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Warcraft: Bones of Ironforge

Chapter 7: The Black Ram

The Stromic were a proud people.

The descendants of the ancient Arathi Tribe. The heirs to the Empire of Arathor. The best warriors of the Eastern Kingdoms, able to go toe-to-toe with the Horde while the rest of the Alliance was getting its panties on. A kingdom so strong, so mighty, that it was only through treachery within that it had fallen. Neglected by the new Alliance, just like the old. Where King Terenas sought to steer the coalition to his own ends, rather than for the greater good of humanity.

At least, Yinny reflected, that was the story her people told themselves. She doubted that any nation or race had a monopoly on saints and sinners. And the rabble that had frequented the Black Ram this night, like all nights, was a case in point.

Shepherds. Merchants. Vagabonds. Mercenaries. No adventurers this time, but when it came to the mercs, what difference was there anyway? And besides that, there were the usual suspects. Stromgardian soldiers, nursing their wounded pride over pints, while their physical wounds were left to fester. Members of the League of Arathor doing likewise, their yellow tabards standing in contrast to the soldiers' red, but otherwise, remaining the same.

Old soldiers fighting a new war had a way of making everyone feel very old indeed. For what had Azeroth been but a world of war since its moment of creation?

Yinny didn't know. On the subject of the origins of Azeroth, the Church of the Light said one thing, the dwarves another, elves remained silent, and gnomes didn't seem to care much. What other races thought, Yinny had no idea, and since the Boulderfist ogres had attacked Mortheran again last month, she was ill inclined to find out what other races thought of the world's origins. Especially those that originated from the other side of the Dark Portal.

"Oi, girl."

The portal her father had crossed all those years ago, or so her mother had claimed. Of course, her ma had been dead for the last four years, so unless someone dug up her body from the village graveyard and did a bit of necromancy, she wasn't in a position to question ma on any more details of her father's life.

"Oi!"

A life she'd realized had been as miserable as her own. A life spent in the company of men like those in the table across the tavern, a quartet of footmen sitting at it. Waiting on them hand and foot, and on a good day, turning in with her buttocks un-spanked.

"Yer got wax in ya ears?" One of the footmen asked.

No, I just want to ignore you. Biting back any verbal retort, she hurried over to the soldiers, trying to steady the beating of her heart.

"Yes, sirs?"

She wished Bertha was here, but she'd headed upstairs with a similar patron a good hour ago. Old Jack had made it clear that he had no intention of forcing her to do anything he didn't want to, but he'd also made it clear that there was coin to be made in tending to, as he put it, 'other needs.'

The footman held up his glass. "Another round."

"Yes sir. Of course sir." She put the soldier's empty glass on her tray and began to walk off.

"Oi!"

She stopped, turned, and looked back at the table.

"Lads want their drink as well."

No harm in that, she supposed. Though the grins that were on some of their lips, broken teeth shining alongside missing ones…

"Of course, sirs," she said acidly. "Another round for the brave defenders of Stromgarde."

She hadn't meant her voice to come out like that. If nothing else, she knew that the soldiers before her were continuing "the good fight," or more specifically, the ever-lasting campaign to free the kingdom from the Syndicate, the Defilers, and every other enemy of the realm.

But as one of the soldiers gave her a slap on the buttocks as she walked back to the counter, she found it a mite difficult to remember who the real enemy was.

She plonked the tray back on the counter, trying to stop that slap in her rump from turning to ice along her spine. She looked at Old Jack (who six years short of sixty, lived up to his namesake), who was busy chatting with some merchant further along.

"Need a refill," she said.

Jack remained talking to the lass. Looking less at her mouth, and more at what lay further below.

"Jack!" She yelled.

"Oh Light, what?!"

"I need a refill."

He sighed, and made his way across the counter. "You're old enough to drain the barrels yourself, lass."

"Well I would, but you made it clear that I wasn't to touch them."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Yinny said, as Jack began pouring more ale into the pints. "When I was twelve, remember?"

