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+--- Thread: Siege of Darkshire - Spearhead [PvP - Great] (/showthread.php?tid=3868)
Siege of Darkshire - Spearhead [PvP - Great] - Illidan Stormrage - 01-29-2017
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."
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Okor - 01-30-2017
Okor’s malformed maw gnashed together, warped ribs scraping festering flakes of flesh from between each other as he advanced forward, a sneer spreading beneath his horned helmet, sable fangs slick with acidic saliva. ”On your side?” The gangrenous giant gurgled out a laugh, a vicious backhand from his gauntlet shattering the bare skull of a longdead warrior, his barbaric blade resting in the rotting leather loop at his side. ”It is not your side, whelp. You are the… slave of a slave, shackled to the one servant of Diablo too weak to warrant a place in hell.”
Illidan’s response was calm, measured, and collected. Twin blades descended upon Okor, Azzinoth’s atrocities biting deep into the Plague Marine’s pauldrons, the enchanted copper ablaze with emerald energies. “Draw your blade, damn you,” hissed the Demon Hunter, the green glow of his tattoos intensifying as he sought to sever the Sepulchral Soldier’s arms at the shoulder.
His arms temporarily disabled by the weapons lodged within them, the Son of Barbarus acted on instinct: he moved to headbutt his foe, the hunk of ceramite and steel surrounding his head careening past The Betrayer as they leaped backwards, blades vanishing as they did so. Their armaments burst back into existence soon after, iridescent green flame shaping itself into the magical instruments of murder. ”My blade ends the lives of Monsters and Men. And you… are neither.” This statement was punctuated by a lupine creature charging towards the Hellspawned Hero, black fur matted with dirt and blood impacting against bone and unyielding armour. It’s snarls and howls did not last long, knifelike claws scrabbling against impervious armour as Okor’s own natural weapons came into play, his stomach splitting apart as it began to consume the dire wolf, bestial howls of pain rising above the melee as his abominable anatomy dragged it in deeper. In a matter of moments, the gory display was over, ragged scraps of fur falling to the ground, bone and gristle being ground between teeth as he stepped over the newly formed charnel grounds.
”You are Vermin. Too weak of will to forge your own destiny, and too… frail to break the shackles fate forces upon you. You deserve nothing more than to be crushed underfoot.” Okor laced his claws together as his long strides carried him forward, bringing his fists down towards the Elf's skull.
Illidan screamed defiance, surging forth in a blur of motion and green flame, curved blades carving deep into the desiccated flesh clinging to cancerous bone. The Plagued Marine plodded as they attempted to turn, the pulses and pauses perpetuated through their pulmonary tissues accelerating their flesh as it attuned to the dying heartbeat of reality.
It was not enough. The Demon Hunter elegantly pirouetted over his head, leaping far into the air as they gathered their hatred, expelling it as a burning bolt of energy that surrounded Okor’s skull, fell energies burning away at flesh and bone as he stumbled forward, attempting to arrest his movement. Illidan refused to give him the opportunity, blades delving deep between twisted ribs, seeking out his hearts he was impaled upon the enchanted blades.
“I am Illidan Stormrage,” He hissed, pushing his weapons ever-deeper into Okor’s torso, prying apart putrescent flesh. “And I will not be denied.”
Gurgling laughter greeted him as the festering plague-father heaved forward, turning his smoldering skull to look towards his attacker, black tendrils of corruption knitting cloven flesh together. A gauntlet moved to his side, slowly sliding the sewage-slick sword from its simple scabbard, its rusted length resplendent with rot and ruin, a portion of Okor’s ossiferous grin visible beneath his damaged helmet. Blackened fangs bared themselves, coated with corruption.
”That’s it, whelp. Let yourself hate. Once you allow yourself to live, death is… inevitable.” He chuckled as he lunged forward, his bile-ridden blade scything over Illidan’s tattooed torso, the rusted cleaver gliding over the emerald markings, Illidan contorting himself to dodge the blow.
The Plague Marine pushed the assault, arrhythmic hearts beating out a binary ballad of blood, driving him onwards, his blade always a scant sliver away from cleaving through the bared flesh of the Night Elf. Corrosive saliva dripped from his ruined helm, Asherah’s apocalyptic anthem only serving to fuel his gene-forged bloodlust.
A fusillade of arrows fell from the heavens, Darkshire’s Defenders and Dracula’s beasts alike reaping a bloody toll upon the battlefield: A ghoul fell, an arrow lodged in its rotting heart, a guardsmen dropped by a vengeful spirit's ethereal pistols. Halberds clashed against grave-given blades, the practiced formations of Darkshire’s troops standing stalwart against the monstrous menagerie that marched against them.
The antique atrocity wielded by the ancient warrior clashed against the flame-wreathed blades of Illidan again and again, Illidan’s arms starting to grow numb, each impact driving him back, inch by inch, watching the movements of the mouldering marauder, awaiting his opening.
He saw it, a scree slope of skulls, unearthed by the rain, the gangrenous giant’s foot descending upon it. Okor hissed as he fell, struggling to express the full depths of his frustration. Illidan took full advantage of the Rotting Revenant’s momentary disadvantage, murmuring a curse in the black tongue of the burning legion, sending a sphere of eldritch power flying, binding the staggered soldier’s limbs in emerald flame.
Illidan glared at his captive, watching them strain against their chains of coruscating energy. The witchsight granted to him by his former masters looked over the looming leper, watching their putrescent physiology stitch itself back together before him.
“By the Gods, how are you alive?”
Okor’s very physiology changed, once-concrete ceramite melding into flowing filth, seeping over the magical manacles that held him in place. A semi-solid arm raised his blade, grasping it by the tip as he brought the pestilential pommel down towards his would-be captor, the inexorable advance of entropy refusing to be denied.
”Feth you, that’s how.”
Quote:982 Words, 2 SP used to upkeep battle trance for the round. Hunger, Plague Blade used.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Revan Noctis - 02-01-2017
Revan had so far done his best engaging the many types of undead using his bow to do the best he could do to help what for the most part were his fellow living humans.
After some time however much had gone wrong but nothing was as bad as when the plots of the enemy primes lead to the great collapse of a part in the defensive wall which took many of his fellow wall defenders down with it leaving the defenders on both sides of the wall split.
As the smoke and rubble settled it seemed that now the enemy were sending their forces straight for the now revealed hole. Revan knew he had to focus now on keeping the undead out but there were far too many to kill now as they'd all rushed at once.
Many of his fellow primes had split off to engage the enemy forces on their own chosen terms yet Revan saw a powerful being enter through the gap with much of the wall and upon realising This was one of the evil primes that was leading the assault he allowed this to take his attention.
He found a rope and allowed himself to slide down it as he landed upon the ground below. The city was fast turning into he Site of a massacre and he had to do anything he could to stop it.
