i want the world in my hands
 She sets off early in the morning with Erebor. For some reason Kavi seemed to think giving her to two kingdoms at the farthest reaches of Beqanna was a good idea. Maybe he wanted her gone for a while. But she doubted that, really, because it’s not like she couldn’t have just refused. But she can play a good Queen sometimes, willing to be bossed around by her subjects.
But in truth, for all the crap Straia can put forth sometimes, she actually does mind. There’s a reason Kavi is her Govenor. He’s good at it. She knows how to play the diplomatic field, certainly, but she doesn’t seem to love it the way Kavi does. And she’s more than content to let him take the lead on it. More than content to let all of the members of the Chamber take the lead where they want to, where they are willing, where they can most help the Chamber. In the end, that’s what will make them strong. Not just one active monarch, but a whole kingdom that knows how to pull its weight.
She chats easily with her son now and again, telling him what she knows of the places they pass. They head north first, to the Tundra. That, at least, is close to the Chamber. Though the trip to the Amazons will be a far longer one. They skirt the Falls, and she tells him what she knows of the history there. It’s not much, truthfully, other than the basics of the healing waters, and their history of neutrality. Though that seems to be changing under their new Queen. Still, she rather doubts they will be fighting a war anytime soon. The Falls also has a history of being terribly quiet.
There’s little else on the way to the Tundra. The landscape thins out, and the air grows steadily colder until they find the border of the kingdom. She doesn’t know the horses here. Doesn’t know what’s going on here, truthfully. The brothers have been quiet until recently, and then what she did hear was talk of a mad king. She has no idea what they might find, and perhaps that should worry her, but this is Straia, and it doesn’t worry her at all. She’ll meet her fate one day, be it now or tomorrow or twenty years from now. So she smiles at her son as they come to a stop at the Tundra border, and then lets out a call for whoever, or whatever, they might find.
straia queen of the chamber
 the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love
great clouds rolling over the hills
and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel
like nothing's changed at all?
Even when he was standing back and watching their mad king attempt to ruin the Kingdom, nearly invisible to the unlooking, she would have been in no danger here. He may have let Mountain do as he pleased as far as politic went, but Brennen wouldn’t have stood by while the mad king hurt an unsuspecting visitor without provocation. Much less one with a child at her side.
He lands far enough away to be non-threatening and walks the rest of the way, folding his wings as he goes. First he looks at her, curiosity mingled with caution in his gaze. The look that lands on the younger of the pair is less cautious, less cold; Brennen is fond of children. They have such potential; admittedly he likes his own the best, but he harbors a soft spot for the children of others, as well. A strange thing for a man who has made his life by fighting, perhaps, but he has never been ordinary.
At a thought, the brisk spring winds that blow fiercely around them are still; he cannot make the physical temperature warmer for their visitors but he can negate some of the outside factors. “Welcome to the Tundra,” he says finally, honey-brown eyes settling on the mare’s face. “I’m Brennen. What can I do for you?”
brennen immortal, winged, bone-bending, ice-manipulating, wind-manipulating Tundra warrior
05-06-2015, 12:11 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-06-2015, 12:12 PM by Crito.)
The wall is an unnatural monstrosity looming at the edge of their kingdom. To Crito and the rest of the Brothers, though, it is as familiar a sight as the mountain horizon. It is their protector as much as it is a unique landmark. The couple of years immediately following the recent disaster (two suns blazing across the land, killing the cold familiarity of home) had left them exposed and vulnerable without their barricade. With their soon-to-be deposed king, he is glad the wall is up and effective once again.
As he makes his way towards it, the bay roan feels that overwhelming sense of belonging fill him again. He has been a hermit the vast majority of his life, and while it is still awkward and unusual to be amongst so many brothers as of late, he knows it is what he is meant for: his responsibility, both familial and personal. The fact that his blood-brother is back is just the icing on a long-baking cake. Every day he now wakes invigorated and bright; the years are peeled away and he feels freed from their previous weight.
His eyes are filled with that luster when he reaches the trio. He looks more like the young diplomat he feels rather than the aged stallion he is. Even the wind seems less inclined to batter him about as it did when it tumbled across the flat landscape beyond their borders. Crito smiles at their ever-present general before assessing the mare and yearling. They smell barely of pine and an acrid, smoky smell he has no point of reference for. It’s puzzling, and he snorts lightly before adding his own name. “I’m Crito, pleasure to meet you.” He bobs his head to the both of them. If nothing else, he’s the diplomatic counterpoint to Brennen’s firepower. He doesn’t think they will have need of muscle, but one never knows. These are strange, uncertain times. Times when the world can shake beneath your feet and swallow your home or the sky can spit out two suns.
