"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
lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all. but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
Summer had long since begun to to descend and settle into the land of ice, and the greenery had begun to spring between thin, crackling shards of ice as the warmth of day overtook every living, photosynthesizing thing in the valley. The sun was beginning to make its way over the horizon; the dawn of a new day. Its light reflected off of minuscule ice crystals, which shimmer and dance in the morning light, illuminating the ground with its wonder.
It is only a matter of time until they begin to melt the crystals away, leaving dew drops lingering on the thriving grasses and brush that cling on to life. Autumn will be coming soon, and with it, the eventual promise of thick frost and a blanket of snow, which will undoubtedly end yet another life cycle for these gentle plants. Even though he has lived many years, each season still has its own allure, and it is when the sky is painted with broad strokes of orange and yellow that he feels most at ease. It was rare to have a quiet moment in these dark days.
The war had been inevitable. The tension in the air was thick, the air static with the electricity of loathing and hatred across unseen borders. The pressure had grown unbearable, finally breaking out into a battle of broken skulls, crackling bones and spilled blood. Though he had managed to maintain neutrality - he had few enemies, but the alliance between his dwelling and the Amazonians had potential to wreck havoc on the lives of himself and his brothers but had not. He had seen rotting, bloating carcasses strewn about, their eye sockets barren and their limbs picked of their sinewy tendons and flesh by scavengers - many of their faces had been destroyed. Crush. Split. No longer recognizable. He and the others of the icy land had been untouched; he supposed he should be grateful for such.
The bristling chill of night was fading away, though the surface of his skin was undoubtedly cold to the touch. He shifted his limbs, rippling the taut muscles beneath his scarred coal-painted pelt, shaking off the sheen of ice that had coated his flesh in the night. He stepped forward from the brush, allowing his skin to bathe in the soft morning light, though his dark crimson eyes remain shielded by his long, tangled tresses as they drape over his gaze. He peers through, seeking movement stirring among the stillness of the ice wall, and at first - he sees nothing.
A second glance tells him otherwise.
He is a sight to behold, and though he is not massive in stature in the way that he himself is, he is glorious nonetheless. His broad, alabaster wings are outstretched, undoubtedly shaking themselves free of the confines of frost, before cradling next to his pale dappled pelt. He watches him, stark against the shining reflection of ice behind him, his maroon gaze peering from a distance .. until he finally makes a move. He approaches slowly but deliberately, allowing the laziness of morning to thread its way into his every movement. His mass stalks through the increasingly barren land, his weight shifting the moist soil beneath him as he steps closer to his King.
"Hurricane - I am Offspring," his voice rumbles out, deep but dry from the crisp air. "I have been searching you out for some time. The Tundra has been quiet - too quiet, but calm while war has come and gone. There are negotiations now, and the slaughter seems to be coming to a close .. the brotherhood is wondering what is next for us."
OFFSPRING
Updated the post to be more relevant for the times. @[insane]
The seasons roll past in a constant ebb and flow, an eternal tide that washes over the Tundra with grass and lichen and small flowers followed by frost and snow and icy winds. Summer is slowly ceding to the frigid grasp of winter, but for the moment he is allowed to enjoy the sweet, all too brief months of summer. Even in the early morning, with a rime of frost melting slowly in the rising sun, the air holds a bright warmth.
He had been standing quietly in the morning light, still and unmoving as he contemplated the brightening sky. But as the day comes to life, so does he. Stretching his pale wings, he shakes the remaining frost from the sleek feathers. As he does so, a faint sound reaches his ears. Turning his flinty gaze, he catches sight of the dark stallion approaching him.
He knows of him, of course. He would be remiss not to have at least kept an eye on the newest member integrating himself into the kingdom. Perhaps he should have been more social and introduced himself sooner, but Hurricane has never been much good at adhering to all the typical social graces. Nevertheless, the time had apparently come.
”Offspring.”
As the man nears, introducing himself, Hurricane fixes a dark, steely gaze upon him.
”I know.”
The other stallion continues, his words frank and straightforward - a trait that the gray king can appreciate – Hurricane listens thoughtfully. He doesn’t respond immediately, pausing instead to consider the black stallion with intense scrutiny. The Tundra had long been a quiet kingdom, though it had grown since he had taken the throne. Indeed, the sole reason he had taken up the mantle had been to safeguard the kingdom until a more appropriate candidate could be found. Even if he had been unsuited to the role, much better a loyal Brother than some power hungry usurper. But now… now things have begun to change.
