Assault on Darkshire [Staging]

[Illidan Stormrage]

Illidan leaned over the balcony wall of Poenari Castle, watching his newly formed ranks swirling about the courtyard. A few days had passed since allying with Cornelius White, the ex-Camelot mage turned necromancer, a man who had spent years fermenting in his own hatred. There were too many parallels between the raving White and himself, Illidan had realised; betrayed by his people and yet labelled as the traitor, the vast stretches of time filled with nothing but seething at those memories until they were sharp-edged. While the night elf had more common sense and wits about him, especially with the demonic influences always quietly nipping at his resolve in the background, this pasty-skinned human could be a hauntingly accurate possibility for Illidan if he did not keep his rage and bitterness in check.

The night elf considered bolstering the ghoulish army by sending for aid from Count Dracula, but he decided against it. There was the possibility Dracula hadn't launched an assault on Darkshire for reasons Illidan didn't understand, which could prove this campaign a loss before it had even started. Yet ultimately even if he failed, he would succeed in ridding Poenari Castle of the spiritual infestation. Besides, if the demon hunter went this alone and tore down the human settlement using his own initiative, he could only imagine the praise and adulation he would receive from the Pale Moors ruler. Perhaps a closer bond with him, more privileged information?

He was getting ahead of himself. The battle had yet to be won.

Clawfang the werewolf and Regis the necromancer had been dispatched across the Pale Moors, tasked with locating any powerful allies of Dracula who might deign to fight side-by-side with Illidan. While he wouldn't source fighters directly from his lord, he would further demonstrate his worth by rallying strong officers to the cause himself.

All this could be avoided if you just struck the necromancer down, a dark voice whispered in his ear. True, if Cornelius was dead, the spell that bound the spirits to the castle would break and Illidan would possess what he coveted. The idea was too foolish to execute, he concluded. Even if White could be killed in combat, Illidan knew he would almost certainly lose; if not due to the multitude of spirits that would tear him apart, then to the formidable powers of the necromancer himself. Besides, this battle gave the kaldorei an opportunity to underscore his value to Count Dracula.

The familiar slapping of bony feet and wood on stone echoed from the doorway. Cornelius hobbled beside the kaldorei, his final step punctuated by his staff smacking the balcony hard. "So, have you recovered your strength?"

Illidan nodded. It seemed Cornelius' own vitality drained by the day. Were the effects of the dark magic on his body reaching breaking point? 

"When do you think you'll be ready to march? My friends and I are champing at the bit to receive the vengeance we are owed."

The night elf cast his gaze over the horizon. A pity that his spectral sight didn't possess zoom functionality. "In due time, necromancer. I still await the return of Regis and Clawfang. It shall not hurt to wait a little longer."

White grunted and spat a wad of phlegm over the balcony wall. "I hope not. We've all been stewing in silence, not realising that the answer to our problem was under our nose the whole time. Now that you've revealed it to us, we are more than ready."

"I understand," Illidan said in a low tone, trying to console the necromancer. This wasn't the first time White had asked when the campaign would begin. "I also appreciate how it feels to be lost without purpose before rediscovering it again. But if you wish to have the best chance at destroying Darkshire and beyond, we must strike when we are at our strongest." Illidan faced Cornelius and spoke to him directly, a rarity that he hoped would help drive his point home. "Do you agree with me?"

Cornelius' foggy eyes stared at the hidden fireballs of the kaldorei's for a moment, his lips pursed and moving in a circle. "Yes. You are right. We've already waited years. We can wait a few more days."

"Excellent. You should rest." Illidan motioned to the door.

"Yes, yes," White said dismissively, plodding towards the doorway. "You'll be sure to alert me when the time comes?"

"Indeed," Illidan said, assessing the spirits that winded glowing coloured paths below. "We will delay not a minute longer ... once we are prepared."

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Flowey got back from his little excapade into the Vastydeep he saw a large wolf creature that was talking to a monster blacksmith. Flowey popped up near the wolf monster and started to listen to the wolf talk. "So we would like to have you join our fight against darkshire, those blasted humans must die!" Flowey looked at the wolf and spoke "Howdey, im flowey and im overseeing the construction and population while the leader is away, so you want us to join you in your fight well I want the city at least partly intact, and one last thing the monsters don't march till were ready and our leader is back.

The wolf grinned and ran off to tell whoever told he to look for people to help the assault that he found some. Flowey said to make the delta armor and to get the monsters ready for battle. One monster which was a mix between a goat and a bull on two legs ran to ring the bell to summon the monsters back. Soon all fifty surrounded Flowey and once hearing the call to war they rushed off to build there magic weapons should they be spears, bones, even, scythes. "Come back soon Chara and stay safe for me." Flowey rushed off after to help prepare for the fight.

[Roger Smith]

Travel had been aided, after a time, by the summoning of a steed to convey him. His loathing to rely on the omnilium of this realm and its infuriating child-god, snatching away the ever-living source of evil like a mere pawn, was no less strong for this act. He despised making use of power that was not his own, or that given him freely by his generous masters. But he was no fool; he had lost much of his power, and a connection to his dark masters was to be an arduous one to form, at best. A ready source of power, regardless of where it came from, was not to be ignored. It was to be exploited, and used to further his own ends and re-establish his connection to the power he knew so well. He would use the wretched Omni's own freely given gift to gain enough of his old power back to make the arrogant creature pay.

...but that was for the future. There were other matters to tend to in the immediate sense.