( c r i t o ) |
reference picture //character info
05-11-2015, 08:41 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-11-2015, 08:43 PM by Erebor.)
 We are at war. There will be scars.
He enjoys his mother's company. They understand each other in a unique way, both of them perhaps a little overly serious, both of them terribly adult. He's still young, a year and a half old, but he's so far beyond his years that it doesn't even seem to matter.
He enjoys the anecdotes his mother shares with him, tales of places he's soon to visit. He wants to know it all; perhaps he is old for his age, but he's retained his youthful sense of exuberance, his child's desire to do far too much and know absolutely everything.
They arrive quickly, and are just as quickly greeted by two horses. He doesn't miss the way the man's eyes land on Straia and then slide to him, softening as they do. He is comfortable using this, the power of his youth, and he makes note that it could be doable here, in this place. Not that he's about to pretend to be something he's not; he will be every bit the ambassador of the Chamber, in part because the youth is a role he so doesn't know how to fulfill. The winds around them calm, he notes with interest, and wonders if the stallion has anything to do with it. He makes note of the stallion's name – Brennen.
And then just as quickly, another approaches. This one has a decidedly diplomatic bearing, he thinks, a quietness that reminds Erebor of himself. Both of them are pleasant enough, and Erebor doesnot see either of them posturing to threaten. And so, diplomatic still, he maintains a relaxed demeanor – not casual (never casual), but not as though he is expecting a threat.
"Brennen, Crito, it's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for coming to greet us." he begins, knowing that his mother won't mind him speaking first, and speaking for both of them. "I'm Erebor, and this is Straia. We come on a diplomatic mission from the Chamber." his voice is rich and smooth, no doubt far richer and far smoother than the voice of a yearling-and-change has any right to be. "How does the tundra fare?"
And then he is silent, not looking to his mother but knowing that she will add whatever she wants, asking specific, pointed questions that his lack of knowledge doesn't even allow him to consider. That's why he is here with her: to learn. Erebor Native Prince of the Chamber warship x straia
i want the world in my hands
She appreciates the silent, winged protector. Really, she does. Though part of her wouldn’t mind a bit of adventure. It’s been too long since Straia has fought, too many diplomatic trips and the necessity of ruling getting in the way. Yes, she seeks a bit of fun, though of course she can only do it within the confines of the politics of Beqanna. What a shame, that does make it so much harder.
The men that greet them are rather upstanding creatures, or at least they act like it around a mare and her foal. Thoughi f they knew the Chamberlings better, perhaps they wouldn’t. Not that she’s complaining at the moment. Polite diplomats are always easier to talk to, if nothing else.
The wind dies suddenly, and she notices, assuming that it is more likely to do with the stallion than anything Mother Nature felt like offering. Mother Nature didn’t seem to care when there were visitors around. He introduces himself as Brennen, and another of his Brother’s joins them as well. Crito, this one says. Erebor, as he always does, speaks up then and she lets him. It’s a good learning experience for the boy, and probably better anyway. She’d rather skip the diplomatic niceties (though she won’t in this instance), and just ask them straight out what she really wants to know. Sadly, diplomacy never did work that way. Wouldn’t it be so much easier if it did though?
He finishes, and for the moment, she has little to add. She’s like to see what information they offer up easily, and what questions they ask her in return, before she tries to get any more information out of the likely close lipped diplomats. Of course, when it suits her purposes, she’s rather close lipped to. But often she’ll say exactly what’s on her mind – it saves everyone so much trouble. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” she adds, nodding her head just slightly. “We’re also here to let you know that Rodrik no longer rules the Chamber, and that I rule in his stead.”
Possibly they already know this – word travels fast in Beqanna – but she hasn’t told them directly, and it’s polite to do so. And she knows how to be polite, even if she hates it. Not that you could tell. Her smile and her words are easy and friendly, her demeanor much like her sons (relaxed but formal). She is a picture of the perfect diplomat.
straia queen of the chamber
the walls kept tumbling down in the city that we love
great clouds rolling over the hills
and if you close your eyes, does it almost feel
like nothing's changed at all?
