12-01-2017, 09:02 PM
Illidan had never inspected the dungeons of Poenari Castle. He never felt any need to, nor did he have time even if that particularly strange desire presented itself. Besides, he had already spent more than his fair quota of his life locked in a dark, cold cell with nothing but the taunts and temptations of demonic spirits swirling in his ears without end. Yet now he was going to spend a lot of time getting acquainted with the algae-laden stone walls and musky odour hanging in the air.
The night elf demon curled into a ball within the amber orb of Regis’ spell, the immobilising magic funnelling from the apex of his gnarled wooden staff. A retinue of monsters and ghouls followed the old necromancer in silence. Illidan gazed down at Regis’ creased face. Flat and disinterested, his half-lidded eyes stared straight ahead, the light of his spell plenty to illuminate the path through the black. Not once did they flick up to his captured prize.
Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow but Illidan was not unaccustomed to the sensation. He knew lesser creatures would cling to a vaunted hope that something would save them or their jailers would feel compassion and release them for no reason. Illidan had no such illusions but defeat gave him another opportunity to assert his dominance in the universe, to test his mind and strength. How he would do that in this instance, though, was not clearly defined.
They had walked some distance down winding stairwells and long corridors. They passed under a crumbling archway and into a hallway. Cells lined the right side of the corridor, their bars flaky and flecked with dull orange. The yellow light of the night demon’s prison filtered through the wide set bars and onto the occupants of the cells.
Torandril’s body was slumped against the mossy wall, but his head perked up when the light rolled over his feet. He rushed to the bars. “Lord Illidan!” He kept his eager face on his master, perhaps expecting a miraculous feat where Illidan exploded with raw, surging power and tore his captors to bloody ribbons. Maybe he awaited an order. Illidan could not bring himself to do either.
A furry figure paced around the perimeter of the next cell as if searching for something, his sharp claws clacking on the stone floor. His head snapped to the glowing sphere that Illidan resided in and he galloped to the bars in a motion mimicking Torandril, if a little more desperate and unrestrained.
“My lord!” Clawfang growled, his crimson eyes wide like a lost dog. “My lord, where are they taking you? How will we get out?”
Illidan gave his simple-minded warrior some reassurance. Of his commanders, Clawfang needed it the most. “Be calm, Clawfang. This is but a temporary situation.”
The last occupied cell featured a long, thin creature slithering over the stones, reaching one end of the bars and turning to head back to the other side. She saw the glimmer of amber light on the wet, damp stone and spotted Illidan. She did not throw herself at the rusted bars like the others. She placed her four arms behind her back and bowed at the waist.
“Lord Illidan,” Lady Vashj said. No fear in her voice, no desperation; it was an ordinary greeting, as if they were bumping into each other in the line of her regular duties. The naga warlord knew the inhospitable circumstances of forced imprisonment in a similar way to Stormrage. Their experiences had vastly differed; he, locked in a deep cavern guarded by magical wards for millennia; her, sunken to the bottom of the ocean and twisted into the half serpent, half night elf creature she had become, beholden to the Old Gods. Such events reduced ordinary stone prisons to a momentary inconvenience.
Regis continued past Lady Vashj’s cell, ignoring the remaining empty few that stretched to the end of the hallway. Illidan glanced at his commanders once more before the black of the dungeon swallowed them whole again.
They descended a flight of stairs and came to the deepest part of the prison. A single cell occupied the far wall of the hallway. Regis nodded and a skeleton stepped forward, swinging the squeaky door open. The necromancer guided Illidan’s body inside, manipulating his limbs outward in a star shape, and pressed his body firmly against the wall. With a tense of his bony fingers, a jolt ran through Illidan’s body, severing his connection to his transformed state. His wings, horns and hooves faded away, as did the increased muscle mass. Another skeleton entered the cell with the first and fastened manacles to the night elf’s wrists and ankles, tugging on the chains that linked to the wall to ensure their strength.
Regis swatted the air with his free hand. The manacles shimmered and the thick flakes of rust shed from the iron. He pulled back on his staff, ending the amber sphere that engulfed Illidan’s body. The night elf sagged to the ground in his bonds, the energy from his body depleted. There was enough length in the chains for him to move around if he so chose, though not sufficient to reach the bars of the cell.