"If you say so, lass."

"If I say so? You said so!"

"I say a lot of things."

He did, Yinny reflected. And how sad was it that Old Jack, owner of the Black Ram, a man of grey hair and pox-marred skin, was the closest thing to a father she'd ever had?

"Y'know, I've been thinking," Jack said, as he poured ale into the third pint. "You're sixteen now, and, well-"

"No," said Yinny firmly, her hands clutching her apron. She knew where this was going.

"Easy lass, I'm not saying you have to do anything. But Bertha is berthing on the bed right now, and-"

"I said no!" Yinny yelled.

"Alright, alright," Jack said in mock protest. He poured the fourth pint, in what Yinny realized was Rhapsody Malt. "Don't get your knickers in a knot. I mean, especially since your monthly time began a few months ago."

As she was wearing a barmaid's outfit, Jack couldn't see the dagger Yinny had slotted inside her belt. Homed in the alleys of Mortheran, in here, a final defence against anyone who got funny ideas. So when she took the tray in her right hand, and fingered the weapon with her left, he had no idea how close she came to using it.

Or, she thought, maybe he did, and he just didn't care. Regardless, she headed back to the table, and began serving the soldiers.

"The Black Ram's finest," she said.

One of the soldiers glared at his booze. "This pisswater?"

She didn't take it personally. Rhapsody Malt was as close to bog standard as you could get in this inn, despite being of dwarvish origin. The Black Ram did a good trade, but its selection of liquors was limited.

"Ah, well, we appreciate it," said another – the one who'd talked to Yinny earlier. He reached into his purse and plopped some coppers on the tray. "With our blessings."

Yinny didn't bother to count them – Jack pocketed the currency regardless, she was left with bed and board, plus a small pittance. So after telling them that she hoped they enjoyed their drink, she began to head back to the counter and…

…stopped, as she felt a warm hand grab her right arm.

Please no.

"Y'know," said the soldier, as he ran his finger up and down her skin, "there's some other things I might appreciate."

"I…" She wanted to kick him and run, but valuing her lodgings, she instead smiled, as she tried not to shiver. "I can ask Jack if we've got anything stronger."

"Maybe." The soldier had taken her arm in both his hands, and was rubbing his hand up and down her arm, all pretense of subtlety lost. "Or maybe…well, got a few extra coins. A few silvers…"

Trembling, fighting the urge to vomit, Yinny pulled her arm free. "I'll be sure to pass that on, good sir."

He wasn't a sir, she reminded herself. "Sir" was an honorific for knights, such as those of the Order of Lordain. She'd met knights of Stromgarde before, all of them handled themselves far better than these twats.

"Be sure to pass my offer on," said the soldier, licking his lips. "We might be able to arrange something."

Knowing that she'd do no such thing, Yinny scurried back to the counter. She was about to ask Jack for a break, when instead, he told her to stay put, as he was preparing more bread and booze. About the only things the Black Ram served, but then, she wasn't complaining. If things had to be inside her, food and grog was preferable to, well, other things.

As she waited for Jack to complete the meal (such as it was), she looked around the inn's interior. Water had seeped into the wood, discolouring it, and some of the floorboards creaked funny. Candles were fixed against the walls (a precaution against them setting a fire if they fell off tables). Apart from the candles, the walls were bereft of any decoration bar a painting of some apples (Jack had said he'd got it at a discount, and she believed him). Spring rain, unusually heavy for this time of years, poured down the windows, which meant that come the morrow, Yinny would spend some time searching for mushrooms.

Also, there was no sign of any rams or sheep. Because, as Jack had told her when she'd asked him, "reasons." When she'd refused to take that answer, she'd been given a sore cheek as a consolation prize, and learnt the valuable lesson of not asking Jack for too much, and not expecting her mother to be there for her when she needed it.

Still waiting, she watched as some of the soldiers began to leave, all of them of the League of Arathor. Some of the footmen might have stayed in the inn, but the Black Ram couldn't hold a fraction of the number that visited its common area. Ergo, the soldiers either had to find lodgings with the town's villagers, or head out this night.

