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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "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


    that heart is so cold (group from the b2g thread)
    #1
    that would be this thread:
    http://www.boards2go.com/boards/board.cgi?action=read&id=1427912227.59625&user=beqannatundra

    when my time comes around
    lay me gently in the cold dark earth

    Though he knows Niklaus to be Ianto’s son, Errant has not had the heart to seek out the young stallion. He is not ready to know what has become of his only son. The black stallion was orphaned fairly young, but he still misses his parents from time to time; the pain of losing a child is worse than that. It is not so sharp as that of lost love (and how Errant knows that, too), but only because his children were important to him mostly as a result of their mother. Though Errant had always been the model Bachelor king, with a royal wife in a distant kingdom, he had been inexplicably fond of Lea, and misses her despite the decade since her passing.

    When Niklaus speaks up, mentioning his mother but not his father, Errant holds back the questions that he might ask. They are for another, more private time. “Thank you Niklaus.” It is just as strange for him to be called grandfather as it must be for the younger stallion to say it. Though Errant knows of his grandchildren, he has met few of them. “I appreciate your support.”

    He’s been watching the hoof prints in the snow grow closer, well aware that someone has landed nearby and is listening. Errant doubts that it is Brennen, but since the black horse doesn’t care if he is overheard he makes no attempt to discover who it might be, or why they are hiding. When Hurricane reveals himself, he seems to have the same quick plan that Kratos and Nihlus were so ready to perform.

    “I doubt he’ll leave easily.” Errant answers, knowing that the question was posed to them all. “But I can make him.” He doesn’t say how; he lets them assume from the silver scars that cover nearly his entire left side.

    “More than that,”he says, his voice a bit louder than it had been before, declarative but not demanding: “I do not think that madness or being a poor king are crimes deserving of a death sentence.”

    When Hurricane’s gaze returns to his own, Errant considers not answer the question. It is not important, he thinks; even kings are entitled to lives of their own. “I had personal matters to attend to. I left my son Ianto and grandson Layton as my heirs, with my Commander* and Maester* as their guardians. It seems that was not my best decision. I will not make that same mistake again.” He’ll train his successor better, he has told himself; he will not leave them floundering.



    e r r a n t

    no grave can hold my body down
    i'll crawl home to her





    *so they weren’t those titles when it happened, but they are the titles now, so I used them Big Grin
    [Image: leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif]
    #2
    He is around. He’s always around – that’s the way he is. But sometimes he wanders – or his mind wanders, whatever his physical body does... even Mountain had once acknowledged his continued presence, though he never spoke to their mad “King”. There’d been Ianto’s dethroning and then the scorching heat – and as any sane stallion who had spent his entire life in the Tundra would do, Brennen had sought shelter in the deepest of caves until the heat passed. He cared for naught but the survival of the Brotherhood – and when the ice had returned, so too had Brennen.

    But whatever else he is, it is not unaware of Errant’s slow reappearance from the form of the red man. Even if he hadn’t recognized him, which he does, the faded crown would spark the warrior’s mind. Brennen has a similar faded marking – his an X, once bold and white against his hip, but faded now. One or another of their intermittent Kings had taken his position from him, and Brennen hadn’t had the energy to care at that time. But something has stirred in him again, and something stirs in the Tundra, so when he sees that two of the Brothers are gathered he meanders their direction. And, ah….even before he reaches them, Brennen watches from the sky as the group grows larger.

    His landing is graceful as ever and he hears quite a bit of what is said as he comes to stand amongst them, folding his overlarge wings and glancing from face to face, though eventually his eyes come to rest on Errant. “Brothers,” he drawls, “Errant.” He watches the former King for a moment longer, mulling the accusation of his incompetence in his mind. “Layton was uninterested in his inheritance. Ianto took the throne from Peppe and I, as was your intent, but…” he lets the words trail off, deciding this public forum is not the time nor the place to announce ‘but your son was an idiot’ or ‘Ianto didn’t have the drive to rule anything’ or any other derogatory comment about the slow unraveling of the once-amicable relationship between the short-lived King and his once-regent.

    Their initial disagreement would have resolved. It would not have been world-ending for an old Regent and a young King to squabble, and Brennen would have come around out of remembered loyalty to an old ruling Family, or at the very least loyalty to the Brotherhood. But the young King’s apathy in the face of potential mutiny had been the last straw for the General, and he had supported Rapscallion. He’d seemed bright and eager and full of life.

