"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
Errant has been quiet, even more withdrawn than usual. It is time for that to end.
The playing field of Beqanna has been leveled and given their world’s already volatile state, Errant knows that the Tundra cannot remain unprepared.
The spirit of the Tundra had come to him, and it is time that the black king share with his brothers what he has learned.
He calls out to them, his voice loud in the springtime air. His brothers will be enjoying their good weather, he knows, the brief respite that spring and summer bring to their icy kingdom. There will be more warmth, he knows, once they have proven themselves to the Tundra. They will be greater than ever, with a well-fortified kingdom and a king intent on keeping them safe and well-renowned.
Without his Tundra scars, Errant feels naked. He still wears the silver-white remnants of the bear attack and the healed injuries of old battles, but the crown and snowflakes have disappeared entirely. As he waits for his brothers to gather around, he glances over his shoulder toward the mountains where the cave had been. Or perhaps still was, with a new entrance. He cannot fathom the work of gods. He knows only what he has seen with his own storm grey eyes.
“Some of you might have noticed your scars are gone.” He says, glancing around, seeing some of his companions without markings they have worn for years. “Other might have seen the strange new shrine in the center of the kingdom.” Errant pauses, waiting for acknowledgement. They might not have seen it; after all, he was the only one that the kingdom had seen fit to manifest to.
“The god of the Tundra came to me the night our markings left us. He told me of the shrine, and that the division between mythic and non-mythic kingdoms have been broken down. All kingdoms are magical now. Or rather, they will be in a few year’s time.” Errant imagines that he can make it faster, but doesn’t presume for no, or speculate on it at this particular gathering.
“We can have an air force, if any of you men wish wings. The Lord Commander will earn a horn, and the Grand Maester empathy.” There is also the matter of invisibility and his own immortality, but they are for a later time and a smaller audience. “Do any of you wish to join the air force? Brennen will teach you, if he accepts the task?” Errant looks to the bay stallion, nearly positive that he will accept the offer, but prepared to don wings himself and learn if he must. Hurricane can help too, he thinks as he looks at the grey stallion. “We are also in need of both a Lord Commander and a Grand Maester. Do I have any volunteers?” He knows who he wants for at least one of those positions, but will wait to see if the old man volunteers.
Errant knows that there are likely to be questions after such an announcement, so he nods once – a finality. He’s finished for now, and willing to do what he can to satisfy curiosity.
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
07-10-2015, 01:31 PM (This post was last modified: 07-10-2015, 01:33 PM by Hurricane.)
The Tundra had been quiet of late, though that is not entirely uncommon. The Tundra he had known in the past had always been quiet. But things are changing. Old magics have awoken, stirred the land. New life has been breathed into the earth. So when the call goes out to the kingdom, he is unsurprised. He had been expecting this.
He had had much time to reflect in the few years since he had returned. His return had been quiet, just as he had intended. He came to protect the Tundra. And now it is time to serve as he once had. The decision has been made. He would not be leaving this time. He has too many reasons to stay.
He is the first to arrive. His pale wings carry him easily to Errant. The newly revealed ruins stand in the distance. He glances at them briefly before he drops from the sky, landing before their king with a thud. Once all have gathered, he listens quietly as Errant speaks. As he carries no scars, he had been unaware of their disappearance. The news, however, does not illicit a reaction from him. He had felt the shift in the earth, seen the newly risen ruins. The shock has long since passed. Of course, when one had inhabited Beqanna as long as he, one grew accustomed to the odd workings of the land.
When the king finishes speaking, ending with his queries, Hurricane takes a step forward. It is time.
As I am already equipped with wings, I feel the air force would be a suitable place for me. Additionally, though I will willingly apply myself to any diplomatic missions you would like to send me on, I feel my talents would be best put to use in the army. As such, I would like to join its ranks.
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?
They have all been quiet. Some more than others, but none of them have been interacting with each other. Brennen was busy with his children, and then with his trip to the Falls, and he has just returned to the Tundra, looking to search out the twins first, when Errant calls them. So he doesn’t have time for much – he simply gathers them up and brings them along. They are not quiet, children rarely are, but their hushed voices fall quiet as the gathered Brothers when Errant is prepared to speak.