The soldiers of the Stromgarde Army, however, stayed put. They served as the town's garrison that was only slightly effective in maintaining law and order at the best of times. From what Yinny had seen in the wider village, their sense of entitlement often extended beyond these walls.

But with the inn slightly emptier, Yinny was able to pay attention to those who remained, and those who most certainly weren't part of the usual rank and file.

For starters, a gnome beside a large rucksack, sitting at a table with a dwarf, trying to sell him a collection of items he called sporks. Not spoons, not forks, sporks, Yinny reminded herself, proving that the gnomish race was indeed insane or brilliant. The dwarf, for his part, seemed only vaguely interested – between the two of them was a weighty tome, and behind the dwarf was a shield and war hammer, complementing the plate mail he had stashed beside him. And while the shield was nondescript, the hammer's head bore the sigil of a silver hand.

A paladin? Yinny wondered. Hardly the holiest of places.

The pair were conversing in Dwarven, and like any language bar her own, Yinny didn't know a word of it. So unable to pick up on any of their words, she turned her attention to a table in the far corner, where there sat an even stranger creature – an elf. His blue eyes shone dimly, the tavern's candles casting long shadows upon his deathly pale skin and lank golden hair. His robes were ragged, his table was bare, and the only sign of any wealth was his staff. Most of it was wooden bar its gold tip, which bore the sign of an autumn leaf. Fitting, Yinny thought, given that the high elves had reached their autumn years, in light of the fall of their homeland.

Why he was so far south, Yinny had little idea. She'd heard rumours of high elf survivours calling themselves blood elves, who were attempting to reclaim their homeland, but that they had no interest in working with the Alliance to do it. Or, alternatively, the Alliance had no intention of helping them. It was all politics, and politics was something she was far below.

"Girl!"

Just as she was below Old Jack, who put a pint and plate of bread on the counter.

"For the Stormwindian," he grunted.

Yinny didn't ask how she was supposed to tell who was the Stormwindian here, and who wasn't – she knew Jack wouldn't bother answering her, as he was now chatting away with one of the Stromic soldiers. Still, as luck would have it, casting her gaze around the inn, she was able to pick him out.

Oh wonderful. Another drunk.

The man was nearly passed out, but he was wearing the blue and gold of the Stormwind Army above some dented armour, a sheathed greatsword lying against him. The lion had seen better days, if not so much the kingdom itself, which had steadily rebuilt itself since the Second War – rising to lead the current Alliance, while Stromgarde had fallen into decay. So why he was here, and not there, Yinny had no idea.

She nevertheless plopped the tray on his table, waking the man up.

"Gerwotzat?" He asked.

"Um, yeah, I've got no idea what that means," she said.

"Oh don't worry," the man slurred. "I don't know much either."

She wanted to leave. The Stromgardian soldiers had made their intentions known to her, she had no reason to expect this man to be any different.

"Your meal, sir."

The man grunted and paid her some coppers. Despite having no reason to stay, Yinny nevertheless remained standing as he sipped his beer.

"Not bad," he murmured. "You're a good lass."

"Um, thanks?" He thanked me. He actually thanked me!

He burped, and Yinny's brief moment of levity faded. She still had no reason to think this man was any different from the others, even if he hadn't made any suggestions about berthing, birthing, or both.

She glanced back at the counter, and found Jack still talking to the Stromic soldier, and a second later,, Bertha, who came walking down the stairs with a satisfied looking man arm in arm. Both were smiling, but she'd known Bertha long enough to know which of her smiles were genuine, and which weren't.

The one she had with Jack was the former, and pity welled inside Yinny's belly at the sight of it. Bertha, who'd been an aunt to her in all but name and blood, was now forty-six years old, and had nothing left to sell but her services and body. Bertha, who'd hoped that Yinny might find another path in life. Even if opportunities in Stromgarde were few and far between, even if more adventurers perished in the wilds than not, she'd told Yinny that there were better places in Azeroth than backwaters like this.

