Zenobya Amberblaze

Haunted by the Past

“Hildegar...”

Zenobya woke with a start in a full sweat, reaching for her closest runeblade. Her eyes darted around the tent, the droplets turning to ice crystals as she regained her bearings and began to calm herself.

That's right, I'm in Olathia's camp.

She slowly rolled to her feet from her bedroll, wiping the ice from her forehead with her free hand. That was a name she hadn't heard in quite some time, one that brought nightmares of her former self.

I don't have time for this.

She compartmentalized the panic and quickly donned her black fur cloak - a gift she wore more for silencing the sound of her plate mail and blending into the darkness than for warmth, grabbed her other sword, and slipped silently from her tent. She crept over to the Captain's tent and crouched just outside the opening, listening to the sounds of steady breathing and a light snore.

Good, Wayland is with her.

She stood outside on high alert, reflecting on that single word for the next few hours; the low raspy voice, the thick Zulian accent. One of the night guard walked past a few times, casting her curious glances, but saying nothing as she nodded and he continued on his patrol. There were plenty of Light users here to completely obliterate one of her kind, but they regarded her with unusual respect as one of the Undead.

So the missing has shown his face.

She would have to forward this information to the Raven Guard as soon as she could slip away from her self-imposed bodyguard status.

As the first rays of dawn streaked across the sky, Zeno made her way back to her own tent to don her armor and prepare for the day. She had returned to her post outside the Captain's makeshift quarters before Olathia drew the door of the tent aside with a yawn and regarded her Left Hand with a startled expression.

Do you ever sleep? the paladin signed while rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“I'll sleep when I'm dead,” Zeno replied, quickly adding “again” as Olathia began signing a retort. The blonde huffed a sigh and threw up her hands as if to say “enough with the dead jokes” and Zeno chuckled, motioning to the campfire set up a short distance from the tents, a kettle already steaming suspended from a tripod above it. “Coffee, boss?” As Olathia turned back into the tent to gather a mug Zeno let the amusement slip from her face.

Troll, male, not Darkspear.

This would be valuable information for pinpointing her friend's would-be killer.

mentions: @olathia, Ghosting - Wyrmrest Accord