Done killing

“Here, take this gift,
I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or general,
One who should serve the good old cause, the great idea, the
progress and freedom of the race,
Some brave confronter of despots, some daring rebel;
But I see that what I was reserving belongs to you just as much as to any.”

– Walt Whitman, To a Certain Cantatrice


She kept her armor on for far too long. The ghost iron eventually started to chafe. Not her skin but her soul (such as it is). Dear, sweet Zavannah. Vindicator of Karabor, hero of Shattrath, destroyer of man and worlds …

Sweet Zavannah is finally at peace.

Don’t read it wrong. She’s not dead. Far from it. Once skewered by a ghouls polearm, raised anew as a killing machine for the Lich King, a rebel with her own cause with the lingering memory of the final words of Valok– it’s hard to kill something like that.

But, as she states “herself” in her bio, she’s finally found peace. It took her some time. Indeed it took her some time …

There is a certain inevitability to removing one’s armor. There’s a certain “Never Again!” to it. Well, until Warlords of Draenor comes along … IF she’s up to it. Ask her youself and you’ll probably get the answer above.

I’m done killing.

So here, take this gift. Let the life of the soil renew your spirit (or purse of gold). For a long time she reserved her services for heros or generals but none of them could bring her peace. If content can come from the semi-magical earth of Pandaria, then peace can come to even the most troubled mind.

Her time as a brave confronter of despots are over. Enough! She’s even killed Death Himself – or some form of it at least, the form of a dragon made from molten rage and burning anguish. She’s battled foes beyond nightmares … and virmen.

Ah, the virmen is still there, of course. You might rid the world of Ragnaros – you’ll never rid the world of angry little rabbits.

Zavannah is at peace. She’s taken off her armor. She’s hung her swords above the mantlepiece. Her concerns are no longer that of this world, but that of the other world. Will it rain? Will it rain to much – or too little? Will the virmen destroy the crops (not likely; she raised the first virmen she killed as virghouls; they tend to keep the living rabbit-rabble away – one of the boons being an unliving farmer).

Zavannah is – content. Next time you pass by Halfhill, ask around for her. If you want her you will find her in the garden, unless it’s pouring down with rain.


Greetings. Never mind the undead virmen.

They keep the live ones away.


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