He moved forward as a skeleton rushed at him he took it down with ease with his blade taking it apart at the waist. He saw the evil prime now approach one he had seen before the large warrior of putrid stench who seemed to be on their side which was a surprise to him.
A zombie approached him from behind but he was able to kill it with a quick beheading but before he could continue on a wraith appeared out of the ground seemingly having been lying in wait for more prey.
He blocked with his sword the best he could as the creature used ghost like claws which clashed against his metal.
After rolling out of the way the apparition fired a bright blue ball of energy which as he leaped out of the way again the heat of it caused his black cape to smoke. He quickly got back up bringing up his sword he slashed diagonally across the creatures translucent chest as it suddenly burst in a bright blue flash before fading away.
The two beings seemed to be preparing to fight and he was ready to assist anybody he could in stopping these hordes once and for all.
Moving forward through the chaos he made his way over to the pair preparing to strike at his opponent but he was also curious as to who his creature was.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Revan Noctis - 02-01-2017
The battle that occurred between the large diseased ridden warrior Okor and the powerful Mage Illidan as they both tore into each other and even in their heated speeches did seem to reveal some things which caught his interest though this needed to be put on hold for it seemed Okor could use his help. He wasted no time as he breathed in a heavy breath ignoring the stench as he approached preparing his sword for combat.
Gripping his sword with both hands and moving forward fast he slashed the cold steel diagonally left down to right driving the metal into the primes back. He knew from watching the earlier engagement that this would certainly not be enough to stop the creature that seemed to possess great magical power and so he reeled himself back and prepared for a more longer engagement.
He put his sword in front of him gripping tightly with both hands he knew Illidan would have noticed his attack and would seek revenge and Okor needed his help so he quickly struck another two times with his blade two straight vertical strikes at chest level before jumping back again to prepare for the next strike. He struck with another diagonal sword strike before moving back to attempt something else.
Bringing up his hand he was able to summon a ball of fire that quickly shot at his opponent bursting and splashing leaving a black mark where it had hit. He then changed to his sword bringing it up he again gripped the handle tightly horizontally slashing down with his full strength aiming for the black mark he had left on Illidan's chest.
He was now back up close again able to slash at Illidan and block his own blades as best he could he had to admit Illidan was quite the challenge but it was a challenge he wished to meet head on. He then slashed upward attempting to knock Illidan back before he brought it from above him as he slammed it down upon Illidan continuing to deal as much damage as he possibly could.
He seemed to be severely out powered by both of these powerful individuals but he had no intention of ceasing his strikes as he then brought his sword down diagonally again before bringing it back up and doing It again opposite right down to left as he double slashed Illidan once more as he slashed his way to victory.
He now needed to begin moving to disable his opponent as he stabbed downward sending his blade through Illidan's left arm forcing it to be pinned to the ground and in the next few moments he hoped Okor would use this opportunity but it was not long before Revan pulled the blade back out as quickly as he could finally take the strike toward his opponents head. He took one large vertical strike right to lead left though Illidan's attempts to move made it anything less then straight but nonetheless his blade sliced across his face most devastatingly.
The battle was long but seemed to be going reasonably well so far as It did seem they were gaining the upper hand against their opponent. His next move now needed to be better as it seemed other primes were far more powerful then most creatures he had fought in the past and so far he had only presumed his own abilities had been enhanced upon being brought to the Omniverse as he was certain the other primes on Both sides had done.
Now he again quickly threw a fireball hoping it would catch Illidan unprepared giving him enough time to then dodge to the right before dodging left moving past Illidan he allowed his sword to cut his opponent on the right hip then struck at his opponents back once more with a quick slash down the spine before he fell back knowing he had to take as much care as possible. After another block he knew he had to attempt to finish this more quickly as he stabbed his sword directly through Illidan's chest though he wasted no time in pulling it out hoping the wound would be effective.
He then took the opportunity to kick Illidan in the chest in an attempt to force the magic warrior back a bit to provide himself with more room for further strikes. He struck again though this time Illidan blocked his strike with his own blade it seemed his opponent was growing in rage and was quickly learning his moves which made Revan hope that Okor had secrets to reveal.
He needed to improve the speed of his strikes or he was not going to be able to keep up with the powers and weapons used by the others. After this he ended up hitting Illidan with quick light strikes meaning to weaken and tire Illidan further and while this continued Revan prepared for his next move slamming his sword down heavily once more he found Illidan blocking his strike again but this time Revan had been expecting it.
He then brought up his sword again moving to strike his opponent down and again Illidan managed to block again but he did quickly drag his sword back before they clashed with his opponent again.
He then was forced to engage Illidan further again with lightning fast strikes as Their blades clashed countless times.
Revan had done his best to weaken Illidan and help Okor but Illidan was extremely powerful and seemed to refuse giving up but he was not going to quit yet deciding he then strafed to the side doing his best to split Illidan's strikes and attention in half. Revan then rose his sword in the air once more and bringing it up he again leapt toward Illidan to engage him once more.
Quote:Battle post 978 words
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Illidan Stormrage - 02-04-2017
Pain echoed through his body. Blood ran in streams from freshly gorged flesh, wetting his fingers and loosening his grip on his glowing warglaives. A bolt of lightning shone in the liquid pooling near his feet. Illidan breathed deeply through his nostrils, the tang of copper suffocating the rancid stench of the plagued knight. He furrowed his brow, fighting the wave of calm that flooded his body. Gritting teeth, he blinked and focused on the two obstacles in his way.
The diseased warrior, despite the slashes inflicted upon his rotting flesh with demonic steel, found some cursed way to sew that parted skin together right before Illidan's coruscating eyes. Whatever foul corruption laid waste to his bones must have kept him upright, though such necromancy only fuelled the Lord of Outland's hatred for him. A warrior that doesn't have the good manners to die when impaled through the stomach? Undead filth.
In his trance, the kaldorei had failed to notice another powerful combatant enter the fray. Black fabric hugged his head and body, though the robe did not cover the crimson chest plate that flashed ruby with the lightning. He'd taken advantage of Illidan's single-mindedness, finding too many openings in his form while the night elf dealt with the putrescent soldier. His eyeless gaze cast about him, searching for reinforcements capable of dealing with the newcomer, but none revealed themselves. Skirmishes played out all around him; even the rank and file had more pressing matters than to attend to their commander. Maybe it was the loss of blood, but Illidan didn't feel furious about that.
But his fury mounted as two blades scythed towards him. With a heave, Illidan deflected both swings from his body, though even the block rang in his bones like a bell. He was on the back foot, and he couldn't see a way to change that situation. Even his demon form, lithe and brimming with dark power as it was, would be difficult to call upon and maintain with his myriad wounds. Options were scarce.
"Your vaunted crusade was doomed before it began ... vermin," the plagued knight wheezed, speaking through lungs that sounded ravaged and torn.
Damn this position! How could he let himself be exposed like this? Where had this ... this weakness come from?
