to allow any assault on the women at the bar. His Titanforged left hand whirred and whizzed as it opened and closed into a fist repeatedly, as though he were flexing it.

“Well?” Stanley began again. “Say something, freak!” The young man was growing more irate, clearly not liking how the much older man wasn’t scared off by his tone and the way his hands were fingering the hilts of his daggers. The ruffians behind him at the table were beginning to snicker at the lack of effect their mate had. He was starting to look on edge.

Grim, having forgotten already more battles than this young buck had ever seen, knew what was going to happen before it happened. The young man, in his embarrassment, would soon attack to save face with everyone in the bar, particularly the women and his own friends. He made a quick count. Three young men, including Stanley, and two burly, mean-looking dwarves. He gave a sort of mental shrug. This was fine.

Nat approached from the Deathrolls table, her purple eyes shining. She was ready to do battle alongside her friend and fellow Cat, not willing to let him face the whole group alone. Grim held up a hand, palm facing her, to stop her, then pointed her back to her chair. Nat blushed, returning to her chair as ordered. She looked on as she rolled the next round, the looming fight distracting her a bit.

“Oh!” Noel suddenly squeaked, seemingly wise enough to also see what was coming. “I… I-I think I left some cookies in the oven… uuhhh… gotta go!” She turned and quickly walked to the door.

“I think I left cookies in your oven too, Noel,” echoed Carol nervously, her short brown hair flopping on her head as she sped off after her friend.

Roxie and Mandy remained in place, looking nervous, a little frightened, and quite thrilled. Hungrily, they watched the two square off. They eyed the two up, noting the younger man’s overly showy posture, and Grim’s bored-looking stance. They turned to whisper to each other, then grinned excitedly, looking up at Grim confidently.

That was the last straw for Stanley.

“Alright, old man,” he growled, stalking forward almost comically. “If you won’t leave, I’m putting you out!” He reached Grim, who still looked bored, reaching his hands out and attempting to jack him up by his tabard.

That was his first, and hugest, mistake.

A shimmering streak shot from Grim’s left side, swinging straight upward. In the next instant, with a quick, “hhhurk-“ Stanley was dangling from Grim’s Titanforged left hand, his own, smaller hands fruitlessly trying to pry the metallic fingers from his throat as he kicked wildly in mid-air. Roxie and Mandy gasped, eyes wide, looking thrilled as they huddled closer together, clutching each other and barely daring to breathe. Nat looked on from where she was Daring someone to sit in someone else's lap.

“You don’t… touch… the colors…” Grim growled, somehow still looking down at the man even though the youngster had to be raised above his head, being nearly as tall as he. The hooligan’s mates were all on their feet now, coming around the table and lined up shoulder to shoulder, flexing and glaring at Grim. Jarel, looking bored, seemed to have forgotten the latest bar fight in his establishment already, humming quietly to himself as he washed the used glasses from the bar.

“Oi!” barked one dwarf. “Put ‘im down, aye? Put ‘im down right now!”

“Your boy touched the colors,” growled Grim’un, not looking at the dwarf. “There’s a price to be paid first.”

“What are you gonna do about it, old man?” demanded another young human, this one matching Grim’s height, though he wasn’t as powerfully built. His shock of untidy blonde hair and his steady, subtle swaying stance lending evidence to a young fighter with a lot of energy.

“What am I going to do?” answered Grim menacingly. “I’m going to kick your ass… with his ass.” He shook the gasping, blue-faced young man in his grip at the young blonde man.

“Hey, Grim, old buddy?” Grim looked side-eye over at Jarel, who was still casually washing glasses from behind the bar. “You mind not killing that one?” Jarel nodded at the dangling, strangling young man.

“You actually care?” Grim asked, confused now.

“Nah,” Jarel shrugged. “But if you kill him in here, the guards will come, and it will mean a tedious amount of paperwork for me.”

Grim grinned at Jarel’s nonchalance, returning his glimpse to the small gang of young bucks that hadn’t taken the opportunity to charge. His grin widened, and he put the young man down.

