06-04-2017, 03:07 AM
Illidan perched at the top of the highest central spire of Poenari Castle, wings flared to allow him to balance. A giant lime green crystal floated above the spire and his head, at least twice his height, shining with fel magic. The recently summoned arcane object acted as a beacon to those who knew Illidan or the Burning Legion's power and would draw them to the castle to help bolster his ranks. Whether they were willing or not was not important, especially with demons. At the same time, it would permit him to utilise a number of magical operations, such as teleportation and long distance communication, once they were built. It came with the added bonus of intimidation; the sickly light that trickled from the multifaceted mega-gem stood out as a soft luminescence through the virtually ever-present fog, and even on a clear day it was visible from a long way.
Perhaps it would serve as inspiration to those that rallied around Dracula, and instil fear into those who did not.
The clouds over the Pale Moors hid the shy sun as it rose, lightening at the horizon but still unmistakably grey. A long, drawn-out rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens far away, like a groaning giant. Illidan sniffed and the vanguard scent of rain filled his nostrils. It was a nice change from spilled blood and the putrid, unwashed stench of the Dracula troops far below him.
His thoughts drifted to the fates of his fair-weather allies who assisted in the sacking of Darkshire. According to Regis, they fell in battle. Were they dead? Or had the whispers of eternal life in this dimension been true? If so, they hadn't made a beeline to see Stormrage, further cementing their loyalties if he hadn't already understood them. At best, they became involved to sow death and ruin, and that was perfectly acceptable. It was all Illidan had asked of them.
Yet as time inexorably passed, murmurs of dissent from Dracula's mangy soldiers grew louder. Regis' constant warnings of an uprising were starting to look plausible. How the Count hoped to subvert an entire land with such capricious and self-interested beasts was beyond the demon hunter, but he still needed their support to enforce his strength and legitimise his rule over Poenari Castle. But there was no way he would cave to their simplistic demands any further. They would learn to submit by force if it was necessary.
While things were simmering among the decaying fortress, Illidan knew there were greater things in this Omniverse to discover. His assault of Darkshire had opened his eyes to the unchecked warriors that roamed freely, who gave their lives to stem the tide of his soldiers. That putrescent, festering knight in plate armour that had perished looked as if he owed his existence to the gnarled mind of a necromancer, and yet he seemed to have full agency and had deliberately chosen to defend the living. What other mysteries remained out of Illidan's knowledge? What other valuable information could he unearth if he left the castle for a time?
But could he afford to? He trusted Torandril and Lady Vashj; they had both proven themselves dependable and capable. Regis was headstrong and, despite his age, idealistic. His loyalties ultimately laid with Dracula, but if a mutiny began, who would he see as the proper supporter of the Count's will? Clawfang would likely kowtow to whoever was in charge. Illidan doubted the werewolf had a single independent thought in his head.
Illidan breathed deep of the cool moor air and vaulted from the roof, wings spread to slow his descent. His hooves clacked on the cracked stones of the balcony as he landed in a crouch. Turning, he strode inside and down the winding staircase, admiring the refitted glass windows that had been repaired by a blood or night elf. Regis had wisely began fixing the areas where his lord frequented most.
Still in his demon form, Stormrage passed through a number of corridors. A few of Dracula's forces took a wide berth after soaking in his hellish appearance, some likely remembering that Illidan had burned a disobedient werewolf from the inside out in his current state not long ago. His demon hunters bowed at their waist in deference, while the scaly naga would do the same, though with more rigidity, out of duty rather than respect.
His cloven feet clopped down the red carpet, once stained with years of boot dirt and neglect, now a clean, if pale colour. The cobwebs that festooned the stone columns supporting his throne room had been chased away, and the spiders and their meals as well. Light filtered through the windows in multihued shafts as the thick sheet of grime that obscured the reds and greens and blues and yellows of the glass had been totally wiped clean. The soldiers of his Azerothian forces had done exceptionally well. It only put the childish antics of Dracula's creatures into sharper contrast.
Illidan stepped onto the dais at the end of the room and collapsed into the stone throne, clawed fingers gripping the armrests, wings draping over it like a macabre skin cloak. A small green crystal was inlaid on the left arm, and a red one on the right. The ruby, when a small sliver of dark magic was passed through it, would initiate a castle-wide alarm, indicating to his disciplined forces to be prepared for battle, whether to launch an invasion or a resistance. The actual reason for the assembly would be imparted to them by their commanding officers. The emerald's activation would send a signal to replica gems in the possession of his retainers, making them vibrate and hinting to them that their lord requested their presence in the throne room.