Yinny knew it to be true. She'd taken her shortbow into the Arathi Highlands more than once, bringing back a rabbit every so often. How tempting it had been, so many times, to just take off. To run free and find her destiny…before turning back, remembering that all she'd find was an axe in her back.

She looked back at the Stormwindian, who'd put his booze aside, and was tearing his bread into pieces. Bloodshot eyes, unkempt beard…he'd seen better days. He looked up at her, curious at her presence.

"Something to say, girl?"

"Don't call me…I mean, aren't you a bit far north?"

"Bit far?" He grunted, in-between mouthfuls of bread. "Or too far?"

"Same thing really."

"Can't be too far north. I keep going north, I keep going further away from…them."

"Them?"

"Demons. Men. Lost men to demons, so I go north to be forgotten by the men who know I lost men."

"What?"

"And the women," he whispered. "And children."

It took Yinny a moment to put two and two together. "Men, demons…you fought in the last war?"

"Winner winner, pheasant dinner." He tucked into some bread. "Could go for pheasant now. Or chicken." He thumped the table. "Bloody chicken, damn it!"

"Yeah, well, we sold all our chickens last month. No-one wanted them for their eggs or their breasts."

"Breasts," the man grunted. He looked at Yinny, then Bertha, smiling as her patron kissed her goodbye before heading out into the night. "Seem to be on sale here."

Yinny felt the urge to slap him. "I'm sure we can arrange that," she said tersely.

"I'm sure you could," he said. "But I've got standards."

"What? Too good for us?"

"No," he answered, rubbing his eyes. "You're too good for me."

Yinny bit her lip. She was so used to men thinking themselves above her that it was disconcerting to see it the other way round. But then, she remembered what he'd said earlier. Of getting further away not only from demons, but men as well. And assuming that he'd been a soldier in the Stormwind Army…

A deserter, she realized. She looked at the greatsword he'd got sheathed beside him. Probably a mercenary these days.

Few adventurers came through the Black Ram. The League of Arathor was quite happy to accept such people, last she heard, but if they came from the south, few of them passed through these doors.

One of them, however, did. Or at least Yinny assumed that was the case. Because as the door opened, revealing a tall, lavender-skinned elf, she had no reason to suspect that the elf was anything but an adventurer. The way she carried herself, the way she looked across the tavern with near-regal authority, her long blue hair drenched with rain, yet made luscious for it. Her robes were the colour of the earth, and a longsword was sheathed over her back. A mix of medicine woman and warrior, in her eyes. Not unlike the mythical shamans of the Arathi's past, believed to be responsible for the elemental circles found in the highlands. An ancient system of nature worship, long since supplanted by the Church of the Light, but alive and well in the culture of the kaldorei.

Yinny knew it wasn't the elf's fault, but she suddenly felt very small. Both in body, and in mind.

What the soldiers in the tavern thought, she couldn't be certain. But their whistles gave her a solid idea. Despite the elf being the tallest person in the room, despite the longsword slung along her back, all the men seemed to see was a big body with big tits.

Well, bar the high elf in the corner, who Yinny saw look at the night elf with a look of contempt. One that the night elf returned, even as she made her way up to the counter. Why, she didn't know. Over her sixteen years, she'd seen less elves than she had fingers. Elves had been rare outside Quel'Thalas at the best of times, and rarer still after the quel'dorei had left the Alliance (followed by Stromgarde and Gilneas). These days, however, there was talk of an entire continent being found to the west, with new elves, which were part of a new Alliance, fighting against a new Horde.

It was all above her. And given the height of the night elf, literally.

"Well," said the Stormwindian beside her. "There's a keeper."

Yinny rolled her eyes, even though she'd take this drunkard over the Stromic soldiers from earlier.

"Hoi, Yinny."

