So, I wrote this story for my creative writing class. Marzha is my character; a weird Worgen warrior on Wyrmrest Accord so, yes, she does rp. Tyron and Destice belong to two buddies of mine. This is my first time posting anything to this site. I'll warn that Marzha tends to use heavy language. She's filthy physically and mentally, and doesn't have a mental filter at all. Besides that, I hope you enjoy.~

Chapter 1: Greetings

Dusty evening sunlight washed over the cracking stones of an old building. All around the sounds of busy city life prevailed: cart wheels over worn cobblestones, the undertone of many conversations intermingling and countless footfalls. Hanging from a tired wooden pole on the side of this building was an equally tired looking sign. The words "Pig and Whistle" were carved and seared into the aged wood.

Inside the rustic and oddly peaceful building was a full tavern setup. Thick tables adorned with their fair share of battle scars littered the expansive interior. At one table toward the back and near the bar there sat a young woman. Though she was sitting her form was tense and her pale eyes kept darting about. Every few minutes she'd remember to take a drink from the large stein in her hand.

"How the hell did I not see this coming?" She muttered into the cup at one such interval.

At length two more patrons appeared, thickly clad in dirty leather. They were short in stature but their stern faces left no room in anyone's mind to imagine them weak. Heavy, braided beards swung from their faces and they would occasionally gesture wildly to each other – showing off thickly chorded muscles. Their loud conversation was open for all to hear as they continued on in their heavy accents. The woman stared at them, going tense once more. The two stout Dwarves showed little interest in her though as they made their way to the front of the tavern. After a moment, the woman returned to her stressed drinking.

A good twenty minutes passed before another person appeared in the opened doorway of the tavern. It was another man, but a much lankier one dressed in a robe of deep teal color. His jet black hair was short and his face bare of any stubble. He paused at the threshold to glance around the inside of the warm building. Sun shafts illuminated him heroically drawing questioning and slightly peeved looks from the two shorter Dwarves from earlier. He ignored the two, his face brightening when he noticed the woman sitting alone at her table.

"Destice!" He called warmly.

Glancing up from her drink the woman tossed the newcomer a relieved smile. "Hey Tyron."

The man crossed the distance to Destice's table within a few long strides and smiled broadly as he plopped his bulk down in one of the weathered chairs. Seconds later a young barmaid was approaching the table to take his drink order. As she walked away he turned to Destice.

"How've you been?"

"Decent, just living day to day. You?"

"I've been better. Can't complain too much though, no one's tried to kill me here recently."

Destice allowed a quiet chuckle and sipped at her drink daintily, eyeing the two much louder men across the floor. Tyron followed her gaze and smirked, shrugging slightly as he turned back from the sight.

"They're gonna be loud. It's what Dwarves do best. Just try to tune them out." The barmaid arrived with a frothy, overflowing mug of heady substance and set it in front of Tyron. "Thanks," He took a long draw from it and sighed contentedly before continuing. "And you know, it's just gonna get worse as it gets dark. The Pig and Whistle isn't exactly the tamest tavern in town."

Destice shook her head, shoulders moving in a careless shrug. "Yeah I know. It wasn't really my idea to meet here. I was wanting to head to Goldshire, or Redridge. Somewhere less busy. Though the beer is better here."

"Then why'd we-?"

"Marzha."

"Ah. I see. Remind me again why you invited her?"

"Because she's my…well she's…I suppose because I felt guilty about leaving her out. I know how she likes drinking, and she is my friend."

"There you said it, she's your friend. Not mine. Think it's still possible to switch taverns?" Tyron shuffled uncomfortably, wearing a frown and eyeing the doorway, while Destice just sighed in a tired way and grabbed her mug once more.

"So, uh, when's she supposed to get here?"

A group of four men sauntered into the tavern clad in gleaming suits. The Stormwind tabard swung lightly from their polished armor, marking them as city guards. A male at the head of the group removed his spiked helmet and spoke with quiet authority to the tavernkeep. Reese Langston, owner and operator, pointed them to a nearby table and they shuffled off with a nod. Disturbed dust motes floated smoothly around in the old room as Destice raised one hand to her face and began to massage her right temple.

"She was supposed to be here when I arrived. Though, I knew that wasn't going to happen but I still like to think she'd try harder. She'll be here when she feels like it."

Again the man shifted, fiddling with his robe awkwardly until Destice turned to him and laughed.

"You really shouldn't let her get to you this much. She's not as bad as you make her out to be."

"Whatever. That's a crock of shit and you know it."

"I said not as bad. Even I wouldn't give her that much credit. And you know you're the only one she ever acts this way around. She knows it bothers you so she exploits it. If you'd just stop egging her on I'm sure she'd be more…mature."

Tyron raised a disbelieving brown and clasped his hands together in front of him, going silent for a while. It took a bit before he gave a small nod. Destice smiled and began to drink from her mug again while her companion fidgeted. A comfortable silence fell over their table, though the tavern was still kept loud by the men at the other tables. The two were content to quietly drink until a loud racket set up outside.

Metallic clanging, loud footsteps and an angry voice ruptured the peaceful setting of the tavern. Slowly every head within the weathered walls turned to face the doorway.