The black King is not the only one who feels naked. Without the Tundra’s effects Brennen is still quite battered, remnants of a life of fighting, but his scars are no longer a stark white color, but more natural. And the mark of being general more than once in his lifetime, the only tangible mark of his many achievements, is gone as well. He has not rested easily in many days – the scars fading, and with them his control over wind, and finding out his father was alive and well in the Falls – despite the lovely weather. He nods at Errant’s observations – he had seen the changed landscape in his flyovers but had not yet investigated – and continues to listen, glad to have an explanation for the changes.
The other news is more intriguing – if all of the Kingdoms can now have magical beings within their borders, the very fabric of their society will change. It could bring good things to Beqanna – or it could bring war. He shifts uneasily at that thought, glances at his bright children beside him, and turns back to the King in time to nod, agreeing with Errant’s question. “Of course,” he murmurs, agreeing to work with an air force, and then he is quiet as Errant asks for volunteers to lead, and Hurricane speaks up to make his own preferences known.
When silence falls again, he looks around at his Brothers, and finally back to Errant. “I will serve in whatever capacity the Tundra needs me for. I have been in charge of the Army before, and I will do so again if that’s what seems best.” There’s a time for proving oneself, for fighting fiercely to be at the top, and Brennen had done that. He’d battled some of Beqanna’s best fighters, worked hard to prove himself to his Brothers, and he is willing to do it again, if the time comes…but he doesn’t feel now is that time. Now is the time to let the younger generation step up, if that is what they all think is best. He’s willing to admit that – though he won’t turn down leading the army again if that is what happens here. For a long moment he watches Errant, as always wondering what exactly goes through the black magician’s head, and then turns to the others to hear their opinions.
But there are other things to be discussed, as well. When talk about these things seems to be winding down, Brennen speaks again. “Nihlus and I have just returned from the Falls.” Well, he assumes Nihlus has come home as well, though he flew and left the kid to walk. “Their queen, Shatter Me, is willing and ready to form an Alliance with us, but she has changed the conditions of Alliance with the Falls.” Brennen glances at Nihlus, if he’s there, but if he has any concerns about their visit in that department, well, he will speak to Errant privately about it later. “Those without an alliance will no longer have access to the Fall’s healing waters. Allied Kingdoms will be required to send a member to live in the Falls throughout the duration of the alliance – supposedly this individual will be trained to use the waters, to serve as healer to any of our own who come to use them.” He shifts his wings, frowning, still not certain he likes this development – for the Falls or the Tundra. “I suggested that this would be better if it was an even exchange, with a member of the Falls living here, and Shatter Me said she would consider it, though she didn’t say yes. She’ll send someone for our answer in a month, unless we send word first.”
He pauses, letting himself look around to gauge reactions. He wants this – an alliance with the Falls. It makes his life easier, protecting a Kingdom when it’s allied with his own…but he doesn’t like the imbalance any more than they might, and he won’t push for something nobody else is in favor of. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an opinion. “We have nothing like the healing waters to offer in return – and I think that’s a valuable resource. But is it worth the price?” The warrior glances down at the children at his side, and lets himself voice a thought he had been mulling since Shatter spoke. “It doesn’t have to be the same person who goes, and stays. It could be a training exercise for our young people – an out of Kingdom experience for sons, or something for daughters of the Tundra to be able to do while they decide if they would like to stay or go. It could work to our benefit.” Or not. He made the visit, he doesn’t have to make the decision. Benefits of not being in charge.
