Cyn stepped into the dilapidated bar in Moonbrook, dressed from shoulders to toes in black armor, and a cape obviously lifted off Raptorius's standard issue. She crashed in a dirty and broken chair, tossing a bag of coins to the bartender, the clink of which turned heads, the low hum going silent for a moment. "Payin' my debts Sly. Serve it up." The bartender she'd called Sly eyed her up and down and disappeared into the back room for a moment, clicking of keys and a chest opening, a small keg being rolled out, and grimey glasses began to be poured. The absolutely downtrodden poor that had packed into the bar blinked slowly, before lining up, disturbingly quiet, until they all had a glass, the conversation picking up quickly.
Halfway through her glass of scotch that Sly had happened to find, a dirty man in dirtier, torn leathers leaned against the bar. He looked like he'd gone through some variety of adventurer meat grinder, crawled out of the Deadmines and into the ocean.
"So, you comin' back to Westfall with ye money, and ye nice armor to show off? Whatcha doin' all that for? Ain't a damn soul around to care, can't eat your fancy cloak, can ye?"
A soft grin crossed her face and into the glass, looking over at him and waving Sly back over, paying more for the old thug to have his own glass of something decent.
"No, but if you stop your wailin' at me I might hire ye for somethin' big."
This got his attention, blinking at her. "And what migh' ye be up to, anyway?"
"Got in with one of those Gilnean types. Wants to take Southshore back from the Undead, since Stormwind wont. Lookin' for as many bodies as he can pay to swing a sword. Happen to know anyone?" Cyn smirked darkly at him, as if completely ignoring the entire bar.
"Nah, I don' know a light damned soul. HEY! Who wan's a noble's gold to gut some skeletons?"
The roar in the bar was intense, enough to be terrifying if she hadn't come prepared for it. The mob that circled around the pair expectantly roared in desperation, attempting to be first in line. A pistol shot went off into the floor above them, and she lept onto the bar.
"Calm your damn tits, I'll get you all somethin', if you do somethin' for me. You get everybody that can stand up and use a sword into Moonbrook, and I'll get food comin' this way until the boss shows up ready to go. You think you lot can do that?"
Another roar answered. "And don' bring your damn grandma's either. Anyone who works 'll get paid enough to feed her." This was given some discontent in return, a few people scowling. "Don' look at me like that. You want your granny dead? Able bodies, or at least standing up straight. Boss don' care about where they crawl out of, Deadmines, or otherwise."
She looked over at the bartender who simply shook his head. "You lot have a month to eat pretty on my dime, get ready."
Cyn's glass hit the bar empty, and she disappeared.
Several mornings after, a few nights of bitching that she'd never return, several carts slowly crawled into Moonbrook, overloaded with supplies, the majority of which were soap and food. A last cart had Cyn on top of a large pile of boxes of clothing, from the markings on the sides, likely stolen and bought from every city between Stormwind and Darnassus. A few other shady people sat on boxes with her, likely to keep the crowd from turning into a riot. She leapt from her perch and rolled gracefully onto the ground, strutting into the bar, which had doubled its' number of the fearful and the desperate.
"Don' think I'm goin' to unpack all this shit for you, come on." Plenty of people started to move, if only to call her on her bullshit. The greeting, however, came in the form of food, the awestruck scrambling back into the bar, the mob all forcing themselves out of the door at once, as if wine stuck in a bottle.
By the end of the day, the tattered building looked like something inside, though still quite grimy, and more dirt than inn. A fire burned, however, and a pot of something with salt pork boiled in the back room, candles that burned properly on the tables, lighting up the people they'd gathered. Most looked like the remainder of the Defias, and "retired" army men from Northrend, some still wearing the last bits of their armor from an era gone by. Cyn had left as soon as her wagons were empty, leaving the wagons, and the "helpers" behind to keep the peace. She rode hard for Stormwind, rather hoping they'd gotten that damn airship coming back the right direction.