The Pandarans are an old race that has been extinct for thousands of years. They lived in the Barrier Peaks long before my people took up residence in our valley. The Pandarans were tall, muscular, and covered in black and white fur; their faces had muzzles as if they were animals. While they were a generally peaceful race, having a live and let live kind of atmosphere, they were also fearsome warriors. Every member of their race, except for the very young and very old, trained and practiced their form of martial arts daily. These people were willing to defend what was theirs if they had to, though they always tried a non-violent, diplomatic solution first. When my people came to our Vale, the Pandarans welcomed us with open arms and were the first friends and allies we made. For centuries, the Pandarans lived in peace in their mountain towns, unmolested by all- except for the occasional wild beast that would happen to wander in.
One day a party of orc adventurers happened upon one of the towns and decided it was ripe for raiding. While the Pandarans did have some treasures, most of them were of a more sentimental value than monetary. They had few enchanted items, since they were peaceful and did not go adventuring themselves; they saw little need to do so, the Pandarans were happy with what they had and did not see a need to seek out excess. My people adopted their philosophy, which made our official exile to the Vale much easier. These orc raiders saw the glints of weapons, some magical, and thought they had stumbled upon great treasures. They couldn't resist raiding this little mountain town. The rest of their day was spent watching the town, learning their patrols, and attempting to distinguish which buildings had the most treasure in them.
Unaware of the dangers brewing just outside of their little town, the Pandarans went about their daily routines- training, teaching, tending to crops and livestock, and patrolling their borders- dangerous beasts have always been drawn to the Peaks and the Vale, making it both well protects from outsiders, and dangerous for those who dwell within. Somehow the orcs managed to evade the Pandaran's patrols all day, which was quite the achievement for a race as unintelligent as orcs.
The villainous orcs slipped into the quiet little town under the cover of night, and caught the guard patrolling unaware. Without the element of surprise, the orcs would not have been able to bring the guard down so stealthily, and taking him down so quickly fed their egos and let them think this would be an easy raid. It was around midnight when the orcs made their strike, and most of the Pandarans had retired for the night, giving the villains an opportunity to actually succeed. The large temple where the Pandarans trained to fight was the orc's mark; it had the most foot traffic, but appeared to have the least amount of actual inhabitants, and those who came and went all had shiny looking weapons and items.
While the Pandarans slumbered, the orcs slipped into their temple and found it to be deserted. No one was to dwell in the temple, they believed that it was too sacred to be lived in; allowing someone to actually live there would be an insult to their Gods, and it would elevate someone to a much higher status in their society, something they had seen bring other races to their doom. The foolish orcs began to ransack this most sacred place, searching for the treasure they believed was inside. All the imbeciles found were religious texts and items, and some mundane weapons and armor. The treasure they were seeking was not there.
Thinking is not an orc's strong suit, so when the scouts discovered that there was no money to be found in the temple, they decided to attack. While the Pandarans are fierce warriors, it is difficult to put up much resistance when you're sleeping. Gruumsh was with the orcs this night, and they managed to slaughter almost all of the Pandarans while they slumbered soundly. Once they were certain they had squashed the life out of the village they began to ransack each building, slowly and methodically; they saw no need to rush since they believed everyone to be dead.
The sun rose a bloody red that day, as if the sun itself was in mourning over their deaths. Orcs were scattered throughout the town square, drinking and arguing over who should have what. Some of them were dragging bodies out of the houses and throwing them into a large pile right in the center of the square, preparing to burn the remains of these poor victims; the bloody sunrise outlined the pile, its color matching the blood running down the bodies, staining the once white fur. A lone warrior, who had been trading in the Vale, arrived home to this scene.