They’re together when he comes home, tangled in a heap of limbs and color. They’re usually together, of course, but since the filly was torn from her twin and sent on a strange, somewhat hell-like adventure, they have been especially close. Olivier had been terrified by her sudden disappearance, and she by her adventure – but in the irrepressible way of children, they recovered. And since they were pretty much inseparable before, their increased closeness is not even very noticeable. She chatters her way across the distance, both of them trailing behind Brennen as he strides to the meeting. “…and anyway, it’s not like we’re going to get lost. I don’t understand why you think it’s such a bad idea-” The gold boy turns to his sister with a small sound, something between annoyance and fondness. “Dagny, shh. They’re starting.” She glances at the assembled men and decides he’s right, at least this once, and quiets. They step up beside Brennen, the oddly bright girl (though the color has begun to fade, the mark of her time with the fae is still bold on her coat) tucked neatly into the space between her father and her slightly-taller twin, half-hidden beneath the shelter of one of his massive wings. She’s still young enough to find comfort in edging herself underneath that wing, feathers trailing down her far side.
They are, amazingly for them, mostly quiet. Only a few times does she murmur something into her twin’s ears, quiet enough to not disturb the group, and he responds in kind. But he is the first to address the group – because Errant had said that some of them would earn wings. And the twins have spent many hours as high on the cliffs as they can climb, staring down at the Tundra, wondering how their father saw the world. She was vocal and dreamy with it – a phase, an adventure to be conquered, the dreaming enough in itself. He had internalized it, this desire to be like his sire, and it burned there within like the first ember of a wildfire. “I’d like to be in the airforce,” he pipes up, apparently unaware of the fact that he’s barely a year old, still half legs and an air of freshness that can’t be had by anyone truly grown. “I mean…if there’s room.” He adds when Dagny turns to stare at him, clearly not as unaware of their age.
Or, coincidentally, of her gender. When her father talks of the Falls, of sending children or girls, Dagny knows that she would be first on the list. A part of her leaps at the opportunity, the adventure, but a sudden part is fearful of being separated from Olivier. They don’t do separate well, as proven by her recent adventure.
07-11-2015, 12:01 PM (This post was last modified: 07-11-2015, 09:22 PM by Kratos.)
Kratos had never wore the Tundra’s scars, only his own, so their disappearance from his Brother’s skin had gone unnoticed. But when the ground around the cave had cracked open and from it rose ruins as old as the gods themselves, the appaloosa had been keener to take notice. He had ventured to the site, the lightning in his veins thrumming with the old world magic that was still fresh when he arrived, but he had not sought to know its depths then. Now that he had been reassured of Rhy’s reemergence (her triumph!) from the Other World, the entirety of his thoughts could shift back to the Tundra and the ambitions that swelled in his breast for it.
The titan answers his king’s call with no lack of speed, it wasn’t often that the Brothers were summoned. The Tundra was not a kingdom whose members liked to live within their king's shadow, nor each others for that matter. The kingdom is vast and harsh, as much so as his father’s had been, leaving breadth for warriors to harden in their solitariness. “King Errant,” a heavy head tilts in acknowledgment as he arrives, eyes reaching for both Hurricane and Brennan’s as well. His gaze lingers at the yearlings that idle at Brennan’s side and a smile quirks as the colt speaks up, “the boy is brimming for battle, your roots run deep in this one,” he says to Brennan.
Kratos was no diplomat, his tongue was sharp and his temper sometimes unyielding – the peace ranks were no home for him. Lord Commander was a title merited by blood and sweat, only a few drops of each he had spilled himself, “Though both my desire and talent lie with the army, I admit I have not rightfully gained the honors to the rank of Lord Commander.” When the title rolls off his tongue his gaze moves to Brennan, the most obvious of the choices amongst them, “though I would bear it if no one more deserving will shoulder its weight.”
“If the fates do not call me to that post, I will take to the Air Force.” And if it came that, he had already decided that he would not wear his father’s dragonwings.
07-14-2015, 12:24 PM (This post was last modified: 07-14-2015, 12:25 PM by Crito.)
