11-15-2016, 07:03 AM
Poenari Castle loomed over the bailey that had become the battlefield, clouds framing the amber light that suffocated the stones. It pulsed in rhythm with Illidan's drumming heart beat as spirits poured from its walls, creating an eerie display. Streaks of colour dashed over the scorched, desolate earth, each spectre glowing with its own hue. Amber light glistened off their ethereal bones and rotted flesh, alighting on them as if they drew strength from the monolithic structure behind them.
Illidan threw his warglaives down and cracked his gnarled knuckles. Steel, even forged from the demonic fires of the Twisting Nether, wouldn't cut ghosts. Magic, however, was a potent offense against them, and the night elf demon possessed that in spades.
The earth rumbled with the imminent approach of his army, but Illidan had put little faith in them. Some would be a boon to the effort, mostly the necromancers and warlocks who could rip and drain the spectral energy from the wraiths' forms, but many others would just be cannon fodder. Reanimated skeletons, werewolves and other horrors that only had physical means of attack would fall quickly. Illidan briefly considered abandoning the army entirely and searching for the source of the amber light and the haunting, but the spirits that ate up the distance between them wouldn't abate until they were put down.
Flaring his wings, the night elf demon boosted into the sky. A trail of spirits changed direction and raced after him, their psychic screams cloying. As the first of Illidan's forces charged over the inner wall and into the bailey, he witnessed them falling to the ground and grasping their ears. Others ignored the mental pressure and forged ahead; those would be the ones who would survive. Or at least put up a good fight before they were felled.
Illidan soared through the sky and led the pursuing ghosts towards the castle. As he approached, the amber light hardened, encasing the fortress in an almost opaque shell. A deep pressure entered Illidan's mind, as if it were questing for something. Illidan spun away from Poenari Castle and watched the amber light dim again. I'm going to find out the mystery behind this place.
Turning his attention to the spirits, Illidan flipped on his back and drew his open palms together. Green flames licked between the gaps of his fingers, and a moment later he cradled a crackling ball of felfire. There was definitely a reason Illidan used the corruptive magic of the Burning Legion, and felfire was one such example. Felfire burned hotter and inflicted more agony on a target than a regular fireball, or even a magically conjured one, and ate away at even spiritual essence. The pain from a felfire burn could last years, as Illidan's face knew all too well.
With a shout, the night elf demon hurled the demon ball of flames at his undead chasers and watched the front line disintegrate amidst a haze of blinding green fire. Other wraiths that flew straight into the expanding explosion shrieked as the flames, almost fizzling away without fuel to enliven them, caught upon their unholy energy and bloomed anew. Yet those flames sizzled and consumed their hosts and left nothing but smoke, and the next wave of spectres filled in the ranks of those destroyed.
Illidan hugged his wings to his body and plummeted from the skies, welling a new felfire bolt in his hands. He jettisoned it and a second emerald conflagration ravaged the skyline again, complete with the agonised screams of the undead dying again. Still the spirits clawed after him, their hunger or rage unquenched until the night elf lay dead at their feet.
The night elf demon lifted his wings and curled them, using them as thin-skinned parachutes as he alighted on the ground. Admittedly he had turned his attention from the battle while dealing with his pursuers, but the resulting scene before him was worse than he had imagined. Spirits dove in and out of his soldiers, freezing their bodies in macabre poses and zipping out, leaving their quarry to fall dead instantly, much like the man-bats that had scouted the castle earlier. He watched as a werewolf howled, slobber matting the fur around its jaw as it lashed out at the closest spirit, only for his claws to pass through unhindered. A moment later it collapsed in a tangled mess, its life stolen from it.
It was an unfortunately common theme. Though the warlocks and necromancers weaved dark magic and dissipated more than a few wraiths, there were simply too many of them and not enough spellcrafters in Illidan's attacking force. Once most of the melee horrors had been scattered, the warlocks and necromancers were next, killed while dealing with an overabundance of targets.