“Breathe, jackass.”

The young man fell to his knees, gasping for air. Grim allowed him three deep breaths while the other young toughs looked on uncertainly. Then, without warning, he yanked the young man up by his throat again, earning an appreciative nod from Jarel.

“Alright, that’s it!” replied the other human male that hadn’t spoken yet, a shorter, but more powerfully built sort with sandy hair. “Let’s get this freak!”

He started forward, and Grim grinned, his long incisors drawing the stares of the two young women. Grim moved some distance in front of them, ensuring they weren’t caught in the middle, and also closing half the ground to the young gangsters, the glint of battle in his eye.

True to his word, Grim swung the young man in his left hand forward, causing the tough guy’s feet to snap out and catch the blonde punk full in the face. The young man sat down hard on his rump, hands clutching his nose as blood spurted freely from it. Grim’s right foot lashed out next, shooting straight forward, smashing the face of the dwarf who’d spoken earlier and putting him on his back before the blonde gangster had even finished falling onto his rear. The remaining human and dwarf darted back, startled at how quickly their number had been halved. They spat urgings and insults at their groaning comrades, who returned to their feet as Grim grinned, allowing it to happen. It was funnier this way.

Grim lifted his heavy left boot, stomping forward hard with a resounding crash, causing the young hoodlums to take a startled step backward. The Deathrolls table, which had fallen silent, gasped, and Roxie and Mandy, as well as Nat from the Deathrolls table, gave a startled squeak apiece. Jarel washed his dishes, likely daydreaming about something else entirely as he zoned out.

“Boo,” Grim said simply, as the effect from his stomp settled, grinning wickedly at the little gang.

Angered at the taunting, the young street toughs charged, shouting incoherently. Grim swung the unfortunate lad in his mechanical hand forward, arcing left to right, knocking the two humans down onto their left sides. As they stumbled to their feet again, Grim sidestepped one dwarf, raising his knee and driving it into the already-bruised face of the other dwarf. The force of that strike knocked the dwarf out cold.

Three left.

The dwarf Grim had sidestepped was now behind him, the two humans, back on their feet, in front of him. Grim turned to the side, his glance darting back and forth between his left and his right, his mind racing, judging distances and numbers and reach of arm and leg and dangling Stanley. He set Stanley down again.

“Breathe, jackass.”

Stanley sucked in one long, drawn-out breath before he was yanked back up again – the youngsters were charging once more. Grim spun a graceful circle as he dodged the remaining dwarf’s charge again, then gave him a kick square in his back that sent him diving into the legs of the sandy-haired human. The blonde ruffian remained on his feet, still charging. Grim let him come, and headbutted him… with Stanley. The blonde guy’s already-bloody nose cracked noisily, causing gasps among all onlookers while Jarel whistled casually to himself, washing his dishes. He dropped to his rear again, rocking forward and backward, groaning loudly now, nearly in tears over his shattered nose. Grim gave him a good kick with his heavy right boot, sending him crashing into the bar, where he continued rolling around and groaning, holding his nose.

Two left.

Grim grinned as he wielded Stanley like a weapon, his old but meaty left arm seeming to never tire as he held Stanley’s weight up. However, he had given his word. He set Stanley down once more.

“Breathe, jackass.”

Stanley sucked wind again, attempting to dive away from Grim’s reach, but Grim had him dangling again the next instant. He stomped noisily toward the remaining dwarf and human, who were backing up to the top of the ramp leading down to the basement now, causing the indignant trio of Kaldorei in that corner to dash over to the end of the bar, tucking into the corner there, their rapid Darnassian seeming to hurl profanity at the fighters that had disturbed them. The Deathrolls table leaped to their feet to come around the corner and watch. Roxie and Mandy looked on in awe, panting as they watched Grim’s show.

The two turned, nodding to each other, then raised their fists high in front of their faces. Grim chuckled at their high defense, kicking low instead. His heavy right boot swung upward, connecting powerfully between the dwarf’s legs with a sickening crunch and sending him tumbling backwards. The dwarf careened through the back door, his eyes wide as he wheezed in a high-pitched voice, continuing a backward summersault that ended up into a noisy, rolling series of crashes as he took a noisy trip down the ramp with profane roaring that suddenly cut short about halfway down.

