#beldwin storm

For each of the Order!

Eldridge

The inquisitor would regard the old weapon speechless as his hands gently ran over the aged stock. "You kept it eh?"

Reese would shrug softly, his elbows resting on the bartop of the Pig as he let his eyes drink in the rifle. "I'm nostlagic."

"Yer a packrat."

"And you're desperate," Langston pointed out before standing up straight again. "Desperate, old, and stubborn to learn to use any of the new stuff the kids have these days."

Eld snorted as he let his finger trace over the marking at the butt of the gun. "The new stuff doesn't last."

The one legged bartender would nod as he hobbled back to the shelves for a bottle of the old stuff. "And the old ones just don't when to quit."

"I think you mean don't know how."

~

Cheryl

There was heavy knock to the door as Cheryl stalked over and opened it up to reveal a package at her stoop. Tilting her head softly she would lean down to pick it up, finding it only moderately heavy as she tried to figure it's contents.

When the paper was ripped away her eyes would widen in surprise noting the salt stained binding and yellowed pages that did nothing to hide the bronze anchor on the front.

"Oh Tides," the inquisitor would whisper as she touched it gently. "Pappy."

Rachel

A ton of bricks couldn't have landed louder as the small bit of gold struck her desk, Rachel's eyes wide as she scrambled back from what had deposited before her. Already her vision was swimming as her knees gave out to bring her down to the floor. Hands barely holding her up as she the captain peeked above the edge to see the tiniest ring.

His ring.

"Jonah."

Beldwin

"Beldwin Storm."

The Green Son looked up from the field, the hoe still in his hands as he breathed heavily looking up the hill with a squint.

"I am?"

"I am? Is that how you greet family?" The woman called down to him again, her hands on her hips as she did her best to keep a cool look to her face. There was also a very strong need to keep her fear in place seeing the company that her 'brother' kept right now.

"Delilah!" Beld felt the joy rip from his chest as he felt his face nearly tear apart from the smile. "By the Light!"

"Yeah, yeah by the light. You coming up here or...do should I try to come down there?" Again Delilah Storm did her best to keep her fear in check as she looked to the creature beside Beld. The knight already was handing over the farming tool to the large green troll, who despite his savage looks did it's best to offer a warmth to his smile to the human above them.

It did not work.

But Beldwin Storm did not care as he charged up the hill to embrace a sister of the Fall, the two laughing now as the familial ties were stronger than any prejudice. Even that for the Horde.

The Green Son wandered the lands of Drustvar with an easy smile upon his face, the air cool go skin and the sun setting into dusk. It honestly was how it always was in the woods, but he loved it and likely would beyond even the end of his service. Beldwin Storm was not a native to these shores but over the last few years he definitely was no longer a stranger.

Beld would slowly come to a halt near a small copse of trees, his gauntleted hand coming to gently caress the bark of one of the old oaks. He could hear a soft hum in his head that could be considered unpleasant but had become a song that he could more feel than understand. It was a gift that Athair had bestowed upon him to hear the natural wild words of the land he had adopted as his own. The land had been ravaged for so long by the terrible powers of the Coven that its soft song had been drowned out in the silent screams of agony as the druid death magic warped it. The Crimson wood always made him shiver at the cacophony of agony that never ended from the wicker beasts that were drawn forth. He leaned his head to rest on the oak letting its own hum drown out the memory. He didn’t need that today.

Today was a good day that needed not the dour notes from the western provinces of the country. Birth was the note, not death, this day.

Eldridge

Eld stared wide eyes as the city emptied, the boats desperate to escape the harbor as the fires of catapults lit the sky from the shore. Stormwind had fallen and the Horde would be damned if anyone would survive. Already he'd seen multiple ships go down into the depths over, the screams of his people echoing among the explosions and fire.

His mother and sister's heard the clearest.

Cheryl

"Hush now child, hush now," whispered the woman as she held Cheryl close, her gnarled hand gently stroking the blonde hair as they cowered within the basement. Above them could be the heavy clops of cloven feet and the absurd clicking of wicker across the shingles. The little girl wished that was all she could hear as the shrieks of the pigs began and did not stop until close to morning.

