Disclaimer- The actual games, Warcraft, belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.
---
Chapter Three
"What the hell!" Rynix jumped as the perpetrator screamed and dropped an empty container, where it then smashed on the floor. Then, a light sobbing came from the thing, er ... person responsible for the racket concerning his beloved ale. It was a small, thin creature with skin that was darker than a human's (he had heard that these creatures had pink skin, thank the Gods that he was granted with fur), and no hair was visible, except for a slightly long wave of even darker hair that was bleached from the blazing sun. Apparently, this long-eared creature did not believe in the terms "stealth" and "quiet." As the muscular Pandaren watched the creature weep, he felt his own mood switch with a much deeper feeling. Pandarens were honorable and compassionate warriors, despite their cuddly shell. Rynix certainly wasn't just an adorable bear-man with tough-looking armor.
"P-please don't harm me. I'm s-so desperate. Please don't k-kill ..." It whimpered. The brewmaster's usually curious stare turned apathetic toward the shaking form.
In a desperate attempt to hush the weeping person, the furry warrior put his hand on the female's (the high-pitched sobs and overall appearance gave it away) shoulder. Overwhelming fear grasped his stomach as the female's sobs turned into an array of coughs and gasps, as if her pitiful display had sucked all of the energy out of her like a tornado stole the air from the sky. In an even more desperate attempt to quiet the creature, Rynix grabbed the nearest container of half-drunk ale and lifted the girl's head up. Her face was almost completely covered with tangled, matted hair. She tried to flinch away, but she was to weak to do more than that. It was horrible seeing anyone in a state like this. Sticky remains of dried tears clung to her face along with strands of once gorgeous hair. He placed the object between the younger person's thin, parched lips.
"Drink." Rynix said. The woman's rough, shaking hands (her entire body was shaking with shock) worked their way up the warm, smooth surface. Rynix tilted it ever so slightly, and the contents slowly dripped into the dark figure's mouth. The weak creature at first was lost for words and everything else (she wasn't sure how to assess the situation), but then she suddenly widened her eyes in surprise and reeled back as if an adder had been resting in that unbroken opening, waiting to strike. He looked inside. Nope, no adder. Some of the strong drink spilled onto the sandy ground. Damn, a few drops of good ale gone to waste. Oh well. He grunted, kicked the sand lightly with a booted foot, and looked ahead. The female was sitting there, with newly-landed dust in her hair, with her limbs slightly apart, gasping for breath. Her eyes were bright and stunned.
Rynix chuckled at he noticed her eyes, they were beautiful. But of course, no match for a female Pandaren's small, beady eyes. The male Pandaren chuckled slightly.
"What ... was ... that?" The slim girl ahead of him gasped. The tone she used now differed from the hoarse whisper she had used before. The voice that now reached his twitching black ears was like an old, beautiful songbird. It was once lovely, but grew worn and tired over the years. Rynix Strongbrew was faced with questions about the girl, but put the questions aside as he burst into a fit of rough laughter. To the Twisted Nether with songbirds and adders, this child was reacting to the ale! Her reaction absolutely tickled the old bear as he let loose many roars of humorous delight.
The purple-skinned lass was now wobbling to her feet, with some of her strength restored. Struggling forward, she grasped a hold on a nearby rock and pressed her chest, she shivered. Where was she? What was that sound? How did she even reach this place? What, by Elune's Holy Grace was that taste in her mouth that burned her tongue? Then, she remembered, and out her slim fist into her mouth to prevent more tears from coming. She closed her eyes.
Rynix had stopped laughing and fixed his gaze on the girl. She was on the rock he used as his "thinking spot" with her eyes closed. Normally, Rynix was not so fond of strangers. He barely had enough meat and drinks for himself. Sadly, he would feel guilty if he killed her like he had with his other "visitors", although the mutated orcs and blood lusting demons that he had encountered weren't quite as hospitable, or comic relief.
Dark thoughts plagued Tyrnic as she remembered what had happened a few hours ago. It was absolutely horrible, she could barely bring herself to remember the visages of those demonic hounds that had attacked the refugee Watchers. She hoped that there were more survivors. She hoped. She glanced at the ... thing that had given that vile liquid to her. Night Elves, as well as their brethren, were very xenophobic toward the other races of Azeroth. Sadly, her people could be rather shallow. She recalled when she was much younger and she had first laid eyes on an orc. It was an old one with a streaming white beard and gnarled fingers. Its robes were completely tattered and despite its broad face, it looked starved. She remembered looking at his pearly, roaming eyes. It didn't notice her hiding in the bushes, causing mischief. The orc made a crackling sound while it trudge through the dead leaved. It had absolutely terrified her. She didn't know that there were more of those mongrels, she just thought she was looking at a lone and unique type of monster. She almost squealed.
Now, looking at that black-and-white thing that somewhat reminded her of a furbolg, she had to say that she wasn't as shocked as before. Odd ... She thought. It doesn't seem to be a furbolg. What would a furbolg be doing here?
But then again, what would any sane being be doing in this wasteland unless ordered to do so?
Rynix rubbed his shaggy temple and closed his beady eyes. You're getting too old for this. As a Pandaren, he probably should've been living like those damned cheap goblins. He probably should be on Azeroth, selling beer and making a living with roaming around and meeting all sorts of people. I had to be deserted in this cave. He grumbled to himself. Of course, whining about it wouldn't solve anything.
He heard movement, followed by hysterical sobbing, even worse than before. He opened his black eyes gingerly and they widened as he saw the girl grab a sharp piece of broken off material from his ale containers and hold it perilously close to her throat.
---
A/N - Hm, not as interesting as I would've liked, but it'll get better.
Up next: What is the issue with an alliance between the Death Elves and Illidan's forces? Coming up soon.