First he wept, overwhelmed with sorrow over the loss of his entire clan. Then he began planning revenge. The warrior knew of some caves not far from the village where he could hide out and prepare his mind, body, soul, and weapons for the challenge to come. He sent two birds with messages requesting help out- one to the nearest Pandaran village, and one to the Vale. His people were our dearest friends and closest allies, he knew we would help if we could reach him in time. He spent the day planning his strike against the orcs, and knew the best time to attack would be that night, when the fools were drunk. At sunset the warrior made his way back to his desecrated home, with his plans swirling through his head; the scene he had come home to played over and over in his mind.
Twilight was approaching when the warrior reached his home again, and was greeted to the sounds of a rowdy celebration. As he had suspected, most of the orcs were drunk and were carousing around the bonfire they had made of the bodies of their victims. Throwing caution into the wind, the fighter took a deep breath and charged into his town; the rage of this scene burned so hotly within him that all reason and logic abandoned him. His hours of careful planning were for naught.
Even though the warrior was charging in without thinking, he still had the element of surprise, since the orcs thought they had eliminated all threats the Pandarans may have. Their senses dulled by the copious amounts of alcohol they had ingested during the day made them slow to recognize that they were under attack. The fighter plowed through the first few orcs to stand in his way, since they thought he would be easy to handle since everyone else was; the fools did not stop to think that he was actually consious and armed, making him a real threat.
In a few moments the warrior had taken down most of the orcs with quick movements of his sword. After watching their comrades fall so quickly, some of the orcs decided to attempt to combat him. While the band of orcs was relatively small, it was still large enough to make this a trying fight for the lone Pandaran. His battle with the orcs raged on for hours, until finally there were only two left to stand against him: the leader, and his second.
The warrior was tired by this point, he hadn't slept and had been fighting for hours. Several wounds on his arms and torso bled freely, while others caked his fur and clung to his clothing. The pair he was left to face had had an opportunity to observe his combat tactics while he slain their group, and unlike him, they had not been fighting all night; they had a small advantage over him.
It was nearly dawn when the warrior threw the Second over the cliffside on the south of the village; he died from the impact. His backup arrived in the moments before the sun rose, seeing him silouhetted against the pre-dawn silver sky, locked in combat with the leader. As the other Pandarans whispered a plan to flank the leader and take him down, the warrior drove his sword deep into the orc's belly. The battle was won.
The village was too badly desecrated for the Pandarans to desire to continue dwelling there. They tended to the fighter's many wounds, put what was left of their dead inside their temple, and dumped the orcs down the mountainside to the treacherous rocks below. The rocks had been modified by druids to create a trap, so the rocks were as spiked and deadly as the metal ones found in pit traps today. After performing a modified version of their death rites, they decided that that village needed to be gone forever. The warrior collected the belongings that hadn't been destroyed, as well as some mementos of loved ones, and by his command the entire village went up in flames. The orcs had already burned most of their crops and slaughtered the livestock, so there were only buildings remaining.
The warrior entered his new village, the one where his backup came from, a hero. He never considered himself to be a hero though, and despised the attention. As far as the warrior was concerned he had answered slaughter with slaughter, even though it was in the sake of vengance. He had flung his sword down the cliffside before saying his final goodbye to his clan, and vowed never to weild one again- he had taken more than his share of blood. None understood why he refused glory and a position of honor, nor did they understand why he locked himself up in his hut and rarely saw anyone. They had never taken so much life from other beings, and without partaking in a brutal slaughter such as that, it was simply beyond their comphehention.
It is said that the Pandarans became extinct because of the orcs- our historians claim it was something in the orc's blood that mutated into a plague. While the cause of the plague that wiped them out is unknown, their memory lives in the Vale. Years after the Pandarans were gone, my people visited each of their towns, which there weren't many, and made records of everything they found. Hundreds of years of the history and art of civilization who was old before most races were ever born were found- but no cause to the plague that killed them. My people erected statues in honor of our old friends, and transformed the four villages that were still somewhat inhabitable into outposts. Their stories are still passed on through generations, so none may forget our closest, and first, friends.
The map shows the region where the Pandarans lived
