Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Illidan Stormrage]

A nest of vipers. Illidan had summoned creatures beyond mortal reckoning for the express purpose of wiping out a human settlement, but they were not mindless, not searching for a leader. Not one of them. Lady Vash'j never questioned his rule, never displayed such audacious individualism when she professed servitude of the naga to the night elf's command. Kael'thas, though a cunning and selfish blood elf, was also wholly committed to Stormrage, needing him to sate the magic lust that afflicted his people since their Sunwell had been sullied by the Lich King. These volunteers, though ... they did not require Illidan for anything so pivotal, nor did they recognise the great and terrible destiny that he displayed. Had any of these fools identified the arcane tattoos that decorated his violet skin, the felfire balls beneath his blindfold, perhaps they would respect him. Though, for that to happen they would need to know of the Burning Legion, and while that unholy disease had swallowed countless worlds and races, none of those around him would be alive had their demonic touch reached them.
 
And yet, few showed the deference deserved to him. The short female human had the gall to leap onto him and off again while blowing her own horn, the cloaked Scarecrow used the opportunity to recruit others into his own mysterious alliance, and this Kerrigan creature mocking the attempt. A fuse had almost been lit when Scarecrow approached Kerrigan with his needled gauntlet, and how it had been averted was neither here nor there. Their lack of self awareness, or perhaps self control, tightened the night elf's jaw. If their assault on Darkshire was going to be a success, the mood had to be changed, and drastically.
 
"All right, listen to me," Illidan said in a low tone, arms falling to his sides. When he didn't need to part them to speak, he bared his teeth in a wide grimace. "This assault will fall to nothing if certain corrections are not made. Chiefly, that I am leading this attack, and if you wish to utilise the resources I am handing over to you all, you will recognise me as such. You will also put aside your petty egos and delusions of grandeur to work together and focus on our task. Otherwise, your own selfish pride will be the undoing of us all."
 
The group had stopped, all eyes and ears absorbing Illidan's speech. Good. At least they had the intelligence to listen.
 
"Those of you who will not bend the knee to me for the duration of his campaign, leave now. I will not abide rogue decisions to jeopardise the objective, nor will I discuss my plans before traitors. If you will not leave ..."
 
Illidan pumped the seething anger just below the surface into his mind, intensifying the green flames of his eyes, knowing that the sickly light would be filtering through his blindfold. The fire scorched his sockets, the burning a sharp but predictable consequence of his display, but worth the sacrifice. In tune with his rage, the dim emerald tattoos that adorned his torso and arms shed their own light.
 
" ... will be encouraged to do so by my army."
 
Illidan watched his intended officers turned their heads this way and that, absorbing the patchwork force that the night elf commanded. Spirits of all colours, mostly translucent portraits of decaying human corpses, floated above them in a striking constellation. The monsters of Count Dracula's number also perked up at Stormrage's words; werewolves, warlocks, skeletons and many other ghoulish soldiers stared pointedly at the group.
 
"Does anyone have any objections?"