    Mountain was another matter entirely. “Murder would only bring attention from other Kingdoms we don’t want in our fledging state of new awareness.” He glances at the younger stallions with only the faintest hint of amusement. He was once that young – and he’d gone into a suicidal gladiator fighting ring to prove his worth to his father and the Brotherhood, so he can sympathize with their eagerness. “As for political support…” The once-general turns his honey eyes back to Errant, the memory of the black stallion as a child himself superimposed on the living man. “Well, you didn’t totally fuck it up the first time.” It’s not the eager declaration of support that Niklaus gave, but Brennen isn’t vying for that title himself. Not right now. More than once, he would have stepped up to that plate…including a period of time during Errant’s reign…but for now he would rather bide his time.
    #3
    When the young stallion joins them, Hurricane turns dark eyes on him, studying him briefly as he declares his support for the would-be king. Upon the avowal, he turns his hard gaze back to the scarred stallion, watching him closely as he speaks to the youngling before responding to his questions. His lips press together as Errant makes assumptions regarding the rather broad statements he had made. He should not be surprised that, because he had played devil’s advocate to the male, he had come to the conclusion that he wished Mountain dead. But he had foolishly thought the man would respond to adversity better. But you know what they say about assuming.

    Please share. I am curious to know how you plan to ensure Mountain leaves without fuss.

    When the new brother arrives, Hurricane turns his pale head, studying the newcomer intently. The stallion seems familiar with Errant, and he is curious to hear what he has to say. After he finishes speaking, he gives a short nod as he absorbs what Brennen had added to the conversation. Of the stallions gathered, he had to admit that he found him to be the most sensible.

    Turning a dispassionate gaze back onto the former king, he once again studies him. He could understand leaving the kingship. Being immortal himself, he knows how long life can get, especially if one is in a position of power. He too had left the Tundra for a time. That is not what he finds objectionable. No, what he cannot bring himself to accept is that this stallion is almost directly responsible for the state the Tundra is now in. Perhaps he had not sat Mountain on the throne, but his choice in successors had led directly to Mountain’s ability to take the throne from the previous king. And if there is one thing you could say about Hurricane, it is that he is brutally honest.

    Very well. I can accept that. What I am having a difficult time accepting is the fact that your actions, or lack of actions, have allowed the Tundra to fall into the state in which it currently rests. How can we be sure that we will not be even worse off if you should rule, and leave, again?
    There is never a day that goes by
    that is a good day to die.
    Hurricane
    html c Insane
    #4
    when my time comes around
    lay me gently in the cold dark earth

    Though the black stallion has never spent the time learning to read minds, he’d been preternaturally good at reading emotions even before his death. His magic has just enhanced that, and so when Brennen speaks up, Errant catches echoes of what the bay horse might have said, or meant, or intended. “I do not blame you and Peppe,” he says softly, meeting the stallion’s gold gaze with his silver one. I left you with incapable young monarchs, he doesn’t say, but he is sure the Brennen will know. The two older stallions might be the only ones familiar with that particular situation (and the only ones who care), but he does not want to leave it for a later time.

    Though Errant is not ready to admit aloud that his son and grandson had failed him (and more importantly, failed the Tundra), that does not mean that he is unaware of it. That was his failure, after all, his own poor decision. He had not intended to lay blame on either his General or his Ambassador.

    The dappled grey stallion speaks up again, still questioning despite the answers that Errant has given. It seems that Hurricane has already decided that it is Errant’s fault that mountain rules. Is it not then Errant’s mother’s fault for having sired a king that would allow the Tundra to descend to the current point? Or is it his grandfather’s fault? Or the ancestors before him? How far can they take the blame? It’s been a dozen years since Errant had left the throne – is he now to be held responsible for the fact that no one else had done anything in the subsequent years?

    “You can’t be sure.” Is all he says, rather than waste his breathe to press the logic swirling behind his emotionless expression. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

    Brennen gives a somewhat grudging mention of support, but Errant doesn’t blame him, especially not if the pegasus had thought Errant was criticizing him with his earlier statement. The black horse nods his head in gratitude, and turns his gaze back to Hurricane. “It’ll be easier than you think.” He replies to the query of how he’ll ensure that Mountain leaves. Errant has never said the word magic aloud, and while he might be gifted, he’s never done much more than enhance the skills it takes to be a king and a father.