"Ow! Get off me! What the–. Shit, back off!"

"Ma'am I told you to put your weapons away!"

"And I already told you, sir, to back the hell off! I'll put my weapons away when you and the rest of your plate-heads give me some space."

"Ma'am you're giving us no choice but to –"

"You want me to put 'em away, I'll put 'em away. Straight through your damn thigh!"

Clashing metal and angry shouts filled the air, chorused cries of "Get her!" rang out as well. Destice's face turned into a dull mask and she sighed deeply. Without a word she went back to her drink leaving Tyron to stare anxiously out the door. This went on for a good five minutes until, suddenly, the sounds stopped. A young woman of mid-height with fiery blonde hair whipped around the door's arch, clinging to the wall behind her and staring slyly out the door.

"There she goes!" She screeched, leaning her head just outside the door. She jerked back into a hiding position as the sounds of metal footsteps set up outside.

"I saw her!"

"This way, she went this way!"

"Come on you lot!"

The charging footsteps faded down the cobbled path and the young woman's smug smile grew wider. Her right hand raised to dust off her newly chinked metal spaulders. There had once been a sheen to the mighty, spiked shoulder guards though now they were rusted and grimy with dried liquids. She glanced up, only then noticing every eye upon her. One fierce brow quirked and she rolled her shoulders before stepping away from the wall and swaggering to Destice's table.

"'Sup Des. Tyron."

Destice smiled tiredly and nodded to the other woman. Tyron just grimaced and heaved a sigh.

"Damn, who died? Lighten up losers, we're at a tavern for God's sake."

"Same old Marzha. Always making an entrance."

"Hey, that wasn't my plan. Those guys just pissed me off."

Marzha pulled out a chair and flopped down into it, hoisting two massive blades from ties on her back to set them carefully beside her. The tavernkeep leaned across the bar and glared at her.

"I don't much appreciate you bringing your rowdiness into my establishment."

Marzha turned, an unimpressed look on her face. "I don't much appreciate you interrupting my chat with my friends."

"Just a warning miss. You cause any problems and you're outta here. Got it?"

Marzha scoffed and rolled her eyes but in the end conceded with a slight nod. After a long moment the tavernkeep turned about and went back to wiping down the counter. Marzha turned back to the others.

"So what've you been up to?"

"Training with Derrek. He's finally taking me out into the field."

"That your ass of a teacher? The one that wakes you up by dropping books on you?"

"Yep, that's him."

Tyron huffed, arms crossing as he continued to glare at Marzha. The woman grinned, placing her clenched fist underneath her chin as she leaned against the table.

"Problem fluffy?"

Tyron turned to Destice with an irritated and pleading expression. In return she just shrugged. Marzha chuckled darkly before leaning away from the table to pound the surface with her fist.

"'Ey barmaid! Can I get a drink over here?"

The woman, who was laughing with the armored men across the tavern, turned to glower at Marzha. Each of the men in turn swiveled their heads around to do the same. The barmaid muttered something to the men, who broke into laughter, before she turned and slowly made her way over to the trio's table.

"What'd you want?" She muttered ungraciously.

Marzha's eyebrow shot up in disbelief and she gave a snort.

"That's how it's gonna be? Alright. Alright. I see."

The barmaid merely rolled her eyes. Marzha grinned broadly and leaned far back in her chair.

"I'll take two brandies, a malt, a platter of boar ribs and three mutton shanks. On the double or someone's getting shanked."

For a moment, the barmaid was disbelieving. But when Tyron sharply glanced up, frowning at Marzha, she took a step back. The balding tavernkeep gave a worried look at the troublesome woman and shook his head.

"Elly, come away from her."

"Yes Papa."

Marzha snickered, fingering the handle of her scythe-like blade. Tyron and Destice were staring at her disapprovingly, each shaking their head.

"What?"

Tyron grunted, but before he had a chance to speak up Destice did.

"Was that necessary? Really? You just scared the hell outta poor Reese."

"Not to mention David." Mumbled Tyron.

All three patrons of the table turned in their chairs to look at the tavern's owning family. Reese Langston, the tavernkeep, was lightly patting his daughter's shoulder while David, Elly's older brother, stood protectively nearby. The older boy kept a glare leveled on Marzha.

"He should pull the stick outta his ass, and his sister needs to up her game. That's all there is to it. A lot worse than a small stab wound could be coming her way if she keeps up that attitude."

"Marz!"

"I didn't mean from me! There's a lot of jacked up bastards out there."

Destice agreed with a small nod, Tyron continued to glare.

"I think you trying to justify threatening people is a load of bullshit."

"I think you need a nap Fluffy."

"Stop. Calling. Me. Fluffy."

"I think Fluffy needs some sleep. Poor wittle guy."

"Ugh! You bitch!"

Tyron raised a fist and aimed a punch at Marzha's face. The woman grinned brightly, twisting quickly out of the way. She lightly bit the man's arm as it whizzed past her face. Rolling from her chair she twirled around until she stood behind Tyron, tossing an armored arm around his throat.

"That's more like it Fluffy, bring it on!"