“I may not be casting the spell any longer, but I infused your shackles with the same effect,” Regis said. “While they touch your skin, you will be unable to access your powers.”
The skeletons left Illidan in the cell, closing the door and securing a lock. That device wouldn’t do much if he could imbibe the demon strength in his veins, but it was unbreakable while he was in his weakened state.
Regis turned to leave.
“What are you planning to do with me?” Illidan said.
Regis paused and looked over his shoulder. “That will depend on Lavir. As the new lord of Poenari Castle, it is his duty to judge you and your failed enterprise. Until then, you will decay in this cell.”
Lavir ... the name wasn’t familiar. But Regis must have been referring to the blood elf that strutted around after Illidan’s defeat. If the necromancer wasn’t taking the helm, he was obviously entrusting it to the one that betrayed the Betrayer. Yet Lavir did not ring any bells in Illidan’s mind, neither for good or bad reasons.
“I demand an audience with this Lavir,” Illidan growled. “I deserve to know why he led this rebellion.”
“As a prisoner, you can’t demand anything,” Regis said drolly. “However, it may interest him to speak with you. I will relay your request but do not expect that it will be granted simply because it was made.”
Illidan recalled the way Lavir leered at him when Illidan was safely enshrouded in Regis’ spell. He smirked. His body posture was firm and confident. He lauded the victory over Stormrage like a child dangles an object of desire just out of reach of a smaller child. Lavir basted in his own superiority while Illidan was made helpless and weak, and yet the night elf couldn’t even picture this turncoat before the events of the day.
Lavir could be playing the part of arrogant lackey-turned-master, or it could be as real and intrinsic to him as it appeared. How and why he contacted Regis to start this revolution were questions Illidan wanted answered, but most of all, he wanted some one-on-one time with the blood elf to take stock of his character. Without knowing his enemy, Illidan was at a disadvantage, but something told him the cocksure Lavir would take the bait and end the mystery.
Regis stopped one last time at the bottom of the only stairwell from Illidan’s cell. “I didn’t want it to come to this. I saw potential in you. You could have ruled as Count Dracula’s primary vassal in a conquered Pale Moors. It is unfortunate that you couldn’t balance your ambitions with those of our true lord.”
Illidan’s upper lip curled. “Get out.”
Regis ascended the staircase and left the room. The light that shone from the tip of his staff faded away until Illidan was left in darkness.
Illidan was never good at recording the passage of time, especially while incarcerated. Ten thousand years of imprisonment, while by no reckoning a short and breezy time, eventually blended together into one interminable stretch in his memory. As long as that time was in the moment, Illidan found that his memories of that night elven dungeon were featureless and, by comparison to reality, short.
He counted the times a servant of Regis or Lavir arrived at his cell and slipped just enough meat and water under his bars to keep him alive. Illidan postured that he was being fed once a day, though without light or time keeping devices, it was a guess. Every time the dented plate rattled under the cell door, Illidan placed a pebble against the corner of the walls. With the terrible upkeep of the dungeon, loose portions of stone were plentiful.
There were six pebbles aligned against the wall when the ambience of a light trickled down the stairs. Bare feet padded down into Illidan’s cell until the candle came into view, as did its holder.
The blood elf strode towards the bars. The candlelight danced over his exposed torso, illuminating the green arcane symbols scrawled over his pale chest and arms. Touches of emerald filtered through the black blindfold he wore, though Illidan could easily see the demon fire burning in his sockets. Fine blonde hair cascaded down his back and swished with every step.
Stopping at the bars, he gathered his loose pants to lift the cuffs from the dusty ground and placed the candle down. He stood as a smirk tugged at the sides of his mouth.
“The mighty Illidan Stormrage, the Betrayer, confined to a common cell,” the blood elf mocked. “Undone by his love of his army. This is not how I thought you would be defeated. I imagined you would have razed this castle to dust before you willingly gave yourself as a prisoner.”
Illidan tilted his head up, his naked back against the cold stone wall. “Then you do not know me as well as you think you do.”
“I know you well enough. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation with you in chains.”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Illidan said. “I do not know your name, though I do not often trouble myself with worthless and bland individuals.”
The blood elf barked a laugh. “Your barbed words sting me, they truly do. I’m sure you remember me. Even one as esteemed as the Betrayer knows of my accomplishments.”
