A loud, shrilling screech abruptly breaks the silence and their trains of thought, first Barth scrambling to the edge of the ship and then Hicks quickly retrieving his crossbow for an immediate surveillance of the area. Shortly after the first screech, another but louder howl cries from above the large blimp keeping the ship aloft, the cause of the shrillness blocked by it's mass. Both Deathguards have fallen onto the one knee at the edge of the zeppelin, their crossbows ready and steadied against the frame.
Not only a few seconds of tense silence pass until a rather large, adult proto-drake flies away from above the balloon, not even taking a second glance back at the steadily leaving aircraft. Hicks takes aim with his projectile, Barth notices this and quickly lifts off his knee to shout at his partner, "Hicks, stand down! The beast obviously has no quarrel with us, let's not provoke trouble where it isn't needed."
Deathguard Hicks scowls and lowers his scope, standing back to his feet as well. "Shadow damn it, I was hoping for something to fight, for once."
Barth finds a glob of ichor in his jaw and spits it off the side of the ship, "Yes, yes I know, but we're not provoking dragons. I don't even know why one of the blue drakes are out this far, they're usually out in the mountains."
"Who knows, one of these days I want to hunt one. I hear they can taste good over a fire," Hicks resumes his regular statue stance, watching the glistening blue creature vanish around the plateaus.
Meanwhile, on top of the very thick balloon lays a heavily armored worgen, clinging onto the fashionable and convenient spike, preparing to steel his arms for an entire hour of harsh winds. He grins a toothy, malicious smirk, "Time to make some Deader stew."
Two Dreadguards stomp through the sewage of the Undercity, making way to back opening of the sewers.
"What the hell is going on, Brenard, there have been reports of an attack and we haven't found any Alliance, only the bodies of our own."
Brenard does not even attempt to peer over at his colleague, Trenor, and continues staring forward with his lidless sockets. "Possibly the work of an assassin, all our investigators could find was droplets of blood among the bodies, the Apothecaries are testing it as we speak. But at the moment it is probably safe to assume a filthy Worgen is involved, many of the responding guards had claw marks dug through their armor."
"And what the hell is with the Mage Quarter, we have apprentices and mentors alike with their heads completely removed from their shoulders! Not heads have been reported." Trenor suddenly stops, gazing out at the mouth of the sewers.
"I don't know, now do I, Trenor? Let us just continue our patrol and see if we can discover any more.. why have you stopped, Trenor?"
Trenor gazes at what is blocking the opening in cold fury. Standing seven feet tall, impaled in the cold earth of Tirisfal just beyond the cement, is a thin spear with a Gilnean flag waving from the dead winds. Two more bodies lay at the spear, two robed forsaken with their heads not present, and scribbled onto the flag with green, claw written words: "Gilneas will rise again."
"... Trenor, I smell our bretheren. What is that you see in front of us."
Trenor clenches his jaw, and whips around back into the sewers, "Get to the Apothecarium, I have to report back to the Dark Lady."