"Sooooooooo… you're telling me this -isn't- an illusion."
"Nope. You'll really -be- the demon."
"For a limited time. And if they touch me, it'll break. Or if they use truesight spells, it'll break. Or if I hit a bad energy flow, it'll break. Why are we doing this and not illusions again?"
"'cause that's what I can do. WHat do you think I am, some sort of fancy mage? Hell, no, fluffy. Besides, you'll need the Fel aura, or they won't believe you."
Nightpetal eyed the undead warlock with visible skepticism. "You do realize I have been inside of -felsoul- with just an illusion, right? I mean, there's so much ambient green ick that who pays any attention?"
"… for a week?"
And … so she was itchy. ANd smelled like … that horrible demony smell, and was a -boy-, which was even worse because if her sister ever found out about it, she'd never live it down. She shouldered her big pack of shiny things, gizmos, and whatsits… listening to the worried archmage on one side and the snarky warlock on the other.
"… don't forget, it's a variant of a mana bomb. It should be big."
"… and you should have a couple of charges in that gem. Just get out of sight before you use it – "
"… we know it is intended for the shore – we've got good sources that it'll go through there, but more than seven days and you've missed it.."
"…and whatever you do, try not to sleep. The potions should help – but those grubby little worms generally don't, at least that we've seen. If you have to, find somewhere to hide…"
"Activate it there. It'll take out their supplies /and/ the demons. Just find a portal out before you do – we're not sure that portals work in there; you may not be able to open your own.."
It went on until she, with a deep breath, marched through the portal… entering … wherever it went. Damn that warlock for not really knowing exactly where.
.. it was noisy and cramped. Dozens of demons just like she seemed to be, the little wyrmtongue things that kept stealing stuff and tinkering, swarmed over the place, cataloguing supplies and routing them out into the battlefield of the shore. The green-metal walls pressed in on her, the fel in them making it hard for her to concentrate, pushing against her in a constant irritation of magic that creeped under her skin and made her itchier. For luck, she gripped the waystone at her neck, and dove in – her objective was in here -somewhere-. And she had seven days to find it.
In the sisters' little space in Victor's ship, the Pandaren left a note –
Have some work I have to do for the Tirisgarde. Don't wait up, I'll be a couple days. Have to be quiet, so don't call me on the waystone – I'll call you when I can.
Love you, sis – don't steal all the dumplings. Let the pirate know? And leave the space behind the door free – just in case.