His journey through the Pale Moors was not an uneventful one, nor was it a short one. For well over a day had he traveled already, and more than a few encounters had he run across with the monstrous denizens of the verse. By day, as well as by night, he was assaulted as he made his slow path through the misty, fog-shrouded wilds. Each time the effort proved fruitless, serving only to briefly waylay and exhaust him. His cloak, already ragged and shredded from age, sported innumerable additional tears and the marks of claw and fang shredding it. The ancient, fraying bandages wrapping his dry, decaying husk of a body were torn in places, the sickly blue flesh beneath scarred and slashed, pierced and gnawed until ancient, brittle-looking bone lay exposed to the chill air, gleaming whenever the dim light of the moors struck them. Such injuries would have no doubt have spelled the death of any normal man, or at least greatly slowed him as his precious blood and strength bled away in equal measure.

But such things were little more than irritants to one such as Mumm-Ra. He had suffered far greater injuries than this in his life, and his body was sustained and kept whole by the grace of his dark masters. His lifeforce was far too potent to be snuffed out by such pitiful damage to his physical form.

It was in such a sorry state, his desiccated flesh mostly mended but his ragged clothing still in pitiful tatters, that he finally reached sight of his destination. A river, running swift and strong, flowed down from distant mountains. It carved a path sharply through the blighted lands, meandering along until it vanished into the misty distance. But situated there, along its banks and just within sight of the mummified sorcerer's perch, he spied the object of his interest. The edifice ancient and crumbling, and looking like little more than relic of some forgotten age, it stood there. Defiant and strong, in spite of its weathered appearance. It seemed a fitting enough place to organize an army to march.

After studying the structure intently from his distant vantage point, the sorcerer was satisfied. He nudged his steed forth, sending the pale horse trudging down the hill it stood on. It was time to meet the so-called lord of this gathering army.

[Illidan Stormrage]

Archimonde ran around the courtyard, his teeth-lined tentacles snapping at the magic-rich ghosts that floated above. His limited reach meant that he had to bound into the air, stretching as far as he could, but the spirits easily avoided him. Still, though the felhunter had been at it for over an hour, the demon hound showed no signs of tiring.

Illidan sat on a pile of rubble nearby, arms crossed, watching Archimonde hungrily run in fruitless circles. Where had that felhunter vanished to during the initial battle on Poenari Castle? Surely the vast quantity of necromantic energies should've drawn it like a fly to honey.

Cornelius trudged on by, heading towards the broken portcullis of the castle. Illidan stood and approached him. "Do you know what became of my felhunter during the fight?"

White looked disinterested. "What?"

The night elf pointed out the shaggy, red-scaled quadruped leaping at Cornelius' resurrected friends that meandered overhead. "That. Where was it?"

"Oh, that thing," the necromancer said. "At the start of the battle, it sucked up my soldiers easily. So I fed it with my own power until it was sated, with the intention of overloading it and forcing it to explode ... but once it had a full stomach, it wandered off. I didn't pay it any mind after that and it didn't return."

They don't train felhunters in the Twisting Nether like they used to. "I see."

"The march must be happening soon," Cornelius added.

Illidan felt the presence of someone close by, someone whose strength stood out from White and his army of wraiths. "Indeed. I believe a new officer may have already arrived."

The kaldorei turned and headed towards the crumbling outer wall of the castle before Cornelius could respond. Sitting astride a horse was an emaciated old man, a risen zombie judging from the stench of necromancy that suffocated him, his bony body covered in a faded red cloak. Where his body could be glimpsed through the cloak, Illidan noticed that the decrepit figure was wrapped in torn and stained bandages. His skin strained against bone as he turned his head to face Illidan, stretching as if it would tear if the movement was too quick. The creature sat hunched in the saddle, reins loose in his spindly fingers.

Without his spectral sight, Illidan could have easily mistaken this ghoul for another mindless peon, cannon fodder for the front lines. However, his demonic vision saw the dark wisps of magic that bound spirit to corpse and saturated him with unholy power. This reanimated cadaver could have been a member of Count Dracula's forces, though it wouldn't be clear until they spoke.

"Are you here to answer the summons for the attack on Darkshire?" Illidan stated, shooting his blindfolded glare at the zombie. "Because if so, you will be under my command." He didn't possess his wings at that moment; best to save his strength for the upcoming battle. But if he had, he would've unfurled them. "I am Lord Illidan Stormrage. Who are you?"

[Roger Smith]

The trip to cover the remaining distance to the castle itself was a blessedly short one, and soon enough he was before the ancient edifice, staring up at it. The dim red glow of his eyes burned in the pale mists shrouding the area, and studying it intently. The larger portion of his mystic might had been taken from him, and now he cursed that fact all over again when he realized that his wide-reaching senses were among the missing parts of his strength. He could practically smell the magic saturating the area, but could tell little more about it than that it was present, and quite potent. Not that such a realization was of any significant help to him; he had guessed that when he was still distant and had barely glimpsed the structure.

The looming feeling of someone else approaching drew his attention away from the castle itself, his head slowly twisting about to scan the immediate area until he located the individual in question. Slowly, Mumm-Ra's eyes narrowed into bare slits, only the ever-present glow marking them as still open. He hunched down in the saddle, studying the towering figure intently as it spoke up, posing questions and asserting his command. The most prominent thing was his identifying of himself as one Lord Illidan Stormrage. It would appear he had found the one he was sent here after, without any searching through the castle needed at all.

The final question posed to him was the one which finally drew a response. " Greetings to you...Lord Stormrage," he hissed, his expression curling into a grin that bared his teeth as he sat a little straighter in the saddle. "I am Mumm-Ra, the Ever-Living. And I have indeed come to answer your summons." He left out his distaste for ever following the orders and commands of another. He knw full well that despite how much of an inversion it would be for one such as he to follow the commands of any creature save his dark masters, the Ancient Spirits of Evil, he was still lost in this place. Orders could mean information he did not have, and that would color his decision-making. Unpleasant and distasteful, but necessary, if only for the moment.

"My sorcery...is at your command when you march on Darkshire."

