There are few memories that do not fade in time. Things from the birth of a child, to one's first crush tend to stick with you through the seemingly endless millenia of time. It astounds me how the younger races can forget what happened to them in recent weeks, especially given their limited amount of data to remember. Still, even these short-lived beings share the same memories they never seem to let go of. Many are content to discuss more recent reditions of an event, but rarely are the first happenings mentioned. My mortal companions speak of killing their foes with an almost casual air, yet there exists an unspoken rule to never mention the first time any of us took a life. I do not understand what we fear, for it is definately a feeling of fear. It is a sad memory, lacking the justice we see such killing as these days.
It marks the end of innocence, the end of a pure life. A stainless existance that I maintained for, by my calculations, approximately a thousand years. A serene soul, unblemished, that is lost by those of this poor, shattered world at ages as young as fifteen.
I have killed far more than most beings on Azeroth. The achievements of the Dwarven Marksman Nessingwary are hardly as impressive by comparison. For thousands of Azerothian years, my blades and spells have bitten flesh and spilled blood. Countless battles have I fought across worlds without number, and always I have left behind me mountains of corpses. It is difficult for my human counterparts to fully comprehend it, as many of them have only been fighting for thirty or fourty years, and even then most of their conflicts have been minor skirmishes, with occasional minor involvement in a more climactic collision of armies.
It is only recently, as I look back over my life in preparation for it to end, that I realize how truly numb I have become. The feeling of my weapons slicing through muscle and bone is as familiar as my heart-beat, and as rarely taken into concideration.
Many in Stormwind see me as a kind, elderly woman. I try and be diplomatic in my interactions, drawing a weapon only in the most dire cicumstances. What these humans, these gnomes, these dwarves and elves and even draenei fail to see is how quickly they raise their weapons. Bloodshed is second-nature to them, a knee-jerk reaction that a very rare few try and restrict. Tempers flare, and instead of insulting words and sneers being thrown, weapons are drawn and firearms are aimed.
Where has our innocence gone? Where has our willingness to achieve peace flown to? Has diplomacy become a legend, a mythical method of resolving conflict that is beyond the capabilities of mortals?
But, then, of course it has. It takes a truly rare being to have the open mind necessary to see from different perceptions in order to arrive at the best possible conclusion. An incredibly select few possess the intellect and wisdom to handle diplomacy. In retrospect, every member of the Alliance, of the Horde... All of these tens of millions of lives can weild a weapon, and likely, almost all of them have used one.
Has sentient life fallen so far that all that separates us from beasts is that we are more efficient at killing each other?
-Asha'Val