Play to his hubris, Illidan thought to himself. He seems blinded by it.
Illidan played a sigh. “Lavir.”
Lavir grinned. “There. Once you got past your hurt pride, it wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”
What an oaf. How did Regis agree to ally with this fool?
“What do you want?” Illidan asked.
“I heard you requested to see me,” Lavir said, running his fingers along the rust-ridden bars, the tips coming away smudged with orange. “So I decided to see what Lord Stormrage would want to say to his new lord. I hoped it was a declaration of submission but I know you wouldn’t work for anyone except the Burning Legion.”
Illidan scowled. “A common misconception. And one I’m surprised a fellow demon hunter would make.”
“So you are willing to pledge fealty to me?” Lavir said.
“No. I mean I am not a servant of the Burning Legion.”
“Though you have been in the past, am I correct?” Lavir said, pacing outside the cell. “And now you’re shacked up with Count Dracula?”
“You speak of things you cannot comprehend,” Illidan said.
“And that’s just the problem, isn’t it, Lord Stormrage?” Lavir said, grimacing. “Your motives are hidden to all but you. We all follow blindly along, trusting that you won’t lead us into ruin and destruction. But look around you. We serve alongside necromancers and undead and other creatures of evil.”
“And you imbibed the power of a demonic soul.”
“But I don’t do its bidding, do I?”
Illidan turned away. “Maybe you do.”
Lavir opened his mouth but his lips paused. Instead, he closed them for a moment. “Why did you want to speak to me?”
“I will tell you a secret I have never told anyone,” Illidan said. “But you must keep it clandestine. If it was discovered, everything will be lost.”
Lavir narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what the secret is and I will make the judgement myself.”
Illidan sighed. “The fel crystal that spins atop the castle ... it’s more than a source of fel energy. When the life signature of a living being with demonic essence is calibrated to it, they are capable of bending any other demon to their will.”
“So it’s a simplified version of summoning a demon? With less effort?” Lavir asked. “That’s not a big secret. Any demon hunter can sway a –“
“Listen!” Illidan interrupted sharply. “It doesn’t just allow domination over evil creatures. It allows control of anything with demonic essence. Including demon hunters.”
Lavir frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the fel crystal, when imprinted with my life signature, allows me to influence and even mentally control my demon hunters without them even knowing about it. Most believe they fight with me because of my cause, but the truth is ... I force them to follow me. Everyone who claims to battle at my side does so because I have overwritten their free will.”
The blood elf went quiet for a moment. “Impossible. If that was true, I couldn’t have rebelled against you.”
“The effect can wane over time,” Illidan said, staring at the far wall. “And those with stronger wills and minds can unintentionally resist or even ignore my orders. As it seems you have done.”
Lavir stared at a missing section of brickwork on the floor in silence. “Why are you telling me this?”
Illidan made the effort to stand, his chains clinking. “Because I’ve had time to reflect on my leadership and my actions in this Omniverse and I’ve come to a realisation. I have failed in my duty. I can no longer lead the demon hunters against the Burning Legion. And as you have bested me, it is only right that you take up the mantle.”
“You’re ... you’re actually surrendering the campaign against the Legion to me?” Lavir said, eyebrows lifted.
“Yes,” Illidan said through bared teeth. “But to have the best chance, you will need to synchronise your life pattern with the fel crystal.”
“How do I do that?”
“Normally I would have to work with the crystal in person to make it happen, but there is little doubt you would not trust me outside with the energy within it,” Illidan said. “However, if you can bring me a fragment of the gem’s outer layer, it will be enough for me to imprint your pattern onto the crystal.”
“And how do I know this isn’t a scheme to get yourself free?”
Illidan raised his arms and the chains jingled against his sides. “I cannot cast magic while these manacles are on me. The process for changing the life signature on the crystal does not require a spell, but I must be physically touching at least a piece of the crystal in order to change control from me to you.”
Lavir stared at Illidan for a long while. Illidan stared back.
“I’ll return with a piece of the fel crystal,” Lavir said, stooping to pick up his candle. “If any of this turns out to be a lie, I will execute your entire surrendered forces and then torture you.”
Illidan narrowed his eyes. “An elf after my own heart.”