[Skeletor]

The looming towers of Poenari soared above Skeletor as he neared the port bailey. The architecture seemed frightfully dull in his opinion, only a few stone gargoyles were present to give the building even the slightest bit of character. It was depressing. Panthor bounded through the main gate and into the war camp with ease. A vast array of strange and ghoulish beings milled about, either preparing for the conflict or simply standing around with the empty existence of the lowest forms of undead. Skeletor guided Panthor towards an unsuspecting acolyte, who was bent over double sharping a wickedly curved dagger on a whetstone.
 
With clear enjoyment, Panthor uttered a sharp growl making the hapless man jump and cut his hand slightly. The poor acolyte whirled around in surprise, “W-Who?” he stammered, attempting to maintain control while desperately clutching at his bleeding hand. He stared into the leering face of a large purple feline, and his already pale face took on an even deathlier sheen.
 
“Only Your worst nightmare, fool.” Skeletor intoned with relish. This was what he was looking for, true minion material. Now he just had to hope they were half-way competent. “I seek the one known as Stormrage. He and I have… much to discuss.”
 
The acolyte nodded excessively and pointed the way towards one edge of the war camp, where a particularly nice tent had been erected. Skeletor turned Panthor to go, and the feline obeyed, taking one last playful snap at the cowering man, who shrieked and fled into a nearby tent, likely to bandage his bleeding arm. Skeletor rode through the rest of the war camp, it was slightly smaller than he had been expecting, without additional forces they would have to rely on surprise and secrecy over pure strength. If this Illidan did not know enough of the tactics of warfare, then the assault was certainly doomed.
 
As he neared the tent Skeletor dismounted and travelled the rest of the way on foot. If he was to learn just how dangerous Stormrage was it would do him little good to advertise his own power overly much. The large Panther loped away lazily to lounge in the shade of the tent. Panthor’s rest was short-lived however, as a red- scaled quadruped galloped towards the feline with cry somewhere between a growl and a bark. The large feline leapt to its feet, back arching and fangs bared as it hissed. The Felhunter did not pause its rush, and the feline turned tail and fled.
 
Ignorant of the chase, Skeletor approached, dark cloak drawn about his body and havoc staff clearly visible as he rounded the corner. Two beings stood before him, one a shriveled and bandaged corpse, motions slow and deliberate, the other a horned and tattooed being that reminded Skeletor vaguely of the Gar race he had once belonged to. “Which of you has the rage of a storm? Who dares to summon the Master of Evil?” he demanded as he neared.

[Illidan Stormrage]

Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living showed deference to the night elf, though such pantomime was easy to see through after his years suffering traitors and overly ambitious officers in his own army in Outland. The way his voice creaked over certain words, the pauses in his sentences, they were all dead giveaways that this was, at best, an alliance of convenience, and likely temporary. Plus, not many beings that exuded power like the desiccated mummy obeyed another unless it was in their best interests.

Still, less intelligent beings would simply outwardly declare their independence and lack of intention to follow hierarchy. This bandaged ... human, perhaps, held the wits about him to bend the knee, if only for show. That at least earned Illidan's respect.

"Excellent," the night elf said to Mumm-Ra's response. "I've no doubt the strength I sense in you will greatly bolster the war effort." He directed a hand upwards. "These wraiths will be our main attacking force." Turning around, Illidan motioned to the small number of Count Dracula's forces that had arrived to assist. Werewolves, necromancers, reanimated dead, demons ... possibly sent by Regis and Clawfang on the expedition for more soldiers, or just creatures that wandered in over the foggy plains. "These others will support; there isn't enough of their number to lead the charge."

Mumm-Ra nodded as his glowing eyes surveyed their forces.

A purple panther, reminding Illidan of his own people's mounts the nightsabers, bounded past them. Archimonde, his black tentacles flailing, chased after it. Before the kaldorei had a chance to muse on the situation, another undead figure came into view. A cloak covered his body save his skull, devoid of flesh and eyes. It gripped a staff tightly in one hand, a ram's skull placed atop it. The top of a pearl or glass orb could be seen behind the adornment.

Dark magics pulsed through the skull-man's body. Another warlock or necromancer, but one with great experience, perhaps even better than Regis. Unfortunately, having eyes and skin absent from its face meant reading its intentions without telepathy would prove ineffectual.

"Which of you has the rage of a storm?" the creature rasped, voice high and almost comical if it hadn't issued from a skinless face. "Who dares summon the Master of Evil?"

Mumm-Ra gave the new conscription an odd look, and Illidan couldn't decide if the mummy was disgusted by the bold proclamation or amused by it.

"I am Lord Illidan Stormrage," the kaldorei said, his voice hard. Where Mumm-Ra had the good sense to follow when a leader made themselves known, this one may not be so wise. "I am the leader of this campaign to eradicate Darkshire, and you best remember that." Who dares summon the Master of Evil? What a pretentious and downright dangerous way to introduce themselves to someone such as Stormrage. 

Illidan swallowed down his irritation, more concerned with victory than pride at the present moment. He motioned to the first officer to join his expedition. "This is Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living." The night elf made sure to include the honorific at the end, since the papery skinned undead had included it in his introduction for a reason, and there was no reason to besmirch those that came willingly to fight under his banner. "And who are you? You've yet to introduce yourself."

Other than as the 'Master of Evil,' he thought privately.

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Chara and Scarecrow entered the Pale Moors She gave a sigh as she felt at home in the place that most people feared. She looked around for a second before pulling out her black flip phone, and opening it and activating the OPS app and set her course to New home. "Now Craine this verse is much more aggressive than the others because of the "wildlife" that inhabits this world."

She closed her eyes for a second, and tried to see if Frisk was anywhere near here but didn't get any strong signals. She quickly opened her eyes, and started to move at a slow trot before almost suddenly taking a sharp corner. The two of them picked up the pace to new home as the sun was about high noon. Once they did reach New home; It was almost night time and Flowey was looking at the Moors to see two black horses, One shorter and with a kid with a green sweater, and another horse that carried something that looked like a scarecrow.

