(Preshow) Preshow Facility

[Illidan Stormrage]

People. People everywhere.
 
Illidan snarled as some moronic oaf bumped into him. He seemed immediately apologetic, but as soon as he locked eyes with the night elf, he turned and beat a quick retreat.
 
It felt like he was caught in some nightmarish festival. People and creatures paraded about everywhere, from humans in mercenary hardware to humanoid creatures that shared genes with just about any animal, real or imagined. Journalists and their crews hoisting cameras and boom mics chased down various participants for interviews as excitement bubbled in all areas of the hallway. The unbridled noise of other creatures was cloying and deeply frustrating, forcing a pulsing vein to surface on Illidan's temple. He grit his teeth and endured. Patience was one of his strongest virtues.
 
His magic sight flowed around the room like water, inspecting each of his potential foes. Some were mere blips on his radar, but he supposed that most of those were employees of this tournament, or were otherwise contracted to cover the story and not actual competitors. Others warranted closer attention, but the overwhelming atmosphere made it tough for the kaldorei to focus on any one person. It was maddening, but what else was there to do?
 
While some present had formidable hidden strength, the outward appearances completely belied that fact. He had seen short, comical creatures, large, imposing ones, and a surprising abundance of humans. Many of the pink skinned combatants certainly didn't hail from his world or he would sense something about them; the way they spoke, the equipment they carried, and the calibre of their behaviour.
 
A bright flare in his sorcerous vision lit up from his side, and Illidan craned his neck. His brow furrowed as he noticed the author of that power; a red-haired human, face sharp and painted with stubble. A black, tattered cape fluttered behind him as he approached, his icy blue eyes focused on the night elf. His naked torso was wrapped in bandages, and he sported a metallic arm and leg. Illidan pondered on that. Were those prosthetic limbs, or some sort of coating around his flesh? Interesting nonetheless.
 
The human bumped past a midget creature, his gaze never leaving Illidan. In a gruff, tired voice, he said, "Gildarts Clive. And you are?"
 
Illidan cocked an eyebrow. Such forthrightness would normally perturb the Betrayer, but this Gildarts Clive appeared entertaining at the least, so he played along. "That's very presumptuous of you to ask for my name. Do you know who I am?"
 
Gildarts looked him straight in the felfire eyes. "No. That's why I asked."
 
Illidan didn't know what it was. Maybe it was the frustration of wasting his time in an overcrowded hallway filled with nobodies, or the uncertainty that came with signing up for a death tournament, but the dishevelled human's straight response brought a sudden mirth to the forefront of his mind, drowning the anger and anxiety for a moment and raising a chuckle to his lips, surprising the night elf.
 
"I am Illidan Stormrage," the kaldorei sorcerer said, unfolding his arms in a gesture as close to a handshake as he would get.
 
"Did you ... do something, just now?" Gildarts said, eyeing Illidan.
 
The night elf frowned. "Do something? I'm afraid you'll have to be more clearer than that."
 
"Well I thought I saw ... I guess it's just me," Gildarts said, his eyes falling on his steel arm. "Sometimes I tend to blow stuff up."
 
Illidan wished he still had access to his telepathy. Something seemed off about this human, but not in the normal sense. His voice was low and dejected, like he regretted something he'd done. Stormrage knew what it was like to play an event over and over again until it became second nature.
 
He decided to change direction. "Have you entered this death tournament? Should I expect to see you out there?"