Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Illidan Stormrage]

Illidan sucked in a hefty dose of Pale Moorian air and jetted it out his nose. The two plans that Kerrigan and Skeletor proposed were not altogether horrible. Kerrigan's harrying tactics would place pressure on the Darkshire defenders to protect those outside their walls, or at least have their morale drained by watching their farms and livelihoods burn. She didn't command many of her insectoid predators but even their drooling, sharp-mawed visages would strike terror into the enemy's feeble heart.
 
In the same vein, Skeletor's giant underground drill held merit. Literally undermining the enemy's efforts, especially from such an unexpected avenue of attack, would not only give them the element of surprise, but also create a path for his forces to invade without having to scale walls or endure the swings of swords. The wraiths didn't have that worry, but his flesh and blood soldiers would benefit immensely from it.
 
"Excellent plans," Illidan said. "You will both have the resources you need to carry out your respective roles. I will lead the charge with the remainder of my forces, ensuring all eyes stay on me as you two carry out your functions." He cast his eyeless gaze to the zenith of Poenari Castle, where a papery-skinned man in a faded robe peered over the crennelated wall of the balcony.  Not to mention, I want to keep that necromancer right where I can see him. In fact ...
 
"Stay here. I need to talk to White." The night elf spun on his heel and bounded into the air, soaring an incredible distance. Wind whipped at his long black hair as he briefly latched onto the side of the outer wall, then thrust himself with another leap. Another two forceful launches and the kaldorei alighted next to Cornelius. It had been some time since he had traversed such a distance without his bat-like wings. There was something rewarding about it.
 
"We're almost ready to march?" White said, eyes drooping. "Like you've said every other time?"
 
"Yes, we are," Illidan said. "But before we do, I need to ask a favour."
 
"Speak."
 
Illidan grasped a cracked skull that hung from his belt and held it up for the old man's rheumy eyes. "Do you see this? Can you sense the power inside it?"
 
Cornelius tilted his head. "Hmm. Yes, yes there is a remarkable energy to this skull. But I also sense that much of it has been siphoned out."
 
"Indeed," Illidan said. "I was the one who took that energy. Yet traces of it remain, and I can use it to bind other creatures to my will, namely demons and blood elves."
 
"So why show a vengeful old man some old relic?"
 
Illidan stretched his arms wide. "There is an open door into my powers, and it has been used against me already. Can you feel it?"
 
White furrowed his brow, creasing his already wrinkled skin. His eyes stared through the night elf. "Yes ... yes. You have the taint of vampirism about you, yet you haven't embraced it. You suppress it, ignore the urge to feed on blood." His eyebrows lifted in acknowledgement. "That is quite impressive."
 
Even as it was mentioned, the demon hunter struggled down a thirst that bit at the back of his throat. He focused until it drowned into his stomach and out of his mind. "Yes, and I assume that this suppression has caused some form of magical chink in my armour. Ronaldo sniffed it out and immobilised me earlier. That's how he brought me to you as a prisoner. But if we are to attack Darkshire, I must be certain that no such exploits can be taken advantage of in the heat of battle. I don't know what manner of sorcerers or mages they may have, and I can't discount a member of my own forces seeking to ... further their own prestige by supplanting me."
 
"Hmm," Cornelius murmured. "A true concern."
 
Illidan brought the Skull of Gul'dan before his chest. "So can this hole be plugged? Can I prevent another mage from using it against me? Can this object of power be used as a prison for that weakness, or at least be used in its eradication?"
 
The old necromancer hobbled a step back, his body shuddering from the unusual movement. Leaning against his staff, his white irises travelled the length of Illidan's muscular body. It was in that moment that the night elf realised Cornelius' physical state. The skin that hung from his face had collected in saggy rolls. The frame draped by the dark robe had shrunk since their original meeting. Hair had drifted from his liver-spotted head, leaving only a few tufts behind. The necromancy is accelerating his journey to the grave. Perhaps the strain of our battle exacerbated it. No wonder he's been so impatient to begin the campaign. He won't be able to support the wraith army if we tarry much longer.
 
"I think so," White finally said. "The vampirism in your blood hasn't fully taken hold. There is another curse that rages against it, intertwines with it that makes it hard to integrate with your body. Seems ... demonic in origin."
 
"Yes," Illidan said flatly. He had no desire to elucidate.
 
"And it's because of this demonic curse that I think I can remove it. Not completely, however; there is some form of spiritual resonance with this vampirism curse, as if the one who bit you can see through your eyes, feel through your skin ... that type of sorcery runs too deeply for me to affect. But I can remove the need to sap blood from others, and ... yes ..." White's eyes focused on the old orc skull. "I may be able to change it to something more palatable for you."
 
"In what way?" Illidan said.
 
"I will draw the vampiric curse free, but because it's so mixed with the demonic taint, extracting it will combine it into a new object of strength. It is difficult to explain, so I will show you."
 
Cornelius touched the top of his staff to the Skull of Gul'dan in the night elf's grasp, and a yellow light shone at its tip. That light dribbled in ribbons through the skull's empty sockets and swirled around Stormrage's hand. The savage strength of the Twisting Nether rose in Illidan's chest, igniting his tattoos. He tried to force it back down, having not drawn upon it himself, but White's spell overrode his own will and continued to bring it out.
 
"What are you doing?!" Illidan almost shouted. His fingers stuck to the orc skull, he found his entire skeleton locked in place. "Stop this at once!"
 
"Do you want this fixed or not?" Cornelius snapped, as if the demon hunter's outburst had broken his concentration. "This is the best way to go about it, so shut up!"
 
Illidan grit his teeth and let the necromancer do his work. The stubborn old fool wasn't about to listen to him, and the kaldorei wasn't in a position to argue. It unnerved him how easily White had disabled him, and he wondered how much of his true power lay dormant beneath that bony exterior.
 
In a few seconds, the process halted. Stormrage blinked a handful of times as control of his body resumed. Cornelius held the orc skull in his hand, but a strange black and green smoke billowed from the eye sockets.
 
"Your vampirism is gone, Stormrage. It has gelled with your demon curse inside this relic, and if you absorb it back into your body, you will gain strength unlike that you have been able to harness before." The necromancer gingerly handed the skull back over.
 
Illidan sniffed the dark steam and felt giddy. The seductive lure of Burning Legion magic was definitely present within the concoction, but it pulsed in a way he hadn't sensed before. It was more brutal and bestial, without the cunning or deviousness that usually accompanied such power.
 
"And if I take this new power into me, my weakness will still be gone?"
 
"Once mixed with your demonic magic in that skull, it vanished completely." Cornelius smiled, and the sight made the night elf wish he hadn't. "I've turned your greatest weakness into a strength. But can I make a suggestion?"
 
Illidan frowned, but nodded.
 
"If you do imbibe it, do it during battle. I promise it will be much more satisfying."
 
The night elf probed the Skull of Gul'dan with his magical sight. Was this a trap? What sort of consequences would unveil if he drank this mixture? It seemed unlikely that White wished him ill. He snagged the skull on his belt, deciding to put his faith in the necromancer.
 
"Get your wraiths ready. We will be marching in five minutes."
 
Illidan hurled himself from the balcony and dropped back into the courtyard without letting Cornelius reply.