Touching a finger to the green crystal, he leaked a pulse of his power into its core. It shone once and rattled in the stone.
A few minutes went past in silence. Torandril was the first to enter the room, with Lady Vashj close behind. Clawfang strode in next, and Regis last, shuffling in on stiff bones. The lines inscribed into his saggy face were harsher than usual.
The four head officers of Illidan's army took place before the night elf demon, standing to attention, awaiting him to speak first. The lord of Poenari Castle took them in. Torandril and Lady Vashj were the epitome of loyalty; backs firm, chins up and eyes focused on him. Clawfang hunched slightly, though such a stance was common for a werewolf, though his muzzle twitched, his eyes moving about the throne room as if expecting a hidden ambush to spring and slaughter him. Regis placed his cane before him and curled both palms around its rounded top, resting his aging body upon it. His deep, furrowed brow housed eyes blazing with more ferocity than the old human had ever shown before. Stormrage tented his fingers.
"I'll get right to the point," Illidan said, his lips exposing needle-like teeth. "After the assault on Darkshire, I have come to learn that I know next to nothing about this Omniverse. This places me at a disadvantage. I cannot prepare against what I do not know exists. To that end, I will be taking a leave of absence from Poenari Castle to investigate this Omniverse further."
Torandri frowned. Clawfang's attention was snagged by those words, his bestial eyes locked onto his lord. Regis' scowl deepened, wrinkling his face to the point that it looked as if it were a loose-fitting mask and would slip free of him at any moment. Lady Vashj nodded slightly, unfazed by the information.
"Where will you go?" Torandril was the first to voice his concern. "What exactly will you be searching for?"
"Intelligence," Illidan said. "Experiences. First-hand knowledge of what this plane of existence holds. I was wholly surprised by the resistance we met at Darkshire. Judging by its paltry size and wooden palisades, it did not inspire fear or even respect for an army of ghoulish monsters that marched upon it. There were beings that sought to defend it from us, beings that had no right to be protecting it. Powerful beings. I cannot sequester myself in this fortress and remain blind to the threats that may plague Count Dracula's bid for hegemony of the Pale Moors."
"Such a wide-ended task does not sound like it has times set around it," Torandril said.
"It is good that you can decipher that," Illidan said.
Regis pouted. "You cannot leave the castle, Lord Illidan. The unrest with Count Dracula's forces-"
"-will be capably handled by those I will leave in charge," the night elf demon finished. "My presence is needed elsewhere."
"Your presence," Regis said, a note of fire injected into his tone, "is a large part of what is keeping this powder keg from exploding. Your roasting demonstration of that werewolf in the courtyard the other day went some way to dissuading the rebellious element from executing a mutiny. They saw your power and realised it could be turned on them. But if you leave, what's to stop those traitorous thoughts from bubbling to the surface?"
"If you think you know who these rebels are, Regis, then they should be imprisoned and questioned," Illidan said, baring his teeth. "And if the situation calls for it, executed. But there will be no bowing before headstrong upstarts to keep the peace. Either it is kept, or it is enforced."
"You believe it can be handled?"
Illidan sighed, his thick chest rising and falling. "Of course. My forces are no longer restricted to the scum that I had to dredge from Ronaldo's followers. The naga and demon hunters are by my side, all proficient and loyal warriors who will obey orders. As time goes on, their ranks will swell. I may even command demons, should I see the need for it. But if such an uprising occurs, it will be ended swiftly ... and mercilessly."
"But," Regis said, countenance animated, "should the-"
"Enough discussion." Illidan bolted out of the throne to a standing position, making Clawfang flinch. "I have much to explore, and treading familiar ground is beginning to vex me." When Regis left his lips pressed firmly together in a scowl, he continued. "Torandril, as at the Black Temple, you are in charge of Poenari Castle during my absence. All that shelter beneath its walls are to report to you."
The night elf commander bowed his head briefly, no doubt expecting the old appointment to be reinstated. "Thank you, Lord Illidan."
"Lady Vashj, you will retain the position of general of my forces, and in sole command of the naga and the demon hunters."
