07-04-2017, 02:44 AM
Illidan groaned and sat upright, the bones in his neck cracking as his head rolled from side to side. His bare feet padded on the floor beside his bed and he stood up, arms stretched and popping. Aside from a few pulsing bruises on his side from the little fairy's icicle attacks, his entire body felt refreshed and renewed. He breathed deep and let it out in a slow gust through his mouth.
How long had he been asleep? He had barely slept since arriving in the Omniverse, but to think he had been so exhausted was surprising. How had he managed any shut-eye, especially enough to feel totally rejuvenated, during a death tournament? Surely someone would have snuck up on his prone form and slit his throat?
His warglaives leaned against the far wall, their slick steel edges coated with a thin layer of blood. Memories of battle rushed back to him as he seized his millennia-old weapons. That human boy, Dust, assisted in a battle with a midget fairy with influence over ice. She was small and fragile, but her will outclassed her dire situation. She may have died at their hands, but for all of her ridiculous posturing and feeble visage, her determination was admirable. Illidan had fought many and killed many who dwarfed her combat ability but not her attitude.
"Dust!" the night elf called, realising that the human was nowhere to be seen.
Only silence greeted his voice. He was alone.
"That blasted human must have run off while I was out of it," Illidan said to himself. He couldn't fathom a reason for the desertion, considering Dust had an advantage allying with the night elf. Perhaps he feared reprisal for his cocky, gun-sure attitude and bolted. That seemed the most likely explanation.
In any case, Illidan wasn't going to win any death tournaments and get the praise and respect from Dracula by sitting around a safe house pondering the inner workings of an adolescent human's mind. He kicked open the door and fled, searching for his next target.
How long had he been asleep? He had barely slept since arriving in the Omniverse, but to think he had been so exhausted was surprising. How had he managed any shut-eye, especially enough to feel totally rejuvenated, during a death tournament? Surely someone would have snuck up on his prone form and slit his throat?
His warglaives leaned against the far wall, their slick steel edges coated with a thin layer of blood. Memories of battle rushed back to him as he seized his millennia-old weapons. That human boy, Dust, assisted in a battle with a midget fairy with influence over ice. She was small and fragile, but her will outclassed her dire situation. She may have died at their hands, but for all of her ridiculous posturing and feeble visage, her determination was admirable. Illidan had fought many and killed many who dwarfed her combat ability but not her attitude.
"Dust!" the night elf called, realising that the human was nowhere to be seen.
Only silence greeted his voice. He was alone.
"That blasted human must have run off while I was out of it," Illidan said to himself. He couldn't fathom a reason for the desertion, considering Dust had an advantage allying with the night elf. Perhaps he feared reprisal for his cocky, gun-sure attitude and bolted. That seemed the most likely explanation.
In any case, Illidan wasn't going to win any death tournaments and get the praise and respect from Dracula by sitting around a safe house pondering the inner workings of an adolescent human's mind. He kicked open the door and fled, searching for his next target.
Quote:Illidan moving from Safehouse C -> C21
![[Image: illidansig2.jpg]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2017/07/07/illidansig2.jpg)