Having handed in the horse with the guards at the checkpoint before crossing the gate meant that Malon was without any mount when she arrived in Camelot, though it was not the first thing on her mind when she arrived. Before her laid a widely open area, and once she had passed those large rocks surrounding the gate she was able to see it in all its glory. The Hyrule Plains were tiny compared to this... expanse. As far as the eye could see, there were green plains, villages and farmsteads dotting the landscape before her, and what she imagined to be a city far off in the distance. It reminded her of Hyrule Castle.

In either case this place was enormous. Traversing it on foot would take long... but with any luck she could make some money with a quick job somewhere in a farmstead and get a carriage ride to one of the big holds. Saving up wasn't always easy but she was skilled at her job. After that? Well... she'd have to see. The priority right now was to arrange for something to make a living with. With those thoughts in mind she adjusted the pack on her back and walked along the first path she found, towards the closest settlement. Even at a decently fast pace that took her over two hours, but she was sufficiently physically fit to not be spent when she arrived.

What she was greeted with she had not expected... several injured men and women clutching bleeding arms and legs, one was even nailed to a wall with a spear driven through his shoulder. There was loud yelling coming from the inn and Malon could see a few black horses in front of it, tied to stakes to wait for their owners. Quickly she realized that this town had fallen victim to an attack... the bandits were probably holding the innkeeper at knifepoint, or someone else, to have them bring them drinks and food. She turned away to run, but it was too late. One of the men standing guard by the horses had noticed her. She barely covered a hundred meters before he had mounted his horse, reached her and knocked her to the ground with the butt of his spear.

"Well, who've we here?" he asked with a nasty grin. "Didn't your mom teach you not to travel alone, little girl?"

"Leave me alone!" Malon yelled. She couldn't reach her sickles in this state and cursed herself for having attached them to her backpack, not her waist. Instead the man grabbed her by her hair and forced her to her feet, then again poked her with the butt of his spear, then turned it around to point the pointed end at her backside.

"C'mon, back to the town we go. And keep your hands on your head. I've got nervous hands, if you make a sudden move I might slip."

Malon cursed her bad luck again... at least she didn't have much that the bandits could steal from her. The sickles would be her greatest loss, but the provisions were neglectable, and she had no money with her. "Listen", she said. "Just take my backpack and take what you want. I've got no money with me, you can check my pockets if you want."

"Shaddap. Scar'll decide what we do with you." Again he grinned mishievously. He led her back to the inn and dismounted, leaving the horse with his companion, then put a hand on Malon's shoulder and exchanged the spear which he also left with the horse for a dagger that he poked her into the back with. "Move."

The inside of the inn smelled like cheap beer and cooked meat. A woman was writhing in her restraints, bound by several meters of rope that tied her to a support beam in the inn, with two more bandits pointing their spears at her and glaring towards the counter every so often. There the innkeeper, presumably the woman's husband, was just refilling a mug with a desperate face. He couldn't do anything, they had him in their grip and were drinking away his beer and wine while outside people were bleeding out or suffering from wounds that if left untreated would cripple them for the rest of their lives. Around the largest table in the room, the only one not shoved against a wall, sat several men and three women with worn leather or chainmail armor, with their leather boots propped up on the table and eating and drinking. The only one that was behaving half-decent was a tall man wearing a leather armor with fur sewn onto the shoulders and a symbol painted on it: a cross with a very long arm pointing upwards, probably representing a sword, and three 'X's to the left, right and over the sword, respectively. There was also a helmet reminiscent of the Camelot Guardsmen at the Nexus Gate sitting next to him on the table. As the bandit shoved Malon closer to the table she noticed that several cuts and burn marks disfigured the man's face, leaving ugly red and brown scars, with the most prominent one going from the right of his forehead over his eyebrow, barely missing his eye, over the bridge of his nose and the left side of his lips, to his chin. That must've hurt a lot.

"Beast? What's this mean?" he asked as Malon stopped before the table. His voice was deep and gruff, and Malon shivered. That was the voice of someone who was used to having their orders followed.

"Just a little birdie that I caught trying to run away", the bandit replied. "I thought you might want to see her."

Scar looked Malon over. "You're not from this village, are you?" he asked.

"... no. I just arrived here... through that gate in the, uh... the Nexus."

"So you're from the Nexus. Are you a Prime?"

"I've heard that word before but I don't know what it means", Malon replied honestly. Scar waved his hand impatiently.