Illidan didn't come this far to be beaten back by a human haunting. Hell, any sort of undead infestation curled his toes, but to deal with the base spiritual resonance of those pink idiots was more than his pride would bear.
Green light flooded the night elf demon's tattoos, cascading over their lines like a glowing emerald river. The felfire of his eyes scalded his eyebrows as the cursed power of the Burning Legion consumed the blood in his veins. He slapped his palms together and curled his fingers, incanting the swirling maelstrom within to obey him. The sickly green light weakly emanated from his hands, and an instant later shone like a verdant inferno. His hooves sank into shattering earth as the magic contained in his hands exploded forth like a volcano discharging molten lava. Illidan bared gritted fangs as he directed the Fel Beam through the mass of spirits that tore into his forces and watched them melt as the fel energy passed over them.
Scores of spectres shrieked their last as they disintegrated, and Illidan laughed. Slightly at first, finding relief in their destruction, then full-bellied as more and more succumbed to his might. The heady thrill of fel magic pumped through him, seeking to both spread destruction and rein Illidan's mind. Such a thick helping of chaotic power from the Twisting Nether never went unnoticed by the demonic denizens of the realm, and soon the night elf demon felt their whispers and seductive promises in his ear as if they stood by his side.
Yes! Yes! Destroy! Sow chaos and ruin into the world! More! Slaughter them until there's nothing left!
This power is but a taste of what's waiting for you on the other side. Come, why don't you submit and drown yourself in the glory of Sargeras' gifts? It'll only cost you your free will, and it will feel oh so good. I promise ...
A chorus of voices dwelled within him, urging him to be devoured by the fel. Others grew furious as Illidan's veteran will stood unbending to their empty assurances of pleasure and power eternal. They swore revenge, and in the most graphic and violent of methods. Illidan laughed harder. He revelled in the raw strength of the Burning Legion, but found even greater joy in the fury of the demons that demanded control of his soul. Being responsible for a horde of human souls shattering into particles only made it taste all the more sweeter.
The light faded from the night elf demon's hands and he took a moment to appreciate his handiwork. A huge swathe had been cut through the spirits. Smoking gaps in their formations detailed where Illidan had taken the largest tolls. All paused for a moment, including his own sorcerers, staring at the steam rising from his violet fingers. It had been the first time Illidan had wielded some of his true power since being deposited in the Omniverse, and the reactions of his men, women and undead revealed how uncommon it was to see such a display.
Enough, Illidan. Stop marinating in your own ego and finish the job.
The fel energies burned in his bones. He knew he could summon that strength again, perhaps a third time if need be. Yet he didn't want to. That euphoria that overwhelmed his better judgement was too foreign to him. Having rarely drawn upon it in the Omniverse, or perhaps because of his shift through dimensions, the alluring call of the Burning Legion simply distracted him too much. He had to practice delving into that horrible, beautiful power, and even the thought of training himself in that launched a shiver down his spine.
Focus!
Illidan ignited the air between his palms and coaxed another felfire bolt into his possession. He tossed it into the ghostly throng and the battle resumed in earnest.
Still, even with his sizeable contribution to his forces, Illidan was still losing. Spirits oozed from the earth as if the castle were producing them on some kind of spectral production line. Obliterating a dozen of them in a blazing sphere of emerald flame meant nothing if they were replaced a minute later. At most, Illidan had stemmed the tide and bought them some time, but to do what? His forces had been cut down to almost one third of their original size. Bodies of mangled undead littered the bailey, some hanging over the crumbling inner wall limp and lifeless.
More power. It was the only solution that came to mind. If Illidan couldn't locate the progenitor of the haunting, he had to demolish Poenari Castle. Even as he realised it, he swore he noticed the amber sheen of the fortress glimmer in defiance.
While that defeated the purpose of his original campaign, it was better than dying. Or worse, becoming a spirit's puppet for all time. In any case, he could round up a new 'volunteer' force of Dracula's minions to help rebuild the castle.
His Fel Beam could slice through stone with ease, but to topple the entire structure would take time. More time than his forces had at their disposal. And each blast would weaken him further; if he didn't smash the source of the spirits upon the castle's collapse, then his offensive would fail. He would be too weak to defend himself.