But alas, she couldn't stay, as Old Jack called her to the bench. The night elf was talking with Bertha, speaking in a hushed undertone that she couldn't make out. Ordering something to drink, she supposed. But it made little difference, as she turned her attention to Jack, and the Stromic soldier beside the bench. Grinning at her in a way that made her insides knot up.

"This man here's made me an offer," Jack said, as Yinny arrived at the counter. "Ten silver for one hour."

Yinny blinked. "He's paying to stay in a room for an hour? I thought we charged by the day. And at much lower rates."

"Oh, if that was all he was doing, sure. But…"

Yinny felt a stone take form in her stomach. One that became heavier with each passing moment, dragging her spirit downwards.

She looked at the soldier, who was looking at her. Licking his lips like a hungry wolf.

She looked at Bertha, who briefly caught her eye, but looked away in shame.

She looked at Old Jack, whose face was unreadable. Unashamed.

"No," she whispered. "No, I…I don't…I won't…"

"You will, if you want to continue living here," Jack said.

"You promised that I wouldn't have to…that you wouldn't-"

"Promises change, times change, ten pieces of silver changes a lot." He gave her a grin. "You should be flattered. Personally, I wouldn't put it at any more than five. After all, you're a whore's daughter."

The rock did nothing to deflect the impact against her chest, Jack's words hitting her with the force of a battering ram.

"No," she whispered, her chest tightening with every breath. "Please…I don't…"

"Come on," said the man, taking her arm. "You might enjoy it."

"Let go of me!" She shrieked.

She yanked her arm free, and a hush fell over the tavern. Her eyes darting around frantically, Yinny looked for aid. Finding none in any, bar the gnome, of all people. The little man who plopped off his chair and waddled over.

"Trades are a strange thing," he said. "But the rule of thumb is that both parties benefit."

"Listen, gnome, I don't know what-"

"I mean, here's me," continued the gnome, ignoring the soldier. "I'm plying the trade routes of this land, selling my wares, when I take lodgings in this fine abode, and meet a dwarf, who's here to deal with the Forsaken Defilers, for Light and life." He looked at the dwarf, who was drinking some ale. "Isn't that right, Jarlath?"

The dwarf let out a burp.

"See? A paladin worthy of the Silver Hand!" Exclaimed the gnome. "We're all part of the great network that connects us all! Righteous souls who do the right thing in the right way for the right reasons."

"Duly noted," grunted Jack. "Now piss off."

The gnome didn't look happy. Yinny appreciated the effort, but at less than four feet tall, he had no way of going toe-to-toe with a human. Least not in his current state.

"Well, that was…something," said the footman. He grabbed Yinny by the arm. "Now come on."

The rock that had formed in her stomach had made its way through her intestines, to where her flower lay between her legs. Already, it felt defiled. She felt defiled. Trying to steady her breathing as the soldier led her away, she reached for the dagger beneath her clothing and-

"Stop."

…didn't draw it, as the night elf spoke. The one who walked over to the man, standing a good head taller than him.

There was a brief flicker of fear in the soldier's eyes. Lust too, as he looked the night elf up and down. She, however, remained silent. Her silver eyes blazing.

"I can treat you to a good time later if you want," said the soldier eventually, his voice cracking with attempted bravado.

"I'm sure you could," answered. "But this little one doesn't want to go with you."

"But she will," said Jack, his voice betraying his fear. "The deal's been made. We-"

The elf held up her palm, and Jack fell silent, before she turned her attention back to the footman. Unknowing (or uncaring) of how the man's fellow footmen had got to their feet.

"I'm sure you're a brave soldier," the night elf said. "I am new to this continent, but I am aware that this kingdom has fallen into ruin. Not like the lands to the north, where death has taken hold, but marred by it all the same."

"No thanks to some people," the soldier murmured, glancing at the high elf in the corner.

"Perhaps. And I'm sure every day you fight as hard as you can to bring it back to you. Which is why night after night you come to places like this," continued the night elf. "But this poor girl shouldn't have to be made to do things against her will to make your pain go away."

"Pain?" The man sneered. "The hell would you know about pain?"