"Can you summon things? If you concentrate hard enough can you turn Omnilium into what you think of?"

"I... I don't think I can."

He eyed her over again. "Can you cook?"

"I... yeah, I can."

"Well, thanks to that idiot Beast -" he gave the man a glare - "you've seen my face, so we can't let you go alive. So, here's your choice: we could find out if you're a Prime right now by slitting your throat. If you respawn at the Nexus, then good for you, and more time for us to leave this place before you can call the guards on us. Or, you could come with us. My men can't cook anything that doesn't make everyone who eats it throw up, so we've got to steal food on top of our other loot when we get out there." He grinned. "You'd be keeping your life, get a bed to sleep in and a share of our loot if you prove yourself a good enough asset to join the Silver Hands." Malon shivered as Beast poked her backside with his dagger, seemingly unable to wait for his boss to give the order to murder her. When Scar noticed her shifty eyes he added: "If you're worried about my men, you can relax. I don't tolerate rape or abuse even of our prisoners, especially of the women. Those who disobey that rule get to feel what it's like to be an Eunuch."

"Can't I just... I promise I won't say a word to anyone?" Malon asked. "I've only caught a glimpse, if even that, I couldn't describe you to a guard."

"Choose. Now."

Malon felt her stomach turn. Was her adventure to end this soon? She hadn't even seen Hyrule again! She had just escaped the Nexus and everything related to it! "I don't really have a choice", she mumbled bitterly. Scar clapped his hands.

"Great! Now then, we'll need to tie your hands and take those sickles from you for safety reasons... oh, and blindfold you so you don't know where our lair is. But Beast here will be so nice as to take the sickles and your backpack for you, and he'll be so nice as to not go through its contents, will he? I'd hate to have to cut a few of his fingers if you find anything missing." He gave Beast a smile that the bandit responded to with gritting teeth, while he let Malon take off the backpack and tied her hands on the front. "Can you ride a horse?" Scar then asked.

"Yes."

"Then you can take Crow's mare. Poor guy met his end impaled by a pitchfork." Beast then led her outside. The bandits were already getting finished with their drinks anyway, so she was only given a few minutes before being told to climb into the saddle of a black mare. The saddle was in good shape luckily, and even with her bindings Malon was able to get in the saddle. One of the bandits blindfolded her and someone else took the reins to lead the horse, since Malon being blindfolded couldn't hope to do so. Again she cursed her luck. The only thing she still had was her life and a handful of belongings... come to think of it this was barely any different than having been forced to work for Ingo.

And from what she had learned, there were no heroes. Not in Hyrule, and not here. So she needed to do as she had already done with Ingo... be patient, obediant and to await her chance.

500 word limit, 6 posts per player, 2 week time limit, no damage meter, random elements.

Arena: WWE Smackdown Raw Arena, full house. Flare, intros, announcers, and everything.

Judge: Jade Harley.

It wasn't cold here.

It wasn't hot either.

There was no breeze but she could hear the sound of rushing water, thousands of gallons pouring over an edge, swept by gravity into some sort of lake, perhaps?

Slowly, The pink-haired girl's eyes blinked open, revealing the source of the sound. An enormous column of water, rushing down from what looked to be a giant, upside down copper basin. Except. It wasn't. Water spilled over the edges of the basin, creating another, hollow column of water. Where gravity kept the girl on laying on the ground, it pulled the water up, far beyond where her eyes could see, dozens of tiny flashes of rainbows decorating where lights reflected off the mist. But there was no specific light source, not here. Everything was white except for the copper basin and the water. It had a... clinical feel to it. Like a... hospital?

The girl felt small. Insignificant. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t from here. Or.. Was she? Where was she from? What was her name? What was this place? The number of questions was overwhelming. Terrifying. Hot tears spilled over her cheeks as she withdrew into herself, curling up into a tight ball on the ground.

