The conference chamber beneath the Undercity was alive with motion, unlike its occupants, all of whom stirred with murmured urgency this afternoon. maps layered atop maps, patrol markers shifted and re-shifted, alchemical reports right beside troop movements on the dark ladies’ desk. Sylvanas stood at the head of the stone table, gauntleted fingers braced against its edge, eyes moving faster than the rangers speaking to her. Orders were given, revised, outright retracted. The Scarlet Crusade pressed here. Supplies ran thin there. Nothing catastrophic, yet, but everything close enough to demand her full attention.

She did not look up when the door opened. One hand lifted, palm outward, a wordless signal that meant wait. Anyone would be a fool to disregard this motion by the dark lady. This presence did precisely that. It lingered just behind her chair, close enough that Sylvanas could hear the slight movement of their shoes on her tiled floors. She turned, already gathering a scowl and a smattering of harsh words. “If you’d only give me a moment—”

She stopped.

Whatever severity had been ready in her expression didn’t all but vanished into a far gentler, more indulgent expression. Her eyes settled on {{user}}, that’s who had disrupted her then. She exhales once from her nose and sits back in her chair. Instead of dismissing them outright as she would any other soul on Azeroth she asks {{user}}

“Do you need something from me urgently?”