Rachel

The sand was cold under her knees as she sat staring a the ocean beyond, her eyes distant and her heart just like the coast. Cold and empty. Her clothes were still dirty and bloody from the night before, loose rags about her that held no meaning to what they had been. The only thing that had mattered now sat before her silent wrapped in an old blanket. Still. Quiet.

Empty.

Tides how Rachel wished she could hear it's screams.

Beldwin

"Run! Run faster!" cried Timothy as they tripped into the tall wheat that littered the many abandoned farms of Westfall. Beld was pumping his arm and legs as fast he could as they tried their best to find their way through the forgotten crops. Life in the west was hard and it didn't help matters when roving packs of monsters patrolled them with hungry eyes.

"Tim! Tim where are you?" Beld called out as he stumbled through the wild growth, his hands tearing and pulling at the golden stalks as he looked wildly about. There was a high pitched scream all of a sudden before the hideous whooping laughter followed. Beld gasped and ran further on, he had to find the militia or a farmer. Anyone to help him escape those whooping laughs that matched his friends agonized screams.

For the Green Knight: ➹ ➹ ➹

The dirt felt good in his hands as Beld tilled the fertile coastal soil of Athair's Gift. He'd been here for a few weeks now, feeling like his presence among what some would call 'the savage' races held add a calming nature to the residents. The knight should likely returned to the glades to speak with his Lord but he felt no urge to be drawn back just yet.

Dreamed of swinging a sword all my life and yet here I am back again with a trowel in the dirt.

A low whine would cause the knight to lift his head, a smile coming to his face seeing a giant of a 'man' crossing the field with a wolf by his side. The fur of the wolf matched the skin of his 'brother' as the dark eyes of the mag'har Bronkull locked with those of Beld's. A smile wasn't necessary from the face but the eyes spoke much more than words needed. The knight needed it for sure as the conflicting feelings for his present and past were fighting to figure out what this was becoming.

What the hell am I doing out here?

Rough was the hand that touched the back of Beld's neck, rubbing gently with the large fingers causing the green son to let out a sigh of relief. Dropping to one knee the orc spoke the thick common he had picked up from the time of arriving on the island from the west.

"Storm is coming," Bronkull rumbled as he released the tender neck, the touch lingering as he reached his hands now on his knees.

Beld looked up at the horizon above the sea to the further west of the Corlain coastline. His brown eyes would stare far and hard for a few moments as he saw that violet tinged stream of sky as the sun sank behind the waves. The green son's head would tilt softly as he watched the sunset and felt a growing dread build in his stomach.

Not sinking, but it feels like the light is drowning.

A shiver took him again as he reached over to help Bron to his feet, though the barbarian chief needed none of it except his firm touch. The two continued to watch the sun disappear until night finally took.

The trees broke away in a rush as Beldwin hurtled forth from the forestland, the wild horse beneath him snorting out plumes of hot breath. There was no saddle for the gift of this ride and as much as he appreciated it, his lower extremities were less than happy. Adjusting himself his gaze would shoot down below into the small and the growing chaos set into motion.

On one side were the banners of the House Waycrest and their Alliance allies, brown and blue streaming in the unending sea breeze that whipped through the northwest hills of Drustvar. Their armor should have shone brightly in afternoon twilight, but the growing clouds of an evening storm it seemed fitting to dull everything. The knight's heart ached as past dreams of riding and serving with such a host was all he had ever dreamed of. On the opposite side of them stood the ragged encampment of tents, wagons, and wolves. This was the part he never imagined as a small band of would be pilgrims rallied to stand against the wave of steel.

The pilgrims of course had never been green before.

Beldwin grimaced hard, his heart torn for what he was about to do. On one hand, the orcs had ransacked and ruined so much in his people's lives. The sacking of Stormwind, the death of King Llane, the subsequent wars for what felt like a hundred years now. They deserved their ire for so much wanton death and destruction planted by the seeds of fel prophets and greedy lords. They knew the territories. They knew the lines that could not be crossed. These were Kul Tiran lands meant for Kul Tiran citizens and now those of the reforged alliance with the isle. Invasion was the last thing the cursed country needed in the form of red banners with all the supernatural horrors that plagued it still.