A memory rose from the depths of his mind, perhaps called on for purpose, perhaps a freed thought bobbing into view from a declining mind.
"And if I take this new power into me, my weakness will be gone?"
"Once mixed with your demonic magic in that skull, it vanished completely. I've turned your greatest weakness into a strength. But can I make a suggestion? If you do imbibe it, do it during battle. I promise it will be much more satisfying."
Illidan's ubiquitous sight fell upon the Skull of Gul'dan clasped to his hip. Black steam licked the air through empty sockets. The power inside raged, screamed like some wild animal caged. Did he have any other choice?
I hope you weren't lying to me, old man.
Stabbing a warglaive into the ruined battlefield, Illidan reached for the orc skull. An arc of silver nicked his wrist, awakening a new sting. The night elf recoiled, seeing the black-cloaked soldier closer upon him than he should've been. "You won't be touching that."
A hot fury burst in Illidan's chest, cementing his teeth together. It took a supreme effort to stop them from shattering against one another. "You will not deny me this!"
A small orb of emerald light coalesced in Illidan's hand. The robed knight took affront to this, charging forward with sword raised. The orb glinted, signifying its completion, and Illidan thrust it at his opponent. Sailing over the battlefield, it collided with the plagued knight easily; apparently both his adversaries expected the attack to be aimed at the cloaked one. The night elf clenched his hand and pale green light enveloped his target, immobilising him. Swiping the air with his fist, Illidan hurled the armoured undead through the air, using his rotting girth as a projectile. He collided with the sword wielder, knocking both of them heavily to the tainted earth.
Illidan knew his spell was little more than a diversion, but it was all he needed. Seizing the skull at his hip, the night elf funnelled the fumes through his nostrils, sucking it deep into his lungs. The acrid magic burned within his chest, burrowing into his organs from the inside and crawling throughout him. Illidan dropped the skull and fell to his knees, his throbbing wounds forgotten in a sea of invasive demonic magic.
He watched black and green vapour spool out of the skin of his hands, clawed in the mud. A surge of pain lanced down his spine, causing him to arc like a howling wolf. Flesh broke at his shoulders, forearms and jaw line as sharp protrusions lanced outwards. Muscles twitched and bulged as dark strength pooled into them, thickening his frame in every place.
Illidan roared, his voice a deep and guttural growl.
The monstrous agony ebbed away. Illidan panted, sweat and blood slinking down his face. What had happened? The sensation had all the hallmarks of his demon form transformation, but this was not it.
Standing on new hooves, the night elf caught sight of himself in a dirtied puddle. He loomed over his old height. Calcified spires of blackened bone jutted from his shoulders and forearms like spiked armour, and his jaw like a thorny beard. In fact, his entire skin was rigid and inflexible, as if a thin sheen of steel covered him. Ram horns stabbed out from his forehead, much less audacious than his demonic form. His broad arms brimmed with unholy strength.
He looked like a night elf Fel Guard.
Illidan snarled as his two enemies climbed to their feet, animalistic rage swirling in his mind. His wounds no longer bothered him, nor did his restraint.
"You foolish heathens stand before oblivion!"
Quote:997 words according to MS Word. Used Confine. -2 SP for using Felguard Form for this round. 2/4 SP remaining.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Okor - 02-05-2017
A gingivitis-ridden grin spread beneath the hellforged helmet obfuscating Okor’s overripe features. Daemon. His adversary had altered themselves from the unknown into the intimate, the ebon enormity of the beast comforting in the catastrophe it promised.
”Maintain distance!” He barked, bile tinging his words as he growled the guttural order, hands dropping to his sides. They rose in short order, cancerous claws clutching both an atomic atrocity and a fire-throwing sidearm. The sinister sigils of the eightfold path and the Cult of Nurgle glowed under the gunfire, heavy footfalls crushing calciferous carcasses as he backpedalled. A boltshell ricocheted off of the sable scales of Illidan, detonating in the distance while a fusillade of flame engulfed the abomination’s abdomen, phosphex perpetually burning away at the beast.
The cloaked interloper added their own efforts to the assault, futile though they may be. Arrows barely pierced the Fel creature before them, smoke and flame flowing from flared nostrils as it charged forward, hooves steadily building momentum as it bore down on the Chosen. Long strides quickly closed the distance between the Daemon and the Defenders’ leprous leader, a clawed fist descending like the fist of an absent god.
Ceramite splintered under the blow, shards of bone and armour flying from the impact. Okor was flung from the scene like a rotting ragdoll, talismans and his trademark implements of infection fleeing the fallen angel. After what seemed like an eternity of careening across the corpse-strewn surface of the battlefield, the Plague Marine came to a rest against the remnants of a desperate last stand; broken bodies and banners left atop a mound of mouldering monsters.
He could feel the dull sensation of broken bones floating through liquefied flesh, rent ribs impaling previously vital organs.Pestilential palms pressed themselves to the churned earth, the tread of men and monsters alike tilling the dirt in preparation for the harvest of souls. Daggers of bone protruded from the flesh of his unarmoured arm, his skeletal structure splintered from the force of the blow.
Rise.
The monosyllabic mandate consumed his consciousness. Muscles shredded by his own shattered skeleton moved into action, heedless of the damage inflicted during the action. Hooves stamped against the soil, a discarded blade embedded within his crimson eye denying him the luxury of seeing his impending destruction.
Thud. Thud. Thud Thud Thud.
As death barrelled towards him, infection and intangible information spirits kickstarted his blighted biology.
It was here that Okor drew the line, as his hearts beat in double-time. Acid flowed through his veins, the reinvigoration sublime, energizing the pestilent prime. He was without his weaponized war crimes, his ancient armour little more than a rotten rime.
He could practically feel the breath of the beast on his skin, its strength denying him his undying linchpin.
The rapid rhythm of hoof and heart beats repeats, Illidan roaring as he brought a fist towards the entropic elite.
Words are wind, steeped in the power of sin.
Okor did not question the origin of this truth, spitting out a shattered tooth.
His crimson eye tore itself open, glaring at the charging Illidan.
The winds of Chaos coruscated around his carcass, iridescence pulsing to the rhythm of biological bass, channeling its infinite energies with a rasp.
”I drop this beat like a Virus Bomb, leave you broken without a Qualm.”
The words warped reality, detritus defying gravity as it formed a maelstrom of debris. Decrepit digits dug into his palm, surrendering his mind to the eerie calm. He cared not from where this power came, interested only in its potential to maim.
”I will shatter your back, always on the attack, another corpse on the stack. Pain. For you, it wracks, for me it lacks, so I inflict the slack.”
As the words left his leprous lips, they brought about a lyrical apocalypse. Stone-like scales were sundered, the sound of organic armour splitting akin to thunder. Illidan’s advance was halted as he roared in rage and pain to the backdrop of innumerable souls long since slain.
