"Twelve to the west gate, seven to the south, eight to the north gate, and.." Sergeant Wilkins looks up from his scribbled notes, and glances out the window to his right. His eyes look out over the ledge and into the courtyard below, "Who's left... Ah! And three to the nort--"
"TO ARMS! TO ARMS! THE SERGEANT'S BEEN KILLED!" The two armed guards cry out the window as the Sergeant's head hits the desk. A splintered arrow lies cracked in half upon the scattered sheets of parchment, half still lodged between his eyes, and half snapped, lying upon the oak desk.
"to arms... to arms.." An old troll chuckles to himself. "to arms..."
Up the cliff out the west gate of Lion's Landing, Xandru chuckles to himself as the human's below run aimlessly around the courtyard. "Grots." He turns to face the shadowed faces behind him, "Cloaks up."
Around him sit a handful of aspirants, grots. They joined the clan to see what it meant to live without the laws of the Horde to restrict them, to feel the glory of pure battle, pure blood lust, pure freedom. "Cloaks up, so de' gryphons won't spot ya' an' peck your useless heads off."
He grins as the last couple of grots frantically put up their hoods and cover their backs. Some peer out past the brush up at the shadowy figures circling above head, some chuckle and whisper to one another. Some remain quiet, those will surely keep their heads.
"Right, de' target Sergeant Wilkins: Known enemy of de' noble races." Xandru looks to his left where a small creature sits, glistening where sunlight shines through the bushes. His stoic companion Saakes, a spectral owl. He brushes her translucent feathers to get her attention, before plucking one from her wing. She pecks his finger in retaliation and flutters her wings briefly before settling back into her position. Xandru grins, sitting back and removing his dagger from it's sheath.
With a quick flick he takes the tip off the feather, then dabs it's sharpened edge into the fresh wound on his finger drawing blood onto it's end. He looks back to the unfurled parchment upon his knee, "Sergeant Wilkins: Known enemy of de' noble races." He grins and strikes the name off the list, "Deceased." With a twist the old troll rolls the parchment back up. He lifts Saakes feathers away from her ankle and tucks the parchment back into the small leather case that is tied there.
"Right," He turns to the silent group behind him, "To your north, you will find a boat. Take it up de' coast until you find a torch bearer. Dey' will lead you from der'. Undah'stand?" Xandru's eyes move from grot to grot as they acknowledge his orders. "Dismissed."
The grots begin to rise from the ground and crouch toward the pathway down the mountain.
"Oh! An' grots?" Xandru calls to the grots, "Joo' bettah' run." A sickening grin spreads across his face as he jumps from the cliff.
"Sythegar!" They call in unison! Jumping toward they edge of the cliff, they are suddenly knocked back as a leathery, armored wyvern's powerful wings slap down upon the edge of the cliff. Upon it's back rides Xandru, his grin as wide as when he jumped.
"FEAR DA' GRIN!" Xandru's cry echoes down the mountainside and into the camp below.
"THERE! THE ASSASSINS! GET THEM!" Shout the guards from the west gate of Lion's Landing, "WE FOUND THEM! WE FOUND THEM!" Pouring now out of the gate the various platoons of human troops sprint up the path to the base of the mountain.
Xandru looks back to the shocked faces of his grots, and smiles. His heels click into the wyvern's ribs and they're off up and out of range of the archers. His mission complete, he rides back north toward camp. The grots will get their exercise tonight, they will taste blood and some will learn the cold touch of death. They will do their duty for the clan, that much is certain.