So a bit of heavy inspiration slapped the shit out of me tonight, but since my laptop's been deader than dirt as of late, I'm stuck drawing on my desktop where I have none of my art saved. So I had to start something completely new. I mentioned it to one of my group chats on skype:

Quote:[1/29/2017 8:27:23 PM] Kreayt Phayte: I'm gonna draw tonight
[1/29/2017 8:27:27 PM] Victor Wolfe: Nice
[1/29/2017 8:27:33 PM] Victor Wolfe: What you going to draw ?
[1/29/2017 8:28:05 PM] Victor Wolfe: And be sure to share, your art always makes me happy to see it :)
[1/29/2017 8:28:10 PM] Kreayt Phayte: Probs the Adventures of Ez
[1/29/2017 8:28:28 PM] Victor Wolfe: That sounds like the scariest kids show ever
[1/29/2017 8:29:46 PM] Kreayt Phayte: "So I was brought here by Omni. And then my form was taken over by a woman in my head, who promptly fought a dragon creature and doted over this lame ass 'prince thief'. Following their return home, I took my body back and got sent to the pale moors. FML."
[1/29/2017 8:30:50 PM] Victor Wolfe: To be fair Ez has had it easy
[1/29/2017 8:33:10 PM] Victor Wolfe: "So I almost get killed by a rebellion and then I wake up in a new world, all of a sudden an undead zealot melts half my face off, once I heal I send a girl to hell before being strangled to death with a bag, I then head to a desert to start my new job and day one banish an old guy and pig man before being shot in the back a lot and having my neck disembowelled"
[1/29/2017 8:33:22 PM] Victor Wolfe: The adventures of Victor

Character name: Somerled Murdoch

Character source: OC

Character history: [Bringing back this guy because I'm a terrible person. I'd like to continue where I left off, plus one death, if that's allowed. If not, I'll put in another history though. Link to original history here]

Physical Description: The First Half of Somerled Murdoch is not a very "monster-like" monster. He takes on the appearance of a Japanese man, about mid-30s. His back hair looks like it hasn't been cut in months, uncombed and tending towards the long side. His eyes are the grey colour of a storm cloud on the horizon. His height is an unimposing 5'8'', and his physical build is unimpressive. For clothing, he prefers to wear whatever helps blend in with the culture he’s visiting. Currently, his outfit consists of a white woolen, long-sleeved shirt beneath a brown leather doublet, a pair of brown wool pants, simple hide boots, and a green, hooded cloak, which reaches down to his knees.
In physical appearance, the first and second half are essentially perfect twins. There is however, a single select difference that allows for telling the two apart. The second is much more well-kept than the first, keeping his hair, which is light blond in contrast to the First's black, short and neat. Due to the single body they share, his outfit his exactly the same as the first’s except in very rare occasions.

Stats:
ATK: 5
DEF: 1
SPD: 1
TEC: 3

Starting Proficiencies (3,200): Physical Attack (1000), Ranged Proficiency (1000), Ranged Materialize (600), Area Attack (600)

Starting Powers: None

Starting Moves:
Lightning Strike (Physical) (300): By channeling the power of a lightning strike through one of his limbs, Somerled can unleash an incredibly powerful strike, carrying both the speed and strength of lightning. Without any windup, he unleashes a blow towards the enemy in the form of either a kick or a punch, striking faster than the blink of an eye with a shot that, if it lands, hits with enough force to send opponents flying back a few meters. Dealing with such extreme forces comes at a cost, however. A successful punch fractures the bones in Somerled’s hand, and possibly his arm as well if he’s unlucky, while a successful kick fractures, or possibly even outright breaks his leg. Though he can continue to strike even after he’s broken many bones, overdoing it with the same limb causes larger breaks, and eventually an unplanned amputation. Cchanneling the power takes around three seconds, which he can do while moving, but attacking or getting hit breaks his concentration, and must be used the moment it’s ready. Has a surprisingly low magic cost, leaving Somerled simply winded and wounded after use. 

Heavenly Bolt (Ranged, Ranged Materialize, Area Attack) (300): Channeling the weather’s power, Somerled quickly and forcefully gathers up huge amounts of electrical energy in the sky. After four seconds of immobile charging, he calls down a single, powerful lightning strike from the heavens, regardless of whether it’s cloudy or clear, with a snap of his fingers for added flair. Aimed at a foe within fifty meters of him, the bolt slams into the ground, striking a random spot somewhere within twenty meters of the target. As a semi-natural lightning strike, the bolt itself holds tremendous amounts of power, wielding a strength capable of blowing apart grown trees from the inside. Of course, since it’s a bona-fide lightning bolt, the actual bolt is approximately an inch wide and all but impossible to reliably aim. Actually getting it to hit what he wants it to hit comes down to pure chance. Due to this, he prefers to rely on the resulting shockwave, a powerful, concussive blast that bowls over anyone within three meters of the bolt itself. Calling down a lightning strike in such a short amount of time takes up a huge amount of Somerled’s power, leaving him utterly exhausted in the wake of it. Can not be used in places where the skies are blocked, such as buildings or caves.