Grinning gangrenous, Okor upped the pace, imposing his will on realspace, each syllable slipping from his sable fangs striking like a mace.
”Daemon, please. I’ve got this battle on lock, thrown away the keys. Ten millennia of dementia, compared to which you’re rodentia, afflicted with pyrexia, septicemia stalled only by anemia.”
The Betrayer's black hide bubbled, the touch of Nurgle far from subtle. Nonetheless, Illidan still came, slowly decomposing digits descending, the intention of the Daemon’s attentions plain.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The beat that had invigorated him faded, his surroundings and situations emerging in frightening clarity. While the grace of Gods had momentarily stalled the Lord of the Outland’s advance, his foe’s physiology had preserved them through the worst of the assault, their epidermis slipping into entropy. Calciferous claws dug into the drained defiler, impaling him. Maglocked boots dug into the dirt as he struggled to stay standing, clutching at the terrible talons thrust through his torso, his stomach splitting as sinuous strands of skin and spines wrapped themselves around his attacker.
Wrapping his hands around the mouldering mass of malformed entrails, Okor began to pull, his weight and strength, coupled with the Daemon’s instinct to follow its prey, dragged the beast with him. Its other fist glanced off of his helmet, the rage and hunger inherent to Illidan’s new form encouraging his recklessness and savagery.
That suited the Plague Marine’s needs perfectly. Each step backwards took the pair closer to the gates, the fear of those cowering within the walls a sweet aroma to the darkness-touched brawlers.
”You can taste their terror, can’t… you?” Burbled Okor, lungs lanced through by Illidan’s claws. He pressed himself closer, talons protruding further from his pestilent plate as he slid along the sinister spears.
”Listen to their cries. Glut yourself on the screams of every suffering soul.”
He broke the mismatched stare, glancing over the Fel Warrior’s shoulder, watching his shadow-cloaked ally advancing, sword drawn.
”Choke on it.”
Quote:985 Words according to Wordcounter.net. Rad-bolter, phosphex pistol, Hunger, Winds of Chaos used. 2/6 SP remaining.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Revan Noctis - 02-06-2017
I Revan had attempted to stop the strange creature before him from drinking from what seemed to have been the skull of some once living creature. It did not take long after his failure to do so that Illidan soon began to quickly transform such a thing should not have been possible yet here it was before him. Okor yelled at him to keep his distance and upon seeing the large demonic beast in its full glory he was certainly not about to argue.
He had absolutely no idea what this creature Illidan had become was but it was without a shadow of a doubt pure evil and looking into its eyes Revan could see only pure hatred and desire to destroy within. He remembered Sombra's words once more knowing that Illidan was corrupting himself further to win this battle something that sickened Revan to his very core. He supposed he should have considered himself lucky when the wild beast lunged for Okor though he felt bad for the already barely held together warrior as he was flung through the air. The beast was now seemingly singlemindedly for the moment focused on Okor and Revan wasted no time considering the opportunities to put this weakness to use.
His attacks earlier had done some damage but not nearly enough to defeat a powerful prime and he had essentially threw everything he had at the humanoid mage now it seemed this creature was faster and healed far faster then Illidan had before.The battle seemed to move the wild animal following Okor like a hunting hound that smelled the scent of prey. Revan had no intention of leaving Okor to fend off the horrific abomination by himself however and moved fast to decrease the gap that had formed between them. The massive horned demonic form had caught up with Okor's body that still surprisingly was holding together though Revan knew already this was from some serious dark magic.
The two fighters seemed to stare each other down for a few long moments as the rain poured down the battlefield was drenched in blood much of it coming from his ally Okor who never seemed to run out no matter how many times he was cut open. His gaze quickly met Okor's as Okor was very clearly attempting to anger the beast into further acts of uncontrollable rage a tactic that he approved of and now had to add to. Raising his sword again he listened to his partners final words to the Beast, words of hatred to be sure though Revan did wonder what had caused Illidan to do something so pitiful and weak as to lead an attack upon this city of simple people. He took the advantage of his speed and concentration something the creature whose eyes burned green failed to be capable of.
Running through the mud his boots were now dirty and drenched and his feet sloshed within them. His hood was cold and had begin to stick to his face and his armour was freezing with his wet robe and cape little better. His blade was however no less effective in his powerful grip his sinister skills still deadly to any opponent. Leaping up as best he could he used his own powerful arms to wrap himself around the creatures neck allowing himself to hang from its back.
Gripping tightly it was only a second later that Illidan began to struggle his rage flared at the unwanted physical contact and unorthodox attack. Revan wasted no time bringing up his blade it was time to make sure that this monster did just what was asked of him he thought as he moved the blades cold steel sharp edge to the creatures throat it was time to find out if this would have any effect on the horrific horned giant.
Quote:643 words Longsword
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Illidan Stormrage - 02-09-2017
Skin, hardened by his transformation, smoked with the scorches left by the plagued knight's incantations. The cursed words had drilled through his tough hide regardless, wounding him but also feeding his primal anger and power. Clenching fangs, Illidan stalked towards the armoured zombie. Pure adrenaline and fury roared through his bloodstream, pumping his muscles, driving his hooves closer to his target. The cunning and tactician in him resisted the overwhelming rage, though letting himself indulge in it every now and then. It would not overtake him, not where the Burning Legion had failed to, even after unfettered access to his mind for ten thousand forsaken years.
"You speak as if pain and fear will drown me, puppet," Illidan growled, each cloven step slow and heavy. "You do not know me, nor my power. Pain and fear ... they are my power."
Illidan dug his own claws into his chest, grimacing at the sharp heat awoken there, and bellowed as he ripped them out, blood flying in a spray. He clenched his teeth, funnelling the wound through his demonic power, sacrificing his well-being for a greater sip, his arcane tattoos flaring emerald. "Injury only drives my resolve, feeds my strength. Nothing short of decapitation will stop me."
"Funny you should say that," said a voice from behind.
Illidan had enough time to turn his horned head before a heavy weight slammed onto his back. Thick, armoured arms wrapped around his neck. Hot breath splashed on the back of his neck, contrasting with the chilling rain that still sloshed upon the battlefield. The glint of moonlight streaked up the sword in his attacker's grip, rising swiftly to the night elf felguard's throat.
"You!" Illidan said. His primary focus on the undead soldier had let the cloaked warrior get the drop on him again. "You will regret your cowardice!"
Illidan rolled his shoulders, thrashing the cloaked soldier around on his back, but the grip did not loosen. He brought clawed hands over his shoulders in search of his target, but bulky shoulders reduced his flexibility, leaving him grasping at air. All the while he kept the image of the sword by his jaw in his mind; while his skin would deflect most of a blade strike, the plagued knight's curse had exposed chinks in his armour-like hide, chinks that could allow the passage of cold steel into his jugular.
Rage mounted with each unsuccessful attempt to remove the rider.