"A bit, actually. I am a druid – Cerise, of the line of Moonrain. I have travelled east, then south, and beheld the wounds of this world and-"

"Oh Sun, just stop it."

Eyes turned to the high elf, who'd got to his feet. His voice was slurred, but he hadn't drunk anything that Yinny had seen. Nor had he eaten. Indeed, the way he walked, he seemed to be in some kind of stupor.

"She's kaldorei," he said. "A high and mighty moon-worshipper who banish their friends for doing a bit of magic."

The night elf eyes flashed a brilliant silver, even as the high elf's remained dim

"And you're allied with them," the high elf continued to the assembled patrons. "And you know what? Good deal. Because this lady, using the broadest definition of the world, is telling the truth." He swallowed, as if the words themselves had caused him pain. "She's a druid, she's probably done a fair bit of healing, and you should let the matter drop now."

Yinny had no idea what was going on. Was the high elf praising the night elf, or not? Was he aiding the teenage girl whose arm was still held by the footman's, or was he egging things on? The elves were inscrutable at the best of times, and it seemed this one was no different.

"Had a war," the high elf continued in a whisper. "Quel'Thalas, gone. Dalaran, gone. Stromgarde…Light, it was a backwater anyway, now it's gone as well."

"Fuck off, donkey ears," one of the footmen said.

"Gentlemen, enough," slurred the Stormwindian, getting to his feet as well. "There's clearly been a misunderstanding here and-"

"Yes, there is!" Jack yelled. "This is my pub, my business, Yinny here's a whore's daughter and she's going to do her job just like her mother, or tomorrow, she'll find herself without bed and board."

"Jack!" Exclaimed Bertha. She put a hand over Yinny's shoulder. "Yinny's lived here all her life. You can't just throw her out."

"I can, and I may, and there's nothing you or the bastard can do to stop me."

Yinny gripped her dagger with her right hand, even as the soldier clutched her left arm. Held the blade tight, as if it were a rope preventing her from drowning.

Some of the footmen approached the high elf. "Always knew you had your trees up your arses," one of them said.

"Fight a war, bug out."

"You a mage?" Asked another. "Here to do little magic tricks?"

"Bring demons upon us? Still haven't forgotten that green sky."

The high elf forced a smile. "I have performed my share to give myself coin. Simple tricks for simple minds."

A footman clenched his right fist. Yinny saw the high elf grip his staff.

The night elf, Cerise, was still playing at peacemaker. "Everyone, I beseech you, don't-"

"Fight's coming," grunted the dwarf.

"Oh, really?" Asked the gnome.

"…but I don't think that-"

"Come on, you."

The soldier who held Yinny's arm tried to lead her to the stairs that led upwards. Giving into instinct, Yinny screamed, drew the dagger, and slashed, cutting the man's cheek.

Blood-stained iron and wood alike.

The man staggered backwards, putting a palm to his cheek. As if unable to comprehend what had happened.

For a moment, then no-one could.

Then, screaming, he charged at Yinny, and all hell broke loose.

Punches, kicks, and cries. The Stromic footmen attacking those around them, and the adventurers/mercs/merchants fighting back.

The night elf, not even wielding her sword, quickly dispatched any that came her way, incapacitating those around her with agile blows.

The high elf cast a fireball at a charging soldier. Causing him to scream as his tabard caught on fire, before be brought his staff upwards, knocking him down.

The dwarf, moving with a speed that belied his size, charged forward. Knocking over two men with his hammer, only for the gnome to get out a club out of his rucksack, and bonk both men over their foreheads.

All this, Yinny saw through one eye. The other was on the footman who charged her. Pinned her. Started tearing off her dress and-

"Get off!"

She kicked him back. He got to his feet. Uttered something that would make his mother cry. Something that almost caused Yinny to as well.

Her mother. Her father. The matter of her birth. She drew out her dagger. Smirking, he tapped the dirk at his belt.

He stepped forward. He-

"Excuse me?"