The other hand now became clearer to him as he looked down on the motley gathering of defenders. There were maybe fifteen of them, dressed in the leather and furs of a more tribal fashion than he had seen before. The Horde had always had a savage nature about them considering where they came from and how they lived. But his own experiences had always been met with heavy steel, red banners, and howls for battle. These creatures appeared more akin to hunters, travelers of the wild who lived harder and with less but also with pride and satisfaction. They bore bows, spears, and the occasional axe judging by the way they pooled together to stand for the spot they had latched too. There was nothing else they could do.

They were doomed.

How much must the people of Azeroth lose to appease the memory of the Horde and it's past of conquest of ambitions? How long were they to hold onto the old prejudices? Why did he need to be angry?

The gallant of Drustvar frowned even more as his heart was torn by past and present. Fight the Horde, slay the invaders. Halt the Alliance, betray your people. Save the pilgrims, stop the madness.

Beldwin slowly closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying his best to feel the presence of his lord and lady as they charged him to this task. There would be consequences, hard ones, with true ramifications for his place in the high country and whatever thought he might of returning to an old life. But they knew his heart. That was why they trusted him and he trusted them.

With the warmth of the stag and doe in his heart, Beldwin Storm would open his eyes again and gently pat the neck of the horse. "I'm ready."

The Green Son rode hard into battle, bearing no arms and only his heart.

@themadamelioness

Water was poured at the handmade table, the gentle swish echoing in the quiet of the hut as Beldwin gently set the pitcher down between the brother and sister. The happy smile was still upon the knight's face as he pulled up a matching stool to the crude work of the table and sat across from his sister, Delilah.

The awkward silence filled the space. Hands cradling cups, short sips of cold water, and the awful tap of fingers to pottery to fill whatever had settled between them.

"So," Delilah finally spoke.

"So," Beld countered. Again the silence settled before the green son finally spoke. "I meant to write."

A hand was raised and a shake of the had given from the woman. "You're a grown man with a life beyond the Fall. You're not beholden to me or the others."

"Well, I suppose but you are my family."

"We are," Delilah spoke slowly as she let her eyes search the small hut. "Though this is not exactly what I expected to find you doing."

"Farming?"

Beld's sister gave him a very 'why are you being stupid' look that he was all too familiar with as he let his brown eyes drop to the cup in his hands. "Right. The Horde."

"THE Horde."

"I can explain."

"I'm all ears," as she gently slid her cup aside to fold her hands in front of her.

Beld swallowed and rotated his neck, suddenly very desperate to be talking about anything else. "They came here for a better life."

"I'm sure."

"And now with the War," Beld tried to continue as he spread his hands. "And the Alliance and the Horde and my new station and Athair and..."

"You're babbling."

Beld winced and took in a deep breath to release softly from his mouth. "I don't serve the Alliance anymore."

Eyebrows rose high as Delilah tilted her head at her brother. "You don't serve the Alliance anymore?"

"No, I don't."

"Then you've signed with the Waycrests here in Drustvar?"

Beld shook his head. "No."

"So you're a vagabond?"

"No!" Beld gaped at his sister. "No I serve something, something more. I am pledged to the land. To this land. Not to humans or orcs or whatever."

Beld swallowed and bowed his head to speak again. "I am sworn to this land. To these lands and all their peoples. All those that respect it, cherish, and wish to protect it."

"The Green Son," Delilah said calmly.

The knight blinked in surprise but gaped a minute before speaking. "I guess that's what they call me."

"You guess?"

"It is."

Delilah nodded very slowly again as she looked down at her cup. Licking her lips as she gently spoke. "And the orcs?"

"And trolls."

"And trolls."

Beld nodded softly. "They came here for a better life. They wanted to prove to the humans they meant only the best for Drustvar. These lands are in desperate need of caretakers as much as life."