The only option dawned on him as he fel-fried another gang of spectres. He had to ruin the fortress in one massive hit. To channel that much fel through his body at this juncture would be suicide, but he knew a way to bring that kind of insidious power to bear without funnelling it through his own soul.
Illidan leapt backwards, letting the remainder of his forces cop the brunt of the ghostly defence. Steeling himself, the night elf demon lifted a single balled hand into the air. A beacon of emerald light radiated from his fist, and a world of exhaustion blasted through his mind. While the destructive fel magic didn't directly conduct itself through him, this particular spell demanded a great deal of focus and stamina to cast.
Moments later, as the weight of the world settled upon his shoulders, a sizzling hole in the sky ruptured above the battlefield. Illidan growled as he forced the gap in space-time to stretch, revealing an inky blackness within, devoid of any light. Soon however, emerald light spilled from the portal, and despite the debilitating effects of the spell, Illidan managed a smirk; dozens of massive fel comets would soon rain down on Poenari Castle, smashing it into flaming rubble.
A new presence stiffened Illidan's spine, and the sensation coursed through his bones until he was completely rigid. His concentration lost, the green-rimmed portal closed swiftly until it vanished in a prick of light. Illidan fought against the imprisonment, certain that a spirit hadn't snuck into his skin while he was preoccupied. What was doing this to him?
The night elf demon prepared to spill out his senses, but a hoarse voice removed the need. "Funny how the tables can turn so suddenly, without warning, isn't it Illidan?"
Illidan roared through glued teeth. "Ronaldo! Unhand me at once!"
The one-armed vampire tutted. "Now now, you're not really in a position to bargain, are you?"
His entire skeleton felt as if all the bones that comprised it had fused together. A deep spell froze him in place, one he couldn't trace. How could he possibly muster the strength to disable him like this? "We're losing the battle, you fool!"
"We're losing?" Ronaldo said. "No. You're losing the battle. It was under your command that my forces marched on this forsaken castle. You will be the one explaining to Count Dracula why you threw perfectly good soldiers to their deaths."
"And you're ensuring the remainder of them are murdered for your selfish vendetta!" Even as Illidan grunted the words out through caged teeth, he recognised the irony.
"It's fine. There's plenty more where that came from." Ronaldo laughed again even as the spectres killed the remaining spell casters that hadn't broken rank and fled.
"How ... are you doing this to me?"
"Remember your vampirism? You may have ignored it, let it thirst, and even blocked it from your mind. But slowly, as you've neglected it, it has opened a new weakness in you. It craves blood, so I am satiating it with dark magic, which is a reasonable facsimile if you have the skill. And because of that, I have a free pass into your body, one which your filthy magic cannot guard against."
Illidan yelled. As much as he detested the concept, he felt a new strength rushing through his muscles, no doubt a result of that thirst being met. Yet even with the added vigour, there was nothing he could do to stop Ronaldo's spell.
The last of his warlocks dropped to the corpse-filled earth and the spectres focused on the commander who'd given them so much grief. Illidan watched helplessly as they screeched at him, each taking a turn at diving through his skin and out the other side, and the pain
blurred my vision, but I grasped my blade and slashed forward, lopping off another demon head. I spun, skewering the next closest mongrel. I kicked my sword free, dark burgundy blood dripping from the steel, and
gripped the edge of the drawbridge, fingers weakening, my armour weighing me down. The rushing waters of the Poe River threatened to swallow me and drag me to its depths, and all I could do was
run. My spear, the tip severed from the end, transformed into a useless accessory. I hurled it at the demon nipping at my heels, but it slapped him without effect. I scrambled up a small rise, and my foot slid from beneath me, landing me in a muddy puddle. I smelt the fetid breath of the creature as it pounced on me and started
riding as hard as I could, pushing my mount to its limits. I grasped the outstretched hand and hoisted her onto the back of the saddle in one swift motion. The screaming followed us on the empty plains further than I would've liked, until I realised that a winged creature had been pursuing us all the while, the blood curdling din not a result of the lost battle. It fell on us from the sky, all black skin and taloned limbs. I heard her shriek as
my hands worked quickly, fingers moving in time with my incantations. Blue light danced before me, a dull and shapeless blur, but moulded into a perfect oblong. Another joined me, and the solid colour of the centre punched out and revealed a landscape untouched by monsters and death. "Quickly!" I shouted, letting the other mages leap through the portal as I held its shimmering edges. I prepared to stretched the boundaries just long enough to let myself through, but then I heard the shattering of glass and
Illidan awoke on the ground, his head lolling groggily. He retched, but nothing came out. A shiver broke over his skin, drenching his forehead in sweat. His thoughts barely rose out of the muck that was his mind; little more than the foggy fatigue that settled upon him registered at all.