"As you will, Lord Illidan," Lady Vashj hissed.
"Clawfang, I appreciate that your initial promotion was stolen from you quickly after it was made. That is why I am making you the head of Count Dracula's soldiers. You will report to Lady Vashj, but otherwise you will direct them."
Clawfang's muzzle hung open, eyes wide, surprised by the offer. "O-of course, my lord," he said, slapping a closed fist against his chest in a show of loyalty.
"And Regis," Illidan said, returning the fiery gaze that the old necromancer shot him. "You will continue in your current capacity, advising Torandril as you have me."
A long, icy moment hung between them. All felt the weight in the air; Clawfang swallowed visibly while Torandril and Lady Vashj turned their eyes to the green cloaked geriatric. Regis' spindly fingers tightened around the knob of his cane, his face creased in a glower. The silence pecked at Illidan's patience, and he soon found himself balling his fists.
Regis' eyes blinked several times and he cast them to the floor. "Yes, my lord."
Illidan waited a handful of heart beats, waiting for the necromancer to unleash his frustrations and disagreements with the directive, but it didn't come. He stood stooped over his cane, glaring at the stone brick ground.
"Excellent." Illidan stepped towards his officers, and they parted to allow him through. "I am entrusting everything I have built in this miserable dimension to you four. Do not disappoint me."
"Lord Illidan," Regis called out as the night elf demon reached the archway of the room.
Stormrage looked over his shoulder, fel eyes ablaze behind the tan brown blindfold. "Yes?"
"Do hurry back."
Illidan flushed his nose with a sharp exhale and moved out of the room.
Soon, he stood atop his favourite balcony, just beneath the highest tower of the castle. The fel crystal, over fifteen feet tall, hovered above the spire's roof, humming with otherworldly power, spinning slowly as if caught in an unseen wind. Another grumble of thunder, like an avalanche of rocks, crashed above him, closer than before. Below in the courtyard, his army scurried about. From this distance, he couldn't tell who was who or what specie.
He hoped it would all still be standing when he returned.
Flaring his bat wings, Illidan leapt from the balcony and swept over the bailey. He sailed over the castle's walls as blood elven masons, filling in missing stones, craned their necks to see the disturbance. With a hefty flap, the night elf demon ascended into the greyscale sky, piercing through the fog of the clouds.
His next stop was unknown, one of the few times in his long, long life where he had no plan.
The rain began in earnest.
Perhaps it would serve as inspiration to those that rallied around Dracula, and instil fear into those who did not.
The clouds over the Pale Moors hid the shy sun as it rose, lightening at the horizon but still unmistakably grey. A long, drawn-out rumble of thunder rolled through the heavens far away, like a groaning giant. Illidan sniffed and the vanguard scent of rain filled his nostrils. It was a nice change from spilled blood and the putrid, unwashed stench of the Dracula troops far below him.
His thoughts drifted to the fates of his fair-weather allies who assisted in the sacking of Darkshire. According to Regis, they fell in battle. Were they dead? Or had the whispers of eternal life in this dimension been true? If so, they hadn't made a beeline to see Stormrage, further cementing their loyalties if he hadn't already understood them. At best, they became involved to sow death and ruin, and that was perfectly acceptable. It was all Illidan had asked of them.
Yet as time inexorably passed, murmurs of dissent from Dracula's mangy soldiers grew louder. Regis' constant warnings of an uprising were starting to look plausible. How the Count hoped to subvert an entire land with such capricious and self-interested beasts was beyond the demon hunter, but he still needed their support to enforce his strength and legitimise his rule over Poenari Castle. But there was no way he would cave to their simplistic demands any further. They would learn to submit by force if it was necessary.
While things were simmering among the decaying fortress, Illidan knew there were greater things in this Omniverse to discover. His assault of Darkshire had opened his eyes to the unchecked warriors that roamed freely, who gave their lives to stem the tide of his soldiers. That putrescent, festering knight in plate armour that had perished looked as if he owed his existence to the gnarled mind of a necromancer, and yet he seemed to have full agency and had deliberately chosen to defend the living. What other mysteries remained out of Illidan's knowledge? What other valuable information could he unearth if he left the castle for a time?
