Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Illidan Stormrage]

Archimonde ran around the courtyard, his teeth-lined tentacles snapping at the magic-rich ghosts that floated above. His limited reach meant that he had to bound into the air, stretching as far as he could, but the spirits easily avoided him. Still, though the felhunter had been at it for over an hour, the demon hound showed no signs of tiring.

Illidan sat on a pile of rubble nearby, arms crossed, watching Archimonde hungrily run in fruitless circles. Where had that felhunter vanished to during the initial battle on Poenari Castle? Surely the vast quantity of necromantic energies should've drawn it like a fly to honey.

Cornelius trudged on by, heading towards the broken portcullis of the castle. Illidan stood and approached him. "Do you know what became of my felhunter during the fight?"

White looked disinterested. "What?"

The night elf pointed out the shaggy, red-scaled quadruped leaping at Cornelius' resurrected friends that meandered overhead. "That. Where was it?"

"Oh, that thing," the necromancer said. "At the start of the battle, it sucked up my soldiers easily. So I fed it with my own power until it was sated, with the intention of overloading it and forcing it to explode ... but once it had a full stomach, it wandered off. I didn't pay it any mind after that and it didn't return."

They don't train felhunters in the Twisting Nether like they used to. "I see."

"The march must be happening soon," Cornelius added.

Illidan felt the presence of someone close by, someone whose strength stood out from White and his army of wraiths. "Indeed. I believe a new officer may have already arrived."

The kaldorei turned and headed towards the crumbling outer wall of the castle before Cornelius could respond. Sitting astride a horse was an emaciated old man, a risen zombie judging from the stench of necromancy that suffocated him, his bony body covered in a faded red cloak. Where his body could be glimpsed through the cloak, Illidan noticed that the decrepit figure was wrapped in torn and stained bandages. His skin strained against bone as he turned his head to face Illidan, stretching as if it would tear if the movement was too quick. The creature sat hunched in the saddle, reins loose in his spindly fingers.

Without his spectral sight, Illidan could have easily mistaken this ghoul for another mindless peon, cannon fodder for the front lines. However, his demonic vision saw the dark wisps of magic that bound spirit to corpse and saturated him with unholy power. This reanimated cadaver could have been a member of Count Dracula's forces, though it wouldn't be clear until they spoke.

"Are you here to answer the summons for the attack on Darkshire?" Illidan stated, shooting his blindfolded glare at the zombie. "Because if so, you will be under my command." He didn't possess his wings at that moment; best to save his strength for the upcoming battle. But if he had, he would've unfurled them. "I am Lord Illidan Stormrage. Who are you?"