Bullwhip (Physical) (600): A recreation of the weapon given to Somerled during the Hero's Graveyard. It is a 10 foot long, 12 plait, kangaroo hide whip. While not one of the strongest weapons out there, with a well-aimed hit, it’s capable of wrapping around an object or person, allowing the wielder to drag it to them, or vice-versa. His ATK needs to be higher than the enemy's in order to drag them in, and at least twice as high for him to do it easily. For some unknown reason, it plays the theme song to "Indiana Jones" whenever it's cracked.

Tier 1 Super Attack: Microburst (Area Attack, Ranged, Ranged Materialize) (600): The weather itself begins to bend to the will of Somerled, as he calls upon his power as the spirit of storms. He passively charges over the course of thirty seconds, able to move freely during this time but unable to attack, all the while dark clouds swiftly gather overhead, pushing out whatever weather had been there previously. Wind blasts down from the heavens, in a column roughly 15 meters in diameter centered on Somerled, pulling the clouds and rain themselves down with it, and tearing those who are flying out of the sky. Upon contact with the ground, this downburst becomes an outburst, the wind rushing outwards 25 meters, covering an area of up to 40 meters from Somerled in all directions. Raging out at 80 m/s, these gusts easily throw aside anyone caught within them, along with just about anything not nailed down. The wind itself doesn’t do any damage outright, rather, it’s everything the wind tosses about that does the bulk of the harm. A weak rainstorm is left in the wake of this attack, which passes naturally after it runs its course, however many hours that may take. Can not be used in places where the skies are blocked, such as buildings or caves.

I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct. Si

Figured I'd make an OOC thread for this, for discussion and calling.

Rules:

Quote:Word Limit: 1000
Rounds: 3
Random Elements: on
Damage Meter: on

Fights larger than 1v1 will utilize a call system detailed at the end of this post. 1v1s will have 3 days per round unless the combatants wish to change this for whatever reason.

- Judge's discretion on whether or not the loser(s) is allowed to be executed
- The actual backdrop of the fight is just fodder and not much more than a location for most fights
- Participants are decided by what makes the most sense storywise/people's preference

Quote:Darkshire Breach - Flank of Darkshire:

Kerrigan's Infested Terrans, however, have already acted. Sent alongside Skeletor's doom drill, the darkshire wall was undermined and collapsed by a force of explosive soldiers underneath it's foundation, and several explosions alongside the main burst occur within the town of darkshire and the nearby gatehouse at the same time. Zerg stalk through an ocean of rubble, hoping to make way for the larger demonic and wraithlike forces behind them. Okor's foresight here has been well-placed, however, as many guards have already appeared to push the hordes back. 

The Breach is a larger area filled with chunks of stone and rubble - The ruins of the wall create a host of makeshift terrain, as the cracked stone falls in uneven chunks across the field, and even inside the cobblestone roads of Darkshire., dot the area with sharp wedges of rock, and cause the air to be dusty and hard to see through in locations. Hydralisks Join Kerrigan's forces in attacking the beleaguered guard, and wicked barrages of organic spikes dance with hails of Arrows and catapult stones. Here, the battle is no less chaotic, but now, Darkshire's innards are exposed to this staging force, With refugees and civilians in full panic, rubble falling from the still crumbling walls, and pots of burning oil dropped by the surviving guards upon the wall, it's difficult just to survive the crossfire, much less fight your opponent.

The dense air of 4th tier stuffed Yuki’s nose. How she hated the heavy, reused breath of the massive amount of individuals, but it was something you had to live with around here. The teenager looked around the corner of the block for anyone who looked weighed down by their wallet. No marks yet, just a bunch of slum commoners going about their daily life. Drudging through adulthood with nothing more to scrape by than just-enough. Poor sods.

The young lady adjusted her skirt and turned the corner she had been leaning on for awhile now. No patrol was around, it was the perfect time to nab something, if only there was something to nab in the first place. Most of what was here for the picking was nothing but vulture food. Just decaying bones and meat. No warm fruits of conquest for a petty pickpocket girl like Yuki. It would be a sure fire way to get caught, reaching into empty pockets. Shame.