Lavir left. The night elf collapsed against the wall and closed his eyes.
I look forward to your return, Lavir the Foolish.
The night elf demon curled into a ball within the amber orb of Regis’ spell, the immobilising magic funnelling from the apex of his gnarled wooden staff. A retinue of monsters and ghouls followed the old necromancer in silence. Illidan gazed down at Regis’ creased face. Flat and disinterested, his half-lidded eyes stared straight ahead, the light of his spell plenty to illuminate the path through the black. Not once did they flick up to his captured prize.
Defeat was a bitter pill to swallow but Illidan was not unaccustomed to the sensation. He knew lesser creatures would cling to a vaunted hope that something would save them or their jailers would feel compassion and release them for no reason. Illidan had no such illusions but defeat gave him another opportunity to assert his dominance in the universe, to test his mind and strength. How he would do that in this instance, though, was not clearly defined.
They had walked some distance down winding stairwells and long corridors. They passed under a crumbling archway and into a hallway. Cells lined the right side of the corridor, their bars flaky and flecked with dull orange. The yellow light of the night demon’s prison filtered through the wide set bars and onto the occupants of the cells.
Torandril’s body was slumped against the mossy wall, but his head perked up when the light rolled over his feet. He rushed to the bars. “Lord Illidan!” He kept his eager face on his master, perhaps expecting a miraculous feat where Illidan exploded with raw, surging power and tore his captors to bloody ribbons. Maybe he awaited an order. Illidan could not bring himself to do either.
A furry figure paced around the perimeter of the next cell as if searching for something, his sharp claws clacking on the stone floor. His head snapped to the glowing sphere that Illidan resided in and he galloped to the bars in a motion mimicking Torandril, if a little more desperate and unrestrained.
“My lord!” Clawfang growled, his crimson eyes wide like a lost dog. “My lord, where are they taking you? How will we get out?”
Illidan gave his simple-minded warrior some reassurance. Of his commanders, Clawfang needed it the most. “Be calm, Clawfang. This is but a temporary situation.”
The last occupied cell featured a long, thin creature slithering over the stones, reaching one end of the bars and turning to head back to the other side. She saw the glimmer of amber light on the wet, damp stone and spotted Illidan. She did not throw herself at the rusted bars like the others. She placed her four arms behind her back and bowed at the waist.
“Lord Illidan,” Lady Vashj said. No fear in her voice, no desperation; it was an ordinary greeting, as if they were bumping into each other in the line of her regular duties. The naga warlord knew the inhospitable circumstances of forced imprisonment in a similar way to Stormrage. Their experiences had vastly differed; he, locked in a deep cavern guarded by magical wards for millennia; her, sunken to the bottom of the ocean and twisted into the half serpent, half night elf creature she had become, beholden to the Old Gods. Such events reduced ordinary stone prisons to a momentary inconvenience.
Regis continued past Lady Vashj’s cell, ignoring the remaining empty few that stretched to the end of the hallway. Illidan glanced at his commanders once more before the black of the dungeon swallowed them whole again.
They descended a flight of stairs and came to the deepest part of the prison. A single cell occupied the far wall of the hallway. Regis nodded and a skeleton stepped forward, swinging the squeaky door open. The necromancer guided Illidan’s body inside, manipulating his limbs outward in a star shape, and pressed his body firmly against the wall. With a tense of his bony fingers, a jolt ran through Illidan’s body, severing his connection to his transformed state. His wings, horns and hooves faded away, as did the increased muscle mass. Another skeleton entered the cell with the first and fastened manacles to the night elf’s wrists and ankles, tugging on the chains that linked to the wall to ensure their strength.
Regis swatted the air with his free hand. The manacles shimmered and the thick flakes of rust shed from the iron. He pulled back on his staff, ending the amber sphere that engulfed Illidan’s body. The night elf sagged to the ground in his bonds, the energy from his body depleted. There was enough length in the chains for him to move around if he so chose, though not sufficient to reach the bars of the cell.
“I may not be casting the spell any longer, but I infused your shackles with the same effect,” Regis said. “While they touch your skin, you will be unable to access your powers.”
The skeletons left Illidan in the cell, closing the door and securing a lock. That device wouldn’t do much if he could imbibe the demon strength in his veins, but it was unbreakable while he was in his weakened state.
