Night fell.
Duskwood was shrouded in an evil mist. Even during the day, little sunlight reached it, as though a curtain of night covered the sky. That was how Duskwood had earned its name.
At night, it grew darker and colder still. No one wanted to venture outside except the expressionless night watchmen on patrol. Even the cries of the ravens sounded more piercing, mournful, and malicious than elsewhere, carrying three parts mockery, three parts desolation, three parts terror, and one part the shadow of death.
Ravens were harbingers of disaster; blood ravens were harbingers of death.
This was Duskwood, this was Darkshire, and this was the Blood Raven Inn.
The lights gradually went out. Midnight had come.
Then midnight passed, and as three or four in the morning approached, all things sank into deep sleep. Almost every living creature had entered the land of dreams, and the Druids were no exception.
To protect the Scythe of Elune and keep Valorn safe, Broll and Valorn slept in the same room, but they had not arranged to take turns keeping watch.
There was no need to go that far.
Druids had exceptionally keen senses, and both High Druids trusted theirs completely.
Broll had fought in countless battles and worked with Valeera many times, giving him a keen sense for danger. Even Valeera found it difficult to approach him unnoticed. Even in their usual one-on-one sparring matches, Broll won slightly more often than she did.
Valorn had spent several years alone in Duskwood, searching for the Scythe of Elune and trying to unravel the mystery of the Worgen. He, too, possessed a beastlike sense of smell, which had kept him safe all those years.
Yet both of them had underestimated their enemy.
A dark figure entered the room without alerting either Druid.