She walked down the busy side walk, head down but eyes up, hidden behind the curtain of golden hair. That’s when she saw him: A man trimmed with gold, a watch and ring, and his clothes didn’t look like they were sourced from a dumpster. Good signs. The distance between them closed. He had just stepped from a taxi, which meant wherever he was heading, he was close. Only one shot at this, make it count.

Just as he came within arm’s reach, another man, not so stocky but tall came from out of nowhere and blundered into the middle-class mark, causing him to tumble into Yuki. His arm smacked into Yuki’s chest where she feigned innocence, grabbing his arm to not fall. What he was unaware of though was the young girl’s true intent. She slipped his ring off in the heat of the moment, slyly shifting it into her jacket pocket. The man is too disoriented to notice.

“Ey, watch where you’re going, retard.” He voices his complaint and adjusts his hat after that scuffle, the tall boy carries on like nothing happened, his face hidden by the huge blue scarf wrapped around his neck. Yuki merely apologizes for bumping into him and heads off. Not more than a second later, she’s mixed into the crowd, behind her the familiar voice echoes through the commute of people. “Get back here bitch! I know you took my ring!” When he looks for her, the girl is just a ghost. Dust in the wind.

Kerrigan walked slowly through the broken pieces of stone and rubble that once symbolized “Safety” to those inside the Walls of Darkshire. Her bladed wings shivered with anticipation, as she walked through the fallen debris and destruction that now swarmed with her forces. Not a moment after the walls fell to crumbling, corpse-ridden pieces, a sea of bloodthirty monsters and spirits charged for the rubble of the broken wall with savage enthusiasm.

Kerrigan smiled, as she turned to speak to Skeletor’s orb, only to find it suddenly fizzle out of existence in front of her. Problems underneath the city? No matter.
“Go. Fan out. Spread destruction. Let none survive-”

“Who is wearing the pants?!”

Kerrigan’s pace slowed down suddenly. She had yet to be surprised since she’d been transported to the omniverse. Turning around to see what seemed to be a young teenager, sporting shades, wearing a red and black suit, and strolling across the blood-soaked battlefield with all of the apparent care of waiting in line, that streak had been broken..

All Kerrigan could momentarily bring herself to say was “What?”

The child in front of her scanned Sarah up and down. “Well, not you. That is a serious lack of pants, holy fucking shit.” the teenager continued.

Sarah decided to end this conversation before she let her worse impulses make her decisions, turning to face this… fighter?

“My name is Sarah Kerrigan. I’m the one in command of this assault. Have you come to oppose us…?” The queen of blades asked, as her wings buzzed almost like stingers behind her back.

The teenager shrugged lazily. “Naw, I’m here to do some assaulting. And stuff. I’m not late, am I?”

Kerrigan’s zerg-modified was a hallmark of zerg engineering. It took her a fraction of a microsecond for her to make complex tactical evaluations, and create strategic plans for a lengthy campaign. She could do ten thousand games of chess with herself in the time it took a bee to flap its wings.
But Kerrigan still found herself needing  to take a second to figure out what the hell was going on.

“So am I-”

Kerrigan pointed towards the breach. “We’re assaulting through the breach. Be quick to assist us, and I might even reward you. Go!” Kerrigan stated, carefully hiding her irritation as she walked forward at a quicker pace. Something told her it was far better for this prime to join late - if he’d met them in the castle, she imagined this idiot’s head would have arrived to the assault tied to Illidan’s belt.


As soon as Kerrigan pointed, however, a rolling blast of white energy pointed back in response. The Queen of blades threw herself to the side just before the blast reached her, and caught herself on her hands. Cartwheeling back into a standing position, she regarded her new opponent: An angry, white-haired man who literally radiated with power.
Smoke seeped out of the half-melted remains of the stone where Kerrigan stood, and she realized she’d been half a step away from vaporization.

“To whom do I owe the pleasure?” Kerrigan asked with an even smirk.

“Fuck you.” Was the predictable retort. In truth, Kerrigan already knew about this individual - many within Darkshire knew of the vaunted Strazio Rockwell by now, and she’d gained access to the memories of everyone she infested. She’d wondered if the tales of his destructive power were exaggerated. From that little display, she realized with some frustration that the tales of his strength had actually been underplayed.


