Bestill my Heart

She stood barefoot in the grass, the waters of Stillwhisper Pond glittering in the fading light of the day. Her high heeled shoes dangled by their laces from one hand, and the breeze gently stirred the hem of her elegant black dress. Biara sighed softly to herself, her eyes taking in the sight of the waters and her beloved forests beyond, the breeze picking up more and making her hair twirl around her face for a moment like a living flame. She brushed it back, shifting and walking closer to the edge of the lake, the golden threadwork in her dress sparkling.

Behind the Magistrix, a crumpled blanket lay in the grass; the remains of a romantic dinner that had been placed there by her friend Valendrear. The unexpected and kind gesture had been much appreciated, especially given the state of things in the world at large. It had been a moment of peace and respite, a bit of laughter and joy to brighten her day.

It had been interrupted by the presence of a human assassin stalking the tall grass around the pond.

Biara sighed again, letting the sounds of the forest wash over her, attempting to find that moment of peace again. Although she hadn't told Valendrear, the presence of the human had upset her greatly. Even though no blood had been shed, the moment was ruined with fear. The same old fear that always haunted her; war, misery for her people, death in Quel'Thalas. It never ended.

Her eyes closed for a moment as her thoughts latched onto the concept and refused to let go. It isn't fair. I shouldn't have to shoulder these burdens at all times, even when someone is doing something nice for me. I shouldn't have to be a battlemage every single second of my life. Don't I deserve even a moment's respite from fear and worry? Don't my people?

There was no one there to answer her questions of course. She stood alone on the pond's edge. In the distance, apprentices practiced the arts, their minor spells and incantations bright flashes as they attempted to learn the skills needed to weave magic into more powerful effects. The sight made Biara smile as she recalled her own first attempts at spellcasting years ago.

Those pupils deserve the chance to weave their spells for peaceful purposes. They deserve to grow to old age, only ever having to use their magic to create wonders and things of beauty. My burden means something at least, even if it is hard to carry sometimes.

The Magistrix stooped down, placing her shoes in the grass and then standing upright. She brought her left hand up, admiring the magic imbued into her manicure for a moment. With a sigh, she brought her right hand up and spoke the words of a simple warding spell. She touched one finger to her left ring finger, and the ward was written onto her skin, wrapped around her finger like a ring.

Like a wedding ring. Betrothed to war itself, until death do us part.

She smiled grimly as she looked at the ward marks. They looked like a tattoo, but she knew what they stood for. Until death do us part...

Her eyes widened and she lowered her hands, looking out over the water again. War ended in two ways; the deaths of those who waged it, or the death of the war itself. It was a concept she had never considered before, in all the years she waged her campaigns.The death of the war itself. But how? There is no ultimate victory here. We can never stop fighting.

We can never stop fighting... or can we?

Could there ever be peace? Could a time come when foreigners from other races would visit the forests of Quel'Thalas not to burn them, but to admire their beauty? To hear the song that the breeze blew through the leaves? Biara looked into the forest, listening to the sound. It was the sound of thousands of years of history. The call of her ancestors who had lived and died, laughed and played beneath the boughs for ages beyond the memory of the oldest of her people. Ancestors who once reached out to the world, not with war, but with words and peace. Ancestors who aided the humans and in turn received their aid.

I can never stop fighting those who would despoil our lands, but what of those who wouldn't? Could we speak? Is there a solution beyond the utter obliteration of everyone and everything?

It was unlikely that such a thing would ever come to pass, but if it were, if there was a way it could happen Biara knew that it was worth trying, before her people faded into nothingness from the spilled blood. Before she had to take steps that were irreversible, forever perpetuating the conflict.

She knew just who to talk to about it.