"Enough!"
Illidan hurled himself backwards, slamming his spine and the cloaked warrior into the mud. He felt the grip weaken, but it did not break. Rising into a crouch, Illidan repeated the motion, hearing the wind whistle out of his foe's lungs. The sword fell from his fingers. With a final back slam, the cloaked soldier relinquished his hold on him.
Climbing upright again, Illidan took a deep breath, a strange airiness filling his head. He fought the urge to drop to a knee, unwilling to expose himself, nor telegraph the fact that a sudden malady had overcome him. Had the damage he'd taken so far affected him so greatly?
"Let's finish this," the cloaked soldier murmured, grasping his sword once more, mud clinging to his body tumbling from him in the rain.
He charged at Illidan, sword swinging, droplets splashing in its wake. The night elf felguard rose a solid forearm to block the attack, but instead of the weapon clanging off his thickened skin, it bit in. Illidan roared as blood flowed from the strike. He yanked his arm back, the sword remaining embedded in his limb, stealing it from its owner.
"You don't know when to give up, do you!?" With his remaining hand, he seized the cloak of his foe and lifted him to meet his blazing eyes. "I'll teach you for interfering in my plans, maggot."
Illidan tossed the warrior over his shoulder and into the mud. With a jilted tug, he tore the sword from his arm, the fire of the wound flaring. Growling, he threw the blade away and fell to his knees. The strength that made him so confident and empowered was draining out of him faster than he had realised. Even as he crouched there, his muscles shrank, his horns regressed back into his skull, his hooves flattened and expanded into toes. The transformation was reversing.
All of his stings and injuries returned in full force as he raised awkwardly back to his feet. A long gash ran down his left arm, still fresh and oozing from the sword. While he could draw on that pain to strengthen his own power, he was not invulnerable; the wounds were starting to weigh him down.
"You think this is over?" Illidan said, grimacing as the wet darts of the rain sank into his cut like wasp stingers. "I don't need to be some hulking monstrosity to lay waste to you."
The night elf drank from his agony, and the endless, grim power of the Twisting Nether suffused his body. He would fight until he collapsed in a useless heap, but that moment had not yet arrived.
Illidan raised a clenched hand, and as if saluting his own victory, a jagged lightning bolt forked through the cloud smothered sky. Emerald light poured from his fist like an eerie beacon as he focused on a point high above them.
Yes ... hear my bidding ...
He felt them approaching, gravitating towards his enormous signal, thrown like paper scraps in the wind.
They're here ...
Illidan shouted his battle cry, and a pale green star exploded, tearing a thin sheet in the space-time above them. An entirely new night sky opened through its portal, one devoid of rain or clouds, and from it a shower of green comets screamed through, blazing with the emerald fires of the Burning Legion.
"How did you so eloquently phrase it, corpse?" Illidan said, baring his fangs. "Choke on it?"
Quote:985 words via MS Word. Transformation's reversed. Used Felfire Storm, cost 2 SP. 0/4 SP total.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Okor - 02-11-2017
Leprous lips twitched apart in a smile as smouldering stones descended from the heavens, violent veridian energies blazing as they collided with their targets. A malice-born meteor careened through Okor’s chestplate, burning a rotten heart to ash before settling into place, diseased blood hissing as it boiled into nothingness upon contact. Another coruscating comet impacted against the walls of the town, moss-coated rubble falling to the muddy earth below in a cascade of cracked cobbles, burning balls of rock bouncing from the Plague Marine’s Pauldrons.
Green flame consumed a nearby corpse, the rag-wrapped body offering up a brief scream of muted agony, drawing the eyeless gaze of Illidan.
”Rise.”
Scrap-swaddled scavengers rose from the churned earth, clutching improvised armaments as they advanced forward, maintaining a steady pace despite everything about their diseased bodies suggesting an inability to even stand. Weeping sores riddled their forms, seeping with blood and pus as they bared yellowed fangs, heedless of the burning barrage.
“What necromancy is this?” Demanded Illidan, turning to face Okor, his emerald sight blazing as he looked upon the sullied souls before him.
Gurgling laughter greeted him.
”Don’t you… recognize it, whelp? This is Darkshire.”
The rotting rabble shambled forward, the swarm armed with rusted knives, corroded cleavers, the most desperate amongst the leprous legion holding nothing more than chipped cobblestones.
Okor’s bile-drenched blade dragged through the blood-soaked earth as he approached, the impending triumph sweeter than anything his necrotic tongue had ever been able to taste. Hearts linked by shared contagion beat loudly within his ears, war drums hammering in praise to a plague-ridden Deity.
”These are the Lost and the Damned. The forsaken and forgotten. The broken men and shattered minds, reforged.”
The lord of the Illidari paced anxiously, twirling his glaives as he eyed the encircling horde, the rusted iron jaws of Okor’s trap snapping shut.
”They’ve waited the entirety of their miserable lives for this moment. For the moment their suffering has been justified, every… instant of agony and despair redeemed in a moment of glory.”
He flung a claw back towards the sepulchral masonry of Darkshire, howling as he spoke, his words ringing with the strength of the stones.
”That is life! It is a flawed, broken thing, doomed to end! It is suffering, and it is pain!”
He roared as he tossed his septic sword, grabbing it by the pitted blade as he strode forth.
“And Gods help you if you try to take it from us!”
The plagued pommel descended towards the night elf, only to be deflected off of the bronze buckler with a dull ring. Only slightly staggered by the crushing blow, Illidan spun around the enraged avatar of Entropy, blades slicing deep into Okor’s side as he did so, blades slick with translucent blood.
As he celebrated this petty victory, the heaving hordes around him acted, festering fingers grasping at his violet hide, seeking to drag him down into the dirt with the rest of the mortals. ”Did you forget something, beast?”
The Chosen slowly loaded his pistol, slotting soul-burning shells into the bolt-thrower, only occasionally deigning to look towards The Betrayer. He raised the instrument of atrocity, sending a barely-contained inferno flying towards the Daemon Hunter.
”We are Legion.”
Illidan ducked, glaives slicing through air and flesh alike, a twisted hook falling to the earth as he cut through the long-severed wrist of his momentary captor. The alchemical load detonated in front of the half-Orcish cultist, showering their tainted torso with flame.
The Elf’s immediate escape attempt was forestalled by the iron grip on his shoulder, the one-handed devotee to the darkness lifting him upwards, sunken eyes staring into his soul. “In his embrace, I have become that which I feared most.”
Chest still smouldering with napalm, they drove their forehead towards their captive, a resounding crack sending them sprawling to the soil. Liquid fury running through still-living veins, Illidan leapt up, a spinning kick knocking the bare-chested brawler away.
A bolt embedded itself in the earth as they landed after the acrobatic feat, a lanky leper advancing forward, already nocking another projectile into position. “Death,” spoke the archer, completing the prayer as they sighted down the shaft. A deft motion by the Elf shattered the arrow mid-flight as it was loosed, springing back into motion as they weaved between the horde, disemboweling and crippling as he went, tainted blood mingling with his own in a sanguine shower.
