The Watcher in the Keep (Open on Request)

She hated this walk. It was one she'd done many times, through the winding streets of Old Town, past the bubbling fountain, and ending at the steps towards the trio of buildings that together formed Alliance High Command. A few years ago, she would've been excited to return, proof of contract's completion in hand, ready for another. She might have even enjoyed how heads turned at the sight of her armor; a midnight blue set with golden and bone designs. The armor she'd been last seen in. Now, though, she wanted to be just another rogue in the crowd and frowned at the attention. At the steps of Command, her stride faltered.

I wonder if anyone remembers.

"If you've no business here, move on," called a nearby guardsman, who quickly gave a placating gesture when met with her scowl. "It's procedure, ma'am. Can't have too many lollygaggin' around this place."

"I'm not," she replied shortly. "I gotta meetin'. With Osborne."

"Ahh, say no more. Follow me, please." After giving a cordial bow, the guard passed from the white stone landing to the left, past the training dummies and towards the tall, plain, SI:7 building. "You're right on time, it seems he's waiting for you. Inside and to your left, ma'am."

M muttered a thanks as she passed. Inside, the building looked, as always, lacking for a rogue's organization, although she knew that was entirely the point. Plain, unpainted walls, bland furniture, and sparse paintings; no one could discern any secrets from these, no matter how hard they stared. Such plain surroundings also focused one's attention on whoever was speaking, and made it even easier to pick up on subtle movements and changes. Not that she was concerned with hiding anything, in fact it was the complete opposite; to stop hiding, that was her concern.

Gloved fingers unlaced the back of her mask, letting it slide down to hang around her neck. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and scowled at the idea. It had been months since she'd been without a mask, and none of those times had been around people she'd trusted any less than absolutely. Yet, circumstances called for honesty, and honesty came with this as a price. 

"By the Light," a voice exclaimed, coming from her left. She glanced over and spotted the speaker, a human, leaning back in a chair with a few papers stacked on his lap. "I've had your name on my planner for two days now and I didn't believe it until now. I must say, I'm impressed. When rogues play dead, usually we know when it's fake. You had us fooled."

It's not fooling anyone if you actually died.

"Good," she grunted out, settling into the chair opposite him. "I went through too much work t'have it debunked in a day. I'm still dead to a lotta people, too."

His smile doesn't seem entirely false as he nods. "You don't have to worry with me, or us, as I'm sure you know. Now," he leaned forward, sliding a small leaflet across the table. "I believe you came here for work."

-

It was an easy thing to do, falling back into her old ways. Hashing out terms of a contract was nothing new, although it was odd to have little value for the contract or it's price this time. A handful of ogres had stumbled upon an agent's camp while they were away, wrecked the place, and made off with a crate of undisclosed valuables. It was a rather cut and dry mission - return the crate, collect the gold - and she knew it would be no true challenge. Still, she gave it a visible thinking over before accepting. It wouldn't do to raise suspicions. 

"Glad tha's settled, then," she said finally, rising from the chair after nearly half an hour of discussions. "Shouldn' take more'n a day or two t'track th'fucks down an' come back. Leave th'crate at th'usual spot, yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoed, also rising. "Hills out back, by the far tent, as always. We'll take it from there and your gold should be in the mail a few minutes after."

"Good." She started for the door, mask already halfway set into place. "Talk t'you soon, Osborne."

"Oh and -" He started and she halted at the door. "...pleasure doing business with you again, Mottie Gearlock."

Slimy bunch of filthy rats.

She'd never had much patience for, as she called it, human bullshitting, and laid out before her was yet another prime example of it. Alliance High Command, the home of SI:7 and the central location from which the entirety of the Alliance Armed Forces was led, was little better than a bunch of school age children gifted with a bit too much power. It was frustrating, no, infuriating, and as she stalked its hallways, she realized it was dangerous. 

They have it out for him.

M had learned years ago that to be in a leadership position meant accepting the bullseye mark and wearing it proudly on your back, but she hated it still. It was one thing to know that some worthless rabble, or maybe even an undead, soul eating demon, had it out for the Commander, but to hear it from a supposedly 'good' and 'righteous' organization, one that had power to destroy entire armies, was another. 

Humans. Too young and they have too much power. 

But that was beside the point. She wasn't through with this investigation, not entirely, but warnings had to be sent no matter what. With Command involved, she held little trust in the postal system within Stormwind or its surroundings. There was one other option, though, and M hoped that option would be within hearing range as she stood atop the ruined barracks and blew a whistle.

--

The hippogryph arrived with the grace of an angry tornado at the Keep, full of impatience and a great deal of self importance. Birdhorse, or so the embossing on her saddle read, pointedly ignored, and even rudely preened at, any and all passing gryphons and keept herself planted near the front of the Keep until a fed up Wildhammer noticed a scroll tied to her saddle that bore a poorly hand drawn version of the Servitors seal. Putting two and two together, that letter would have been left for Etharion to read.

-Commandr

There are some in High Comand who don't like us, you especially. My guy says people worry about Servitor commandrs becaus of political bullshit. Under old commandrs, high ranking people got arrested, called out on shit. Some people in Command dont like that. I heard word that peopl are talking about bringing us back as a spec ops group. Others dont like that. You were supposed to dismantle Servitors. Not bring it back. 

In my honest opinion, it's a lot of human petty bullshit and it's really stupids. Babies shouldnt be in a place like High Command. Oh well.

Moving on.

Do you know these people:

First is a male human. Goes by Wilson. Cover job (?) is a clerk in Command. Works in Intel, too. Blends in well. Too well, honestly. He's a rogue, I swear it. I get that feeling from him. Can't trail him. I know he'll know.

Second is female human and shes a bitch. I don't like her. Pale, white hair in spikes, scar that twists mouth. Wears chainmail and furs. Not from Stormwind, I think. From somewhere north. Remnants of Ravenholdt? Northrend? Not sure. I didn't see where she went, either. Followed him instead. 

They are working together in something. Trying something. To make us look bad? You look bad? Not sure. It's fishy. Tried to lure you into something by shoving hot people at you I think? Didn't work. (Good job on that.) So now they are using revenge. Bloodeye, I think. My guess is it was supposd to be a trap. 

I'll let you know if I know more.

High Command is stupids.

-M.

The second letter arrives only a few days after the first, yet reads much more urgently. Her handwriting reflects her haste; it's large, messy, and it appears she's writing in all capital letters for added impact. 

-

SIR

URGENT. NEWS. I WIL TRY TO TRAK YOU DOWN TODAY. DON'T WANT TO WRITE. NOT TRYING TO TELL YOU HOW TO DO YOUR JOB BUT MAKE EXTRA SUR OUR GREEN PAL HAS FRIENDS AROUND HIM. ARMED FRIENDS. VERY ARMED FRIENDS.

IT'S NOT GOOD.

-M.