"Chara is that you?, Open the gates!" Chara and Scarecrow entered the Gate to the town when a owl monster fluttered back into New home and gave Chara the letter. "Queen we have received Intel that says that Darkshire wants to gain your help against the amassing army." Chara looked flustered and fell off her horse. "Shit that hurt, Well Flowey what happened while I was gone?"

She Told Scarecrow to head off to the castle there would be food and a bed to use while they regained there strength and energy. After Scarecrow headed off, Flowey asked her to come with him to the armory. The two of them entered the one roomed area to find a set of armor with the delta signal on the armor. She then walked over to a bag and there was a flag with the same delta symbol on it and a blueprint with it. "While you were gone, I took the liberty of grabbing some stuff while we were gearing up for an assault on Darkshire."

She held her arm and asked if any monsters knew any green magic. Flowey shook his head. She muttered a oath and then headed out to her room to think about what should happen.

By the time she reached the Judgement hall flashbacks started to rush back. She found herself as a ghost again with frisk facing sans "So do you think even the worst person can change?" He had just begun his dialogue. "That everyone can be a good person, if they just tried?" That hit Chara particularly hard and she and Sans locked there hateful gazes on to one another. He then looked back at Frisk.

"So do you want to have a BAD TIME?" He then killed frisk in one attack.

She then ran to her room and cryed herself to sleep she knew one thing was for certain, she would kill sans.

[Beta Ray Bill]

Scarecrow stood near the large gothic window of his room given to him from the now understood lord of this castle as it was called "New Home". It seemed that Chara was more impressive than she played out to be, she was even addressed to as a queen which was, in all cases  a most intriguing thing to the master of fear. Doctor Crane placed his bone-like hands on the frame of the window and stared up at the sky. It was the  moon that caught his attention; this moon of the Pale Moors was large and silver. A moon that in folk tales brought legends of werewolves, Vampires, and witches to life, but this did not worry the Scarecrow for if anyone was a frightening tale or legend it would be him. The title Master of Fear was not a title he just gave himself; after all, it was him that brought fear to entire  cities and turned the strongest heroes into nothing but quivering children.

It wasn't long when one of Chara's servants knocked on his door, requesting his presence in the grand Hall. It was time to address this Illidan figure. From what Chara's companion Flowey said earlier they were planning for an assault on the city called Darkshire. Scarecrow made his way through the long hallways of the giant castle. Crane couldn't help but study the extravagant designs  of the hallways he passed and entered; they all seemed to have a certain purple color to the walls and a blue flooring. The Doctor  finally made it to the Grand Hall, opening the two large wooden doors with eccentric patterns on them. He marched in as he was greeted by Flowey and Chara.

"Doctor Crane, you're finally here," Chara stated from across the other side of the large table. on her side of the table from across the large room. It seemed Chara had already taken an interest in the faction Scarecrow formed in the frozen fields for on the center of the table was the very emblem that the Society had adopted; a human skull symbolizing death.

Scarecrow took his seat and placed his hands together. "Indeed. As it was said earlier this Illidan fellow has an interesting proposition for us. As Flowey said earlier Illidan set his, umm, servants to gather rather colorful people such as us." Scarecrow straightened his back in his wooden chair before continuing, "to note that of what I was told hours ago by Flowey here is that Illidan plans to attack this city named Darkshire. In all honesty, here I have  never been to the city, but if we are to expand our power risks must take in hand." Scarecrow turned to Flowey starring into his eyes "I presume Chara's army has been readied and prepared for mobilization?"

"Yes, the army is ready," Flowey replied, giving a large grin.  

Scarecrow clapped his hands and stood up out of his chair. "Great! tell them that it is time. Be prepared to march on me Chara's return."  Scarecrow turned to Chara. "We ride off to castle Poenari."

Finally after hours of riding through hard marsh and rain the evil duo made it to the castle called Poenari. As they both  got to the gates of the castle they were stopped by a what would be considered a gatekeeper.

"Halt! State your name and business here! We don't take kindly to strangers unless ...hmm... never mind. talk!" 

Scarecrow quickly yanked out a fear grenade and the guard jumped. "We are the Society of Supervillains and to you, I am the Scarecrow Master of Fear. If you dare speak in that manner again I will have you screaming and crying over your most  secret nightmare for months. Understood?!"

The guard backed a few steps from his post. "Y-Yes sir."

"Now then. I request an audience with the lord of this castle ...Illidan I presume. take me to him now."

"Yes, sir right this way." 

The guard let both of them in and followed him into the castle.

[Skeletor]

The Warlock’s face was impassive as he listened to Illidan’s response to his challenge. Only the slightest specks of red twinkling in his eye sockets gave an indication of how he felt. There was the briefest of pauses before he responded, “Good! I wouldn’t have worked for a pansy!” Skeletor announced with a cackle. He cut off the laughter abruptly to answer the question. “You may call me Skeletor, The Overlord of Evil. I have been told that you seek allies to assault the haven known of Darkshire.”

Skeletor waited, but there was no response forthcoming from either Illidan or Mumm-Ra. The mummified being watched the exchange with gleaming eyes, but had yet to speak since Skeletor had arrived. The Night elf Illidan, on the other hand, was clearly not impressed with Skeletor’s posturing. He would need to proceed carefully, lest the Demon Hunter believe him to be an active threat. The Warlock released his havoc staff, and it floated in place within easy reach.

“I will not swear fealty to you just yet, Stormrage. But your offer is… intruiging.” Skeletor crossed his arms, scrutinizing the Night Elf’s face. The man was blindfolded, but it seemed not to affect him in the least. Clearly there was some magic at play here. “I have been to this Darkshire, and can say for myself that it is not poorly defended. What is your plan for the assault?” Skeletor asked, all the while gauging the responses of the two other primes in front of him.