A pair of hands wrapped around one arm, and another set around the other, hauling him to his feet. The kaldorei struggled to raise his head, and took them both in.
"He's alive, isn't he?" Clawfang said, scratching at the fur behind his raised ears. "He didn't see too much too fast?"
Regis' half-lidded eyes ran over Illidan. "He seems all right. Although much worse for wear."
"Regis ... Clawfang ..." Illidan muttered through numb lips. He remembered what happened, but not how he was still alive. He should certainly be dead. "Get ... get me out ... of here."
A red light flashed in the werewolf's eyes, and a partially decomposed skull phased through his face. You ... were ... warned ...The ethereal head of Johnny Boy's ghost slipped back into Clawfang's body and forced him to bared his fangs.
"No ..." Illidan slurred. He rolled his head towards his head necromancer, or quite possibly his only necromancer now. "Regis ..."
A pure white face extended out of Regis', the face of a woman contorted in terror, eyes blank. You ... expelled ... me ... now ... you ... are ... mine ... Kat's spectre resumed control of the necromancer and together with the werewolf, started dragging the night elf towards Poenari Castle. Illidan's limbs went limp, dragging in the gravel of the bailey, bumping over the dead bodies of his army.
"Where ... where are you taking me?"
Ronaldo stepped in front of the night elf, coalescing from the shadows of the fortress, and grinned. "To meet the king of the castle."
Illidan threw his warglaives down and cracked his gnarled knuckles. Steel, even forged from the demonic fires of the Twisting Nether, wouldn't cut ghosts. Magic, however, was a potent offense against them, and the night elf demon possessed that in spades.
The earth rumbled with the imminent approach of his army, but Illidan had put little faith in them. Some would be a boon to the effort, mostly the necromancers and warlocks who could rip and drain the spectral energy from the wraiths' forms, but many others would just be cannon fodder. Reanimated skeletons, werewolves and other horrors that only had physical means of attack would fall quickly. Illidan briefly considered abandoning the army entirely and searching for the source of the amber light and the haunting, but the spirits that ate up the distance between them wouldn't abate until they were put down.
Flaring his wings, the night elf demon boosted into the sky. A trail of spirits changed direction and raced after him, their psychic screams cloying. As the first of Illidan's forces charged over the inner wall and into the bailey, he witnessed them falling to the ground and grasping their ears. Others ignored the mental pressure and forged ahead; those would be the ones who would survive. Or at least put up a good fight before they were felled.
Illidan soared through the sky and led the pursuing ghosts towards the castle. As he approached, the amber light hardened, encasing the fortress in an almost opaque shell. A deep pressure entered Illidan's mind, as if it were questing for something. Illidan spun away from Poenari Castle and watched the amber light dim again. I'm going to find out the mystery behind this place.
Turning his attention to the spirits, Illidan flipped on his back and drew his open palms together. Green flames licked between the gaps of his fingers, and a moment later he cradled a crackling ball of felfire. There was definitely a reason Illidan used the corruptive magic of the Burning Legion, and felfire was one such example. Felfire burned hotter and inflicted more agony on a target than a regular fireball, or even a magically conjured one, and ate away at even spiritual essence. The pain from a felfire burn could last years, as Illidan's face knew all too well.