    “Niklaus,” he says to alert the colt, turning to the smallest member of their gathering. (He has learned that physics are something it’s best to cooperate with whenever possible.) The colt is suddenly gone, and reappears on the opposite side of the group, and Errant turns to look at him. He could have put him somewhere farther [outside the border of the kingdom, even], but Errant has no desire for an aching head simply to prove his point.

    “Once Mountain is gone, he’ll return on penalty of death. If he’s mad enough to try to return, he’ll be aware of the consequences, and you all can have the bloodshed you desire.” They all know he’ll come back, just as Errant knows which cliff over the sea to push the body into. The hunting whales of the ocean stop by from time to time, usually to pick off the wolves that Errant has stopped from preying on the children, or the white bears that have gone mad too close to the kingdom. The black king will be just another meal to them.



    e r r a n t

    no grave can hold my body down
    i'll crawl home to her



    [Image: leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif]
    #5



     

    The young titan recognizes Nihlus as the boy who approached him at Kora’s side, with a voice laden with such a heavy coquettishness that it should have been meant for the mare. He flicks a single black ear in Nihlus’ direction as he offers his aid and although he tells him, “if I mean to take a king’s head, I’ll do it alone,” Kratos will not forget that the boy rallied to his side, no, he will tuck that away for future consideration. But moreover, Kratos would not be known as a coward that needed someone sticking a knife in the back of the man whose throat he was slitting. 


    Another old stallion comes to join them now and Kratos regards him with a quiet, calculating contemplation. Crito greeted the changeling stallion with great familiarity and when he spoke Errant’s name, the syllables echoed through his memories and rang in his ears not in Crito’s voice, but in his mother’s. His eyes catch the former king’s when he offers his name himself, Kratos knows who he is – he had been raised upon the  lauded tales of his grandfather, another shadow (like his father’s) for him to fill. So when Errant lays his intentions to ascend the throne again before the brothers, the painted viper is neither surprise nor moved to yet comment. Kratos knows the depth and breadth of Errant’s power and so he also knows that he had long ago recognized their relation and chose not to address it. So unlike his dunskin cousin, Niklaus, who comes with prompt and eager endorsement for their grandsire, Kratos says nothing and instead he offers his own name which had yet to leave his black lips, “Kratos is my name, for those who care to know it.”

    The pale stallion is next to join them and he is the only one of the Tundra dwellers that Kratos moves to acknowledge upon his arrival and even that is a small gesture, only a tilt of his heavy white head. The skull-faced stallion had decided that he liked Hurricane, the pallid, winged stallion whose inquiries came pragmatically and without a single grain of sugary pomp. But Errant continues and Kratos lays silent still, a wordless leviathan with smoldering, wandering eyes that move to land on Brennan as he comes from the sky. It was obvious that that the bay was a seasoned warrior; he came wearing the years of his service to the Brotherhood on his skin and wielding experience of their past on his tongue. He listens and he eats up the subtle exchange between the newcomer and the would-be king, it was clear that there was some reservation on the old warrior’s part and at least a bit of partial contrition on Errant’s. 

    Again, Hurricane’s voice rises to bridge the silence, still questioning, still entertainingly brusque – a tongue after Kratos’ own. Of course the elder stallions would think him too young to know better, that his blood was still too fresh and eager for the spilling. But the truth was that the Tundra had lain dormant for too long in their icy kingdom, what better way to show their quietness had thawed than with a display of their strength within their own ranks? Were they not amongst warriors here? But despite this, Kratos still finds logic in Brennan and Errant’s words and so when his grandsire speaks again he asks, “And when we find him back at our borders,” because Mountain’s narcissism alone would definitively bring him back and of this, Kratos is certain, “will it be you that carries out the sentence?” Kratos wonders if he will be so loathe to taking the mad king’s head when he came back beating at their walls, frenzied and enraged at what he would surely think was a crown unrightfully taken from him. 






    K R A T OS
    vanquish x lyric


    #6
    The stallion is reticent in his answers. Hurricane has to wonder if he is perhaps hiding something. His expression remains as still as ever, revealing none of his suspicions until a new thought suddenly occurs to him. The only other explanation for the man’s reticence would be if he believed Hurricane is challenging him because he wishes the throne. The thought elicits a staccato bark of laughter from the gray stallion.

    If you think I am aiming for the throne, you would be dead wrong. I would make a piss-poor king. You know it and I know it. Now let’s put the testosterone away, shall we?

    His amusement is short lived however, as his expression once again turns flinty. His ebony eyes bore into the scarred stallion with an intensity that many might find unnerving. He then voices the thoughts that the others should be wondering.

