1 pointNothing happens as she sits and watches until even the smoke from the burnt-out torch no longer rises. Nothing happens quickly, at least, and Bronwen has a lot of ground to cover so she ultimately decides that she shouldn’t be wasting time on this. She had expected maybe someone coming quickly when a regular patrol was delayed, but they don’t come before she begins to get impatient. Perhaps Command was more than correct in assuming much of the bulk of their excess soldiers were on Kalimdor and there was less than imagined to spare on something so mundane on forest patrol. That thought made her uneasy, and in accepting that it might be a great while before someone was to appear and check on the dead, she moves on. This time she plans on going to back west and towards the northern wall of Brill, but not until after she sets up a lure. Eventually, late night into early morning, two guards do march down the road with their best attempts at scowls on their faces to search for a stalker that may or may not have taken a break on his route for who knows what reason tonight. Neither of them carry torches themselves, just so they wouldn't ruin their chance to be able to sneak up on the lazy or distracted guard. The one with daggers at his sides watches the road, while the one holding a bow in her hand peers through the trees. Even if she’s *not* watching the road, she spies the corpse laying in the middle of the way and stops the man beside her by swinging her bow in front of him. He's annoyed at first, until he looks ahead and realizes what she sees. His hand moves to his daggers, and her bow is flicked up to smack him in the jaw before being nocked. The woman turns her head to tell the man to dash to town and alert the guards there of their findings, but when she turns her head she can see a small fire smoldering within the trees in perfect view of the road. Her words stop short as her eyes narrow, and instead she signals to her fellow. It’s punctuated with a smack to the back of the head, but that is the only sound that’s made between here and creeping upon the small burning pile. No one is there, neither are there footsteps leading to or away from it. No evidence of anyone being around is here, aside from the very deliberate creation of the tiniest bonfire. The woman peers through the woods through hiding, even if she’s sure the two are safe, makes a breathless snorting sound upon seeing another small blaze ahead. “What?” “Another one.” She points out towards the west. “Signals.” “Are you sure?” “Do you want to keep your head?” He doesn’t answer. She’s about to continue when she sees yet another two flare up in the distance, many meters apart, like they were each just lit. The archer grabs onto the stalker’s head and turns it so he can see them too. “Let’s go rally the boys and stomp out some pests,” she says, and tugs on the collar of his armor to quickly drag him back towards town.
1 pointEarly on the third day the agent makes good time reaching the Ruins of Lordaeron, if one could call sneaking past a choke point filled with undead troops in any form 'quick'. Crossing to Fenris Isle, then crossing again to the mainland shore would be much too conspicuous to even the least vigilant peering eyes, so Bronwen pays off a band of rebellious worgen with a good chunk of her supplies to create some trouble on the other side of the road closer to the water to draw the guards' attention. Even if one or a few are ordered to keep watch, the nearby commotion helps her pass through the shadows, and the skirmishers are more than happy to help out, both for the reason to charge in and create trouble and for the small reserve of first aid supplies, dried meat and fruit she leaves with their camp. "At least someone appreciates it," she thinks, but not until she's safely past the redoubt and allows herself the chance to roll her eyes. The relatively clear but still sickly-looking skies of Silverpine become even more clouded and gloomy with every step of the human's creeping advance. It is the same as she expects. Same as it always was, but it makes her frown a little bit more, this time. The dead winds are a little more fetid and the howls of blighted hounds more ominous to her, and that's even without the haze of knowing nothing more than Astranaar has been attacked, at this point. Attacked again, more appropriately. There are elves all over the forest there hiding in the trees, she believes. If the fantastical stories about them are to be believed there is one kaldorei for each tree and they each can fell an orc between the boughs before a human eye can even see them, but that particular conversation has never come up between her and a night elf. She tries to think nothing of it, as she has her own tasks before her. The first of which is to find a tree to climb for watch, reporting, and somewhat of a nap while she can manage such a thing. There is one in particular she likes to choose while here that's fairly close to the sewers, but far enough that even the patrols with the widest avenues don't reach. It's tall with plenty of foliage and broad offshoots and it works perfectly as watching the giant disgusting divide in the side of the hills is one great note to check off of the list of things she has to scout. Her eyes stay on it and the sporadic bat-traffic that comes and goes, but her mind wanders just enough so she doesn't zone entirely out. She thinks about how she wants to go peek inside, despite orders stating not to do that very thing. She knows better, and she'd not come out until she'd wasted all her time harassing poor merchants and throwing dust into bats' faces as they passed through the arches up high to throw their riders to the ground. At least she'd do that if she wasn't bored and daring enough to throw it into the faces of the mages maintaining the city's portals and interrupt their focus enough to break the connection to the others for a few moments. She wonders if she should have first run off to Kalimdor to get her nightsaber from Darnassus, as she's planned to bring her home and put off for a couple weeks now, instead of reporting to Command for orders that ultimately brought her here. There are plenty of other things she thinks on, particularly the more comfortable things that have been left behind for who knows how long. While watching the great lack of activity happening around the sewers for a good while, Bronwen uses a runestone to recount her actions and observations in both Silverpine and Tirisfal up until this point. It amounts to very little, but little change this far gives her more focus for what's to come next. When the day is yet young, she shifts her cloak to wrap it around herself a little better, both for hiding from sight within the shadows of the branches and for a strangely comforting warmth. On the fourth day, after activity doesn't pick up, Bronwen makes her way uneventfully to the Bulwark, and gives her report on it and the barren entrance to the ruined city. Late on the fifth day, she turns back and makes her way towards Brill again, scooping fine sandy dirt into a pouch or two to stash in a leg pocket near her potions and antidotes. Upon fitting it inside and loosening the strings just enough to be able to reach into it when she needed it, she spies a lone patrolman walking down the road in her direction with a sword strapped across his back, a torch in his hand, and the Icon of Torment on his chest. She crouches in the bushes with a blade drawn and waits for him to pass, and in a quick flurry from behind a clean dagger is sent up through his throat and into his head with precision. She only looks down the road and back towards the other direction with little mind paid to his gurgling and lurching, since she expects and accounts for it in her own bracing movements. She hardly even looks at his face when she pulls her blade free once he falls still and inspects him just enough to be sure that he is in fact entirely dead, now. The body is left unpilfered in the middle of the road, and the torch left to burn itself out. Bronwen finds another tree to climb into a great distance away from the scene so she can watch what comes next, and plan accordingly.