With a shout, the night elf demon hurled the demon ball of flames at his undead chasers and watched the front line disintegrate amidst a haze of blinding green fire. Other wraiths that flew straight into the expanding explosion shrieked as the flames, almost fizzling away without fuel to enliven them, caught upon their unholy energy and bloomed anew. Yet those flames sizzled and consumed their hosts and left nothing but smoke, and the next wave of spectres filled in the ranks of those destroyed.
Illidan hugged his wings to his body and plummeted from the skies, welling a new felfire bolt in his hands. He jettisoned it and a second emerald conflagration ravaged the skyline again, complete with the agonised screams of the undead dying again. Still the spirits clawed after him, their hunger or rage unquenched until the night elf lay dead at their feet.
The night elf demon lifted his wings and curled them, using them as thin-skinned parachutes as he alighted on the ground. Admittedly he had turned his attention from the battle while dealing with his pursuers, but the resulting scene before him was worse than he had imagined. Spirits dove in and out of his soldiers, freezing their bodies in macabre poses and zipping out, leaving their quarry to fall dead instantly, much like the man-bats that had scouted the castle earlier. He watched as a werewolf howled, slobber matting the fur around its jaw as it lashed out at the closest spirit, only for his claws to pass through unhindered. A moment later it collapsed in a tangled mess, its life stolen from it.
It was an unfortunately common theme. Though the warlocks and necromancers weaved dark magic and dissipated more than a few wraiths, there were simply too many of them and not enough spellcrafters in Illidan's attacking force. Once most of the melee horrors had been scattered, the warlocks and necromancers were next, killed while dealing with an overabundance of targets.
Illidan didn't come this far to be beaten back by a human haunting. Hell, any sort of undead infestation curled his toes, but to deal with the base spiritual resonance of those pink idiots was more than his pride would bear.
Green light flooded the night elf demon's tattoos, cascading over their lines like a glowing emerald river. The felfire of his eyes scalded his eyebrows as the cursed power of the Burning Legion consumed the blood in his veins. He slapped his palms together and curled his fingers, incanting the swirling maelstrom within to obey him. The sickly green light weakly emanated from his hands, and an instant later shone like a verdant inferno. His hooves sank into shattering earth as the magic contained in his hands exploded forth like a volcano discharging molten lava. Illidan bared gritted fangs as he directed the Fel Beam through the mass of spirits that tore into his forces and watched them melt as the fel energy passed over them.
Scores of spectres shrieked their last as they disintegrated, and Illidan laughed. Slightly at first, finding relief in their destruction, then full-bellied as more and more succumbed to his might. The heady thrill of fel magic pumped through him, seeking to both spread destruction and rein Illidan's mind. Such a thick helping of chaotic power from the Twisting Nether never went unnoticed by the demonic denizens of the realm, and soon the night elf demon felt their whispers and seductive promises in his ear as if they stood by his side.
Yes! Yes! Destroy! Sow chaos and ruin into the world! More! Slaughter them until there's nothing left!
This power is but a taste of what's waiting for you on the other side. Come, why don't you submit and drown yourself in the glory of Sargeras' gifts? It'll only cost you your free will, and it will feel oh so good. I promise ...
A chorus of voices dwelled within him, urging him to be devoured by the fel. Others grew furious as Illidan's veteran will stood unbending to their empty assurances of pleasure and power eternal. They swore revenge, and in the most graphic and violent of methods. Illidan laughed harder. He revelled in the raw strength of the Burning Legion, but found even greater joy in the fury of the demons that demanded control of his soul. Being responsible for a horde of human souls shattering into particles only made it taste all the more sweeter.
The light faded from the night elf demon's hands and he took a moment to appreciate his handiwork. A huge swathe had been cut through the spirits. Smoking gaps in their formations detailed where Illidan had taken the largest tolls. All paused for a moment, including his own sorcerers, staring at the steam rising from his violet fingers. It had been the first time Illidan had wielded some of his true power since being deposited in the Omniverse, and the reactions of his men, women and undead revealed how uncommon it was to see such a display.
