When Gilly finally got out of bed and down to the common area, carrying a basket of herbs, she found Rheaven and Trixx already up and chatting over breakfast. She waved cheerfully and the gnome returned the gesture, but the night elf was scowling, as per usual.

It had been 3 weeks since they were recruited into Rheaven's guild, named Night's Fury much to her amusement. To his dismay, the girls had decided to stick around after all. The rest of the guildmates were off running missions and preparing to fight the Legion or somesuch. She couldn't recall. Either way, Gilly and the girls were deemed too inexperienced to join so Rheaven had come up with a training program, which only Amán seemed to follow with any sort of diligence. As a priestess, she enjoyed boring, rigorous monotony. Trixx on the other hand had ignored all combat training but at least managed, with guild funds, to create crates upon crates of bombs. Rheaven had no idea what to do with them, but it was something. Gilly, however, had done nothing.

"Good morning to you too," she snapped at him. He growled under his breath.

"It's 1 pm."

She shrugged.

"Tomato, tomato."

"Have you done ANY training?"

"Well... I mean, I tried. I started to. But then I got bored and picked some herbs." She plopped the basket down in front of him. "You need potions or whatever, right?"

He grumbled. "Are you even an alchemist?"

"Oh gods no," she covered her mouth dramatically. "Far too risky. My hair, this skin… and chemicals, they just… oh, Rheaven, how could you even consider it?"

With a large sigh, he snatched the basket and dragged himself outside towards the guild bank. Trixx simply beamed after him until he vanished. Gilly took the seat next to her, picking at the food he left behind.

"I think he likes me," the gnome practically fell out of her chair in giggles. "We talked about bombs for at least 8 minutes. I counted"

"Oh, I'll bet." Gilly could barely contain the sarcasm. Trixx, having suffered one too many accidents from her explosive hobbies, rarely picked up on such things. Bless her.

Just as Gilly was about to summon the innkeeper for sustenance, aggravated shouting from outside caught their attention. The heavy accent was undoubtedly Draenei, and it sounded like it might be familiar. Curious, Gilly and Trixx poked their heads outside the inn to see what was happening.

Sure enough, their holier than thou friend was standing eye to eye, or at least an attempt was being made, in a fierce glaring contest with none other than a blood elf.

The elf was, impressively, standing on her toes to try and match Amán's height, though falling short. She had fire red hair, tied tightly in a ponytail, an eyepatch, and donned skin-tight leather gear...in this heat. Gilly appreciated the dedication.

Excellent, she thought.

"Amán, what's going on?" she asked, leaning casually against the side of the inn doorframe, drinking a mimosa she had snagged off the bar. A small, barely interested crowd had gathered. And by crowd, it was a goblin and forsaken watching. Everybody else seemed more annoyed the starting contest was occurring in the middle of a busy street.

"Dis demon had nerve — try and sell me danger!? Evil elfie!" Amán was barely intelligible when she got upset.

"Who are YOU calling a DEMON, goat face?"

"Ah, the Horde," Trixx shook her head.

"Truly," Gilly agreed. "So what sort of danger are you selling?" She inquired with genuine curiosity. The rogue broke her stance with Amán and eyed her suspiciously.

"Who's asking?"

"Gilliana Van Orwen of Hillsbrad, at your service, " she offered a half-assed curtsey. This clearly meant nothing to the Hordeling who did little more than narrow her eyes. "How about I buy you a drink first?" Interested, the redhead completely abandoned her stand-off and offered an equally half-assed bow. With a scandalized huff, Amán stormed off into the city.

So it was that the girls minus one pissed-off priestess, but plus a Sindorei, and for some reason, the forsaken man who had a giant hole in his throat ended up at a table with a few pitchers of this year's Brewfest's best. Every time he tried to drink, it would spill onto his lap. He seemed unfazed and content, but the innkeeper barely kept her composure watching this unfold.

"Why are you so interested in what I'm selling?" The Blood Elf's name was Kaeli, allegedly. Gilly never trusted rogues to be honest. Her youngest brother was one and always making up elaborate backstories and identifies for himself. One was even a Kirin Tor spy, trying to explain away why their mother found several lockboxes full of women's undergarments in his closet. Go figure.

"My family are enthusiasts of rare artifacts, and individuals such as yourself tend to.. well… find such things of interest." Gilly sipped at her brew, which she found considerably less enjoyable than wine. The blood elf, though, seemed like the type who couldn't appreciate such luxuries, so brew it was.

The rogue shrugged.

"Someone of your caliber might be disappointed, then, honestly." She reached into her bag and pulled out a small stack of books. Gilly took one and skimmed through a few pages. She blinked.

"Oh my."

"Steamy, right?" Kaeli grinned mischievously. Gilly handed one of the books to Trixx, who could only read a few passages before her face turned almost as pink as her hair. She shut it in embarrassment, made some squeak of disapproval, and began nervously tinkering with the silverware. Gilly watched her in disappointment before returning her attention to the Sindorei.

"Why on earth did you think Amán would want any of these?"

The forsaken man had also taken up one of the books, and after flipping through a few pages began to read with earnest. He garbled something in approval.

"Uptight holy-rolling space goats are some of the freakiest people I have ever met." Kaeli shrugged. "If anything these might seem downright tame to compared to what they're into." The forsaken shook his head in disagreement.

"Hmm. Well then, I'll give you 5 gold for volumes II and IV. And … that one," Gilly gestured towards the undead. "He seems to like it." The rogue agreed happily. Just as they finished the exchange and began to chat casually about the recent escapees from the Violet Hold, Amán clomped back in indignantly, Fearless Guild Leader in tow. They both stopped dead in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" He snapped.

"Chatting," Gilly said matter-of-factly. He looked furious.

"With the HORDE?!" He practically choked. "They can't be trusted!" Amán nodded in feverish agreement. Kaeli and the Forsaken exchanged a glance before the rogue eyed him curiously.

"Sup, handsome," she winked, tilting her head to the side.

He glared back. "Ugh. Blood Elves." After that, she gave him a nasty look.

"Problem, blueberry?"

"Oh, where do I even begin?" He crossed his arms indignantly, ignoring the insult. "The self-entitlement? Addiction and abuse of magic? LITERALLY a mutation of what was once a glorious culture."

Her good eye twitched. "Oooooooh, that's rich coming from a Night Elf. Tell that to the glorious Azshara," she shot back. His jaw clenched.

"How dar—" Kaeli stood suddenly, grabbing her bag.

"Thanks for the drink." Out the rogue went, making sure to pluck a feather from Rheaven's shoulder pads and stick it in her ponytail as she left with a nonchalant wave. His face turned about 18 shades of purple.

"THAT. IS. SACRED."

Gilly sipped from another conjured mimosa, leaning close to the forsaken.

"Oh, he's totally into it," she whispered.

He garbled in approval.