"Oh God you stink! Get the hell off of me!"

"Fight me you whine-bag!"

"Ms. Brislane!"

Marzha blinked, shocked at the usage of her last name. Slowly she turned to look at the bar only then noticing that the whole bar was eyeing her angrily. Reese Langston was the angriest of all.

"I'll not ask you again miss. Sit down or get out of my tavern."

She paused, honestly considering the offer. Destice reached out and placed a hand on Marzha's arm, but the fierce woman roughly shook it off. With a grunt she turned and fell back into her chair. Her booted feet swung around to prop on the table top.

"Marz, please. Be civil. This was supposed to be a fun evening."

Destice anxiously glanced around the darkening tavern. Most of the others were grudgingly going back to their own conversations. All except one of the armored men. He continued to stare at the trio's table. None but Tyron noticed, and he chose to ignore it. Destice grabbed her mug and began to chug the rest of the contents in one go.

"Whoa girl, going for the gold there?" Marzha snickered loudly at her friend.

A loud clank resounded when Destice all but threw down the metal cup, glancing at the other woman. Tyron looked worried. Marzha leaned back in her chair, bringing her dirty hand to her face to gnaw on her filthy nails. The group grew oddly quiet, no one speaking. The only sound to be heard was Destice calling for more drinks and the loud noise of her glugging them down. Three drinks in and her face began to turn rosy. Marzha sighed and reached over to gently tug the mugs away from the other girl.

Destice frowned slightly grasping for the cups but Marzha was adamant. The two locked eyes and for a long moment neither would stand down. In the end though Destice huffed and looked to the ground. Tyron would have laughed if Marzha hadn't been sitting right at his side. Sticking out her tongue Destice moved from the table and stumbled toward the bar. Reese and his family appraised her before actually hearing what she had to say.

It was then that the armored man from the other table stood. In a few movements he was standing at Destice's side, leaning against the bar nonchalantly. Tyron watched this happening with an increasingly worried expression, though he said nothing to his dirty companion. He leaned in their direction when the man began to speak.

"Hey there honey. What'cha up to?"

"Nothin' much. Gettin' another drink."

"Hmm, I see. How's about we ditch this place huh? Head somewhere a bit more…secluded."

Destice was too out of it to actually catch on to what the man was saying so she just shrugged. The man grinned, placing one hand on Destice's shoulder.

"Then let's go."

Tyron tensed when he saw these goings on and despite the overwhelming urge to say something or help his friend, he remained quiet. This time Marzha wasn't as oblivious though, she saw her table-mate tense and followed his gaze. Not a word came from her but her face immediately hardened and she shoved away from her chair. The movement startled Tyron and his jaw dropped as the woman grabbed her weapons, sheathed them and strode across the floor. Her gauntleted hand drew back and the man looked up as she approached. His smug expression slid away and then Marzha's fist connected with his face.

He fell back against the counter, stumbling and knocking over a few gathered bottles. The other men at his table stood as one, hands flying to the weapons at their hips. A snarl grew on Marzha's face and she spit on the man when he slid to the floor. Her arm went around Destice's shoulder and she gently drew her away from the counter. She didn't need Reese to speak to know what came next.

"We'll be leaving now. Filthy bastard."

Marzha glanced at Tyron who simply stood, wiping down his robe and hurrying to help her take Destice out the door. The sounds of armor rustling kept them going until they had passed the threshold and were well down the cobblestone path. Marzha's expression was hard as stone. "So you were just going it happen."

Tyron jolted, turning fearfully to the woman. The fiery blonde helped her drunken friend down a side alley and lightly set her down on an unopened wooden crate. Drawing back Tyron watched her inhale deeply and then she whipped around. Her hands flew to the man's collar and she shoved him against the opposite wall of the alley.

"I'll tell you this one time. If you ever see shit like that happening you will do one of two things: you will help her, or you will tell me."

Tyron was taller than Marzha was, but Marzha was stout. Well-built and compact beneath her armor she glowered coldly up into the man's eyes. And he felt a flash of heavy fear. Shouts echoed up the alley from the street and Marzha turned to glare in their direction. Her attention stayed locked there for a minute before her gaze strayed back to Tyron's.

"You can redeem yourself now."

Ungraciously she shoved him while simultaneously releasing his robe. The wiry woman reached over her shoulders and grasped her weapons, pulling them to her sides.

"They're coming after me, but the sick bastards won't hesitate if they find Des." Her gaze flicked hesitantly to the slumped woman's figure. "I'll draw them off. You get her to somewhere safe. Don't screw up." There was no questioning lilt to her words as she turned and ran out into the street.

"Over here you iron-plated-pricks! You lookin' for me?" Marzha smirked and took off in the opposite direction of the Pig and Whistle tavern.

Tyron tensed as the group of five, one with a bloodied face and crooked nose, took off in furious pursuit of Marzha. If they caught her she was as good as dead. Tyron set his jaw and grasped Destice under the arms to help her as they walked. Destice's eyes fluttered open and a slight smile appeared.

"Same old Marz."

Tyron grimaced and then sighed, allowing a small smile of his own.

"Yeah. Same old Marz."