But could he afford to? He trusted Torandril and Lady Vashj; they had both proven themselves dependable and capable. Regis was headstrong and, despite his age, idealistic. His loyalties ultimately laid with Dracula, but if a mutiny began, who would he see as the proper supporter of the Count's will? Clawfang would likely kowtow to whoever was in charge. Illidan doubted the werewolf had a single independent thought in his head.
Illidan breathed deep of the cool moor air and vaulted from the roof, wings spread to slow his descent. His hooves clacked on the cracked stones of the balcony as he landed in a crouch. Turning, he strode inside and down the winding staircase, admiring the refitted glass windows that had been repaired by a blood or night elf. Regis had wisely began fixing the areas where his lord frequented most.
Still in his demon form, Stormrage passed through a number of corridors. A few of Dracula's forces took a wide berth after soaking in his hellish appearance, some likely remembering that Illidan had burned a disobedient werewolf from the inside out in his current state not long ago. His demon hunters bowed at their waist in deference, while the scaly naga would do the same, though with more rigidity, out of duty rather than respect.
His cloven feet clopped down the red carpet, once stained with years of boot dirt and neglect, now a clean, if pale colour. The cobwebs that festooned the stone columns supporting his throne room had been chased away, and the spiders and their meals as well. Light filtered through the windows in multihued shafts as the thick sheet of grime that obscured the reds and greens and blues and yellows of the glass had been totally wiped clean. The soldiers of his Azerothian forces had done exceptionally well. It only put the childish antics of Dracula's creatures into sharper contrast.
Illidan stepped onto the dais at the end of the room and collapsed into the stone throne, clawed fingers gripping the armrests, wings draping over it like a macabre skin cloak. A small green crystal was inlaid on the left arm, and a red one on the right. The ruby, when a small sliver of dark magic was passed through it, would initiate a castle-wide alarm, indicating to his disciplined forces to be prepared for battle, whether to launch an invasion or a resistance. The actual reason for the assembly would be imparted to them by their commanding officers. The emerald's activation would send a signal to replica gems in the possession of his retainers, making them vibrate and hinting to them that their lord requested their presence in the throne room.
Touching a finger to the green crystal, he leaked a pulse of his power into its core. It shone once and rattled in the stone.
A few minutes went past in silence. Torandril was the first to enter the room, with Lady Vashj close behind. Clawfang strode in next, and Regis last, shuffling in on stiff bones. The lines inscribed into his saggy face were harsher than usual.
The four head officers of Illidan's army took place before the night elf demon, standing to attention, awaiting him to speak first. The lord of Poenari Castle took them in. Torandril and Lady Vashj were the epitome of loyalty; backs firm, chins up and eyes focused on him. Clawfang hunched slightly, though such a stance was common for a werewolf, though his muzzle twitched, his eyes moving about the throne room as if expecting a hidden ambush to spring and slaughter him. Regis placed his cane before him and curled both palms around its rounded top, resting his aging body upon it. His deep, furrowed brow housed eyes blazing with more ferocity than the old human had ever shown before. Stormrage tented his fingers.
"I'll get right to the point," Illidan said, his lips exposing needle-like teeth. "After the assault on Darkshire, I have come to learn that I know next to nothing about this Omniverse. This places me at a disadvantage. I cannot prepare against what I do not know exists. To that end, I will be taking a leave of absence from Poenari Castle to investigate this Omniverse further."
Torandri frowned. Clawfang's attention was snagged by those words, his bestial eyes locked onto his lord. Regis' scowl deepened, wrinkling his face to the point that it looked as if it were a loose-fitting mask and would slip free of him at any moment. Lady Vashj nodded slightly, unfazed by the information.
"Where will you go?" Torandril was the first to voice his concern. "What exactly will you be searching for?"
"Intelligence," Illidan said. "Experiences. First-hand knowledge of what this plane of existence holds. I was wholly surprised by the resistance we met at Darkshire. Judging by its paltry size and wooden palisades, it did not inspire fear or even respect for an army of ghoulish monsters that marched upon it. There were beings that sought to defend it from us, beings that had no right to be protecting it. Powerful beings. I cannot sequester myself in this fortress and remain blind to the threats that may plague Count Dracula's bid for hegemony of the Pale Moors."
"Such a wide-ended task does not sound like it has times set around it," Torandril said.
"It is good that you can decipher that," Illidan said.