[Sarah Kerrigan]

"Oh my, what have we here." A voice echoed throughout the darkness. "I was told that I'd see many different creatures under the banner of Lord Illidan. I suppose I expected fewer of them to be post-mortem." A bored voice echoed through the air, accompanied by chittering, screeching, and low growls.

Sarah tapped her hand against her leg, the noise making a soft tap as she cocked her head at the creatures arranged before her. An Array of rather... interesting creatures stood before her. A zombie that looked like it had seen far better days (or an altogether awful life), a skeleton that, paradoxically, seemed to have a frame burly enough to give Jim a run for his money in an arm wrestling competition, and a creature arrayed in purple tattoos...

Sarah knew this was worth studying, and not just because of the fact that this one matched the description she was given of lord Illidan. Kerrigan could see in every movement and errant twitch that this was a warrior on edge - but even from the slightest movements of his eyes, this was a practiced warrior. Sarah knew as soon as she saw this one that he knew the ways of warfare - at least, in some fashion. Perhaps this assault might actually work out in her favor.

"That would make you Lord Illidan Stormrage, then?" Sarah asked, her usual charismatic snark gone. "We appear to have a mutual interest... and, since you have the means, I'm only too glad to lend my aid." the infested terran stated with a smile, producing a short bow. "I am Sarah Kerrigan, the queen of blades. My friends..." Sarah stated with a far more characteristic smirk, looking back to see the small train she'd brought with her.

She could still recall the agony, those few days she first came here, of controlling even a single drone, starting a hatchery, finding enough poor fools to convert into omnilium, to then convert into zerg Bio-mass. Even now, the psionic strain of controlling just a few of the creatures that had once numbered in the billions was difficult....

But Sarah had managed to find a way, and behind her, a pair of hydralisks slithered forward, their drooling teeth snapping open and closed randomly, as they flanked Sarah on either side of her body. Behind her, an array of chittering noises clamored as though creating a mock announcement of their queen, as a Quintet of zerglings appeared behind the hydralisks, dog-like creatures with carapace and red eyes and all too many limbs falling in line behind Sarah with unerring efficiency.

even behind those creatures, several less set, more gangly creatures awkwardly walked forward, their steps strong and fast, but lacking all precision and grace. The pale moors had delivered unto her a laughably high amount of unaware travellers, despite the dangers hidden in the fog, and Sarah counted her blessings - six of them, to be exact - shuffling forward behind the rest of her forces.

"My friends names aren't important. But their ability to rip apart Darkshire's little tin soldiers..." Kerrigan smirked, letting the sentence finish itself. "Inform me of our role in your plan, Lord Illidan. We're only too eager to acquiesce."

[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?"

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Chara looked at the area she bowed, and smiled her voice; sweet and innocent. "Hello, im Chara, queen of the monsters." the others looked at her with slight interest; she then closed her eyes and turned them red, Her voice now sharp and cold. "Alright you iddiots, let me get this through your thick and stupid skulls; If you act like i'm stupid, or i'm "too young" to help.' She chuckled, as the others were not amused at her outright insult to them. She glitched on to Illidian's shoulder and jumped off before beginning again. 'I am older than any of you could ever imagine, I was a ghost for the longest time, lived thousand of years in the same loop of time, and almost erased the universe I am from. So would you like to trump me and my deed's because if genocide is part of your evil deeds then i'm game."

Illidian walked forward and the two of them faced off. "Now child you better watch your, mouth while infront of the lord Illidian Stormrage; or you may meet a messy end!"

Chara sighed before talking "I have 50 soldiers ready to march for Darkshire, That is what I bring to help; if you care at all." Her soul was as close to her as possible. She walked away and sharpened her knife for the onslaught that was coming for both sides. She was singing a tune that she called Megalo strike back as she spent the time away.

[Beta Ray Bill]

Scarecrow was not pleased with how Chara spoke, this could ruin for first impression not only that but it is not wise to start a fight with other villains in one room. They could all surely level the castle they all stood in.

This Illidan fellow was definitely a lot taller then what Scarecrow had thought and to top it off he was an elf with skin as dark as night. Elves in Scarecrow universe were only known as creatures born to fairy tales. Doctor Crane studied the room he noticed a robed man with a skull for a head, a mummy, and a what seemed to be a normal Human woman, but that seemed unlikely seeing as no one he has encountered in this world have very un-normal.

"So you are Lord Illidan I presume." Scarecrow gave a bow in respect. Clearly, it would be unwise to insult the lord and leader of this assault force. "Unlike my companion here I know when there needs to be respect and where there needs to be none." Giving a smirk Jonathan placed his left hand on his chest and raised his right hand in above him. "To you and the others in this room, I am the Scarecrow Master of Fear. I come to aid you all in this assault on Darkshire, but I also come here to give you all a proposal. Join me and my faction the Society of Supervillains. During this attack and after it, we shall all be strong together. for, us all fighting in unison we shall be a force to be reckoned with!" 

"Now that, that is out of the way, what is your plan of attack Lord Illidan?"

[Skeletor]

Skeletor’s non-existent eyes tracked the girl as she teleported around them with a disconcerting ease. Skeletor disliked how changeable her emotions appeared to be. “A trifle taciturn…” he muttered to himself as she turned away, fiddling with a gleaming knife. Skeletor was not sure what kind of threat the girl actually could pose but she certainly carried herself with more confidence than her stature should have suggested. She was evidently more skilled than she her appearance would indicate. Or insane.


The other new arrivals were equally concerning. The small girl’s travelling companion waited until she had finished before introducing himself. The hooded man carried himself with an air of intellect, but there was a maddened gleam in his eyes, something about the way they darted to the shadows whenever he wasn’t being watched. Like he was looking for an escape route, or perhaps like he was being hunted. Skeletor eyed the man’s weaponry as he clenched and unclenched his strange gauntlets.  It would be unwise to ignore this fool, or his proposal.