"So many have died here, Del. The graves shouldn't outnumber the people," Beld soflty spoke again as he folded his hands in front of him. "It's not right. We both know that."

The two siblings stared at one another for a few moments as he said that, the younger of the two unsure of what to say next. A lifetime of hatred and fear could never be erased by a few short sentences. But neither could a love of two orphans of a war they were born into.

"Beld," Delilah began before there was a thud and swish of the tanned fur door to allow the huge figure to enter into the hut. Delilah gasped as she stood knocking her stool over as her hand whipped to the short sword at her side.

"Delilah stop!" Beld was already on his feet as well raising his hands as he looked from his sister and back to the creature behind him.

The mag'har orc stood tall, at near 8 feet for his broad shoulders and thick arms covered in the dark brown skin of his people. Dark shoulder length hair hung tied back by a series of leathers while eyes of bright gold peered between the pair. Decorated in scars, it spoke of a history of violence that only a warrior would know and his practiced stance only further communicated that. A deep rumble of a voice would speak with a hard, warmth that could easily bridge from violence to diplomacy.

"Heart, who is this?" The orc spoke to Beld and looked over him easily at the woman.

Bron swallowed and cleared his throat. "Bron, this is my sister Delilah Storm."

Delilah breathed heavily as she gripped the hilt of her sword looking up at Bron and back to her brother.

"Delilah, this is Bronkull of the Frostwolf Clan, chief of Athair's Gift."

The orc looked from Beld back to the woman before relaxing his frame and lifting a fist to his heart. "Throm-Ka, sister. Welcome to our home."

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

Dewitt's finger would gently trace the heart upon he right hand, her gaze far away as it looked past the sleeping young man and into her past.

He was a fine enough fancy and fulfilled her for the most part, but nothing like her dear Chrisoph. Never Chris, always Christoph. His mother had made it very clear of that as Rachel felt her lips twitch a bit into a small sad smile remembering Mrs Dewitt.

How she hated that bitch.

And how she hated burying her with her husband. And then her own parents. And then Jonah.

Rachel quickly stopped circling the heart, her hand reaching up to wipe away quickly the short streaks upon her cheek before coughing and standing. She needed something to forget.

"Oy, wake up. Both ya."

~

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

Heavy was the head that wore the crown and Beld was glad his had never been destined for such weights. But the old kettle helmet in his hands was something that had stuck him for all these years since a boy in Westfall.

His fingers would gently trace the old metal and rivets he'd had to replace a few times to keep the thing in moderately good condition. The young knight had cherished the thing then and honestly still did now.

It connected him to a past. Not just his own, but for all of his people and those who came before him to protect the smallfolk of the Eastern Kingdoms. Many times he'd fantasied about some brave footman standing against the Horde with his fellow countrymen, prepared to die to save the innocent farmers from the red death that swept through their lands. Pretend games were a lot different than real life, as Beld mused and set it down among his meager stores.

"Tides," whispered Cheryl as she tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword. She could feel Ramses by her side as he loaded his rifle, speaking softly in some language she would never know. All around the pair of them weapons were drawn and murmurs of fear at the sight of what had crawled forth from the crimson. The Inquisitors were not alone this day as all of the free peoples of Drustvar had finally come together to face this foe. A foe that should be friend.

Where steps should have been taken to draw it into the field, the very earth seemed to lift and bear it to face the force. Hints of old plate armor could be seen among the masses of tangled root, wicker, and bone. The fluttering cape of a deer skin flapped about from the winds of the sea, the white and black fur stained with one could only hope was blood. Eyes of bright blue peered out from under a hood of deer antlers, teeth exposed in a forever snarl of ruin. A gauntleted hand would raise a broken sword by it's blade to let the fading light of dusk bounce from it's cracked pommel.

There was a strangled sob beside her as she looked to the mag'har orc, his face strangled by grief as he struggled to hold his axe ahead of him. "Beld, what have you done?"

Beldwin Storm, the hand of Thul, spoke one word as a whisper of terror spread among the assembled.

"Death."

And the wicker rose; blood and bone with stone for hands came crashing at the living.