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Old July 15th, 2012, 03:44 AM
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Ray Maverick
You. Yes, YOU! You are DEAD!
 
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Ragnaros 'Bloodthirster' Phylax


The sounds of the birds chirping from the trees the Gold Tribe was hiding into was contrasting their tension. Ragnaros, who was fed up with waiting, was poking holes in the ground with his massive feet. Defender was giving advice again, but the Salamence was profoundly ignoring him; all this talk had tired his mind. Things were much simpler, according to him: the ancients fell in the traps they had set, then they would teleport the hostages out. And then, a showdown of blood and rocks being launched in any direction would ensure their victory. That's what Ragnaros wanted; however, his newfound patience made him stay silent, with his eyes fixed on Penance the Defender, who was finishing his speech, at last.

"Apart from that, everyone get in position. We need to start off as good as possible and have as much of an advantage as we can."

The Salamence walked slowly behind the trees, careful not to destroy any bushes in his wake. His role was semi-crucial on this ambush; if things got out of hand with the operation, he would have to inform the thieves to help them. But he wasn't so much into that. He chose a grassy area behind the trees that were not so dense, providing him a neat sight of the plains the traps were set on. If everything went according to plan, he would spread his wings, leaving the ground and launch an aerial assault on the ancients. The thought alone made him shake his long head in anticipation, perking up his pointy scales. Steam blew out of his nose in front of him, burning the grass without him even noticing it. He was looking at his bloodied feet, the same feet that had ignited with the sacred flame of the dragons to take so many lives. He grinned, slightly, thinking he regretted nothing and that he would gladly fall onto the ancients from above, not caring about how many enemies he would have to deal with. The spirit of the Gold Tribe inspired him, certainly different than the others, in a way to arouse his bloodlust. That's why he had taken the title 'Bloodthirster' anyway.

Voices were heard from the plains - the thief-baits were taunting the Ancients. Bloodthirster moved his head to the left to see the ancients. They were more than they were expecting, but the sight of them made his grin even bigger. More skulls to crush, he thought, more bones to rip apart.

On a second thought, he wondered how the Ancients could be so stupid that they listened to the thieves taunting them. Then again, mindless, useless zombies, Bloodthirster considered them. They fell right into the Gold Tribe's traps. Their comrades ran to help those who had fallen in there; the next moment, the flying force of the thieves was launched above the ancients, spreading the sleep powder. The ambush was well organized, and despite Bloodthirster's thoughts of annihilation that were distracting him so, he admired Defender's planning skills and wondered where the Golduck had learned so much about tactics. Not even he, who was considered an artisan of war, was unable to come up with something like this.

He readied himself, flapping his wings and roaring slightly, but still awaiting patiently for the ambush to unfold. The next moments were crucial.
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