He hears the call and responds right away, but of course that doesn’t matter – his slower gait gets there significantly later than the others. He’s in good spirits, though. A quirky, half-grin pulls at his lips as he walks. Everything has changed; he can feel it down in his rickety old bones. And if that weren’t enough, visual changes cue him in on the fact that their kingdom has been touched by a force greater than any of them. His scars are gone. At first, Crito had stressed at this point. His scars had been hard-won in the caves and were a sign of his eternal devotion to the Tundra – what could there disappearance mean for him? But eventually, he noticed their absence on the hides of the other stallions. If it was kingdom-wide, surely it wasn’t due to negligence on his part. Ironically, the blank slate of every brother put them on equal ground, perhaps for the first time in decades.
And then there was the matter of the ruins. Crito had skirted them, curious but cautious, the day after their appearance. He had enough sense not to walk into the rising rubble, but he couldn’t help himself from peering into the dark depths beyond. An overwhelming sense of power had emanated from the rocky ruins, a force he couldn’t deny as new and exhilarating. But as much as his mind had ached to solve the mystery, as much as he yearned to learn and experience the place firsthand, he hadn’t. Leave the magic for the magicians.
When he arrives at the gathering, his eyes immediately find the gaze of their own black mage. No doubt Errant already knows about the ruins, (probably knew about them the very second they were gifted, he thinks) but Crito wonders if he knows their purpose. Their king addresses all of it immediately: the scars, the shrine, the reasoning, and the roan listens with complete interest. No non-mythical kingdoms exist in Beqanna anymore. Every kingdom has its own magics, which means that every kingdom has an opportunity to exploit it or hunger for another’s. He wonders if cultures will arise from this singular event; he thinks that they most certainly will. The cave and scars had been their own culture for the Brotherhood, after all, the same as the tattoos were to the Amazons. It’s fascinating to consider all the possibilities, but Errant soon moves on and he squirrels away the information for later thought.
It seems the Tundra god has left them with useful gifts besides the intrigue of the shrine. The magician lists their ranks needing filled and the accompanying traits, and the old brother looks around as the men begin to volunteer. First Hurricane steps up with his airforce aspirations, then Brennen with his historical military skills. Brennen’s son comes next – another for the airforce (though Crito believes he might be too young, unfortunately ), and finally Kratos who also desires wings. It is good that they are so ready and willing to accept positions; it is time the northern men became a strong force to be reckoned with. But it also seems like it will be only force. Few of the stallions show interest in the diplomatic side of the kingdom. Brennen does comment on the results of his trip to the Falls, and Crito’s ears swivel to catch every word. He listens until the man finishes before voicing his opinion. “We don’t necessarily need the healing waters with a magician for a king.” He looks to Errant somewhat apologetically for volunteering him. “I know you’ve said before that healing isn’t your strength. But with as many warriors as we’ll soon have, perhaps it would be better not to outsource their means of recovery.” As feisty a bunch as they are, it might be best for Errant to brush up on his patching up abilities.
He doesn’t know that Brennen has ulterior (but benevolent) motives for allying with the Falls. He does know that the river kingdom has historically been rather weak, with their healing waters as their only boon in an alliance. Perhaps it could work. After all, their military could pick up the slack where the Falls’ lacked. He waits to see what Errant will think of the exchange before giving any more advice either way. As the sole diplomatic-only inclined horse, he wonders if his blood brother is hinting at its highest rank. And even though Crito waits, no one else seems willing to step up to it. “I will serve as Grand Maester if the post needs filling and if the brothers will have me. It might be a short tenure, anyway,” he says half-jokingly, acknowledging his advanced age.
C R I T O
king's hand of the tundra
ooc: soo, disregard that if you just want him as hand? wasn't sure where you meant for him to volunteer now, lol
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
Hurricane is the first to speak, and Errant nods his appreciation of the stallion’s willingness to devote himself to whatever the kingdom needs of him. His thinking seems to align with what Errant considers to be the most common among the brothers – they each have their strengths but are ready to do whatever is required of them. “Thank you Hurricane. The Army will benefit from your experience, I’m sure.”
Brennen’s offer to lead the Army is not surprising; Errant feels he had been excellent in the position previously. He would have given the bay stallion the position immediately, but he knows that this time ruling is not the same as his last one. There are brothers here unaware of Brennen’s decades of loyal service, and Errant wishes to give them all an equal opportunity. He nods his thanks, then listens intently as Brennen informs them of the Falls request.