Darkshire soldiers followed behind him, and to her exasperation, her troops were suddenly pushed back into the breach by a wall of blades and pikes. It seemed they wouldn’t be able to push into Darkshire until these soldiers were dealt with. As she saw another pair of oddly dressed creatures pop through the lines, a swordsman with a cocky smirk and a deformed, orange-horned humanoid that looked like the end result of a lifetime of drug abuse, she hoped the red-Tuxxed prime next to her was ready for a tough fight.

“Oh, shit, a troll! Didn’t we rap-battle before?”

Hope and expectation rarely went hand in hand for Sarah Kerrigan.

[float=right][/float]Location/Role:  Immortan Joe is the Demon Lord of the Salt Flats and the leader of the War Boys, who worship Joe as a god.  They roam the Salt Flats in an ‘armada’ of chrome, V8 vehicles that are adorned with the trophies of their conquests.  Lethal to any wayward souls, the Immortan is known to accept ‘honorary War Boys,’ but what are you willing to do?

Story:  Like many prominent figures in the Omniverse, it’s hard to separate fact from farce when it comes to the history of the man known as Immortan Joe.  The most accurate records may come from those who used to run with Joe’s gang when he was still topside, and their accounts shall form the basis of our ‘facts.’

A military officer, Joe lived in a world where law and order gradually collapsed into something immaterial.  Things like oil and clean water became rare necessities that people would murder to acquire.   Joe was one such person who was willing to do what was necessary to survive in this world.  After wars pushed society into oblivion, Joe formed a gang of zealous followers that captured various supplies and settlements.  This culminated in Joe’s capture of ‘the Citadel,’ a source of purified water that turned him from a man into a god.  The Immortan’s capture of an oil refinery and lead mine gave him the guzzolene and bullets he needed to fuel a powerful armada of chrome warriors.

At the height of this empire, the Immortan was brought into the Omniverse.  While it’s said that he may have traveled for a time (as primes are want to do), he eventually settled into the Endless Dunes.  As is the case with many primes, he probably saw something of his homeworld in the rolling deserts and barren stretches of arid terrain.  Never one who played nice, the Immortan made no allies in the Endless Dunes.  

Joe’s ‘War Boys’ ran roughshod—their shiny chrome war machines leaving devastation wherever they went.  Worshipping Joe and the V8, the War Boys terrorized the Endless Dunes, making life miserable for the ‘natives’ and the Empire, who was at the height of its presence in the region.  After nearly two years of trying to play containment with the Immortan, Coruscant organized an elite paramilitary force and sent them to deal with the War Boys once and for all.  Nearly two platoons of elite marines and half a hundred of the Empire’s most powerful mechanized war machines marched deep into the Endless Dunes.

After fifty hours of warfare, Joe’s War Boys were broken.  The marines suffered a casualty rate of nearly sixty percent, but they defeated and banished Immortan Joe.  When these elite marines returned to Coruscant, they found a city that had been besieged by Diablo during their absence in what became known as the Battle of Coruscant.

Banished to the Underverse, Immortan Joe murdered anything that attempted to impede him.  He left a trail of bodies in his wake and quickly had a small warband to support him.  Ultimately, he garnered the attention of Diablo, who saw Joe’s ‘potential.’

Immortan Joe was all-too pleased to accept Diablo’s gift of power.  Able to reforge his War Boys and his chrome armada, Joe became the overlord of the Salt Flats.  He and his warband march across the region with nothing to oppose them.  Wayward souls or those fleeing persecution from the Central Hellscape often find a fate worse than death when they come into the possession of Immortan Joe.

That isn’t to say that the Immortan doesn’t respect many qualities in others.  What would you be willing to abandon in your quest to escape the Underverse?

Illidan ran his face over slick skin. Every part of his body dripped with water, a bright white sheen shining off him with every lightning bolt. Darkshire stood defiant against the weather and the forces that sought to overrun it, a blight on Dracula's perfect kingdom. The roars of the defenders reached his ears even through the splashing of the rain and the crackling of thunder. The humans were ready to die for this misbegotten chunk of turf, though a reason for such sacrifice eluded the night elf. Those that followed his command at least fought for total domination over this realm, or wanted to help secure it. Perhaps they only bowed to Illidan due to his might, but he knew they all, from the lowliest zombie to the wisest warlock, would rejoice in a united kingdom under their Count once the battle was won.
 
The outer walls of Darkshire slumped in co-ordination with a muted rumble, one Illidan felt through his bare feet, and the defensive line crumbled into rubble. Skeletor and Kerrigan had done well.
 
