Teknetia bursts in
“IT’S PARTY TIME!”
Slams a D.I.S.C.O. on the floor and starts dancing
Peruuna quickly prances ( because that’s what Draenei do, they have hooves, they prance >8O ) in after Teknetia. “Vat is the meaning of zis boorish behaviour?! Bursting into rooms, all zeh yelling, slamming things on zeh floor, and then …”
Suddenly, the Vindicator begins to turn around in a circle with her arms in the air, as if she’s trying to unscrew a lightbulb with her entire body’s force. “… vat … vat is happening to me?! Vat is the purpose of zis device you have placed here?! I have lost all control over my body! Zere is no way to avoid zeh boogie!”
Unable to resist a power greater that the ever present whisper, the pale and black haired elf begins dancing aswell, her arms flailing about in an ethereal and mesmerizing movement. “I suggest you go with it and enjoy the moment. It is uncommon to have such opportunities in these days.”
'ey, lass. It’s ye! Dunnae who ye are, but there ye are!
Happy winters veil!
“Och lad, happy Winterveil ter yer too! Hows yer cousins? There’s always cousins.”
“Oh young little Dwarf, you have no idea how awful family gatherings can be when your relatives live for many millennia! Factor in your cousins, then add at least 9 generations of relatives back and 3 generations of relatives forward, and it turns into a mess.”
Marinya simply looks profoundly saddened by that statement, idly touching the seal adorning her chest; that of House Evensong, its membership nowadays no more than a single digit.
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"I never had a House. Nothing big and fancy, no noble lineage. My father is a merchant; his father was a sailor. My mother was a farstrider, and I followed in her footsteps. The extended family was mostly just people we met at reunions. For ourselves, our every day… We had a home and we had each other, and we never went poor or hungry.
“I still kick myself for not cherishing that.”
“My family was as normal as normal could be… for Suramar atleast. Not much to say, to be completely honest. Maybe I should’ve appreciated what I had more than I did.” Thuldrell tries to hide a single tear.
“I had a girl once, about 23 years ago, I think? One of the nobility. Not the kind of woman to go for some guardsman. But she did. I took it for granted and up and left when I figured out she was pregnant… not a day goes by now where I don’t kick myself in the head for it. But… I just hope that kid turned out alright.”
“Please have turned out well…” He whispers
Stares at Thul before sniffing him, walking around him while scratching his mask as one would a beard as he looks at him before letting out a loud laughter.
“Funny looking orc! You thin! Here have!”
Pulling a fish from his pack and stabs it onto one of the shoulders.
“Fish good! Dead fish better!”
Chuckling more afterwards.
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Mahli’ficia nods approvingly at Thul; casually sauntering up next to them.
“Not bad thinking Orc; now if we simply set him on fire as well, we’d have ourselves a proper roast!” She says suggestively to the Orc.
“Is that the voices or were you always like that?”
'Why a - in theory - noble race, like yours allowed undead filth in to your Horde, not to mention the avatars of greed the Goblins? Both the Forsaken and their Lich Queen and the little imps are the walking antithesies of Honor. Honor is not profitable, nor principals for that matter… and the walking, rotting dead left their honor in their grave. Their tactics, like the Blight or the bombs from a zeppelin are dishonorable acts… please, explain to me noble Shaman! What is your’s, the element’s and most importantly, the honored Ancestor’s thoughts about this matter?
Think about this
Then join us… against these vile creatures"
“Your Alliance denied and attacked them. Where else would they go?”
Her tone is calm, but frosty.
“You’re not wrong.”
“Shame, mostly.”
“No. I will fight for this world, not for you.”
Mahli’ficia listens to the conversation, becoming slightly giddy with excitement.
“Oh, I do love myself a good civil war. If you need any supplies, just let me know. I have a few contacts who might be of interest and/or interested.”
“Honestly? They were brought in out of compassion. It’s hard to remember now, and harder still if you’ve always been their enemy, but the Forsaken weren’t always like this. They were dark, yes, and some were cruel, but most just wanted somewhere to belong. The Alliance wasn’t welcoming to them, but in the end, the Horde was. They saw outcasts in need of allies.”
Talraea sighs, turning to the Orc. “It’s incredible how much things have changed. I’ve had to fight my own people, something I once swore I’d never do. I hope you understand, I don’t hate the people of the Horde, but I can’t stand by while they follow Sylvanas down the path to the whole world’s ruin. I won’t give you the whole pitch, only ask that you consider this: Is it honorable to serve one who makes you discard your honor?”
“If your oaths demand that you die for a chief who lost their way, regardless of your own desires? Then you die in service with the weight of your deeds upon your spirit, your oaths unbroken. There is honour in this; to go to your death for a cause you longer believe in because duty to kin demands nothing less. Such was the case with the fallen Nazgrim, dutiful to the end.”
She sighs, her expression weary.
"There is also a time when upholding oaths becomes a weapon against the dignity it is meant to protect. These are times when duty to kin is such that those who will take the outstretched hand will benefit and others must stand for their own choices. Such was the case with the slayers of Nazgrim, fighting for their own.
Both fought for the Horde, their blood oaths unbroken as it was to its people or its leader, weighed in their hearts. There is no simple answer as honour is personal, reflecting deeds onto the world that you leave behind in ways many will not fully grasp. You have a responsibility to yourself to act in accord with what is right; your honour is your own tree to tend and its fruits may be bitter."
The orc runs a hand through her thick mane and continues.
“As exiles thrown to the wind after betrayals and strife, you know the burden of difficult choices. Honour is no single law passed down for all to follow, nor are they expected to. The obligation comes from within.”
“Where were your Honor and Oaths, when your people made a road out of my people’s bones? When sacrificed eeeeverything and turned green and embraced a Pit Lords blood and power? When the ancestors turned away from you and the very earth (wich color your skin’s mirrored, as a sacred sign of the connection with the world that gave birth to your kind) you walked and it’s spirits rejected the whole Orc race??? WHERE?”
*sigh
"But… its Winter Veil
I don’t really have much to give.
But some of the best gifts are free and too big to fit in a box, Rykka…
Like forgiveness
And second chances…
Happy Winter Veil, noble Shaman, may the Spirits and your Ancestors talk you again"
“I was not yet born.”
Listening to the rest, she nods quietly.
"A kind gesture, but an orc does not ask for forgiveness. We neither expect nor demand it. Honour demands that we prove ourselves better than our prior failings, showing remorse and aspiration to improve through deeds rather than words. But such is often forgotten in these times.
May you find your peace in forgiving those who harmed you. Such sentiment may be needed by the end of this war."
Arriving in time to hear the orc’s response to Zymara. Cautiosly she places an hand on the shaman’s right shoulder.
“Your words are honest and much value lies within them. People such as yourself are the reason I was able to see beyond blind hate when I learned that the love of my life had been slain by your kin. May you do your ancenstors proud. And a good Winter Veil.”