There was a slight knocking at the door to the room Zatana had been directed to by a few servants. The dark elf wanted to ignore the persistent sound and the voice that accompanied it. "Ma'am, the Prince is summoning all the Royal Guards-?" Sitting up, the woman looked at the neatly folded pile of armor. The doorknob rattled, but there was no worry it would open. As a precaution against a hostile city, Zatana had locked the room before sleeping. [color=SlateBlue]"I heard you. I will not be long."[/color] The normally soft voice rose in irritation, as the lithe body slipped from the bed and crossed to the armor as she began buckling the hardened leather into place. The stitching from her repairs the day before held firm, something Zatana was grateful for. [i]'Your armor and weapons are just parts of yourself. Care for them as you would for yourself.'[/i] The words, the practice had been drilled ruthlessly into the dark elf woman and with good reason.

The plaits of hairs were quickly pinned in place and the cloak about her shoulders. Dipping a finger into one of the pouches, she fished out the mask she wrapped about her neck and over her jaw. Observing herself in the reflection of her dagger, Zatana chuckled slightly. She cut an interesting figure, if perhaps ridiculous. Yet, the drow could not bear to do away with the disguise. It was part of the image she had built up in the Empire of Man, and extra security against revealing her thoughts to the humans and have them take offense to something. Let them wonder and question. The mind supplied itself with answers, and she honestly enjoyed listening to the different gossip. If she needed to change her image to become a character? Then it was simple. Stepping from the room, she paused a passing servant. [color=SlateBlue]"Where might I find something hot to drink? I had a late night."[/color] [i]And I suspect I will need to check it for poison.[/i] Zatana thought to herself. It was nothing more than a precaution born of habit and to unlearn it would be to invite trouble and not from merely poisoners.

The servant, a young woman, looked slightly terrified. "They should have something there, My Lady."

[color=SlateBlue]"I am no Lady."[/color] Zatana firmly correctly, perhaps a bit too sharp as the servant jolted. [color=SlateBlue]"I am merely another of the Guard, miss."[/color] And to this servant, she was a monster come from the depths of tales and history to terrorize her. Giving a clear sign of dismissal as she turned away, Zatana wanted to give the servant a stern lecture that you did not run from someone higher. It was like running from a predator, the predator would find their attention drawn and thus risked a chase. Her lips twitched the hardest thing to do was to master the patience of being able to walk away. To not raise a fuss, but after over a hundred years? She had that little bit of deception down, if only she had the common sense not to jump off of walls. 

Chuckling to herself, Zatana patted her pockets and satisfied herself her bow, quiver, knives, and kit were all in place. A quick mental note that perfecting the bow was the task at hand, she privately hoped the goblins would stay at a distance today and give her some more target practice. She usually could hit what she aimed at, now it was a matter of practice to master it in combination to the art of war. If she had not been sent away on this assignment, she would have been working with the bow til her fingers were raw. As it was, the idea was tempting. Wincing, Zatana recalled the incident with the gate. Oh, she hoped beyond hope that story would die in this city. It was like waking up after a bad fight, and she was going to have to explain why she had not just stuck with the bow. 

'I enjoy the feel of being close to my enemies and the weight of my knives a more comfortable option.' That was not going to cut it for an explanation. 'I could hardly hit the target?' She could have hit a few of the goblins, but not given the soldiers time and spared the gate. 

Stepping into the room with the others, Zatana knew her shoulders showed her stiffness. Anger with herself, for being less than what she should have been. Shrugging slightly to loosen her shoulders, the drow woman knew she had done the best option. Perfection was for those under, and could not be expected from the self. It took time to cultivate and her talent laid in knives and the shadows more than anything else. Well, aside from a few lighter pockets and a missing trinkets that found their way into darker hands. Zatana accepted a hot mug form a servant before they left, Zatana, found a shadowy spot and nursed the warm drink that kept her senses sharp and prepared her for the day.

[color=SlateBlue]"Highness, if the orcs and goblins are going all out perhaps it is a chance to slip behind them? See if we can discover more while they are looking elsewhere."[/color] A risky option, but it was that or sit on a wall and badger herself for her lack of perfect skill. [color=SlateBlue]"Destroy their supplies perhaps, yes?"[/color]