Nomeni

For Honor, For Justice

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((I'll spell check it later?))

He was alone. He was hurt. He was drunk. More than all that though, there were seven of them. The first two had fallen in the first moments of the battle, victim to surprise and a heavy initial assault. The second two had fallen immediately afterwards, in the chaos as Nomeni had given them the run-around. That had been easy. This however...he knew this could cause problems.

The Warboss had given orders, and Nomeni had followed them. He had made his way out to Nagrand as soon as he left the Winterveil party, not bothering to let himself sober up. He doubted that the bastards would want another round so soon after Brox and Vil's escape, but after checking out the Mag'har defenses, he had flown off anyway to scout things out. He was going to leave them alone when he spotted them. He was going to go get help. There were eleven of them, what the hell was he going to do?

That thought didn't register for long though. The image of Vilmah, battered and beaten returned to him before he could get back to the Outpost. Righteous fury had filled him, caused him to dip his wing and intercept them. He had shifted to a lion then, ambushed them from behind. Initially, the assault had succeeded. He killed four of them. He should have gotten out right then and there and regrouped, and he knew it. Again though, the visage of the beaten Warboss came to his mind though, and he stayed. Let them back him into a corner.

Now he was trapped. They had formed a half circle around the base of the U-shaped hillock, and one of them had a gun. Hardly good odds for shifting to an eagle to escape. Something resisted though, as he resigned himself to death. He hadn't felt it in some time. Not that he'd wanted to, he had buried it beneath his will months ago. The Rage though, poked at him then, tried to draw him in. Nomeni's gaze shifted between the seven draenei. A sick, drunken grin spread across his face. If he was going to die, he might as well bring as many of them with him as possible.

His mind was overtaken in an instant, suddenly clearing and appraising the situation. Of the seven, one had a blade. There was the one with the gun, and the rest held maces. Three of those bore shields. He took a step back, and feigned an ankle sprain, dropping to one knee. Slowly, his hand moved to a punching blade he kept at his waist. One of the draenei with the large maces laughed at him, his dark grin spelling out his intentions. He stalked closer, and raised his mace for the kill.

The tauren exploded into action as the mace reached its apex. His now bladed hand shot up, the full momentum of his thrust and jump taking the squid-faced bastard in the gut, plunging the blade through his chainmail, and then wrenching it upwards. The other six shouted in surprise and charged, not expecting to have their comrade thrown at them.

It kept two of them occupied long enough for Nomeni to shift quickly into a huge bear. His eyes dialated and focused, finding the largest threat immediately. The gunman leveled his barrel, popping a shot into Nomeni even as the crazed bear roared. He didn't have enough time to reload, and his friends wouldn't make it there fast enough in a sprint. Nomeni charged, lunging into the air at the last second and batting the side of the hunter's head. Even through the rage, Nomeni could hear, almost feel the sickening crack at the soldier's neck was destroyed, and the soft thud as he ended his spiral to the ground.

Pain exploded through his side though, the bladed draenei, more decorated than the rest, had caught up. The bear began to foam at the mouth, roaring again in defiance. He took another blow to the shoulder, pushed forward, and took the warriors arm off with his teeth. The draenei captain unsheathed a dagger as he fell, trying to stab into the beast before he finally bled out. He succeeded, planting the blade in Nomeni's foreleg as his claws tore out the blue-skin's throat.

Nomeni's sight burned red for a moment, blinding him. The rage wasn't lasting. He could feel it slipping away as his lifeblood fell to the dirt. He focused on it even more then, pulling it into his mind to finish the task. A bestial roar burst from his throat as he stood up on his hind legs. The two shield bearers he had distracted had closed, hoping to take him out while he was weakened. More rage poured through his veins, as he fell forward, his teeth closing on one of their heads. His teeth crunched down as he shook his head, ignoring the flailing mace and shield blows. After a few moments, it was just the second, pounding at his head and shoulder.

Pain shot through his skull, dazing him as the draenei scored a decent hit, breaking off one of the bear-tauren's horns. The druid released the dead draenei from his teeth, and shifted once more to a lion. The mace from the other passed over his head as Nomeni shifted, opening him to attack. Nomeni leaped into the squid-man's chest, toppling him over to rake viciously at his face and throat. The draenei screamed in pain for a split second, before the lion's teeth closed on his throat and pulled.

The one female draenei in the party screamed at Nomeni, though the druid had no clue what she was saying. She hefted her heavy two handed mace over her shoulder and charged, giving a battle cry as she did so. Her companion stood in shock, looking younger than the rest and hardly expecting his entire party to be torn to shreds. He panicked as his female companion charged, and bolted away.

His rage almost spent, Nomeni calmly shifted into his tauren form as she charged, having ample time to shoot a hate filled glare her way. He reached out his hand. The mace impacted it like a cannonball at first, pain shooting through his now quite broken hand. His left arm was useless as the female stared at him in horror, showing no signs of his torment. He shrugged at the opportunity, shooting his one good arm forward to grasp her by the neck.

Vilmah and Broxigan's suffering would not go unpunished. They would not take their pain without an ample amount being tossed back. Nomeni lifted her off the ground, the muscles in his arm tensing and jerking. She kicked for a moment, and grabbed for the dagger that was still in his arm. He laughed as she plunged it back in, suddenly pulling her closer and crushing her forehead with his.

Nomeni stood for a moment, depositing the draenei female in the dirt unceremoniously. His vision wavered for a moment, and the light headedness hit. Like a great tree, he slowly toppled over. He hit the wet ground with a thud, breathing hard. A bullet was lodge in his shoulder, a dagger in his arm, and he knew he had taken two hits to the side from the sword. On top of that, his left arm was broken beyond belief. He knew he was going nowhere as the darkness slowly overtook him.