Enough, Illidan. Stop marinating in your own ego and finish the job.
The fel energies burned in his bones. He knew he could summon that strength again, perhaps a third time if need be. Yet he didn't want to. That euphoria that overwhelmed his better judgement was too foreign to him. Having rarely drawn upon it in the Omniverse, or perhaps because of his shift through dimensions, the alluring call of the Burning Legion simply distracted him too much. He had to practice delving into that horrible, beautiful power, and even the thought of training himself in that launched a shiver down his spine.
Focus!
Illidan ignited the air between his palms and coaxed another felfire bolt into his possession. He tossed it into the ghostly throng and the battle resumed in earnest.
Still, even with his sizeable contribution to his forces, Illidan was still losing. Spirits oozed from the earth as if the castle were producing them on some kind of spectral production line. Obliterating a dozen of them in a blazing sphere of emerald flame meant nothing if they were replaced a minute later. At most, Illidan had stemmed the tide and bought them some time, but to do what? His forces had been cut down to almost one third of their original size. Bodies of mangled undead littered the bailey, some hanging over the crumbling inner wall limp and lifeless.
More power. It was the only solution that came to mind. If Illidan couldn't locate the progenitor of the haunting, he had to demolish Poenari Castle. Even as he realised it, he swore he noticed the amber sheen of the fortress glimmer in defiance.
While that defeated the purpose of his original campaign, it was better than dying. Or worse, becoming a spirit's puppet for all time. In any case, he could round up a new 'volunteer' force of Dracula's minions to help rebuild the castle.
His Fel Beam could slice through stone with ease, but to topple the entire structure would take time. More time than his forces had at their disposal. And each blast would weaken him further; if he didn't smash the source of the spirits upon the castle's collapse, then his offensive would fail. He would be too weak to defend himself.
The only option dawned on him as he fel-fried another gang of spectres. He had to ruin the fortress in one massive hit. To channel that much fel through his body at this juncture would be suicide, but he knew a way to bring that kind of insidious power to bear without funnelling it through his own soul.
Illidan leapt backwards, letting the remainder of his forces cop the brunt of the ghostly defence. Steeling himself, the night elf demon lifted a single balled hand into the air. A beacon of emerald light radiated from his fist, and a world of exhaustion blasted through his mind. While the destructive fel magic didn't directly conduct itself through him, this particular spell demanded a great deal of focus and stamina to cast.
Moments later, as the weight of the world settled upon his shoulders, a sizzling hole in the sky ruptured above the battlefield. Illidan growled as he forced the gap in space-time to stretch, revealing an inky blackness within, devoid of any light. Soon however, emerald light spilled from the portal, and despite the debilitating effects of the spell, Illidan managed a smirk; dozens of massive fel comets would soon rain down on Poenari Castle, smashing it into flaming rubble.
A new presence stiffened Illidan's spine, and the sensation coursed through his bones until he was completely rigid. His concentration lost, the green-rimmed portal closed swiftly until it vanished in a prick of light. Illidan fought against the imprisonment, certain that a spirit hadn't snuck into his skin while he was preoccupied. What was doing this to him?
The night elf demon prepared to spill out his senses, but a hoarse voice removed the need. "Funny how the tables can turn so suddenly, without warning, isn't it Illidan?"
Illidan roared through glued teeth. "Ronaldo! Unhand me at once!"
The one-armed vampire tutted. "Now now, you're not really in a position to bargain, are you?"
His entire skeleton felt as if all the bones that comprised it had fused together. A deep spell froze him in place, one he couldn't trace. How could he possibly muster the strength to disable him like this? "We're losing the battle, you fool!"
"We're losing?" Ronaldo said. "No. You're losing the battle. It was under your command that my forces marched on this forsaken castle. You will be the one explaining to Count Dracula why you threw perfectly good soldiers to their deaths."
"And you're ensuring the remainder of them are murdered for your selfish vendetta!" Even as Illidan grunted the words out through caged teeth, he recognised the irony.
