Kaldorei. Night Elves. They have a majesty that comes across even in the heart of battle. Their druids are noble and wise. Sentinels define stoicism. There are, of course, exceptions to these portrayals–and of course those exceptions find a home in the Wildfire Riders. In a previous story, Bellesta demonstrated a spiritual born savagery that shocked even the most cynical of Riders. Her role at the Wrathgate was just as stunning.
–Just a side note. Wrathgate Wednesday is the Wildfire Riders take on the Lore Event at the Wrathgate. While this is an example of an extended and closed RP event, please feel free to write your own characters take on events.
“Eh. Help me here, will you? It’s not easy to do this alone.” Feliche grumbled, twisting about to try and connect ties on the side of his armor, shifting in the empty space. The metal shuffled and clanked, hanging loose over a warm fur covering.
“This is why I had my armor made with all the ties in the front, Fel.” Bellesta grumbled, reaching to tighten down the metal coverings over his chest and back with practiced ease. The dark blue metal was battered in several places, but despite it’s desperate need for repair it would last one more fight.
One fight. The first of many. To Bellesta, it felt as if this was truly the beginning of the war and all before had simply led up to this point. She had not been called by the Alliance army, given her lack of standing with them. Despite this, she would march onto the battlefield to preserve the world for her future… for Omen’s future.
“It’s almost time to leave. It’s going to be a bit of a walk, perhaps a couple hours across the snows. You should get into your armor.” Feliche remarked, adjusting the scabbard over his shoulder that held his weapons in place.
“I am anxious to get this over with.” Bellesta grunted, slipping a waterskin around her neck. It hung somewhere around her stomach, the strap sized to fit her neck in an animal form. Feliche glanced sidelong over his metal shoulderpads, twisting his wrists before slipping them into the protective gloves. “Expecting to have enough downtime to drink there?”
“It’s healing drought.” Bellesta said, lips twitching with a lie, unseen by the other elf. “For when I need it.”
He nodded, turning his gaze to the snowstorms that swirled across the Dragonblight. The fields looked unnaturally empty, dotted only by a few roaming Magataur and the vast shadows of whatever beasts currently ruled the skies. Bellesta could only hope those beasts were alive. A metal-plated hand slid up her back, coaxing her to turn. Feliche leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers, whispering in the elven tongue. “Tonight we will celebrate victory, my love.”
“Omen guard us both, in the fight ahead. It shall not be an easy one.” She whispered back, turning her head into a kiss. The touch was brief, but emotion undoubtedly genuine. With that, Bellesta slipped back away from him, falling onto all fours. Her body rippled with fur and muscle, inhaling sharply with the sudden warmth of her girth. She swung her massive head around before turning, plodding over to a rock where wooden armor was propped up. Shoving her nose between the armor and the rock, she bounced it up onto her back, where it lay crooked over her form. A few shakes of her large neck and it settled down over her face and back, fitting around her features. Cloth of black and red hung from either shoulder, whipping around in the light draft.
Omen, Twin Deadkeeper, He of Life and Death. Bless this day and this fight, for it is fought in your name.