    The only other reason for your unwillingness to answer my simple questions would be if you are deliberately attempting to deceive us. If not, why are you so determined not to share? Do you expect us to trust you blindly? After Mountain? You must be a fool if you expect it. And really, what type of men would want to sit a stallion on the throne who is quite blatantly deceiving them?

    He lets the question fall into silence, his hard gaze remaining fixed upon Errant. And though his eyes never waver, the last question is clearly asked not just of the stallion before him, but all those present.
    There is never a day that goes by
    that is a good day to die.
    Hurricane
    html c Insane
    #7
    (Insane, I realized that i wrote Errant as answering the questions the Hurricane asked in the opposite order that he'd actually asked them, so my B for making Errant seem more deceitful than I'd intended. Hopefully I cleared that up in my post xD )

    when my time comes around
    lay me gently in the cold dark earth

    The big white stallion still seems intent on murder, and Errant bites his tongue. It is not his place to father the man and he is not his king; Errant has no right to correct a grown stallion. He does not agree however, and that much is clear from the sidelong glance that he gives the bulkier stallion.

    Why they all expect him to be omniscient he has no idea; he knows of the blood he shares with those assembled, but has no preference for his own family over those he has chosen as family. It had served him well in the past, but perhaps the world has changed. Perhaps now he is expected to give preference to those that he has sired, though he doubts that Brennen would ever agree. Regardless, he looks up at Kratos when the stallion asks who will be the one to carry out the sentence.

    “That would be a task for whomever we choose to replace him.” He replies. Errant does not want to commit murder, but he knows that the line between murder and justice, however thin, still exists. He will be sure that the Tundra does not ever cross that line if he is to become king, and even if they choose another Errant has no intention of allowing vindictiveness to trump fairness.

    The grey stallion speaks up again, and Errant turns his grey gaze back to the older horse. He cannot help but feel that they are having their own private debate, the results of which the other brothers get the benefit of without ever having to participated. Regardless, he does not feel pitted against the winged stallion; Errant is sure he’d have just as many question were he in the other’s shoes.

    Well, perhaps he wouldn’t be so eager to pry.

    He does not catch what has caused the other stallion to laugh and only tilts his head, waiting. Hurricane doesn’t seem any better or worse a candidate than any other (well, perhaps better than the bloodthirsty youths), and Errant realizes that perhaps in his reluctance to re-open his own old wounds he has given Hurricane the impression that he is attempting to hide something.

    “I can’t prove I’m trustworthy.” Replies the black stallion, allaying for now the fact that a handful of the men have already voiced their trust in him. Errant cannot force Hurricane to adopt the same ideals as the others. “I could make you think I am, though. I could make you think and see a great deal of imaginary things, but I’d rather not. I’ll prove myself the same way any king does, with hard work and with time.”

    Inadvertently, he’s once again avoided the direct answer to Hurricane’s question of how he plans to make Mountain leave. Damn.

    “Magic,” he says plainly. “I am a magician. If I wish him to be gone, he will be. But I’ve no desire to constantly keep an arcane eye on him to keep him from the Tundra, and if he breaks the ban we will put on him he will be dealt with.” He does not break eye contact with Hurricane until he is sure that he has done his best to answer the questions. Errant is a magician. Errant could make them all recognize him as king in the time it would take him to walk to the northern sea, but he hasn’t. He is doing his best.



    e r r a n t

    no grave can hold my body down
    i'll crawl home to her



    [Image: leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif]
    #8
    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 had bristled before at what he read as accusation from the black stallion, but at Errant’s quiet amendment Brennen relaxes a little, inclining his head in acknowledgement of knowledge that lies between them. And the history that lies between them. The once-General has few friends; few enough that anyone he’s known for a long time who isn’t an enemy probably passes as the closest he has to friends, and Errant falls somewhere within that strange sphere. Brennen will do what he feels is best for the Tundra – but if he manages to not alienate a sort-of friend in the process, he’ll consider himself ahead of the game. Plus, after this long he has realized that Errant is probably also immortal (at least after a fashion) and those are his favorite types of friends. The kind that don’t die easily.

    For the most part, the younger stallions seem content to stay quiet. They want change but they don’t know how they wish to go about it – which is fine with him because they don’t really have the experience to be making those kinds of decisions anyway. The gray is less easily subdued by Errant’s easy confidence, and it is him that Brennen mostly watches as they spar words back and forth. He opens his mouth to reply at one point to Hurricane’s hard words, but closes it again and waits for Errant to do it. They’re throwing their suspicions at a wall – sure, yeah, there was no guarantee of success with Errant but there were no guarantees with any of them. They could all fail. At some point, they would all fail.