Errant frowns, as unsure as Brennen about the change in the neutral kingdom’s stance. As far as he knows, to be able to use the magic waters a horse must be loyal to the Falls. Why should they send a man to the Falls knowing that he will have to be more loyal to another kingdom than he is to the Brotherhood? It does not sit well with Errant, and so when he says: “I’ll consider it,” he genuinely means it. Perhaps he’ll go to the Falls himself – he’s never been.
The two children that press up against Brennen are unfamiliar, but they are clearly the older man’s children. He seems to have an awful lot of them (and that from Errant, the father of seven). The boy is of most interest, both because of his gender in this snowy kingdom and the fact that he so readily volunteers himself. “If there’s room in a year or so, I’m sure we could find a place for you.” Errant glances up at Brennen for confirmation after his gaze leaves the boy’s. He might be the king, but Brennen is his father and for now has the final say.
Kratos speaks next, commenting on the boy’s eagerness. Errant nods his agreement. That the spotted stallion desires the post of Lord Commander is no surprise to the black king. He’s no doubt that the man would excel at it. He also mentions the airforce, and Errant is not sure which he wants. He’ll have to clarify later, he reminds himself, and simply says: “Perhaps the airforce for now?” he offers.
When Crito suggests Errant’s own magic as an alternative to the water of the Falls, the black stallion smiles wryly. He has tried, more often of late, but it still far from skilled. The fox he’d practiced on last week had actually been healed of a broken leg, but he doubts that it appreciates the odd blue coloring that came with the healing. For now he doesn’t give an answer, simply a nod of his head to show that he hear. Crito volunteers for the position of Grand Maester and Errant smiles. “I have another role for you, Crito. I’d have you serve as my Hand if the position appeals to you?” The black stallion cannot imagine anyone better serving as his right hand, and while the role of Grand Maester does need filling, it is neither a dire nor immediate need.
“I will hold another meeting soon for our warriors – both those in the army as well as our new airforce.” He pauses and looks around, waiting for questions before asking for them, and knowing that the meeting is coming to an end. “If there are no further questions, I’ll end this meeting.”
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding
if that'll make it right
These poor men and their vulnerable nakedness, all unscarred and beautiful; Nihlus holds no grief for their ‘loss.’ While being the youngest member of the Tundra, the rabbit-shifting, rain-manipulation, and astral-projection young stud has no knowledge of being a brother. Sure, some of the men may resent him this fact, but they’ll have to deal; Nihlus is gay and bored. There and men here, and things to do here too (the two are not mutually exclusive, wink wink…). So yeah, he supposes that this may well be his home, but it won’t be his legacy.
Yet. (Young men will be young men, after all; rash, impulsive, and sex crazed).
He arrives to the meeting horrifically late (just his style), but is unable to keep his big mouth completely shut. While he may not have heard Errant’s or Hurricane’s original spiel, he just manages to catch Brennen’s piece about the Falls, and, well… They told him to shut the rain off. And that just simply wouldn’t do in a potential ally.
"I think it’s bullshit. Shatter Me is grabbing for members; why should we oblige? You’re magic as hell, and if war came to us, the Amazons would be on our side. I would put our chances of needing healing waters at a negative ten.” Snorting irately, the young stallion pipes down a moment, listening with one half-heartedly turned ear. While he may be loyal, the boy is also an ass, but you could kiss his for all he cares.
"And while flying sounds lovely, I figure I’m decked out enough.” He grins lopsidedly, as though his smile is thunder and his eyes the crackle of lightening. "I’ll be ready when you call, great-uncle.” And with that, Nihlus fabulously concludes the meeting.
Nihlus
rain manipulating, rabbit shifting son of Sinder & Noori
Sorry it's so late guys. I wanted to get something up that screams "I'M STILL HERE," and I think this got my point across... hehe, love you <3
![[Image: leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/dsl_devin/leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif)