The last newcomer seemed more stable, though her manner was dangerously tactical. She was perhaps the most dangerous of the three. Her insectoid appearance was not especially frightening to Skeletor, he assumed she must possess control over insects to some degree, as many of the critters that scuttled behind her seemed to suggest. It was her eyes. The stark yellow orbs gleamed with a predatory intellect as she studied the faces of the other primes. As her attention turned to Skeletor he felt a strange piercing pain in the back of his skull. That shouldn’t have been possible, since he had nothing inside that should have been able to feel pain, but as the insectoid woman stared him down he found himself struggling to maintain eye contact.



Eventually she moved on, and began speaking to Illidan. The Elf-man was certainly not one to take for granted either. He seemed impatient with many of them, and Skeletor could not decide if he envied the Demon hunter’s position.  He had an army at his back, and evidently several primes were at his beck and call. But for all of his apparent power, Illidan seemed uneasy. Like a man carefully balancing explosives. His silent companion remained a burial-cloth wrapped enigma. He was watching the proceedings with glittering ruby eyes and the slightest hint of self-satisfaction but had yet to introduce himself beyond what Illidan had  there were many more pressing issues to deal with in this group than an undead who was simply less willing to share than the rest of them.


Panthor had leapt into one of the withered trees that dotted the ruined courtyard. The creaking branches swayed as the massive feline crouched amidst them. The elhound watching from the ground below, mouth expressionless and tentacles at the ready if Panthor made any move. The huge cat stayed crouched growling at the felhound from the safety of its perch.  Content his pet was not in present danger, Skeletor turned to listen to Illidan’s plan with the others. There were enough loose cannons in the crew that it would be a wonder if they even made it to Darkshire as a cohesive force. Even if he had possessed lips Skeletor could not help but grin as he awaited their leaders plan of action. These were his kind of people.

[Sarah Kerrigan]

Oh. He’s good. I suppose someone here had to be,
Kerrigan thought to herself, looking over the burly Kaldorei man’s folded chest. Unless something was different between their cultures, Kerrigan knew that was akin to an emotional wall, and she knew that the night elf already understood the creature he was dealing with.
That was fine with Kerrigan. She’d prefer dealing with an intelligent commander if she was going to be truly working under him, though usurping his position might have been a nice bonus if he had been as incompetent as she feared. No, this one kept his troops in line with his charisma and intelligence. It had been a while since she’d seen someone with a combination of both actually leading a faction, instead of simply being the grist for some foolish bureaucrat's war machine.


And what troops! Kerrigan regarded the demonic hound at his side with a slight smile. At first, these corpses and elves and humans around her seemed to be inferior genetic material… but the demons, particularly ones such as these, were far different. She’d have to see if a few corpses couldn’t “disappear” from the battlefield after they were done. The Swarm survived partly due to it’s numbers, it’s power, it’s designer strains perfectly adapted to match the strongest races and fighters in the galaxy - but it’s true power came from it’s adaptation, and Kerrigan had every intention of continuing to evolve it, guiding it to it’s true path.


But that was then. Right now, Kerrigan turned her attention to Stormrage, a grin spreading across her face. “I’d be honored to lead a division of your forces, lord Stormrage, and of course, I would only be happy to create new servants, given the time and…” Kerrigan looked back at the infested terrans behind her with a smirk, their bodies glowing green and purple with cancerous growths. “Materials.” She finished, the yellow, wispy glow from her eyes intensifying ever so slightly as she spoke.


With the rest of them, Kerrigan noted the two arrivals that came in, eyes flitting sharply across their features. Her eyes immediately locked on the young kid that came with the older being. For such a small little creature, she could see a being filled with confidence… and maliciousness. The girl walked like a hungry predator. her muscles ready to burst with killing force at a moment's notice, her stance was that of someone who'd seen combat, slaughter, hundreds of times. Sarah’s mouth turned up slightly at the thought.
No. Not simply like a hungry predator.

Still, the predatory girl was still a girl, and in an immature display, she quickly showed that, experienced or not, she wasn’t skilled at the subtle parts of the game. Sarah just smiled. That was fine. She wasn’t really looking for extra competition on that front. Nor, really, was she going to dignify the girl with a proper response after that little outburst.
Instead, she simply turned to the older gentleman. He seemed canny in comparison, and his voice and mannerisms gave off an edge of cunning. And yet, Had Kerrigan still truly been a human, Sarah would have had to try hard to stop herself from laughing as she heard the Scarecrow’s proclamation.


Society of super-villains?
Society of super-villains, really?

Sarah had the memories of a billion infested minds at her disposal, even if they were frayed from age and time, and a few of those minds had vintage comic collectors involved in them. Sarah couldn’t say this character matched anything exactly, but certainly, whatever godforsaken part of the multiverse he came from must have given those comic writers some inspiration somehow. And the gall of simply recruiting for his faction like a timeshare salesman to the same people he wished to join… were Sarah commanding this battle, she wasn’t sure she would’ve taken such an arrogant creature under her command. But, Sarah wasn’t the commander, and he seemed both harmless enough to her, and harmful enough to their enemies.  Sarah knew well the value of breaking her enemies morale, and if this was indeed his specialty, she’d welcome his expertise. 

