Chapter Three

Mangix took a long drink from the flask he carried. The potent brew sent fire down his throat and strength into his muscles. A Brewmaster of Pandaria, the spirits and wines he created were of the finest quality. In fact, had Ner'zhul not brought destruction to most of the civilized world, he'd be much sought after by royals and nobles. Even the elves conceded that the Pandarian expertise in all manner of drinks alcoholic, whether brewed or distilled far outstripped their finest mint wines.

But the Pandarians were known for something else as well. The Pandarians were a race rather resembling giant bears with black and white fur. Upon a cursory inspection, they were just fat furry bears given a pair of hands and intelligence. However, any who attacked them, whether for their prized goods or otherwise quickly realized their error.

Based on the quarterstaffs and urns they used to transport their goods, the Pandarians had their own martial art style, of which most were proficient in. All Brewmasters, a title of honor in their society had to be experts in this unique combat style as well as their craft. Mangix had already slain two enemy champions, the second getting his skull smashed to bits by the large urn in the Brewmaster's left hand.

In fact, thanks to him, the Sentinel forces had actually made considerable headway down the central valley, even successfully overrunning an enemy forward position and demolishing the defensive structure.

Suddenly without any warning, a flurry of arrows were in the air as a skeletal archer appeared out of thin air near Mangix, bow glowing with unholy magic. Despite his lightning reflexes, two arrows sank into his shoulder, missing his vitals. Powerful muscles propelled the Pandarian twenty feet into the air towards his assailant, heavy urn raised to deliver a massive bludgeoning smash. The archer obviously realized that to let the strike connect would immediately end the fight there and then by shattering it into tiny bone fragments. It dove to the side and came up, nocking yet another arrow to fire at the landing Brewmaster.

But the assassin had miscalculated, an error that nearly cost him his existence. Mangix brought the urn down into a pulverizing strike straight into the ground, at the same time channeling spiritual energy into the blow. A shockwave raced outward from the point of impact, knocking the bow from the skeletal figure's grip and breaking a couple of bones in the process. While the undead was still reeling and stunned from the shockwave, Mangix charged. His deadly staff slammed into the skeleton's rib cage with enough force to smash the left half and fling the broken, hapless skeletal archer into a stout tree. Leaves went a-scatter amid a few more cracking sounds.

But it seemed that Mangix would not get a third kill today. Before he could finish off his opponent, the skeleton vanished as abruptly as it appeared and his weapon struck only empty air and he growled in frustration.

Doubly vigilant, Mangix examined the two arrows protruding from his shoulder. Neither seemed to be lodged in anything critical. Gently tugging, the Pandarian eased the two shafts from his shoulder and doused the sluggishly bleeding wounds with the liquid from the flask he carried, wincing as the alcohol stung. He gulped down a few more mouthfuls of his drink.

Ahh, excellent drinks cure everything. But I think I ought to rest. I'm not sure I can focus enough to pull off another Ring of Thunder. Maybe I can pick up a couple of magic items from the dwarves, if a sell off a couple urns to the elves?

The mighty Brewmaster champion turned for home, a hard day of warfare accomplished. He arrived back at the fort a while later and was soon snoring away in the evening twilight.