One left.

Grim, noting the one-on-one situation, felt he’d even the odds and drop his weapon. He did so… choke-slamming poor Stanley right through the table the lad had enjoyed with his mates earlier as they’d catcalled at the women at the bar. The table seemed to explode with a thunderous crunch, chunks of wood and splinters and dust flying out a few feet in every direction. Grim heard footsteps sprinting as he stood to turn and fight the last remaining young gangster. He looked up, noticing the tough guy was sprinting toward the door, reaching for the handle and swinging it wide.

“Nope,” said Grim simply, lifting a knocked-over chair from the table he’d shattered. Grabbing it from behind by the top crosspiece, he stepped forward with his left foot, whipping the chair forward with his right. It went right where he intended it to go – the chair’s legs tangled in the fleeing man’s own, tripping him up as he gained the front porch and sending him flipping and flailing face-first off the ledge and into the grass with a roar of pain that didn’t stop for some time, indicating he wasn’t getting up again.

Zero left.

Grim fixed the only damage done to himself… a single strand of hair that had fallen over his face. Smirking, he glanced around at his handiwork, the carnage of which was in evidence all around him, and audible from the groaning, bloody-nosed blonde tough on the floor by the bar, and the roared profanity from the front lawn outside. Stanley’s limbs were visible as they jutted out from the middle of the ruins of the table, one dwarf was still missing downstairs, and the other was spread-eagle on his black on the floor, his shattered face also red with blood.

Nat and the Deathrolls players nodded their appreciation of the show, returning to their dice. Roxie and Mandy, were giggling and whispering animatedly to each other behind their hands as they gave Grim admiring, flirtatious glances. Jarel hummed to himself and washed his dishes.

Grim grinned, his elongated incisors drawing more looks and exchanged whispers from Roxie and Mandy. He swaggered back over to them.

“Wow!” said Roxie, beaming up at him. “That was so cool!”

“Yeah!” chimed in Mandy. “I thought they’d never shut up, but you sure made them!”

“I’m sure you’d like to get out of here, then,” Grim smirked back at them. “My place is quieter.”

Roxie and Mandy’s eyes went wide with delight. They huddled together, whispering animatedly to each other, giggling, then turned around again to face Grim, nodding their assent with mischievous grins.

"Gosh!" exclaimed Nat, knowing what Grim intended and blushing furiously from where she was being dared to stand on the table and act like a monkey.

Grim grinned back at Nat, then approached the two gorgeous women, but halted as a deep voice cleared its throat. He looked to his right, where Jarel had his hand held out.

“Right,” chuckled Grim. “The table.”

“And the candelabra and broken glasses from the table,” nodded Jarel. “And the chair. And the blood-scrubbing. And the sweeping.”

Grim laughed louder at that, fishing out three solid gold coins. “This square us?”

Jarel nodded, a smirk on his face as he accepted the gold.

“Thanks for the drinks, Jarel, and the entertaining evening.”

Jarel nodded again, his smirk widening.

Grim set off toward the door, raising his arms as the two young women nestled themselves under him, arms wrapped around the waist of their night’s catch. He called goodnight to Nat, who called goodnight back as she was being dared to pull off her shoes and tie them to her hair by the laces. The Kaldorei, for whom such activities as what Grim was heading out to do were commonplace and completely natural, largely ignored the three. Grim’s arms wrapped around the shoulders of the two young women as he swaggered out the door, earning whistles and catcalls and banter from the Deathrolls table (and a blush from Nat that was a lovely shade of scarlet) as he walked into the darkening evening outside, earning even more giggles from the young women as they spied his treadblade with the Cheshire Cat’s split, grinning red skull crest embossed on the front. With Roxie in front, Mandy behind, Grim kicked his treadblade to life and roared off down the path, heading home with the night’s catch.

Just another day in the life of a Cheshire Cat.