Visions Of Blood by Brameth

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Visions Of Blood by Brameth

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Bramethsnorted softly. The air was thick with the scent of night flowers,and the moon lit the grassy plains for miles. In the tent at hisback, his mate and child slept soundly. And yet, something was notquite right. He sent a quiet prayer to the Earthmother that it wasjust anxiousness from the premature birth of his child.

Thunderbluff lay another days trek from the border of the Barrens, and hehad hoped to make it to the capital before the birth, but theEarthmother had seen fit to bestow his child early. The Strayhoofclan hadn't been able to give up their nomadicways, even with the rise of the Tauren capital. They're numbers wereextremely small, and the impending birthhad been great news to an otherwise fading clan. Brameth had hopedto bring the clan to Thunder Bluff and establish themselves there, atleast for a little while. Perhaps some of the other young Taurencould woo some mates in the capital and revitalize their waningheritage.

Troublingreports of Alliance skirmishes had followed them all the way fromDesolace. Brameth was confident in his small company of braves, butimpending fatherhood had put him on edge. If there was an enemy outthere, he doubted they would make an attack on his group. He couldnot see them in the moonlight, but he knew at least two Druids of theClaw prowled the surrounding area, alert for any trouble. His owndruidic training was elementary at best, put on hold with the deathof his father, thrusting care of the clan into his hands. Harnessingthe Spirit of the Bear and Cat came naturally, but he found the pathof the Restorer most appealing, although he would not have to committo a path for some time.

Hisnostrils twitched again. There was something barely present in theair, just below the smell of the flowers, but he could not quitefigure it out. He drew in a deep breath, clearing his mind,concentrating on the smell... blood. Brameth leapt to his feet witha deafening bellow of warning. The tallgrass aside the camp boiled with activity as stealthy figures dartedin. They were bent low, but they would be tall standing, and theirears were long and pointy. Elves.

Heknew it was a battle they could not win. Even as he battered afoolish elf to the side with his great maul, he counted enough elvesto outnumber his warriors three to one. Although great in strengthand wisdom, the majority of his people were not accustomed to battle. Perhaps if he could lead them away, surely the elves would notmurder the innocent and weak. Summoning the Spirit of the Bear tohim, he transformed and charged into their midst with a great roar,surely enough to gather their undivided attention.

Painwracked his body as elvish blades struck home, but none of themstruck deep enough to cause serious damage to his thickened hide. Great paws broke limbs and crushed skulls in a growing rage. Bloodmatted the grass as he drew off from the camp. Several elves closedin pursuit as he attempted to create some distance from the camp. Leaving the Spirit of the Bear behind, he threw himself into the deepgrasses, hoping to create enough time to call forth Starfire tostrike pursuers down from a distance.

Thebroad side of a sword connected with his temple. Brameth struggledto regain focus as a blade struck home, piercing his chest. Bloodstung his eyes as a pair of soft boots passed his vision as he lie onthe ground. He felt the blade wrenched free from his body aseverything faded to black.

Morningdew dripped across his snout as he regained consciousness. The Earthmother had blessed him with the ability to cast a lastsecond rejuvenation as he had fallen. Hischest ached where the spell had sealed his wounds and kept him frombleeding dry. It was quiet, for not even the birds sang. Afterseveral tense moments, Brameth summoned the will to stand. Warily,he advanced back towards his camp, fearing the worst.

Nothingstirred as Brameth crept nearer, the grass all around had been mattedby the blood and feet of many. The scene made little sense. Thetents were burnt and smoldering, and bloodhad been spilled by the gallons, yet there were no bodies, Tauren orElf, to be seen. Panic beyond anything he had ever felt welled upinside him till he wanted to scream. Then he felt the blade on histhroat. It was not a smooth elven blade, made to cut cleanly, but abarbed and jagged blade. And in one swift motion, it was drawnacross, ripping cruelly as blood sprayedinto the air. Brameth clutched his throat desperatelyto no avail as his blood soaked into the ground,

Therewas no light, no sound; Brameth could not feel his own body. A voiceechoed to him. His clan was gone. Hismate. His child. The Earthmother felt his pain, was his pain,focused his pain. A great chalice entered his vision, filled withblood. The Alliance bled into this chalice. A great Elemental Lord,a Blood God, The Scarab Wall, The Broodmother and the BlackDragonflight, a fiercesome Lich. The chalice would swallow them all. A final drop of blood falls from Brameth himself and the chaliceoverflows. Vengeance, and a tithe ofblood. Yes.

Brameth'seyes opened slowly. He was alive, just barely. Everything was hazy,but the visions burned brightly in his mind. The Earthmother hadspurned his spirit, and he knew he could not have peace till thetasks placed before him were complete. Bitterness and hatred. Vengeance. He would give the Earthmotherher Blood Tithe.
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