Another night staring at the night from inside his stone cage. It had been three months in this prison. That damp and water never dried, the floor a consistent slop of wet dirt and his own feces. Been the nearly complete solitude, and the lack of any fresh blood, Mudbrain's sanity had been slipping for several weeks. On the rare occasions he was lucid, he would stare through the small opening near the ceiling. He could not call himself remorseful, but he certainly regretted being caught. But more than regret, he felt rage. In his half mad state, Mudbrain had convinced himself his elven accomplice had sold him out to Pikki. Far to weak to force a physical escape, he could only hope for a chance to plead his case. Then find a way to resume his "operation". He needed to feed. With a satisfied smile, the shriveled Tauren considered his first prey. Always liked the taste of elven blood...