He wouldn’t necessarily need to posture at all to threaten. Here in the Tundra, more than anywhere, he fearsome powers at his disposal. He could spear one or both of them with shards of ice with a thought, and never twitch. He wouldn’t…but he could. Perhaps in a different time, the warrior would have done it anyway just to send a message, but it seems that for now the quiet of the Tundra is enough to keep the outside world wondering without a show of tangible strength. It wasn’t as if any of Brennen’s abilities were secret – he used them frequently enough in battle that someone knew – but he wasn’t going to flaunt them. Not right now.
The black stallion flicks a glance to his arriving brother, a faint smile on his face, before turning back to the visitors. Chamberlings, apparently. That makes him warier – his expression does not change, but his mind is more cautious. Of all of the Kingdoms, the Chamber is one he is less familiar with. They speak, and he listens. “The pleasure is ours, I’m sure,” he says when they’ve finished. “As it happens, we’ve a new King too. Well,” he chuckles, laughing stretching all the way to his eyes, “A new-old King. Errant has returned to our throne.” But the laugh doesn’t last long, because thoughts of Mountain are particularly unpleasant. The world should know the Tundra polices its own. “The Brotherhood didn’t appreciate being ruled by a madman. Though if you see Mountain around, a heads-up wouldn’t be unappreciated. We’d like to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t become someone else’s problem.”
That’s not entirely true. Brennen isn’t altogether sure Mountain will make it out of the Tundra alive – and they don’t care where he goes if he does. But they also don’t want him to stir up trouble; if he starts making a fuss somewhere else Brennen might just take care of the problem himself. He’s not usually up for murder, but, well…there are circumstances. He realizes he’s frowning, intensely, and purposefully lightens his expression with another glance towards Crito. “Other than that we’re the same as always, I suppose,” he waits to see if the more diplomatic Brother will add anything.
brennen immortal, winged, bone-bending, ice-manipulating, wind-manipulating Tundra warrior
The boy speaks first and it surprises Crito. He’d been looking towards the woman (the boy’s mother? Even he can’t tell) expecting her to delve into the basics of politics for the colt’s sake. He expects a slip-up or a short interjection, but neither happens. The colt – Erebor – proves an effective diplomat for one so young, and he finds himself pleasantly surprised. For so long he’s been dismissive of the young, so against bringing a child of his own into the world. What good are they until they’re fully grown? How does one even begin to get to that point, to raise them up from the infancy of their own minds? Circumstances as of late have swayed his opinion of foals from the unlikely to the possible. However, he forces those thoughts to the back of his mind for now. Diplomacy will always come first.
Straia picks up where Erebor left off. She’s now the Chamber’s queen, she says, and Crito can hear the pride in her voice when she does. It’s subtle but it’s there, lying in wait like a polar bear waits for a seal on the ice. Crito wonders how Rodrik had been deposed of. He wonders if it was a show like their own recent transition or if it was the quiet leaving of a tired king. Straia doesn’t elaborate – of course – and that more than anything is telling of how it went down. Most monarchs do not retire, after all.
The Tundra’s winged general steps up to answer the black yearling. It’s obvious from his face and what he says that he’s relatively happy to have Errant back. Crito is glad for this, because his loyalty to his brother – to his family – knows no bounds. He places them on a pedestal (even in the lean times, especially the lean times, when it would be far easier to cut ties and run). His smile is genuine and quick when they talk of the black king, their new-old monarch. This time will be different. This time he won’t disappear into the secret caves that have already sheltered him too long. In the past, he’d become reliant on them, on his silence. But he’s since found his voice.
“I’d like to think better than before,” he returns Brennen’s glance with a more optimistic one of his own. The statement isn’t meant to rile the bay man, simply to play up their situation as any peacekeeper knew to do. Opportunities have presented themselves, Crito knows this much, but he can’t show them all of the Tundra’s cards. It is a time of rebuilding (when isn’t it, though?) and few doors are really closed to them at this point. He turns the question back on the Chamberlings, his grey eyes curious. “And what of the Chamber? Are you fully recovered from your fire – assuming that’s what I smelled?”
( c r i t o ) |
reference picture //character info
We are at war. There will be scars.
Erebor listens to his mother, to Brennen. He is the picture of listening, because if you don't listen, how can you ever learn? And as he listens, he picks up on interesting things – he notes (approvingly) that the Tundra seems to have dealt with a problem internally, honorably. His respect for the band of brothers increases. "We'll be sure to let you know if he's seen." he says, referencing Mountain. "It is honorable to handle things like this in the way that you have." he says, and it is a compliment to them.