“Cute kid. She yours?” Sarah asked, sarcasm bleeding through her tone, as her main response to the gas-masked man in the dark coat. “Forgive me for my rude line of questioning… ‘Scarecrow’, was it?” Sarah asked, not waiting for a response as she continued. “But surely, you’d prefer to see your would-be allies tested before you offered such a proposal. Perhaps in an assault like this. It strikes me as quite curious that such an obviously powerful organization as yours would simply be handing out memberships like candy to greedy children.” Kerrigan stated with a smirk. “You’re certainly not without standards, I assume.” Kerrigan stated dryly. “Oh, forgive me, I may have overstepped. I’m certain you have your reasons, Master of Fear.” Kerrigan stated, only a slight bit of Sarcasm intentionally slipping into her voice. The Queen of Blades had come here upon hearing an interesting business proposal. She wasn’t interested in what seemed to be the omniversal equivalent of time-share salesmen. Hopefully, she’d crushed the man’s hopes, or at least given him a good reason to focus on more important matters. If not, she was quite sure the night elf she stood so near wouldn’t approve of someone distracting his forces the eve before a battle. Nor did she think he'd tolerate the girl's insubordination without at least a passing remark.

As her mind switched to other matters, she once again examined the skeletal being, she showed more caution. This one had been quite quiet, and on a corpse, it was difficult to tell just what might be hiding in those nonexistent eyes. Still, Kerrigan had been watching his face dart this way and that, purposefully, quietly. It didn’t take psychic powers to tell that he was quietly evaluating the group he had unwittingly joined. and that his gaze was hanging overlong into Kerrigan's own from time to time.“Oh, where are my manners.” She stated simply to the skull-faced wizard, still keeping her eyes on the other two while she spoke. “I forgot to ask your name.”

In truth, Sarah wasn’t sure if it would matter - given the quality of these “recruits”, it looked like they might not work together much longer, but she had a certain respect for the quiet corpse. He knew caution, that much was certain, and she was certain that his skull-faced demeanor wasn’t the whole reason she couldn’t read his thoughts and mind so easily. He might turn out to be a fool indeed, but at least he was an experienced one.

[Beta Ray Bill]

Scarecrow's face grew into a sneer, his pale eye's widened and he began to twitch. Slowly he paced his way towards Kerrigan, cranking a lever on the valves that held the toxin. The Amber liquid made its way through a series of surgical tubes before filling the sharp syringes that made up his gauntlet.

You dare speak to the Master of Fear in this manner, you rude ungrateful harlot!

He Reached closer with his pale bony hands sprung out into choking position, each of his steps gave a loud thud. Scarecrow etched as close as he could get to her without making a large scene. When he was behind her, his eye's  switched from a pale silver to an amber yellow. He reached for her throat. He wished her no mercy, to enjoy the pleaser of her dying in his grip, to taste ever so delicious terror from her soul. His fingers were now close to her neck inches away from clamping down before the final push he stopped, bursting into laughter and stumbling a few steps back.

Sarah turned with a look of curiosity all most as if she was studying him almost as if she were a cat. Catching his breath Scarecrow regained his posture raising his left hand and bringing the other to his chest. "My dear I believe you take me as a fool, my proposal was  only a gift that I brought to this table of warfare." Scarecrow's words turned into a raspy whisper. "do I have to spell out what weakens all of us here, we are grand conquerors, but without flaw for our egos always get the better of us. Allowing our selfs to fight one another when simply we are stronger than the ones who defy us when we work as allies." Jonathan paused before continuing. "Before I began this rambunctious life I was a professor of psychology and you know I know a great many things of the mind before I ever addressed any of you in this room I had already psychologically evaluated everyone and this assault on Darkshire are the tests of skills."

Kerrigan responded with a bow. "My dearest apologies, Scarecrow. I didn't mean to offend such an illustrious professor. I've clearly overstepped my bounds."

Scarecrow backed a step and Squinted an eye. The queen of blades just stared back at him with more interest, the fear master tilted his head and clutched his gauntlet.

She is definitely showing multiple forms of body language and her response has confirmed my observation.

"You are an interesting subject, my dear would you like to hear what observation I have made."   

Kerrigan simply did not answer her yellow eyes darted back to Illidan, seeming to be more into what his battle strategy is. Scarecrow gave a sharp turn and paced towards his companion Chara. She had been seating on a piece  of stone ruin observing and listening to the Night elf's plans. Doctor Crane sat beside her and gave the look of listing to the Elf's instruction.

"Chara, the Sarah Kerrigan character is not to be trusted I feel she will betray us all once she is done with her enemies, such as a game of chess she intends to win with no one standing to defy her, I advise you watch her she may at any moment strick us with venom as a viper." His words were nothing more then a whisper only for the child to hear. She gave a nod and they both took positions beside the group.           

                        

[Illidan Stormrage]

A nest of vipers. Illidan had summoned creatures beyond mortal reckoning for the express purpose of wiping out a human settlement, but they were not mindless, not searching for a leader. Not one of them. Lady Vash'j never questioned his rule, never displayed such audacious individualism when she professed servitude of the naga to the night elf's command. Kael'thas, though a cunning and selfish blood elf, was also wholly committed to Stormrage, needing him to sate the magic lust that afflicted his people since their Sunwell had been sullied by the Lich King. These volunteers, though ... they did not require Illidan for anything so pivotal, nor did they recognise the great and terrible destiny that he displayed. Had any of these fools identified the arcane tattoos that decorated his violet skin, the felfire balls beneath his blindfold, perhaps they would respect him. Though, for that to happen they would need to know of the Burning Legion, and while that unholy disease had swallowed countless worlds and races, none of those around him would be alive had their demonic touch reached them.
 
And yet, few showed the deference deserved to him. The short female human had the gall to leap onto him and off again while blowing her own horn, the cloaked Scarecrow used the opportunity to recruit others into his own mysterious alliance, and this Kerrigan creature mocking the attempt. A fuse had almost been lit when Scarecrow approached Kerrigan with his needled gauntlet, and how it had been averted was neither here nor there. Their lack of self awareness, or perhaps self control, tightened the night elf's jaw. If their assault on Darkshire was going to be a success, the mood had to be changed, and drastically.
 
