In a small bar called The Shady Lady outside of the Dwarven District in Stormwind a few folks sat at the counter talking amongst themselves.
The barkeep yawned as he washed the already clean counter once more trying to look busy. A few dwarves walked up to the entrance then looked in, they threw their stout hands up into the air then laughed. “ That is no bar!” One of the dwarves yelled, then laughed walking away with the others.
A groan emanated from the counter, and the barkeep rolled his eyes still trying hard to look busy.
At a small table in the corner the druidess Nymaway sat, a smile spread across her porcelain face, as she watched the loud dwarves walk by. It made her think of her dwarven friends in Clan Battlehammer, but then she frowned thinking about the bloody battle that her pack and her dwarven allies faced in IronForge the Friday before. The battle was long, and there was some losses, and a small victory at the end, but it didn't go how most on the alliance would have wanted it to.
Her thoughts soon swept away as a man already drunk stumbled into the bar, the seats at the counter were already taken, so he drunkenly scanned the room and spotted the only table available, which was the one in the corner.
A soft sigh escapes her crimson lips as she traces the rim of her mug with her finger tips, hoping the man would not come to her table, but she was not so lucky.
He stumbled over to the corner table and looked the druidess up and down, one eye sort of squinted and the other wide, as if he was trying to adjust his vision. The man wore a plaid shirt, and what appeared to be very dirty overalls, his dusty blonde hair was a mess, and the smell made Nymaway want to run for the hills.
“ Mmm...May I sss....sit down?” The man managed to say with a sheepish grin on his face. Nymaway cringed slightly, but composed herself. “ If you must.” She gestures to the seat trying to be polite despite her feelings against it.
The man goes to sit down, he almost misses the chair, but he grabs onto the table jolting it, making some of the mead in Nymaway's mug spill, he finally stabilizes himself then stares at her mug, and then to her. “ Are, are, ARE you gonna drink THAT?” he says pointing at her drink.
“ I was going to drink it, but I have lost my thirst, please be my guest.” She pushes the mug towards the man, he grabs it and begins to drink it, with each gulp some of the mead dribbles down his chin. He finishes the drink then slams the mug down on the table letting out a rather loud belch.
A few of the folks sitting at the counter turn to look at Nymaway, she ignores the stares, and stays focused on the drunk before her.
“ You know what I hate?” The man says as he wobbles in his chair. “ I HATE those NO good flea bitten WORGEN!”
The room begins to fill with tension, but the man is clueless of those around them, he continues to talk “My WIFE left ME, for one of them DOGS!” He reaches for a flask he kept in the front pocket of his overalls, takes the cap off and takes a hefty swig of the drink. He closes flask places it back, then brings his dirty hands up to his face, and begins to sob uncontrollably.
Nymaway looks to those at the counter, she shakes her head, and they all seem to grumble then turn around talking amongst themselves once more. She looks at the blubbering man before her, and realizes she rather be dealing with a troll or an orc, then this mess.
“ WHY did SHE LEAVE me?!” The man cries then tries to wipe his tears, and snot away with his sleeve.
Nymaway cringes again, then passes him a small red cloth that had her pack's symbol embroidered to it. “ Here use this instead of your shirt.” The man takes it quickly, and doesn't look at it, her just starts blowing his nose into it then tries to hand it back to her. She shakes her head. “ No you can keep it.”
He continues to babble away about his wife, but Nymaway's eyes grow wide, she doesn't hear him any more. Greavell's voice enters her thoughts. “ Brothers, and sisters, hear me.” A faint vision of Gilneas appears, and two rows of undead lined up in front of the Cathedral.
The drunken man stops talking as he notices Nymaway's face, and then glances around the small bar. Everyone had the same expression, and everyone was quiet. “What, what is wrong with you people?”
Still silence, the man doesn't know what to do, he takes out his flask once more and starts to open it. As he goes to bring the flask to his lips the table he was sitting at gets flipped up into the air, and he gets knocked back onto the floor as Nymaway shifts into her worgen form letting out a loud howl.
Those at the counter begin to shift as well looking at Nymaway growling. She drops down to all fours then jumps over the drunken man, and leaves the bar with the other worgen following after her.
In shock the man holds up the cloth that Nymaway had given him and sees The Päck's colors, and embroidered symbol. He looks up at the barkeep, and then back to the cloth, he lets out a cry of anger.
Faint howls can be heard in the distance, as others hear the call.
The barkeep just smiles, and begins to wipe up the spilled ales off the counter.
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