Regis pouted. "You cannot leave the castle, Lord Illidan. The unrest with Count Dracula's forces-"
"-will be capably handled by those I will leave in charge," the night elf demon finished. "My presence is needed elsewhere."
"Your presence," Regis said, a note of fire injected into his tone, "is a large part of what is keeping this powder keg from exploding. Your roasting demonstration of that werewolf in the courtyard the other day went some way to dissuading the rebellious element from executing a mutiny. They saw your power and realised it could be turned on them. But if you leave, what's to stop those traitorous thoughts from bubbling to the surface?"
"If you think you know who these rebels are, Regis, then they should be imprisoned and questioned," Illidan said, baring his teeth. "And if the situation calls for it, executed. But there will be no bowing before headstrong upstarts to keep the peace. Either it is kept, or it is enforced."
"You believe it can be handled?"
Illidan sighed, his thick chest rising and falling. "Of course. My forces are no longer restricted to the scum that I had to dredge from Ronaldo's followers. The naga and demon hunters are by my side, all proficient and loyal warriors who will obey orders. As time goes on, their ranks will swell. I may even command demons, should I see the need for it. But if such an uprising occurs, it will be ended swiftly ... and mercilessly."
"But," Regis said, countenance animated, "should the-"
"Enough discussion." Illidan bolted out of the throne to a standing position, making Clawfang flinch. "I have much to explore, and treading familiar ground is beginning to vex me." When Regis left his lips pressed firmly together in a scowl, he continued. "Torandril, as at the Black Temple, you are in charge of Poenari Castle during my absence. All that shelter beneath its walls are to report to you."
The night elf commander bowed his head briefly, no doubt expecting the old appointment to be reinstated. "Thank you, Lord Illidan."
"Lady Vashj, you will retain the position of general of my forces, and in sole command of the naga and the demon hunters."
"As you will, Lord Illidan," Lady Vashj hissed.
"Clawfang, I appreciate that your initial promotion was stolen from you quickly after it was made. That is why I am making you the head of Count Dracula's soldiers. You will report to Lady Vashj, but otherwise you will direct them."
Clawfang's muzzle hung open, eyes wide, surprised by the offer. "O-of course, my lord," he said, slapping a closed fist against his chest in a show of loyalty.
"And Regis," Illidan said, returning the fiery gaze that the old necromancer shot him. "You will continue in your current capacity, advising Torandril as you have me."
A long, icy moment hung between them. All felt the weight in the air; Clawfang swallowed visibly while Torandril and Lady Vashj turned their eyes to the green cloaked geriatric. Regis' spindly fingers tightened around the knob of his cane, his face creased in a glower. The silence pecked at Illidan's patience, and he soon found himself balling his fists.
Regis' eyes blinked several times and he cast them to the floor. "Yes, my lord."
Illidan waited a handful of heart beats, waiting for the necromancer to unleash his frustrations and disagreements with the directive, but it didn't come. He stood stooped over his cane, glaring at the stone brick ground.
"Excellent." Illidan stepped towards his officers, and they parted to allow him through. "I am entrusting everything I have built in this miserable dimension to you four. Do not disappoint me."
"Lord Illidan," Regis called out as the night elf demon reached the archway of the room.
Stormrage looked over his shoulder, fel eyes ablaze behind the tan brown blindfold. "Yes?"
"Do hurry back."
Illidan flushed his nose with a sharp exhale and moved out of the room.
Soon, he stood atop his favourite balcony, just beneath the highest tower of the castle. The fel crystal, over fifteen feet tall, hovered above the spire's roof, humming with otherworldly power, spinning slowly as if caught in an unseen wind. Another grumble of thunder, like an avalanche of rocks, crashed above him, closer than before. Below in the courtyard, his army scurried about. From this distance, he couldn't tell who was who or what specie.
He hoped it would all still be standing when he returned.
Flaring his bat wings, Illidan leapt from the balcony and swept over the bailey. He sailed over the castle's walls as blood elven masons, filling in missing stones, craned their necks to see the disturbance. With a hefty flap, the night elf demon ascended into the greyscale sky, piercing through the fog of the clouds.
His next stop was unknown, one of the few times in his long, long life where he had no plan.
The rain began in earnest.
![[Image: illidansig2.jpg]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2017/07/07/illidansig2.jpg)