"All right, listen to me," Illidan said in a low tone, arms falling to his sides. When he didn't need to part them to speak, he bared his teeth in a wide grimace. "This assault will fall to nothing if certain corrections are not made. Chiefly, that I am leading this attack, and if you wish to utilise the resources I am handing over to you all, you will recognise me as such. You will also put aside your petty egos and delusions of grandeur to work together and focus on our task. Otherwise, your own selfish pride will be the undoing of us all."
 
The group had stopped, all eyes and ears absorbing Illidan's speech. Good. At least they had the intelligence to listen.
 
"Those of you who will not bend the knee to me for the duration of his campaign, leave now. I will not abide rogue decisions to jeopardise the objective, nor will I discuss my plans before traitors. If you will not leave ..."
 
Illidan pumped the seething anger just below the surface into his mind, intensifying the green flames of his eyes, knowing that the sickly light would be filtering through his blindfold. The fire scorched his sockets, the burning a sharp but predictable consequence of his display, but worth the sacrifice. In tune with his rage, the dim emerald tattoos that adorned his torso and arms shed their own light.
 
" ... will be encouraged to do so by my army."
 
Illidan watched his intended officers turned their heads this way and that, absorbing the patchwork force that the night elf commanded. Spirits of all colours, mostly translucent portraits of decaying human corpses, floated above them in a striking constellation. The monsters of Count Dracula's number also perked up at Stormrage's words; werewolves, warlocks, skeletons and many other ghoulish soldiers stared pointedly at the group.
 
"Does anyone have any objections?"

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Chara looked at all the forces around her, she saw that there was no siege equipment at all that she could see. "I can see this assault has failed before it has even started, there is no siege equipment of any kind here. I'm out of here." she walks out of the gate and climbs on her horse before heading off to New home. once there she quickly told Flowey to grab the forces and to head out they were takeing the forces away from the fighting. "Where do you suggest we head Chara?"

"I was thinking head to a different verse for the time being, maybe Camelot?" Once everyone was there she asked who wanted to stay around, they all said they wanted to stay. Flowey looked at Chara before asking "Am I allowed to head off on my own, I will be back."

Chara sighed and closed her eyes before nodding slowly to Flowey as her approval. he went under the ground and headed off Omni knows where. SHe then got on her horse and left for the gate even she would not help in a cause that was going to be genocide for her people.

 Chara is no longer attacking or defending darkshire she has left the pale moor's and Flowey is up for anyone to use as they please 

[Skeletor]

Skeletor continued to grin despite Kerrigan’s backhanded snub. Her aims were starting to become obvious to him; by tactically downplaying the importance of the other assembled primes, the brood queen was subtly trying to set herself up to be Illidan’s second. He had seen Evil Lyn use the same tactics to manipulate her position within his own court. Idiots like Merman and Trapjaw would cluelessly play right into her scheming and Skeletor did little to curb her machinations, provided she remembered her place.

He was still trying to determine how much free reign Illidan would allow his subordinates when it came to jockeying for position. From his actions thus far he seemed unlikely to allow much open in-fighting, so Skeletor would need to combat her plans with a more delicate approach.   Bending slightly in an ornate bow, Skeletor grinned at the brood queen. “Ah, ha? Call me Skeletor” he cackled, “pleasure to make your acquaintance, Bladeling.” Kerrigan likewise ignored his jab, though her eyes flashed at his last comment.

More than satisfied with the exchange, Skeletor turned to regard Illidan as the Kaldorei finally decided to take command of the situation before things spiraled much farther out of control. The Night elf spoke of control, and Skeletor’s eyeless sight glanced at the surrounding forces. They seemed confident in Stormrage’s chances to challenge the might of Darkshire, no mean feat. This warrior was clearly competent, the flaming eyes and glowing tattoos were clear indicators of the power that flowed within the prime. Perhaps he would not be able to challenge Stormrage for control of the army, at least not at this time.

His musings were interrupted by another outburst from the child. The small girl pronounced the assault doomed and turned on a dime, striding towards her horse and “glitching” onto its back. The large black steed reared in surprise as the child suddenly appeared on its back, grabbing hold of the reins.  Her hooded companion stared incredulously as the girl rode out of the castle. The assembled primes stood in silence for a moment as she left. Turning back to face Illidan, Skeletor realized that the red-cloaked mummy who had remained silent throught the exchange had also vanished from the gathering.

Skeletor had seen situations like this before, and understood just how close to total collapse this entire assault was. Someone needed to change the tempo of the meeting and fast. Within the throes of defeat was often a golden opportunity. With a nigh-imperceptible glance towards the Brood Queen, Skeletor advanced to stand in front of the seething Kaldorei.

“I, at least, have reason to trust in your abilities, Stormrage.” Leaning on his Havoc staff for support, Skeletor knelt before the former Demon-hunter theatrically, face as impassive as always. “Together we shall bring fury down upon the fools of Darkshire that would dare to challenge our might!” Skeletor rose and turned to face the remaining assembly of primes. “Do any of you think otherwise?” he challenged sweeping the head of his havoc staff at the remaining two warriors. Skeletor knew he might be getting over-zealous, but he figured the Kaldorei would be too desperate for support to admonish him too harshly. “If you anyone else thinks Illidan is not the one to conquer this pathetic mass of humans, then by all means, Speak your minds!”

Skeletor’s bluster fell flat however, as he realized that Chara’s companion had also quietly excused himself from the group during Skeletor’s ranting. The Warlock’s pointed staff lowered back to the ground. Only Kerrigan remained, watching his antics with a look of faint disdain. Skeletor turned back to face the Night Elf. “Well that may not have worked quite as desired.” He said, much of his bluster gone. “Do we still mean to assault the city? They will hardly be short on defenders.” There numbers had halved within the course of minutes. “Do we still intend the same course of action, or should we seek more allies?”