#queved

***

Not even half an hour before, Samantha was cointing the gold coins in her purse one-handed, doing her best to ignore the cacophony of the spectators and investors as another bout was over in the Brawler’s Guild. It was not even midday yet, the morning hours perfect to winnow out the ‘fresh meat’, to get a better grasp which new fighters had any potential or were doomed to obscurity or laughing stock.

Sam was lucky to be here in the first place, a member took notice of her the previous night in the inn she was staying at after she broke the jaw of a fellow too free with his hands. He was so impressed that she received the invitation right after, allowing her entrance if she wished so. It was one of the easiest choices recently, she needed the money.

After the fall of Gilneas, she was just one of the refugees along with her mother, her status as a minor noble gone for good. The night elves offering shelter were nice people, but while it was enough for her mother, Sam wanted revenge. She even had the perfect means: the curse of the worgen. Combined with her prior training, she hoped the boost of her worgen form would be sufficient to join the army, facing the Forsaken would be only a matter of time after that.

Taking what coin she could bring without inconveniencing her mother, Samantha took a ship to Stormwind to submit her application at the nearest recruiter, but didn’t expect the process would take so long and she was running low. The Brawler’s Guild was the perfect opportunity for swift gains.

Sam’s opponent was a big man, but he was quick for his size as she soon found out as his plated knuckles sent her head reeling, the edge of the metal  leaving a nasty cut barely missing the corner of her right eye. The terrible start ignited her rage like adding fuel to the fire and she transformed.

The match was a close call and it left her battered, but she won. She won and raked in more coins than she could hope for. It turned out her opponent was a regular, and drawing him as an opponent was the nightmare of newcomers. hence her obviously terrible odds. After she made sure not a single piece of gold was missing, Sam sat to watch the other fighters, it took time for her non-dominant hand to turn her scarf into a sling without help, the investors were not too happy so she wisely didn’t ask any of them for aid.

Some regulars were starting to pop up as well, and that’s when she spotted him. His beard was longer, his hair a mess and he sported a scar running from just above his lips to his chin, but there was no doubt in her mind: the man stepping into the arena was none other than Gerrard Kingsley, another minor noble from Gilneas and her friend. “Bastion, huh? So he even has a nickname...” Sam muttered and -led by the sudden impulse- she bet some of her winnings on his victory. His odds were a lot better, so her gains would be less, but the Gerrard she knew would win. He didn’t disappoint her.

It was pretty much a one-sided pummeling, Gerrard didn’t even take on his worgen form no matter how his opponent taunted him. A pity. She really wanted to see how other worgen fought and maybe even learn a trick or two. Oh well, there’s always next time.

What Sam didn’t expect was when Gerrard walked past, she only received a cold glance in reply to her greeting, not even a word or a gesture. He just left, plain and simple, leaving a fuming Samantha behind.

***

“To ignore me like that, what a rude bastard! He should have returned the greeting at the very least!” Sam hissed, earning a confused look from the waitress. “Sorry, please ignore my outburst.” She apologised before adding “Men.” as if that word explained everything. Given the lady’s sympathetic smile and her nod, it did. That, or she simply took pity on Sam’s sorry state.

At least noone bothered her yet with questions she was unwilling to answer. A fresh wave of pain from her right ankle prompted the worgen to start on one of the kegs before glancing down at the offending limb. “Bahh, I knew it was a mistake to pull off the boot, no way I can put it back on. Now I’ll have to hop, damn it...” She muttered as she carefully ran the fingers of her good arm over the bare skin of her swollen foot.

She was too caught up in her plight that she took no notice of the hooded man entering the inn, until he was suddenly standing over her. “Who’re you and what do you want?” Samantha asked unkindly, still holding onto the small hope the guy would leave her alone, she was in no  state to fight.

“Hello, Samantha.” The man greeted, pulling down the hood and got rid of his wet coat. It was Gerrad.

“You! To think you had the nerve-”

“Stop making a scene Sam, and listen well.”

His eyes blazed like molten gold, but it was his tone that made her back off. There was a hardness, a ruthlessness to it that she never heard before.

“Alright, say what you want then fuck off.” Samantha was annoyed at her defeated reply, only the cursing made her feel slightly better.

“Haahh... Seriously, you’re always either serene or furious. You really need to find that balance, you know.” Gerrard sighed, the edge gone from his voice. His was like his old self she knew well. “You managed to surprise them today, but you need to seriously consider your strategy if you insist on going back.” He added, lowering his voice to a whisper.

“I won, and that’s what matters.” Samantha huffed a sulky reply. “Why did you ignore me then, since it’s obvious you recognised me.”

“Look, there is a reason I already count as a regular. I spend most of my days there and do nothing but fight. The money is decent if you win, but those are deep waters you don’t want to dive into recklessly. I did, and have to live with the consequences. What happens down there stays there, but the investors have excellent memory and connections.” The male worgen paused letting his words sink in. “You get it now, don’t you?”

Samantha exhaled slowly, massaging her temple. “Yeah... I think I do. Good thing I don’t plan of showing up too often, but needed the coin.”

“That’s for the best.” Gerrard replied and reached after his keg, nodding his thanks to the waitress. “And what are your plans?”

“I already submitted my application to the army, but it’s been over a week and still no reply, and the rent of the room isn’t cheap. You’d think they need more soldiers now than ever.”

“The idea is good, you’ll receive the necessary basic training and the pay is decent. If you also work on your control over those feral instincts and your rage, you’ll be quite effective.”

“Hah, you surprise me. Most men would try to discourage me, yet you’re giving me pointers.” Sam snorted in reply.

“I think everyone has their right to get revenge, so why would I discourage you from that? Just make sure those damn forsaken receive the pointy end of your sword, and you avoid theirs.”

Samantha couldn’t reply for several seconds. “... Is it that obvious?”

“I know that fire in your eyes. I see it everytime I look into a mirror, the flames of vengeance burn bright. I chose the path of a mercenary instead less restrictions there, but I’ll make sure those bastards whill pay.” Gerrard responded with a sad smile. “While we are at that, show me that cut. It looked like it barely missed your eye. You had me worried there.”

“I’m fine.” Sam spoke the words automatically, but knew she fooled noone if her arm and ankle were any indication. “Alright, alright...” She finally pulled her hair away from her right cheek with a wince, revealing a long, anrgy red scratch right at the corner of an impressive shiner. She could still open the eye almost halfway despite the swelling if she wanted to, but it would take too much effort and pain so she simply kept it shut. “See? Nothing I can’t handle.”

“What I see now is that we will go and get you to a healer once we’re out of drinks. It’s probably already too late for that, but a priest is still your best bet if you want to avoid scarring.”

“Who cares about a scar or two. I will have more while in the army anyway.”

“That’s true, but they might think twice about letting you join if they see you in your current state.”

“Damn it, you didn’t lose your silver tongue, Gerrard.” Sam sighed once more. “Alright, consider me convinced... though I will need your shoulder to lean on while hopping. Damn sure I won’t put any weight on that foot.”

“I can give you a piggyback ride if your arm can suffer it, or there’s always the princess-bride as a last resort.”

“Youuu...” Oh, how she wanted to wipe that satisfied smirk off his face. “I’m tempted to take my chances on my own.” Sam rolled her eye before adding “Carrying me on your back will suffice, I don’t think my dignity would survive the bridal style.”

Gerrard just chuckled and nodded. He lifted his keg and knocked it against the one in Samantha’s hand. “For our revenge on the forsaken.”