    “The Magician-King of the Tundra. And doesn’t that just have a nice ring to it. Not much makes you feel more assured of your Kingdom’s superiority than that strength, combined with our others.” There is no sarcasm in his voice, nothing snide – he is perfectly serious, his amber eyes focused on Hurricane (he doesn’t even bat an eyelash at Errant’s pronouncement, as he was already well aware that the former King was more powerful than he usually let on). “Though I have to say, I think we can keep one madman out of our Kingdom without the aid of magic, if it comes to that. We are a Kingdom of warriors, are we not? I suspect any number of us could keep him out physically unaided, not to even mention we are many more than one. I would be willing to kill him, if he comes back, if it comes to that. I may not advocate that as a first choice, but I’ve seen my share of blood. I do not think ousting Mountain will be any particular issue.”

    But that isn’t the one concern on table, is it? He glances around the group again, but he settles on looking mostly at Kratos and Hurricane. “Trust is earned, and you are right to be suspicious. But I daresay that would be a concern with any we chose to lead us out of this unfortunate interlude. After all, I don’t know most of you. You don’t know us. Trust is something we will build together, as Brothers.” He settles into a relaxed stance, tipping one leg up, tilting his head just slightly. “I daresay that Errant is our best option, at any rate. You’ve said you’re not interested. I’ll go ahead and state that at this time, I’m not particularly interested either. I don’t fancy being led by someone not yet really an adult,” he quirks a half-smile at Niklaus and Nihlus, to soften any unintended blow his words might impart, “so that leaves Kratos and Errant. And while I can’t speak to your character or lack thereof in any way,” he turns to Kratos, eyes sharp, “I’ll take the known over the unknown any day. Errant was a strong King. Any disagreements we may have had were minor, and on a personal level,” he gives a shrug with one overlarge wing, not really feeling that the details of his long life are any of their business. “You can’t expect him to rule forever. Everyone gets tired, and has other things to do with their life. The success or failure of the Kingdom after he left it cannot really be pinned on his shoulders. If and when he decides to step down again, we will choose a successor and judge them based on their own merit, not on his.” And with that, he goes silent. He hasn’t spoken that much in a least a year – even his interactions with Malka and his son had been less verbose. With her, he was careful and reserved. With Malyk, he preferred to listen.

    brennen
    immortal, winged, bone-bending, ice-manipulating, wind-manipulating Tundra warrior
    #9
    He knows well just how unyielding he can be when he so chooses. He knows many dislike his particular brand of bluntness. And mostly, he does not care. He does not feel the need to be loved, nor even liked, by all. In any case, those who cannot see past their pride long enough to see the veracity and worth of his words are not those he wishes to call friends. He is also not stupid enough to alienate those whose support he might one day need. The dark stallion had finally, after a fashion, answered the questions he had asked. He is canny enough to realize that it is a time to give it a rest.

    Though his expression does not change, he gives Errant a brief nod of acceptance. He can easily see how useful magic could be for the Tundra. The kingdom had remained stagnant for too long. He knows that the Valley has a magician king of its own. If they ever wished to be as great of a kingdom as they once had been, he knows that they need as much or more of an advantage than their fellow kingdoms.

    As Brennen begins to speak, Hurricane turns his ebony gaze to the bay stallion. He listens in thoughtful silence to the man’s speech. He will freely admit that the stallion’s words are sensible. Despite Errant’s amendments, he does not yet trust the stallion. Pulling teeth would have been easier than it had been trying to wrest answers from the stallion. He could not wholeheartedly throw his weight behind the scarred stallion as king, though he would not object if that is how the others chose to cast their own votes.

    When Brennen finishes speaking, Hurricane glances around at all those gathered, curious as to their reactions to the stallion’s words. When none speak, the gray stallion puts his own opinion forth.

    I must say that trust is most easily earned with honesty and action. I will not stand in the way should you choose to place Errant on the throne, but for the time being I will hold my vote in reserve. You are all aware of my opinions already, I am sure.

    Having said what he felt he needed, he steps back. His dark eyes move amongst those present, quietly watching, giving them space to make their own decisions.
    There is never a day that goes by
    that is a good day to die.
    Hurricane
    html c Insane




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