… looked at the Stormwindian. The Stormwindian punched the Stromic's jaw with such force that Yinny heard bones break.

"You alright?" The Stormwindian asked Yinny, as the Stromic fell down, clutching his jaw.

She nodded, trembling.

"Good." He winked, and tackled another soldier.

Yinny got to her feet quickly. A soldier drew his blade on the night elf. To Yinny's shock, her hands glowed green, and vines shot burst through the floor, wrapping around him. Tightening so hard that he dropped his blade. Its clang heard even above his curses.

Another footman tried to strike the high elf, but his blade bounced off what Yinny could only describe as ice armour. The sword struck against the shimmering white-blue light, causing flecks of ice to burst into the air. In a way, it was beautiful, and the soldier was caught off-guard, in shock…until the dwarf used his hammer to break one of the soldier's kneecaps.

"Stop this!" Jack yelled. "Stop it!"

Bertha wasn't helping him. She was instead cheering.

"Thoradin's blood, stop it!" Jack wailed, as the Stormwindian smashed a chair against a footman. "Stop it! Please!"

For one, very brief moment, Yinny felt sorry for Old Jack. But only until he looked at her and began ranting, coming out at her from around the counter. Bearing a bread knife that looked much sharper than it usually did.

"You little bitch! When this is over, you're going to-"

Yinny kicked a chair over towards him, causing Jack to fall down, cursing. Right in sync with the last Stromic soldier, knocked out by the gnome's club.

Silence lingered in the tavern. Silence broken only by the sound of the rain, groans, and the voice of a gnome, who walked over to Yinny.

"Don't let them make you feel small," he said.

She sniffed, and looked down at him. At the gnome's big white beard, and wide brown eyes, above which were a pair of goggles.

"Widge Whistlevale," he said, "and just remember – you're worth ten of them."

"Like…hell…"

Jack was still conscious. Jack, who was leaning against the counter, his eyes wide, his face red. Jack, who was looking at them all, holding the bread knife with a trembling hand.

"You're going to pay for this," he said. "Every last one of you."

"No, we're not."

Yinny looked at the Stormwindian. who stepped forward.

"And do you know why?" He asked. "Because we're the biggest, baddest sons of bitches this side of the Great Sea."

"We're what?" Whispered the dwarf.

"And if you don't want to end up on your rump and never get up again, you're going to let us walk out that door, and forget this ever happened. Or this guy (he gestured to the high elf) will light you aflame, so this girl (he gestured to the night elf) will do her branches thing and make them burn, so you're burning twice over, and, well, um…"

"Burning?" Bertha asked.

"That's it. Burning. Burning a lot. The type of burning that witches used to get."

It occurred to Yinny that the Stormwindian was still drunk, was making this up as he went along, and that if Jack (and more importantly, the footmen) didn't buy it, they were potentially liable to a fate much worse than being burnt.

She didn't feel good, standing by as threats were made against Stromic soldiers. But then, they'd initiated the fight. Well, technically, she had when she'd used her dagger, but then, one of them had tried to bed her. One of them, who was still lying on the ground, cradling his jaw.

She glanced at the others. The dwarf, the gnome, both elves. None of them seemed keen on the Stormwindian's apparent claim. But to get out of having to pay for any of the damage they caused…

"Alright," Jack whispered. "No words, no sunken ships." He glared at Yinny, to the Stormwindian, to each of them. "But you leave tonight. All of you."

Yinny bit her lip. Jack, for all his faults (and they were legion), had been as close to a father as she'd ever had, but now, it was clear that such sentiment wasn't returned. The way he looked at her – no father would be so eager to have their daughter head off into the world.

She went up to her lodgings. The one she'd shared with her mother, and these days, with Bertha. There was a pillow, a mattress, tattered sheets, and little else. There'd been a bed here once, when her mother had been forced to sell herself so they could eat, and she'd had to sleep outside – sometimes outside the room, sometimes outside the inn itself. But Jack had sold the bed after her mother had died, since he knew that Yinny wouldn't be serving any man (or woman) for a long time, if ever.

