Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Illidan Stormrage]

So, this Skeletor can read a situation and adapt to it, at least. Any further boasting without sufficient acknowledgement of Illidan's position would've been counter-intuitive to his purpose here, and it looked like the skull-faced warlock had recognised that. Yet he still hadn't accepted the invitation to join the kaldorei's forces officially. Not that the night elf should've been surprised. Here he was requesting anyone with the desire to pummel a human settlement into the earth to rally to him, and he expected total loyalty from the twisted maniacs that would respond to such a call? Perhaps he was fortunate there hadn't been a greater pushback from him asserting himself the way he had. 

Illidan snorted. No. What foolish empathy. These creatures have come for battle, knowing I am the one to command them. If they do not acquiesce to my authority, then they will only get in the way.

"You wish to know the plans of an army that you have not formally signed on with, and you expect me to divulge such information?" Illidan replied. "You best consider your purpose here, Skeletor, before making requests like that." The night elf cleared his throat, realising that there was no reason to push away such a powerful warlock if he could be retained. Still, if a line wasn't drawn, his hold on the situation would weaken before the campaign even began. "Be aware, however, that our forces number in the hundreds, and many are spiritual or magically enhanced in nature. Darkshire consists of humans with sharp steel and plate armour. Whatever defence they may make against flesh and blood foes will be useless against my army. And the more of your kind that join, the greater the margin of victory shall be."

Without skin or eyeballs, Skeletor's reaction to the response was all but impossible to gauge. If Illidan's telepathy hadn't abandoned him since arriving in the Omniverse, he may have found an unprotected thought here or there to assist with reading the skull-faced warlock.

Before Skeletor had a chance to respond, a new creature skulked into the bailey. It looked like a human female in many respects, but wrong, with bony, corrugated skin, featherless wings and deep, baleful eyes. Was this ... thing some sort of experiment, marrying humanity with insect features? Or was it another eldritch monster who crawled out of the mire at Illidan's behest?

Whatever her origins, she possessed enormous power, that was for sure. Illidan could feel the psychic energy radiating from her, could see the deep blues and purples smoking off her skin in his magically imbued vision. She spoke calmly and concisely, her measured words painting the image of a woman skilled in negotiations. Introducing herself as Kerrigan, the Queen of Blades, she revealed a small but vicious platoon bringing up her rear; slathering, malevolent beasts, all claws and fangs and low hissing. Some of her taller, snake-bodied beasts looked like mutated cockroaches, while the quadruped monsters had many features in common with a felhunter. Archimonde appeared at Illidan's side, apparently having sensed the arrival of Kerrigan's entourage. He sniffed at the air, putting a tentative paw forward but not approaching any closer. 

Behind them, several humans limped to a stop. Their bodies were consumed by a purplish flesh that grew claws and turned their eyes red. They did not speak, but Stormrage recognised the distant emptiness to their sight. Kerrigan had somehow enslaved these people, perhaps with some toxic biomass that ate away at their brains? In any case, it put Illidan in mind of necromancy, and he realised that the further down he plunged into the evil of this land, the more unpalatable wretches he would encounter. Best to be prepared going into the future.

Seeing the subservient insectoids sent Illidan's thoughts across the dimensional divide and back to Outland. Could he bring his own servants to this realm? Could the naga and blood elves be made to kowtow to him here? That was a thread he would have to follow later.

Kerrigan's words had struck the right chords with him, and he sensed an intelligent mind sharpened for war. He had little doubt that she would perform well as an officer of his army. However, he had to stay wary. Her silky words, though blighted by a dark echo, were not to be trusted. Illidan sensed in her a malevolence, but he hoped it would only be turned at the human settlement.

"Your service is most welcome, Queen of Blades," Illidan said, arms folded over his burly chest. "Your creatures will be a boon to my forces. If at all possible, summon more of them. If you so wish, you can lead a regiment of my forces, or you can take your own into battle. It shall be up to you."

"Lord Illidan!"

The night elf focused on an acolyte, possibly a necromancer in training, who had come from the exterior wall. "What is it?"

"There are two more who request an audience." With that, he returned to his guard duties.

In his absence, Illidan spotted them. One was a small girl, he assumed, her clothes simple, nothing out of the ordinary about her except where she chose to spend her time. The other appeared as another hooded skeleton, but as his features became more defined in Illidan's sight, he realised it was not. A black cowl rested over a face that had been shredded, the lips left in tatters, the nose receded, that gave this person the visage of a skull without it being visible. A strange contraption overlaid his right arm, a metal array of needles and glass chambers of fluid that appeared as if it were a clawed gauntlet, though no doubt there was a greater utility behind the device.

Good. His forces were swelling by the day. More terrifying servants to help lead his army to victory. Soon they would be ready to depart, and the smear of humanity on the Pale Moors' surface would be wiped clean.

"Greetings," Illidan said as the two newcomers approached, though unsure of what a small child could offer to his grand designs. "I am Lord Illidan Stormrage. Who are you, and why have you sought me?"