Regis turned to leave.
“What are you planning to do with me?” Illidan said.
Regis paused and looked over his shoulder. “That will depend on Lavir. As the new lord of Poenari Castle, it is his duty to judge you and your failed enterprise. Until then, you will decay in this cell.”
Lavir ... the name wasn’t familiar. But Regis must have been referring to the blood elf that strutted around after Illidan’s defeat. If the necromancer wasn’t taking the helm, he was obviously entrusting it to the one that betrayed the Betrayer. Yet Lavir did not ring any bells in Illidan’s mind, neither for good or bad reasons.
“I demand an audience with this Lavir,” Illidan growled. “I deserve to know why he led this rebellion.”
“As a prisoner, you can’t demand anything,” Regis said drolly. “However, it may interest him to speak with you. I will relay your request but do not expect that it will be granted simply because it was made.”
Illidan recalled the way Lavir leered at him when Illidan was safely enshrouded in Regis’ spell. He smirked. His body posture was firm and confident. He lauded the victory over Stormrage like a child dangles an object of desire just out of reach of a smaller child. Lavir basted in his own superiority while Illidan was made helpless and weak, and yet the night elf couldn’t even picture this turncoat before the events of the day.
Lavir could be playing the part of arrogant lackey-turned-master, or it could be as real and intrinsic to him as it appeared. How and why he contacted Regis to start this revolution were questions Illidan wanted answered, but most of all, he wanted some one-on-one time with the blood elf to take stock of his character. Without knowing his enemy, Illidan was at a disadvantage, but something told him the cocksure Lavir would take the bait and end the mystery.
Regis stopped one last time at the bottom of the only stairwell from Illidan’s cell. “I didn’t want it to come to this. I saw potential in you. You could have ruled as Count Dracula’s primary vassal in a conquered Pale Moors. It is unfortunate that you couldn’t balance your ambitions with those of our true lord.”
Illidan’s upper lip curled. “Get out.”
Regis ascended the staircase and left the room. The light that shone from the tip of his staff faded away until Illidan was left in darkness.
Illidan was never good at recording the passage of time, especially while incarcerated. Ten thousand years of imprisonment, while by no reckoning a short and breezy time, eventually blended together into one interminable stretch in his memory. As long as that time was in the moment, Illidan found that his memories of that night elven dungeon were featureless and, by comparison to reality, short.
He counted the times a servant of Regis or Lavir arrived at his cell and slipped just enough meat and water under his bars to keep him alive. Illidan postured that he was being fed once a day, though without light or time keeping devices, it was a guess. Every time the dented plate rattled under the cell door, Illidan placed a pebble against the corner of the walls. With the terrible upkeep of the dungeon, loose portions of stone were plentiful.
There were six pebbles aligned against the wall when the ambience of a light trickled down the stairs. Bare feet padded down into Illidan’s cell until the candle came into view, as did its holder.
The blood elf strode towards the bars. The candlelight danced over his exposed torso, illuminating the green arcane symbols scrawled over his pale chest and arms. Touches of emerald filtered through the black blindfold he wore, though Illidan could easily see the demon fire burning in his sockets. Fine blonde hair cascaded down his back and swished with every step.
Stopping at the bars, he gathered his loose pants to lift the cuffs from the dusty ground and placed the candle down. He stood as a smirk tugged at the sides of his mouth.
“The mighty Illidan Stormrage, the Betrayer, confined to a common cell,” the blood elf mocked. “Undone by his love of his army. This is not how I thought you would be defeated. I imagined you would have razed this castle to dust before you willingly gave yourself as a prisoner.”
Illidan tilted his head up, his naked back against the cold stone wall. “Then you do not know me as well as you think you do.”
“I know you well enough. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation with you in chains.”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Illidan said. “I do not know your name, though I do not often trouble myself with worthless and bland individuals.”
The blood elf barked a laugh. “Your barbed words sting me, they truly do. I’m sure you remember me. Even one as esteemed as the Betrayer knows of my accomplishments.”
Play to his hubris, Illidan thought to himself. He seems blinded by it.
Illidan played a sigh. “Lavir.”
Lavir grinned. “There. Once you got past your hurt pride, it wasn’t so hard to say, was it?”
