"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
In a past life, over twelve decades ago, the mass of lumbering testosterone would have courted many and longed for their affections - a majority of his time spent seducing those of the fairer sex who needed protection, kindness and a soft spoken voice of encouragement. Though his obsidian flesh was littered with many battle scars and his muscles trembled with an ache that only weariness from many years lived could produce, he had once been a fertile, vital feature in the otherwise barren landscape. He had loved, lost and procreated, all of which seemed a lifetime ago - but he was no longer that being. He no longer desired that life.
He could not bear to put himself out on the line, only to lose the ones he had grown to care for so deeply again. Each time, it led to despair, suffering and a devastating depth of loneliness - and for many years, he remained without companionship and without company, wandering the lands aimlessly. He loathed outliving the ones he felt he could not live without.
Alas, it was time to stop living adrift. It was time to stop lingering on the pain. Regardless of how his heart ached for death, it had not come and it would not come - a damaged body trapping an eternal, immortal soul. He could no longer allow himself to fall away to a fog of obliviousness. Eventually, the mind and soul alike need contact. Companionship, even if it is platonic. He could no longer ignore the throb of longing, nor could he return to the life he once had - where could he draw the line? Where could he find a medium to dwell in?
As his forelegs propelled him forth, a soft breath of air slowly exhaled from his lungs, leaving behind a trail of fog from the cold evening air. The sun was beginning to set, its brilliant colors of magenta and lavender shining over the horizon, reflecting off of the sheets of ice that remain along the mountain like shimmering painted glass. Gentle stems of grass peaked beneath the frost, lapping gently at his legs as he finally stood still, taking in the beauty of the ice kingdom.
In spite of the invitation of spring, the cold remained, setting into his bones and reminding him of his bodily existence. For the first time in a long time, he felt alive.
With a deep and echoing call, he crooned for another and announced his presence, curious of the band of brothers and how he could make his place among them. Only time would tell.
offspring
Big boy wants to be a Tundra boy & help fite w/u guys. :p
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 would understand the drive that sends the stranger to seek the brothers in their icy homeland. It is one of the few forces, after all, that binds the once-General to his Tundra. Long loyalty and a deep need for companionship draw him again and again from the isolation that he finds deep in the depths of the Tundra. No matter how long he has been absent from daily life, his brothers have always found him active again in time of need.
Now is an active time for him – he had been raising children again in the recent past, twins this time, and their presence had made it impossible for Brennen to zone out. Now, the unease of war on the horizon and not knowing if his Tundra will be involved keeps him edgy, uneasy; they may be a band of warriors, but their numbers are few (as ever), and it wouldn’t help for them to be taken by surprise if the war does find them.
So he is very much aware when a stranger crosses their borders, even before the call echoes off of the mountains. It would be hard to take them by surprise, after all; the ice wall is too tall to jump, so anyone land-bound is forced to come through the single opening left to them (which is just wide enough for two or three horses to walk abreast), or come from the sea. Brennen comes from above, landing softly a distance away so as not to startle the stranger or have his arrival perceived as an attack.
He walks the rest of the way, flicking a curious gaze over the other stallion. Brennen has never been large, standing under 16 hands and slender, but he has rarely felt as thoroughly dwarfed as standing before this man. He blinks, tilting his head, and offers a half-smile as he folds his wings, tucking them neatly around his body. They always adapt to the coldness of the Tundra, but he has found many ways to help his desert-bred body out; the insulated warmth from his wings is an excellent way.
“Hullo,” he offers, a slight drawl coloring the words, spoken slowly. Nothing he does seems hurried right now – he is fierce in battle, fierce when his loved ones are threatened, when his Kingdom is threatened, but the rest of the time he tends towards the mellow. “I’m Brennen. Welcome to the Tundra.” The sentence rests, but there is no disguising the questioning tone the end takes – who are you? Have you come intending us harm?
Though his movements had been subtle and quiet, there was still a soft echo against what hadn't yet melted of the winter's icy hold and it gave the Tundra warrior's presence away. He listened closely as he approached, not wanting to move too abruptly. He cast his crimson gaze towards the darkened bay male that sauntered smoothly towards him, recognizing his gait as slow and deliberate, but confident.
Soon, he turned and shifted his body as well, his tall mass shifting his weight as he looked down into the eyes of the other. His size was certainly unorthodox and to some, intimidating, but his eyes held no contempt. Slowly, he lowered his head, eyes cast downward for a moment in time. He had no arrogance nor ego to speak of, and it showed as he bowed to the winged stallion.