Illidan somersaulted over a scavenger, blades cleaving through their skull as he delivered a blow even Nurgle’s blessings could not save them from, his chest heaving as fatigue began to set in, an unsettling numbness starting in his extremities.
”You feel it, don’t you?” Okor marched forward, each vertebra twisting unnaturally as the parasites within struggled to right their host, his horde parting as he moved like a rabid wolf among livestock. ”The sickness. Every beat of your failing heart spreads it. Every pulse brings you closer to death.”
“I can fight it,” snarled the former Sentinel, adopting a pugilist’s stance as his feet danced over the fetid earth, the fire blazing in his eye sockets intensifying as they steeled their resolve.
”Perhaps. Perhaps. But you cannot hope to stop us.”
The Plague Marine turned as he built momentum, his sword shrieking through the air as the two combatants screamed their defiance, each one uttering a warcry as their weapons clashed.
“FEEL THE HATRED OF TEN THOUSAND YEARS!”
Quote:906 words. Cultists summoned for the round, 0/6 SP remaining. Used Plague Blade, Cultists, Cultists Blades, Cultists Barrage, Phosphex Bolt Pistol.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Revan Noctis - 02-12-2017
Revan awoke to the sound of torment and pain, his blue eyes bearing witness to the rainfall of the night sky and the mud that he had landed in. Perhaps jumping on the abominations back had been a bad idea, raising his arm out of the wet ground that gripped the fabric of his robe he used his gauntlets as dirty as they were to lift himself out of the pool he had formed. Rising to his feet he hoped he had not been out for long, where did those two get to? He asked looking around doing his best to ignore the sound of other battles that roared in the distance.
"There." Running forward he came upon a sight he wished he had not seen.
Bodies lay everywhere diseased just as much as his companion, some even still managed to stand wielding a vast array of weapons some most unconventional. It was then that he witnessed the plagued warrior and the dark magical warlord clash once more, he was not entirely sure what to do but knew he had to help in some way, he allowed his body to move closer to the battle even though every voice in his head told him to let the two fight it out alone. To say he was frightened was putting it lightly, he had been cast into a battle with two horrific beings both seemed obsessed with death and he had to admit were it not for darkshire he would have found it hard to consider Okor an ally. The twin blades of Azzinoth tore into the body of the diseased titan as Okor let loose with his Phosphex bolt pistol with some rounds bouncing off of the elves chest but some certainly found their mark, it was not enough however as the weapon and hand of Okor went flying severed from the main body.
Revan now prepared to rush the warrior, his sword would surely be more then enough so long as he was distracted. The worst was bound to happen it seemed, the elf sliced off the leper's leg forcing him to his knee. Revan knew he had only a moment to help his ally, he began to summon his hidden power as his body lifted off the ground he was determined to win this battle and see to it that darkshire was saved.
"This is where you meet your end." said the elf mage lifting his glaive in the air for what he hoped would be a victorious strike.
"We are endless!" spat Okor believing his body could take whatever the useless fatigued worm could do to him
"I am sick of these undead and diseased warriors, most of all Illidan I am sick of you!" he yelled with all the energy he had left ignoring as best he could the sharp pain in his lungs, hovering in the air as the elemental glyphs flashed and spun around him.
"I think that is meant for you." said Okor rolling out of the way of the attack.
"You fool you are no match for my powers." said Illidan charging toward the cloaked warrior swearing that he was going to rip the mans throat out.
A bright multicoloured beam shot out of Revan's built up magical power, the red and blue mixed as it slammed into the elves form, Illidan slashed his glaives together in front of him shielding himself the best he could from the powerful blast.
Quote:578 words Phosphex bolt pistol, blades of Azzinoth, Used Glyph Strike 0/1 SP
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Illidan Stormrage - 02-15-2017
Red and blue blended together in one column, boring into Illidan's hell-forged warglaives. His arms shook with the impact; he hadn't the time to evade the intense spell, and defending with his blades was a delay at best. Injuries and taxed muscles screamed in defiance, demanding he collapse and succumb to the pain and fatigue, but Stormrage would not buckle. No master ruled over him except himself, not even his own traitorous body.
Yet this was a situation he had no say in.
The night elf's warglaives buckled outwards and the magical beam slammed into his chest. Flung from his feet, Illidan tore up the mud as he careened through the ground. Chest smoking, lungs empty and burning, clumps of mud clinging to his body, the demon hunter lay still and registered the falling drops of water assailing his skin. His cursed sight took in the undead risen at the behest of the plagued knight, all shambling towards him. The cloaked warrior had reclaimed his sword and skulked towards Illidan, his robe whipping about him in the winds.
It's all over, Stormrage. Give in to us, grant us agency over your weak flesh, and feel renewed power manifest within you! We shall raise you to godhood in mortal form!
Without us, you are destroyed. All your machinations grind to a halt in the rubble and mud. Victory will be yours to claim ... just rescind control, permit us entry into the world of blood and bone! Oh, what macabre songs we will sing as we rend sinew and bathe ourselves in scarlet!
Needles scratched at the back of his mind, scraping at his thoughts like the head of a record player. The demons sensed his weakness, the blood slinking from numerous wounds, the throbbing of worn muscles, and saw their chance. They whispered dreams of domination, of annihilating all that stood in Illidan's path, of unholy strength otherwise unattainable ... if only he surrender his will to the Twisting Nether. Their demands never abated, always subtly coercing the night elf in relinquishing his soul, but Illidan knew their promises meant the end to his campaign against their kind.
Illidan coughed as air flooded back into surprised lungs. Licking lips, he let himself imagine what nightmarish vengeance he would wreak if the Burning Legion's unfettered magic drowned him ... and then returned to his senses. "You ... you think this is the opportune moment ... to bribe me ... for my free will?"
Darkness in death ... or darkness in life, triumphant and invincible!
You choose to be slaughtered if you ignore our generous offer this time, night elf. There is no way out for you.
Illidan croaked a chuckle. His chest hummed with dull pain. "I spent ... ten ... thousand ... years ... listening to this bravado ... and arrogance. Never ... did I give in ... to escape my prison. If I die here ... it will be ... on my terms."
"Have you lost ... your mind, wretch, now at the end of your miserable existence?" the plagued knight barked. "Talking to the air ... fear has strangled your sanity."
Then you die here, night elf.
Your frail body will be food for the worms, nothing more.
Illidan bolted upright. His entire body weighed more than he remembered, yearning to kiss the muddied earth again, but he would not appease it.
"Oh, so that wasn't enough to put you down for good?" the robed warrior said, blade glinting in the moonlight with Stormrage's own blood. "I can fix that."
