Departing the inn, the night’s relieved revelries were left behind. The grandiose speeches and bravado faded as the lady knight ascended the hill towards the barracks. Preferring the cot the to inn’s more spacious bunks, Arialynn took comfort in the familiar frugality.
Pausing in her night routine, Arialynn took time to record the day’s events in her journal, the ink staining the tips of her fingers. Nearby, the pot-belly iron stove glowed with warmth.
Halonan Orebender has been retrieved. It came at a high cost. I intended to ford the cost personally until the full breadth of it was relayed to me by Sage. I am reminded again of my mortality and how my time is not long for this world. I am also inspired to give more of myself to it.
My time in the past was brief. When the Blacksmith was finally located in time and space, I recalled that time all too well. The protests, the confrontations on the Cathedral steps… all of it returned fresh in my mind. I was relieved then to know that my current armor is so similar to what I wore then. Any passerby who saw me hopefully assumed I was no more than worn from the day’s harrowing events and not years older.
I tally the wars fought since then and find that the space of years does not account for the mileage. I have, for all intents, been a soldier for nearly half my life. I contemplate whether this is the greatest contribution I can give and whether there is more.
For now, the Rose must be prepared for what lies ahead. This world is destined to tread the path of war, peace, and revolution. An endless beat. A momentary peace is the only time we have to condition ourselves for the battles ahead. We will not be caught unawares this time. Orgrimmar was assumed to be the last. Before then it was the Destroyer. Before that, the Lich King. Each was assumed to be the battle of our time. Now I recall them as brief episodes in a life spent as an arbiter of war.
Leaning back from her writing, Arialynn took in the flicking sight of the fire. Adding her pen back to paper, she concluded:
It is not for our generation we fight. We prepare our younger for the world they inherit. It will not be the same as the world we were gifted; there will be many pieces or new lands or long-forgotten stories elders strain to tell. Historians will miss the mark. But the young, too, will fight to keep it and call their claim more righteous than their enemies. Our world is made for war.
Leaving her pen to linger atop the parchment, the lady knight adjourned to her linen-stuffed bed.
Comments
No Comments