What an oaf. How did Regis agree to ally with this fool?
“What do you want?” Illidan asked.
“I heard you requested to see me,” Lavir said, running his fingers along the rust-ridden bars, the tips coming away smudged with orange. “So I decided to see what Lord Stormrage would want to say to his new lord. I hoped it was a declaration of submission but I know you wouldn’t work for anyone except the Burning Legion.”
Illidan scowled. “A common misconception. And one I’m surprised a fellow demon hunter would make.”
“So you are willing to pledge fealty to me?” Lavir said.
“No. I mean I am not a servant of the Burning Legion.”
“Though you have been in the past, am I correct?” Lavir said, pacing outside the cell. “And now you’re shacked up with Count Dracula?”
“You speak of things you cannot comprehend,” Illidan said.
“And that’s just the problem, isn’t it, Lord Stormrage?” Lavir said, grimacing. “Your motives are hidden to all but you. We all follow blindly along, trusting that you won’t lead us into ruin and destruction. But look around you. We serve alongside necromancers and undead and other creatures of evil.”
“And you imbibed the power of a demonic soul.”
“But I don’t do its bidding, do I?”
Illidan turned away. “Maybe you do.”
Lavir opened his mouth but his lips paused. Instead, he closed them for a moment. “Why did you want to speak to me?”
“I will tell you a secret I have never told anyone,” Illidan said. “But you must keep it clandestine. If it was discovered, everything will be lost.”
Lavir narrowed his eyes. “Tell me what the secret is and I will make the judgement myself.”
Illidan sighed. “The fel crystal that spins atop the castle ... it’s more than a source of fel energy. When the life signature of a living being with demonic essence is calibrated to it, they are capable of bending any other demon to their will.”
“So it’s a simplified version of summoning a demon? With less effort?” Lavir asked. “That’s not a big secret. Any demon hunter can sway a –“
“Listen!” Illidan interrupted sharply. “It doesn’t just allow domination over evil creatures. It allows control of anything with demonic essence. Including demon hunters.”
Lavir frowned. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that the fel crystal, when imprinted with my life signature, allows me to influence and even mentally control my demon hunters without them even knowing about it. Most believe they fight with me because of my cause, but the truth is ... I force them to follow me. Everyone who claims to battle at my side does so because I have overwritten their free will.”
The blood elf went quiet for a moment. “Impossible. If that was true, I couldn’t have rebelled against you.”
“The effect can wane over time,” Illidan said, staring at the far wall. “And those with stronger wills and minds can unintentionally resist or even ignore my orders. As it seems you have done.”
Lavir stared at a missing section of brickwork on the floor in silence. “Why are you telling me this?”
Illidan made the effort to stand, his chains clinking. “Because I’ve had time to reflect on my leadership and my actions in this Omniverse and I’ve come to a realisation. I have failed in my duty. I can no longer lead the demon hunters against the Burning Legion. And as you have bested me, it is only right that you take up the mantle.”
“You’re ... you’re actually surrendering the campaign against the Legion to me?” Lavir said, eyebrows lifted.
“Yes,” Illidan said through bared teeth. “But to have the best chance, you will need to synchronise your life pattern with the fel crystal.”
“How do I do that?”
“Normally I would have to work with the crystal in person to make it happen, but there is little doubt you would not trust me outside with the energy within it,” Illidan said. “However, if you can bring me a fragment of the gem’s outer layer, it will be enough for me to imprint your pattern onto the crystal.”
“And how do I know this isn’t a scheme to get yourself free?”
Illidan raised his arms and the chains jingled against his sides. “I cannot cast magic while these manacles are on me. The process for changing the life signature on the crystal does not require a spell, but I must be physically touching at least a piece of the crystal in order to change control from me to you.”
Lavir stared at Illidan for a long while. Illidan stared back.
“I’ll return with a piece of the fel crystal,” Lavir said, stooping to pick up his candle. “If any of this turns out to be a lie, I will execute your entire surrendered forces and then torture you.”
Illidan narrowed his eyes. “An elf after my own heart.”
Lavir left. The night elf collapsed against the wall and closed his eyes.
I look forward to your return, Lavir the Foolish.
![[Image: illidansig2.jpg]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2017/07/07/illidansig2.jpg)