Struggling to a knee, Illidan summoned his warglaives to his hands. He pressed the curved crescents into the mud and hauled his weight upon them. Legs wobbled as he willed the strength into them that had fled long ago. Feet slipped in the mud, toes clawing for purchase, and with one final exertion of his calves, the demon hunter stood once more.
"Death ... will come whether you will it or not," the plagued knight gurgled, gripping his rusted sword in rotting fingers. "On your feet ... on your back ... it matters not."
Illidan flashed his teeth and snarled. The cultists formed a tight perimeter around him, and they reached . With every muscle aflame, the night elf crouched and jumped into the air, extending his arms and twisting. A whirlwind of demon-forged steel surrounded him, slashing and severing limbs that clambered for him, all falling wetly into the sucking mud.
Many of the plagued knight's devotees barely recognised their missing appendages, and lumbered forward. Illidan charged forward, legs threatening to snap and crumple with every stride, and separated the first cultist he encountered from shoulder to hip. With molten lava churning deep within his muscles, Stormrage squatted and leapt onto the shoulders of another cultist, cleaving his skull vertically before bounding off and decapitating several others as he touched down before the cloaked soldier.
Steel clashed amidst a bloom of sparks, their intentions wordless but crystal clear. Illidan landed a wobbly kick to the foe's chestplate, dislodging their stalemate. Dashing, Stormrage reached for the cloaked warrior's side, but his clunky movement left his flank exposed. The sword swept over his side, marking the night elf with a new stinging line of blood. Roaring at the pain, Illidan barrelled forward and sliced the unguarded inner elbow of his foe. The cloaked warrior cried out in surprise, dropping his sword.
Illidan drove his naked shoulder into him, knocking him to the mud, the impact rattling the teeth in his skull. Still he pressed on, the rapid decay of his body spurring him onto the final victory before all went black.
The plagued knight, perhaps recognising the temerity of his foe, attacked. Steel collided; though Illidan was the speedier of the two, wounds reduced them to near even levels.
One shot, or it's over.
Illidan screamed at his solidifying body as he threw an immense effort into deflecting the plagued knight's blade, and plunged the warglaive through his skull.
RE: Assault on Darkshire - Spearhead (Illidan vs. Okor and Revan) - Illidan Stormrage - 02-18-2017
The blade penetrated the plagued knight's helmet as a streak of lightning snaked through the gloomy sky. A pungent clear fluid leaked out of the wound, running down the length of Illidan's weapon. A moment passed, and the undead moved his head to face the night elf more directly. The night elf's heart skipped a beat.
"You think a blade ... will halt my advance? Dracula's pets are ... amusing. And misinformed," the plagued knight croaked.
Illidan struggled to extrude his warglaive, but it was stuck fast. His arms burned with fatigue, yearning to droop by his sides, and refused to add any more strength no matter how much his will insisted. His mind dominated his body unquestioningly, but he was finally at the point where such fortitude meant nothing. The night elf's final strike had done nothing but sap the last ounce of strength from him, and leave him in easy range for his foe to end him.
A shout sounded from behind. Illidan's magical sight spread behind him, sensing the cloaked warrior on his feet, charging forward. Splashes of water burst from his mud-encrusted boots as they disrupted the numerous puddles that collected the rain. His sword struck out before him like a thin battering ram.
"This is where it ends!" he shouted, closing the last gap between his prey.
The plagued knight reached out putrescent hands to ensnare the demon hunter.
There was nowhere to go, and no endurance to take him there.
Still, in that last second, as the tip of the sword quested for his flesh, instincts honed over thousands of years kicked in, helming his mind as if he were in the midst of a training session.
The cloaked warrior thrust. Illidan dropped to hands and knees, his fingers squelching in the mud, and threw himself forward. Metal greaves cracked against his ribs, incandescent agony echoing through his side, but his movement knocked the charging warrior off-target.
As the cloaked warrior stumbled forward, desperately searching for footing in the slick mud, his sword punctured the plagued knight's chest and exploded out the other side.
Illidan's eyes widened as an excruciating second lumbered past. The cloaked warrior froze, watching the helmeted visage of his ally, perhaps searching for some clue that he survived. The night elf hoped against hope that he had truly slain him, but with his warglaive still protruding from the plagued knight's skull, he assumed another stabbing would be of little note.
And yet, as cold and musty air stilled in Illidan's lungs, the plagued knight's shoulders slumped, and he tumbled wordlessly onto his back, the sword embedded in his chest.
"No!" the cloaked night said. "Oh no, no! What have I done?"
"What?" Illidan shouted. "Demon steel penetrates your brain and you live, but a sword through the chest seals it? What kind of undead are you?"
Even in his angry disbelief, Illidan recognised the chance laid out before him. A certain defeat had been stalled, and could be prevented completely if he moved fast. He knew he couldn't duel the cloaked warrior, not with his stinging wounds and numbing body. Yet one more spell, cast from the fatigues and pains of his flesh, could save his life.
The warglaive burst from the fallen knight's cranium and sailed back to Illidan's hand. He speared one end into the pliable mud, leaving the other curved spike displaying proudly. An emerald light bathed his palms as dark magic flooded into an orb hovering within.
"You think you'll take advantage of this?" the cloaked warrior yelled. "Your end is here!"
Leaping atop the plagued knight's unmoving corpse, the last enemy grasped the hilt of his stuck blade and pulled. Inches of steel gradually rose from putrid flesh, but it was in deep; Illidan had more time than he needed. The night elf launched a small orb of pale green forward. It connected with the cloaked warrior, lines of lime energy swirling around his body, solidifying him in place. Illidan smiled as he heard the unintelligible grunts from his target's frozen lips.
Lifting his hands, Illidan elevated the cloaked warrior into the air, slowly drawing him closer. His dark fel magic thrived on the stings and blows of his wounded body, enabling him to cast the spell at all, but it drained him fast.
"Your service in honour of Count Dracula and the Pale Moors is noted and appreciated," Illidan said as the cloaked warrior hovered above the point of the warglaive standing in the soil. "But we aren't taking new recruits right now."
Illidan thrust his hands down and the cloaked soldier careened downwards. As had happened to the plagued knight moments ago, blood-drenched steel burst through the soldier's torso, the wicked point clawing out of his back. His limbs twitched uselessly, a wet gargle flowing from his lips, and his body sagged over his impalement.
The night elf collapsed to hands and knees and vomited into the mud. Victory he had, but it had come at a dangerous cost. He would soon succumb to his wounds, intensified by his reckless usage of fel magic, if he didn't get out of the battle soon.
A quavering index finger alighted on his throat. A mote of magic pulsed into his voice box, an effort that rose bile at the back of his tongue, but he swallowed it down. In a booming voice that cut over the chaotic din of the battlefield, he yelled. "CLAWFANG! REGIS! TO ME!"
He slumped forward, his forehead ploughing into mud, the acrid stench of his own vomit assailing his nostrils. How he hated that his life hung in the hands of his two officers.
