Sorry for the delay again! It just happened to be bad timing. I had to spend the last week or so preparing everything for Passover, which starts this Saturday. But the prep work is done, so writing time!
Also, not beta'd! May be typos!
Jazax glanced around anxiously, his eyes flicking between the snarling faces in the circle of furbolgs encroaching around him. On instinct, he held up his hands defensively and took a step back. His back brushed against the rough burrow wall behind him and he cringed. There was nowhere to go. Sniffling slightly from his still-itchy nose, he knew had to, once again, place his bets in talking his way out.
If they could even understand, that is.
"H-Hey, uh, guys," He began nervously, "I, er, know this looks bad. But I got a real good explanation for bein' here."
The furbolg paused, looking at him in confusion. Jazax frowned. Okay, so it seemed they didn't understand Orcish. What about Common, then?
"I'm just passin' through," He continued, switching quickly to Common, "Lookin' for my friend, actually. Pretty sure he came this way. You didn't see him, did you, guys?"
The furbolg looked between themselves in bewilderment, shrugging at each other. They spoke to each other in a rough language of growling and grunting. Then they looked back to him and raised their weapons.
Jazax began to sweat. Okay, so they didn't know Orcish or Common. It probably wasn't likely they knew Goblin, either. He supposed he could try throwing Thalassian at them, but they probably wouldn't-wait.
His black eyebrows quickly shot up in realization, just as a furbolg's stone maul smashed into the tunnel wall beside his head. Jazax yelped in surprise, shimmying off to the side.
"St-Stop!" He hastily shouted in Darnassian as he dodged a rough wooden quarterstaff.
At this, the furbolg paused again. They still looked surprised, but they didn't look confused. Like they understood. Jazax gave a ragged, nervous sigh and leaned back against the tunnel wall more. His guess was right.
He didn't know all too much about furbolgs, but he did know they seemed to be real buddy-buddy with the night elves. At least, back in the day. And that meant they'd probably understand some Darnassian. Or at least as much as he was able to speak it.
One of the furbolg-a female, judging by its roughshod chest wrap-glanced her ursine head towards the others around her, before stepping forward.
"I will speak for the Timbermaw Tribe," The furbolg announced, in surprisingly fluent Darnassian.
The gray-furred furbolg then pointed her quarterstaff at his face roughly, hitting the end of his nose.
"What tribe do you speak for, goblin?" She asked gruffly, poking the end of her staff.
"Uhh," Jazax glanced aside a moment, "...the Steamwheedle Cartel?"
At this, several of the furbolg lowered their weapons and nodded in recognition. Jazax noted this curiously. He hadn't been to Everlook in a long time, but it seemed like they'd been busy.
"A straggler?" The gray furbolg lowered her quarterstaff to the ground, "From the Winterspring traders?"
"Eh?" Jazax perked an eyebrow, "Er, I mean, yeah!"
The gray furbolg nodded, and the crowd began to thin around them.
"You were well to avoid the fire-walkers," She said as she tapped her staff against the stony tunnel ground, "Many of our kin were not so lucky. We only survived because we fled to the eastern tunnel."
The furbolg gestured down the left tunnel behind her, the one Syrise had said led to Winterspring. Jazax nodded, realizing the Druids of the Flame must've marched from the east, in Felwood. Then he froze.
Syrise.
Quickly, Jazax glanced around the tunnel for some sign of her. But he saw nothing. If she was still there, she must've still been stealthed.
"We saved the young and the breeders," The gray furbolg continued, looking over at a mother holding her child, "But many of our strongest warriors have fallen."
"Oh, huh, that's rough," Jazax commented absent-mindedly, still keeping an eye out for Syrise.
"Our shamans do what they can to heal the wounded, but our supplies grow thin," The furbolg frowned, "...But perhaps we can make a deal, goblin."
At this, Jazax's attention snapped back up to the furbolg in front of him. He couldn't help it. Call it instinct. Even so, he perked an eyebrow curiously, tacitly urging the furbolg to continue.
"The Timbermaw do not grant our trust to outsiders easily," The furbolg eyed him warily, "But these are desperate times."
"Alright, I'm listening," Jazax crossed his arms.
"We will turn you free, to return to your people in Winterspring," The furbolg pointed her quarterstaff down the left tunnel, "And in return, you shall send a caravan of healing herbs and supplies to us."
Jazax paused for a moment, a dim feeling beginning to wash over him. He cleared his throat, glancing aside. He dreaded asking, but he had to.
"Uhh…" He began to nervously rub his hands together, "You got, um, any money?"
At this, the furbolg snarled.
"Your payment is your freedom!" She growled, slamming her staff into the ground beside her.
"Y-Yeah, yeah," Jazax cleared his throat, beginning to sweat again, "Not for me."
He glanced down the tunnel, towards frosty Winterspring.
"It's just that nobody's gonna give you anythin' for free, y'know?" Jazax shrugged, "And I don't think they'd accept my freedom as, uh... adequate currency."
He glanced nervously back at the furbolg, who roared angrily again. Immediately regretting his previous words, he went to backslide-of all the times for him not to simply lie-but the furbolg roughly grabbed onto his neck. She lifted him high off the ground and squeezed, leaving barely able to breathe. Let alone speak.
"Then you will aid the health of the tribe with your body," The furbolg growled, sharp teeth showing in her ursine mouth, "Your flesh, what little there is, shall feed our young!"
Jazax hastily grabbed onto the furbolg's clawed hand as she began to carry him off, trying to gain some kind of leverage so that he could breathe again. But before he could do so, he found himself thrown into a small wooden cage. He winced, gasping for breath, before sitting up.
"Oh, c'mon!" He said as he hastily grabbed onto the thick wooden cage bars, "Y-You don't wanna eat me, I'm… I'm too gamey!"
The furbolg just snorted in response and locked the cage.
Jazax bit his lip. This wasn't looking good. And it didn't seem like Syrise had stuck around after all. She surely would've done something by now, right? Jazax frowned, trying not to feel too hurt by the idea that she'd abandoned him. It was kind of his own fault, after all. Accursed stranglekelp.
He furrowed his brow, trying to think of some way out. He tried pushing on the cell bars, but they were quite sturdy. Okay, so he wasn't brute forcing his way out of it. He'd have to yet again resort to his gift of gab. But he was already on thin ice with the only furbolg that seemed to understand him. What could he even offer to satisfy her desire for medicine?
A beat passed.
And then Jazax finally remembered he was a priest.
"W-Wait!" Jazax called after the furbolg as she turned away.
The furbolg stopped, glancing back over her shoulder in disinterest.
"I can help you!" He said as he hopped forward with the cage.
The furbolg perked an eyebrow at him suspiciously, setting a heavy paw over the cage so he couldn't move further.
"I'm a priest! A healer!" He said quickly as he blinked up at her, "And a pretty good alchemist, too, if I do say so myself."
He glanced aside.
"Even if Mythene doesn't think so," He added bitterly under his breath.
The furbolg looked at him for a moment, seemingly lost in deep thought. But then her paw moved to release the lock. Then she opened the lid.
"Did you say…" The furbolg began as she peered down at him, "...Mythene?"