"It's fine. There's plenty more where that came from." Ronaldo laughed again even as the spectres killed the remaining spell casters that hadn't broken rank and fled.
"How ... are you doing this to me?"
"Remember your vampirism? You may have ignored it, let it thirst, and even blocked it from your mind. But slowly, as you've neglected it, it has opened a new weakness in you. It craves blood, so I am satiating it with dark magic, which is a reasonable facsimile if you have the skill. And because of that, I have a free pass into your body, one which your filthy magic cannot guard against."
Illidan yelled. As much as he detested the concept, he felt a new strength rushing through his muscles, no doubt a result of that thirst being met. Yet even with the added vigour, there was nothing he could do to stop Ronaldo's spell.
The last of his warlocks dropped to the corpse-filled earth and the spectres focused on the commander who'd given them so much grief. Illidan watched helplessly as they screeched at him, each taking a turn at diving through his skin and out the other side, and the pain
blurred my vision, but I grasped my blade and slashed forward, lopping off another demon head. I spun, skewering the next closest mongrel. I kicked my sword free, dark burgundy blood dripping from the steel, and
gripped the edge of the drawbridge, fingers weakening, my armour weighing me down. The rushing waters of the Poe River threatened to swallow me and drag me to its depths, and all I could do was
run. My spear, the tip severed from the end, transformed into a useless accessory. I hurled it at the demon nipping at my heels, but it slapped him without effect. I scrambled up a small rise, and my foot slid from beneath me, landing me in a muddy puddle. I smelt the fetid breath of the creature as it pounced on me and started
riding as hard as I could, pushing my mount to its limits. I grasped the outstretched hand and hoisted her onto the back of the saddle in one swift motion. The screaming followed us on the empty plains further than I would've liked, until I realised that a winged creature had been pursuing us all the while, the blood curdling din not a result of the lost battle. It fell on us from the sky, all black skin and taloned limbs. I heard her shriek as
my hands worked quickly, fingers moving in time with my incantations. Blue light danced before me, a dull and shapeless blur, but moulded into a perfect oblong. Another joined me, and the solid colour of the centre punched out and revealed a landscape untouched by monsters and death. "Quickly!" I shouted, letting the other mages leap through the portal as I held its shimmering edges. I prepared to stretched the boundaries just long enough to let myself through, but then I heard the shattering of glass and
Illidan awoke on the ground, his head lolling groggily. He retched, but nothing came out. A shiver broke over his skin, drenching his forehead in sweat. His thoughts barely rose out of the muck that was his mind; little more than the foggy fatigue that settled upon him registered at all.
A pair of hands wrapped around one arm, and another set around the other, hauling him to his feet. The kaldorei struggled to raise his head, and took them both in.
"He's alive, isn't he?" Clawfang said, scratching at the fur behind his raised ears. "He didn't see too much too fast?"
Regis' half-lidded eyes ran over Illidan. "He seems all right. Although much worse for wear."
"Regis ... Clawfang ..." Illidan muttered through numb lips. He remembered what happened, but not how he was still alive. He should certainly be dead. "Get ... get me out ... of here."
A red light flashed in the werewolf's eyes, and a partially decomposed skull phased through his face. You ... were ... warned ...The ethereal head of Johnny Boy's ghost slipped back into Clawfang's body and forced him to bared his fangs.
"No ..." Illidan slurred. He rolled his head towards his head necromancer, or quite possibly his only necromancer now. "Regis ..."
A pure white face extended out of Regis', the face of a woman contorted in terror, eyes blank. You ... expelled ... me ... now ... you ... are ... mine ... Kat's spectre resumed control of the necromancer and together with the werewolf, started dragging the night elf towards Poenari Castle. Illidan's limbs went limp, dragging in the gravel of the bailey, bumping over the dead bodies of his army.
"Where ... where are you taking me?"
Ronaldo stepped in front of the night elf, coalescing from the shadows of the fortress, and grinned. "To meet the king of the castle."
![[Image: illidansig2.jpg]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2017/07/07/illidansig2.jpg)