"Storm the town!" Illidan shouted. "Kill anyone within! For Count Dracula!"
 
His eldritch army bellowed and charged towards the breach. Illidan clicked his fingers, summoning his two warglaives, and grasped them firmly. Sprinting through his own vanguard, he launched forward and slashed at the first guards to provide resistance. Not expecting such a swift and powerful combatant to burst through the fray, they collapsed with surprised expressions on their faces. The demon hunter spun, moonlight glinting off his reddened blades, catching a descending sword in the criss-cross of his weapons. He planted a muddy foot into his attacker, sending them sprawling backwards. A werewolf took the opportunity and pounced, tearing out the defender's throat. As it rose its blood-matted snout, a warhammer crashed into its skull, ending its life swiftly. A skeleton charged into its place, catching the next hammer swing on its shield. Illidan dashed from that confrontation, taking a moment to slash the exposed backsides of another defender's knees before his crescent blade parted head from neck. 
 
A sharp sting bloomed in his shoulder. Illidan hurled his warglaive at a charging soldier and wrenched the arrow that had pierced his skin. He looked up, spotting a small contingent of archers that stood on the left side of the wall that hadn't fully tumbled into a heap. Stabbing his other warglaive into the muddy slosh that was once firm earth, green flames spun in an orb between his palms, expanding until the heat roasted Illidan's skin. As the next volley of arrows tore through the air towards him, Stormrage hurled the felfire bolt at the archers. Arrows incinerated as the flaming green ball consumed them. The night elf rolled out of the way from the arrows untouched by the attack and stood in time to see an emerald explosion erase the human figures that once stood upon the ruined wall.
 
Carnage surrounded him. The stench of blood and spilled organs overwrote the musty smell that normally pervaded the air. Shouts of courage and screams of fear crashed into each other from both sides. The demonic taint in his soul revelled in the slaughter, pumped his blood faster through his veins, yearning to shear flesh from bone. Wraiths screeched as they tore into their victims, sometimes seeping through their skins to possess them and force them to attack their own kin. Illidan quested out with his telekinesis and recalled his warglaive from the trench he made in the dead soldier. Yanking the second of the set from the sucking mud, he cast his sightless gaze about, wondering where to insert himself in the frenzied chaos of the battlefield.
 
One figure drew his attention more than any other, staring out into the battlefield from the shattered wall. It appeared as some resurrected corpse, some ancient knight buried in his own armour, or what was left of it. Its dull green plating failed to cover its exposed abdomen, where skin clung to ribs in thin and translucent bands. Flies buzzed around his apparently decomposing flesh, though he took no mind of the pests. Illidan frowned. He didn't recall seeing that creature in his army, nor notice him battling so deep inside enemy territory. For such an undead to exist, surely one of his necromancers had to focus on channelling its energies?
 
The desiccated knight wielded a rusted, notched sword in his hands ... and cut down the first skeleton to reach him. With ponderous movements, he bisected a lunging man-bat at the waist on the upswing. A bulky undead creature, sowed together from several other corpses, found an opening and struck the knight, though despite his outward frailty, the armour absorbed the powerful blow. He plunged the sword through the patchwork corpse's chest and cracked his heavy heel into its face, dislodging the blade and launching the undead's massive body down the slope, bowling over several more of Illidan's army that sought their way up.
 
What is that foolish creature doing? Why on Azeroth is it killing my army?
 
Stormrage bounded over the battlefield, slashing at targets as he went, burning gaze set upon the armoured corpse. He landed beside the traitorous creature, but before he could utter a word, the aged sword scythed towards the night elf. Illidan rolled from the swing as the blade clung against the rubble strewn over the ground. The overwhelming stench from the knight overwhelmed all other sources, forcing the kaldorei to breathe through his mouth.
 
"You will fall back in line, undead, or you will taste the copper of my blood-soaked warglaives!" Illidan shouted.
 
The single eye beneath the horned helmet locked onto Illidan. "What makes you think I'm one of yours?"
 
Illidan's brow lifted. His magic sight searched for strands of undeath, of the ties that bind a reanimated body to the farcical appropriation of life ... but found none. Some form of pestilence or disease ate at his bones, but it was not birthed by a necromancer of his. He ... fought for Darkshire?
 
Green light illuminated the tattooed rivulets carved through Illidan's torso. The unholy thrill of combat surged within him. "When I'm through with you, you'll wish you were on my side."