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The festival had come and gone far too quickly. The blind orc had overheard quite a few stories, conversations, plans. Some he probably shouldn't have heard. One in particular.

Nomeni.

It had seemed that the Righteous Hand had not fully been stopped. That Vilmah and himself had only taken out one of their bases. That his superior was about to send himself to an early grave; as himself and Vilmah had nearly done.

Not if he could help it.

Broxigan had left the party a bit early, deciding to call it an "early night." He had, infact, ventured back out to the 'City of Light,' Shattrath. He knew that if Nomeni was heading out to Nagrand, this would be the mostly likely of places he would pass.

Hunched down in Lower City, back against the wall, his cloaked pulled over his head and Peecha laying by his side, he waited. His voice spoke out in a soft whisper from beneath his cloak.

"Peecha. Keep and eye and nose out for Nomeni. You remember him, the Tauren. When you spot him, we will follow him, you understand?" his hand gently stroked one of Peecha's ears.

The large wolf yipped in acknowledgment and sniffed idly at the air. Time slowly drifted by. No sign on Nomei. Peecha hadn't budged from her spot. Maybe Nomeni wouldn't be foolish enough to go alone, Brox finally thought to himself.

A few more moments passed as he reached down, patting the wolf, "Well, I don't think he is going to do it, Peech." Peecha yipped once again then quickly stiffened, the sound of her nose sniffing echoing around Brox.

With a simple nod, Brox knew she had picked up his scent. He quickly stood, drawing a hood over his head, hunching over some, his hand grabbing onto the newly made leather harness he fitted the wolf.

"Let's go," he whispered.

Brox followed close to Peecha at an unmeasurable distance behind the Tauren. Through the rolling hills and broken mountains he trekked, no sound or sign of the druid.

Silently, the wolf and orc stalked through the wilderness, as if they were on a hunt for a particularly good prey. Squatting low, keeping out of sight as best he could, they continued on.

The sounds of a battle were heard not too far off now, over a hill or two. Peecha eagerly led Brox towards the sound, reaching the top of the hill. He peered down at the scene that was unfolding, never catching a single glimpse of what was happening, of course.

The sounds of bodies hitting the earth echoed. Roars and screams. The cracking of bones and the ripping of flesh. He prayed to himself that Nomeni wasn't down there.

He then heard a familiar voice, a roar of sorts. Shit, Brox thought to himself. Body after body hit the earth. One particularly large one, from the sounds of it, ended the dulled thuds. All he could hear now was footsteps. More precisely, hooves. And they were running, towards him.

The orc and wolf ducked behind a nearby boulder as the steps approached. One of Brox's hands held the other's wrist, silencing the jangling of the broken shackle and chain still upon him. Scarred flesh and dried blood still coat his wrist and the metal.

Closer and closer.

His breathing began to deepen. His heart racing.

Closer and closer.

These footsteps were lighter. Defiantly not the Tauren he knew.

Damn it, Nomeni. You should have known better than to go alone, he thought to himself. If they didn't kill you, I certainly will for being so foolish.

Closer. The figure he KNEW was a draenei was on the other side of the boulder now. He leapt out quickly, right in the path of the runner.

The draenei yelled out in shock and surprise at the sudden appearance of the orc and wolf. The younger sounding draenei begin to scream for help, but it was quickly muffled.

Brox reached his shackled hand out, grasping the blue, squid-faced male by the face. A low growl rises from Brox, "Big mistake."

The blue hands grasped at the green arm and hand, trying to break from of the restraint.

Brox let out a roar, spinning on the spot, pulling the draenei with him. Muffled yells were quickly silenced and replaced by the loud sound of bones shattering against stone and a body falling limp.

Brox pressed the now shattered skull of the dead draenei further onto the boulder, blood splattered all over the earth, rock and the green forearm. He tossed the lifeless body to the side, reaching down for Peecha with his other hand.

"Find Nomeni," he said shakily as he clenched the hand that just smashed a skull into a fist.

Peecha quickly obeys, leading Brox down the hill towards the bodies. The pain that still coursed through his body from the week of torture and imprisonment had been masked for the time being by worry for his friend and superior.

"Nomeni?" he called out as Peecha led him down towards the large, furry body. She whimpers softly as she nudges Nomeni. Brox slowly knelt down, bringing a hand to feel the body of Nomeni. Quickly, he found his neck. He pressed two fingers quickly towards it.

With a deep sigh, he shook his head, "He is still alive, Peecha.." Brox's hands felt all across the Tauren's form, feeling the wounds and cuts and breaks. Settling himself onto the ground, he pulled out his first aid materials, slowly and carefully getting to work on the body.

((Side note: I am going to be cleaning this up a little. Just wanted to get it posted! :D))

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After finally having tended to Nomeni's wounds, placing splints and wrapping bandages, Brox had put a call out through his hearthstone for Vilmah to come out to him. He stripped the Tauren of his broken, battered, torn armor and trapped it upon Max, his own Frostwolf mount. Peecha idly stood aside, waiting.

Brox had even managed during the time he waited for Vilmah to arrive, to pile the bodies in the center of the camp; the orcish ones. He thought back to when he was a child, watching the warriors from the war being burned upon the pyres. He knew the ritual by heart. He mouthed the words during his own parents burning. And tonight, he did the same for the Mag'har.

Vilmah arrived soon after the fire was lit. He explained to her, into detail, what had happened. The ball, his over hearing what Nom was going to do, his little venture of following the Tauren to this spot.

After he explained what had happened, he lifted the tauren into his arms, climbing upon the back of Vilmah's mount with her, craddling the druid close to him. She followed him up, kicking her heels into Edmund, the both of them quickly heading back to the guild hall; Peecha and Max following close behind.

Such a mess.

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