"Offspring. You can call me Offspring," He uttered softly, his voice steady but quiet, though he hoped the stranger would not question his strange and wholly inappropriate name. He knew it was no better than being referred to as a "thing" by his sire and dam, and he would prefer to ignore it.
His eyes met with his again and he stood upright, the muscles beneath his coal-stained coat rippling with each movement, his height once more pronounced between the two. He had long since become adjusted to towering over others and gave it no thought. More often than not, it mattered little, except in the aid of deterring many from bothering him. "A pleasure, Brennen. I come with no ill will in mind. I have traveled alone for many years and I seek refuge and brotherhood, if this ice kingdom will have me."
The sun continued to fall behind them, illuminating them with its colorful sheen, highlighting their features in the dim lighting. A blanket of cold began to descend from the ice wall, enveloping the land below with its chilly night air, comforting him. His skin bristled as it caressed him and surrounding him, almost as if it were welcoming him home.
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?
It is a rare occurrence for the Brothers to turn anyone away. The Tundra is never exactly overflowing with company, though it has in Brennen’s life been comfortably full. They take men who want to work, men who just want to exist, women who want to make more Brothers, and women who just want shelter. He knows of only two they have turned away – and the Mad King and his associate had been a danger to the entire Kingdom, or they would not have been eliminated. He even suspects – though he never asked, so that he can honestly deny it – that they have harbored a fugitive.
Brennen can’t help but hope that Offspring is interested in the Army. He may not currently be General, in fact he doesn’t know if Hurricane has picked a General at all, but he has a constant personal interest in the martial protection of his Brothers. With Offspring’s size, he would be a great asset to their army, even if his skill is mediocre. If Brennen didn’t have wings and other talents, he would certainly hesitate to take on the much taller man, even with his experience and skills.
His words bring a slight smile to Brennen’s face, lightening the somber expression. “I’m sure we’ll be glad to have you.” comes the response, and the pegasus allows himself to relax, reading Offspring’s intentions as honest. Instinct keeps him wary of strangers, training keeps him honed to respond in seconds, but he doesn’t need to be poised to act against someone with no outward ill purpose. “Do you know much about the Tundra?” he asks, not wanting to make any assumptions. Sometimes the strangers to him are not strangers to the Tundra – though the longer he lives here, the fewer those become. “I can show you around, if you’d like. There aren’t a great number of us here at the moment, but we may run into some of the Brothers, or the King.”
Bren is glad to have a new potential Brother, but he would rather be moving around, doing something, than just standing at the entrance. He hopes that Offspring takes him up on the offer to show him around, or something.
The muscles that ripple and roll beneath his taut, scar-tainted skin settle and release, the tension ebbing away as he views the winged stallion visibly ease before him. His crimson gaze bores into him as he takes in his every twitch, flinch and breath - there is much to learn and know of someone by the way their body moves and responds in any given situation, and this is no exception. He can sense that between his soft-spoken words is a mind with turning gears, and there is little he wouldn't give to be able to know his thoughts. Words are not altogether necessary, however - he can feel Brennen's golden eyes observing his curvature, the lines of his jaw and the slope of his spine - assessment. Undoubtedly, for war. What good is brotherhood without a formidable force to protect it? He would have to be incredibly daft to not know that he himself is an intimidating force to be reckoned with, in force and power.
War is something to be calculated, to be carefully weighed - but at times, a necessary evil. He understood this, and the many scathing marks on his flesh were a constant reminder of the emotional and physical repercussions of violence. Nonetheless, if asked, he would not refuse and (in actuality) would be more than eager to partake in military action and would gladly volunteer. It had been too long since he had felt a purpose, since he had felt he was more than wasted oxygen.
"I have lived a few lifetimes, Brennen," he says quietly as his gaze finally breaks away to observe the sharp lines of ice and stone, taking in the frigid landscape. The cool, brisk air stings within his lungs, and he breathes heavily again. "I remember the days of Skellig, of Basque, of Yorke. I am familiar with the lands, and with their function. It was a lifetime ago, but I remember it all clearly .."
His voice trails off for a long moment. His gaze raises to meet his again.
"Much has changed, but I assume much is still the same. I look forward to knowing more. Lead the way."