But it had been her home, such as it was. And part of her was loath to leave it.

But she didn't have a choice. Biting her lip, she gathered everything she owned in less than a minute – shortbow, quiver, arrows, what little coin she possessed, and her pride and joy, a suit of leather armour. Salvaged from one of Mortheran's dumps, and refurnished over a year. Made in case war ever came to Mortheran, rather than the notion of her setting out into the world.

She dumped the dress, fit a tunic, and the leather above it. It was hard. Stiff. But it would do its job. Had she a mirror, she could have admired herself, but here, now…

She wasn't a woman. But she was free, at least.

She headed back down the stairs. The Stromic soldiers were sullenly letting the night elf and dwarf treat their injuries – green light extended from the night elf's hands, golden light from the dwarf's. Druidism and the Light working together. Someone with fancy parchment might have called that a metaphor.

"You still here?" Jack snarled, as she walked into the room.

She glared at him, a retort dying on her tongue. She'd never see Jack again. Nor did she have desire to.

"This is wrong," Bertha whispered.

Yinny looked at her would-be aunt. "Will you be okay?"

"Me? Oh yes luv, of course I will. I've had my life, and if this is where it ends, well, there's worse places to end up than the Black Ram."

"But without you, I'll be in those worse places."

"Oh, luv." She hugged Yinny – tighter than her mother ever had. "You go out there, girl. If there's fortune in this bloody world of ours, it best be in your hands."

The embrace was broken. Yinny managed not to cry, even as tears streamed down Bertha's cheeks.

"How touching," sneered Jack, as the Stromic soldiers glared alongside him. "I might actually miss you."

Yinny doubted that.

"Oh wait, I won't." His glare deepened. "Now piss off."

In silence, the group headed out of the tavern. Crossing the threshold from light into darkness. Out into the rain, which had picked up. Yinny shivered, wishing she could have afforded a cloak.

"I know a place outside town," the Stormwindian said. "A nice barn."

"A barn?" Asked the high elf.

The man grinned. "Owner didn't see me there last week. We spend the night, then start heading south. Take whatever job is given to us."

"Of course," said the dwarf. "How noble of you."

"You want to break up, now's your chance," said the man. "Cerise, Maith'hal, Jarlath, Widge…you want to head elsewhere, best you turn round now."

"Who?" Yinny asked.

"We took names. And the offer still stands. Your undead smiting (he looked at the dwarf), your magic stuff (he looked at the elves), your gidgets…"

"Gadgets," said the gnome.

"Whatever. Point is, now's your chance to bugger off."

There was no answer. Shivering in the gloom, Yinny could see the two elves glare at each other. She could see the gnome struggling under the weight of his rucksack, while the dwarf stood by. And she could see the man smile at her, before extending his hand.

"Botrek Pahno," he said. "Designated leader."

"For now," murmured the night elf.

Yinny looked at her. "Didn't you say you were here to heal these lands?"

"I was, dear child. But I think people need healing as well."

It struck Yinny as an evasion. But thinking of her sixteen years, thinking of the demons Botrek had referenced, of the clear contempt between the two elves, Yinny wondered if the elf had a point.

So off they walked into the rain. But not before Yinny looked at the gnome. Still struggling with his rucksack.

"Can I help you with that?" She asked.

The gnome, surprised, nevertheless let Yinny take the rucksack off his shoulders.

"You sure about that?" He asked.

Yinny laughed as the rain poured down. Cleansing her of the grime of the Black Ram. Of dirt and shame alike.

"Positive," she said, as she smiled. A smile that the gnome returned, as they walked into the gloom.

The weight on her back was heavy.

But the weight in her chest was gone.

A/N

This was a bit of a warshed chapter for me in the story. This story ended up roughly doubling in length from conception to the point of finishing writing it, as I tried to give the characters more depth. I ended up writing this to flesh out an actual meeting for them, then rewriting previous chapters to foreshadow it.