"Well well ... what do we have here?"
Illidan left his sagging head soak in the mud, but his all-seeing eyes knew what stood over him. A knight clad in full plate armour loomed at his side, sword streaked with red. A successful defender of Darkshire, by the looks of it.
"This wouldn't be the great leader of the enemy force now, would it?" he asked, the smarminess in his tone setting Illidan's jaw. "I wonder what would happen if I killed you?"
His luck had run out. At least he could parry with his tongue, if not with a weapon. "The same thing that happened to all of your friends as I eviscerated them, drew their innards to spill out like snakes cut from a cloth bag ... nothing. I will fall into the earth, festering and decomposing in the filth and the muck, forgotten to all but the carrion, an unremarkable and futile end ... the same as your unremarkable and worthless friends."
The soldier grimaced. The nerve was struck. The final blow would be swift. "You bastard! You cheapen the sacrifice of my friends?! Enjoy your permanent stay in hell!"
"Lord Illidan!"
A mass of fur flew over the night elf's prone body and descended on the knight. Primal screams and chunks of flesh separated from their host as a hulking werewolf tore into his prey. In an impressively short time, the knight had fallen silent and the shaggy beast kneeled before his commander.
"We heard your summons, lord," Clawfang rasped. "What is your will?"
"Where is Regis?"
A shriek sounded nearby as a human body, skin drained of all fluid, collapsed to the ground, flesh puffing away like dandelion spores. A bored old man ambled over. "Here, my lord. Werewolf limbs are much better suited for fast travel."
"Get me to the back of the army. Back with White. I need time to recoup."
"Indeed," Regis said, casting lazy eyes over him. "You've been busy. I hope my lord hasn't strained himself too much?"
"Not as much as those two," Illidan said, bobbing his head in the direction of his murdered enemies. "Now enough chatter. Get me to safety!"
Clawfang bent down and hoisted Illidan over his furry shoulder. "At once, my lord!"
[split] Assault on Darkshire - The Storm Rages - Illidan Stormrage - 03-06-2017
The layer of dead bodies and mud bobbed up and down in Illidan's sight. Many of the corpses wore armour or leather, their pink skin dappled with blood, their glassy eyes staring into the great beyond. Lying criss-crossed in the makeshift graveyard were decapitated demons, werewolves peppered with crimson slashes, and the decomposing undead that returned to their lifelessness. The rain fell on humans and monsters alike.
Carnage on this scale paled in comparison to the past wars he'd been a part of, but it still wounded him to see such death for little gain.
"Regis," Illidan croaked. "The battle ... how goes it?"
The necromancer navigated the corpse laden field by Clawfang's side, his countenance flat and expressionless. "The battle is lost, my lord. Your other officers have been slain, and while you were victorious in your fight, you are in no condition to continue. Our forces have made great strides in the fight, but there are simply too many defenders. We've cut down two for every one we've lost, and they still have the numerical superiority. We will all be routed or exterminated if we do not fall back."
Illidan groaned as one of his gashes stung particularly strongly. "I see. It was an outcome ... I was prepared for." And partially counting on. "Clawfang, Regis, sound the retreat. Have all remaining forces healthy enough return to Poenari Castle. And Regis ... get Archimonde. You know what to do."
"At once, Lord Illidan."
Illidan grimaced at the fading settlement from Clawfang's back, its walls in ruins, its people struggling desperately for survival. Would he ever see the end of all of this death and destruction?
There must always be ... great sacrifices ...
Quote:------------------------------------------------------------
The old man that smelled so good was coming! I could smell him, so thick and heady! There must've been a lot of magic in his body, oh yes! My gnashers have been gnawing on the bars of the cage he put me in, but all I could taste was wood and splinters. My nose was too long to bite them with my proper mouth. I don't know why I had to wait. I couldn't stop drooling at all the tasty magic I could sense! It's wasn't far away, but I couldn't get to it. Why did Master make me wait?
Oh! There! The old man! I could see him through the bars!
"There you are," the old man said. Oh, just to bite him once and drink! But Master said I couldn't. I don't want to upset Master. "Lord Illidan has permitted you to feast, little one."
I growled excitedly. Yes! I get to feed!
"But," the old man said, sharp enough to stop my happy shaking, "you are only allowed to consume the strongest source of magic on the battlefield other than myself and Lord Illidan. Do you know who that is?"
I tilted my head, sniffing. There was a lot of different scents mingling. It was hard to tell one stream from another. I sniffed harder, but I couldn't work out which creature Master would let me feast on.
The old man sighed. He did that a lot. "Look, I'll mark it for you. Even a stupid demon dog like you should be able to feel this."
He waved his hands about, and instantly I knew where the most powerful creature was! I barely had to sniff and it wafted in my nose, blotting out all the rest of the sorcerers and warlocks on the battlefield. Oh wow, it was a big one too! I jostled against the bars of my cage, flailing my gnashers about.
"Good," the old man said. "Now, go get it!"
The door swung open and I exploded from my prison. Little drops of water pelted my hide, but I didn't care. My feet squelched in the mud, and I fell on my snout a few times, but I didn't care. I could smell it! It smelled so good, so rich, full of dark magic! And Master said I could have it! All mine!
I smelled a few ghosts floating above me, but they were crumbs compared to the glorious meal awaiting me. Then I saw him. It was that other old man from the castle, the one carrying a glowing stick. My nose told me he was responsible for making all the ghosts. I bounded up to him, slobber spilling from my mouth. The ghosts didn't seem to notice me. All mine!
The other old man heard me coming I think, because he turned around to look at me. He wasn't looking so good, like he was about to keel over. The glowing stick must have been holding him up. Maybe all the magic was too heavy for him? Silly man, magic is never heavy for me!
"You ... " he said. "You're ... Illidan's pet. Where have you been all this time? You could've been out here, killing the townspeople! That blasted idiot better have a good excuse for hiding you away!"
I barked happily at him. Sometimes I wished I could talk like all of them. It would make some things easier. Like right now! I wanted to tell him how yummy he smelled! But I couldn't, so I didn't.
Instead, I leapt onto him, pinning him to the mud. He tried to say something, but mud got in his mouth and he couldn't spit it out. I couldn't take it any longer! My gnashers chomped onto his neck and his body went stiff, like all the other meals I've eaten. He made a funny groaning sound, and I started drinking.
Oh! The flavour! The rich, dense consistency! How thick and tasty his magic was! I slurped and slurped, and for a while I thought he'd never run out of magic! It was the best feast I'd ever had! I must remember to thank Master!
Soon there was no taste left. My gnashers let go of his neck, spitting out loose bits of flavourless flesh. I took another whiff and noticed all the ghosts were gone. Oh well. I was very full anyway.
Lots of Master's army was running the other way, back to that spooky castle. Oh well. Might as well go home! What a day!