Found primarily in wide open spaces, Peacebloom looks beautiful but like many plants, hides a dark secret within. It’s roots and petals are poisonous unless correctly treated. According to the Botanists of the Kaldorai, this involves soaking in Moonwell water until all the impurities have been drawn out. Once prepared, it’s primary use is in poultices for flesh wounds although certain races also crush the leaves to make tonics to quicken the blood. Folklore has it that Peacebloom flowers more frequently on the site of old conflicts, fertilized by the blood of the fallen. It’s also come to signify seeking forgiveness for past actions and new lovers often send fragrant bouquets of it’s heavy blossoms after petty quarrels, hoping that the blooms will bring peace to their relationship.
It would have been easy to overlook the Night Elf, concealed as she was in the shade, still as a statue. On her lap balanced an open sketchpad and in her hand she clutched a pen. Long white hair loosely tied in a plait fell over one shoulder and her silvered eyes were narrowed in concentration. As far as she was concerned, the world began and ended with the plant in front of her, a huge clump of Peacebloom, it’s sickly sweet perfume scenting the air. On the paper, black lines took form, capturing the free flowing shape of it’s petals.
As she drew, she dreamed of the life she could have had. The botanist she could have been, had she chosen a different path. Remembering all the stories about the flora she had listened to as a girl, the tales twisted into being like plant roots, a mix of fact and fiction bringing together history and folklore. Perhaps now she’d have had some exotic plant named after her rather than being a burnt out and broken shadow of herself. “Deserter” rose on her tongue, it’s taste foul like poisonous berries only for her to dash it away, besides it implied a sense of motion, of running when in fact the opposite was true. Her sisters in the Sentinels knew exactly where to look, they just happened to be turning a blind eye. The Priestesses in the Temple had advised rest and relaxation in the short term at least, until she was patched together mentality as well as physically. The scar on her breastbone was healing nicely, knitted together by the very plant in front of her. The same however couldn’t be said for her mind.