And then he is silent again as Brennen finishes speaking and Crito takes over. If Erebor knew how the stallion was watching him, how he was considering the boy as a model for the youth of Beqanna, he'd have found it odd. You see, Erebor simply skipped over childhood. He wouldn't be able to answer Crito's questions even if those questions were given voice, because this is simply how Erebor was born. Are they not always there, lurking in the woodwork, those precocious children who aren't children at all? Erebor is one of them, an old soul born into a young body, a colt who is no colt. And a lucky thing too, because he was born to a mother and father who are not given to humoring children, and born for the explicit purpose of strengthening the Chamber. There is no passion, no love, no familial tenderness and cuddles in his past, and that's exactly how he'd want it. There is plenty of regard, plenty of caring, plenty of teaching and training that is shaping him into the man – the prince - that he needs to be, but there isn’t love, at least not in the classical sense.
Crito mentions the fire, and he can't help twitching his muscles underneath his black coat. He is more free of ash than most of them, but they all still wear the traces of it wherever they go. "Volcanic eruptions." he says, answering Crito's question. "Our people recover, but the land is slow. The destruction was extensive. The ash you smell comes from pine forests, which burned in the lava flows." there is no tactical disadvantage to explaining this; if anything, the lack of trees made the Chamber harder to invade because it was that much harder to sneak up on them. "That was all before my time, although just barely." he offers a half smile to the two men.
He is silent then, opening the floor for his mother to speak again. She will be the one to decide if there are other questions to be asked, questions about alliances and intentions and everything that he's still too young to be fully trusted with. Pleasantries he can do as well as anyone, perhaps better than most – it’s the substance that escapes him, at least until he's able to learn more of the world.
Erebor Native Prince of the Chamber warship x straia
i want the world in my hands
She prefers Brennen of the two. Not that Crito is unpleasant – on the contrary, he is quite pleasant – but Straia always likes the blunt and honest better. She finds that trait comes in warriors more often than diplomats. If everyone simply said what they meant, at least they could stop wasting so much damn time. Of course, she understands why this isn’t the case. Even she plays at politics well enough, though she leaves much of it to Kavi and his bubbling personality. It’s possibly a shame she doesn’t know Scorch better – the two of them would likely be fast friends.
If they had asked her, she’d have given them the story of how Eight put her on the throne, how Rodrik was taken as payment. She’d probably even admit that the entire plan was her idea, though only if asked directly, because she does like to make others at least work for the damn information. But really, it was no secret. The Deserts knew at least most of it, thanks to their ex-magical Queen. She didn’t care about that, though was annoying that the golden queen had taken it upon herself to tell Straia’s sister before Straia could cross Beqanna to tell her herself. Lu knew too. Lu knew every detail, because if nothing else, Straia owed her sister the details.
And of course there was Eight. He knew, and he made it no secret either. Straia wasn’t ashamed of what she had done. The Chamber needed an active monarch, and her father would not simply leave. She wasn’t proud of it either. In the end, if you asked her her motives, she would tell you that she did what needed to be done. Nothing more. The Chamber needed an active monarch, and she was the most active of the bunch. No one had protested when the crown was put on her head, and she lived in a kingdom of predators. If they didn’t like her, she would know.
The only thing she is proud of is how well the Chamber has begun to rebuilt itself. After their absent monarch, and the destruction of their kingdom. There was no magic to aid them in the rebuild. Only blood and sweat.
“It is growing back though, slowly but surely. More green, less black.” She took some care not to cover herself in ash before they left, and it’s been some time since they’ve been in the Chamber so anything on her would have likely blown away in the wind, though undoubtedly there’s ash somewhere on her skin. She wears it like warriors wear battle scars. The ash, like her kingdom, is part of her. She has little else to add. Errant, from what little she knows of his stories, is rather honorable like the rest of the brotherhood seems to be, and she doubts they have much interest in being too friendly with the Chamber. Perhaps she’s wrong, but for now, they aren’t here to make alliances. They aren’t anywhere to make alliances, actually. Just to see how Beqanna fares, and to let them know of the change in their own kingdom.
“Thank you for you time, gentleman. Do you have any other questions for us? If not, we won’t keep you any longer. Should you have any desire to see the Chamber at some point, you are certainly welcome.”
straia queen of the chamber
if you don't have anything to add, we can totally just end it here unless you really feel like replying 
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