History Repeats Itself

It was a time of peace since the defeat of the Legion. Horde and Alliance forces set aside their personal hatreds to work together and vanquish the larger evil presence, and prevailed. For the first time since Taiream was revived, she had never seen such teamwork. Songs would be sang of this time, and stories would become legends. For the first time in years, peace fell upon Azeroth.

"Miss Sandoval, a message from the Banshee Queen herself, if I may." A tall guard tapped against the open door of Taiream's work quarters, holding a small letter in his hand. Taiream looked up from her work, pushing her goggles up to the top of her head. She gestured for the guard to continue.

"You are invited to attend a planned visit to Arathi Highlands where King Anduin Wrynn and Lady Sylvanas Windrunner have agreed for a small reunion between human and forsaken, to talk to family otherwise left behind or killed. We leave in two days, where we will travel through Silverpine and Hillsbrad to Arathi Highlands." The forsaken looked up from the paper for a brief moment. "There will be no weapons, no magic, and no hostility. We leave the same day by dusk. Will you join?

Taiream stood from her desk, her back bones cracking as she rose. "Mm, no thank you." Picking up the blueprints she was recently working on, she walked to the leftmost wall and pinned it. Realising the guard remained, she turned to him, "Anything else?"

Second Chance

 Celebration filled the halls of the Exodar upon Velen’s successful return from Argus. A small celebration was due, and all that could be spared with the emergency repairs still required on the ship. Everyone was busy; the engineers fixed up the broken pieces, tailors were working triple to make supplies for those affected by the war, the bakery spared food for anyone in need, and the anchorites had their hands full with broken bones and fel-scarred skin of the draenei – either coming back from war, or recovering from the direct attack on the Exodar.

One such patient hadn’t left the infirmary ever since the attack occurred, steadily sleeping for a few months. Korena has yet to wake up from her coma, and Kayaara has yet to move from her sister’s side.

Peace

Author: Janna

War was a complicated thing. Obviously, nobody wanted it to happen. But it undeniably benefited many people in many ways. There were those who benefited economically by way of their foresight and understanding of the markets, and not too seldom a total lack of conscience as they ruthlessly profited off of the suffering of others. Of course, it is easy to condemn a man who overcharges groceries while children are starving on his doorstep, but one ought never to forget their own role in creating this situation. Few were truly innocent. Few could honestly claim they weren't putting their own survival first, yes, even before a starving orphan. And the grocer, no matter he got rich on it, at least played his part in bringing food to the population.

War was business. For the grocer, for the blacksmith, for the landlady, the innkeeper, and the farmhand. Those who took it serious as an opportunity would come out on top when the decks were reshuffled after.

And then, there were the soldiers. A soldier is never a 'good guy'. Whether they are sent to kill men and women who were sent to kill them – all of whom just pawns to a higher power –, or whether it was demons that were to be slain for the promise of glory and, eventually, possibly, unbelievably, peace. Soldiers were grocers, blacksmiths and farmhands and while out there slaying demons, they were sorely missed at home where their children cried for another bowl of soup at night.

Morality had to be put on hold during a war, when there was no right thing to do. And that experience changed people. The baker who returns from the front will never look at his work in the same way. Every loaf he pulls out of the oven will carry the faces of those hungry children. And yet he knows he did what he had to.

War was a teacher. It taught a person more about themselves than they could hope to learn in their entire lives.

It's your second war that reveals most about who you are. And when the third comes around – if it comes around for you – there are no regrets left to dwell upon. You know now that all there is to fight for is survival, and all there is to live for is another day. You have lost your fear – not the fear of dying, only the insane could ever lose that – but the fear of disappointing. The fear of moral judgement.

And if you reached a fourth, you'd start to feel as though there were two versions of yourself, one in times of peace, and an entirely different person during wartime.