”We will continue on, as we always have. With luck, the threat to us will remain minimal.”
After all, his goal was not to destroy the kingdom, but rather build it. He had never thirsted for power or glory the way so many others did, and so he had let this war pass them by. In any case, it had not needed them.
”With so many new Brothers, an initiation will need to be held. You, and the others, will need to face the caves. And then, we will need to discuss a change.”
lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all. but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
The corners of his lips tug up into the faintest of smiles - perhaps more of a smirk, as it was barely present - but it faded softly moments later. He had not thought for even a moment that Hurricane might not know who he was - he himself had spent more than sixteen rotations of the moon beneath the pale, starlit night sky and within the icy confines, all without having seen a trace of him. He knew, however, that did not mean that he had been absent. He had seen him shift his visibility, and understood early on that Hurricane was not the type to remain in a single space for too long - nor was he the type to openly press for answers unless there was a necessity for it.
His own presence in the frostbitten flatland had evidently not stirred any concern, and now as he observed the other - his dark crimson gaze bore into that of his King, as their difference in stature was quite pronounced (he himself was a mass of above average height and sinewy, tense muscle and bone). But within his steely gaze he could see and sense that he was a good King; he had kept them from ruins in a tumultuous time, which was more than anyone could say for many of the other kingdoms. He had not been bloodthirsty, and he could appreciate that - he himself did not crave the violence, nor the bloodshed that had inevitably tainted the land red.
He listens, quietly, shifting his hefty weight from one leg to the other. His dark tresses hang over his dark eyes, though he leans his cheek to the left to nudge it aside to better assess the gray winged beast standing before him. He could sense the very tension in his bones; and the way that he studied him might cause unease in any other - but Offspring had lived too long and seen too much to be disturbed by a set of peering eyes. He returned the fiery gaze, imploring and non-confrontational, but unafraid. He could sense the weight of judgment, and it held no consequence to him. He was as he always had been - with over a century of life beneath his proverbial belt, it was needless to say that he feared little. He had seen so much. He had seen it all.
He dips his neck then, acknowledging his words with a steady nod before peering out along the flatland, staring at the very caves he had been told stories about as a young boy. He knew of their power, their danger - and he did not fear what they had to offer. He had been through worse, he had long ago decided. He had been facing his demons for the past seventy years.
"There are many changes in the kingdoms - there is a shift in the hierarchy in the Chamber, and trouble in the Gates - but I have heard nothing ill spoken of our own kingdom," He finally says, his baritone rumbling deep within his chest. "I dare say we should be at a minimal threat for at least a while."
However, with new hierarchies came new ideals, and with new ideals came new or folding alliances. Change was in the midst, even with the oncoming lull of a post-war mourning. He knew this much.
"I heard the stories as a boy. I will do what it takes. I am ready for it whenever you will me to do it, Hurricane, and I am certain the Brothers will be as well." He pauses, staring into the unmoving, stoic features of the dapple gray male, "What sort of change do you have in mind?"
03-14-2016, 05:12 PM (This post was last modified: 03-14-2016, 05:24 PM by Hurricane.)
In the other man, Hurricane senses a kindred spirit. He has lived for ages, far longer than most of Beqanna. But this man, he had lived a long life as well, had seen and done things long since forgotten in time, lost into the dust of endless existence. Just as Hurricane has. When one is that old, it is so easy to forget.
But, in an odd way, it had taught him the true value of life. He had seen just how ephemeral life could be for some. But they are the ones who make history.
As the massive beast shifts his weight before him, Hurricane remains still, black eyes fixed unerringly upon the darker stallion. Offspring does not flinch beneath the weight of his gaze, instead returning it with an intense stare of his own. At his words however, the other man’s red eyes turn towards the caves visible over the vast, flat expanse of the Tundra. Hurricane’s own gaze follows, catching on the small lump in the distance. He recalls only too well his own experience in the caves.
Needless to say, it had been less than pleasant. Which is saying something, especially when one has lived long enough to see all manner of terrible things. The snarled mass of scars, so recently returned to his flesh, tingles upon his hip, reminding him of the terrible trials required to gain that mark.
His attention is brought back to the present when Offspring continues, asking after the changes Hurricane is speaking of. Turning his gaze back to the other man, Hurricane considers him silently for a long moment. The change to come is a necessary one, a change long in coming. He had simply been waiting to find the right man.
When finally he does respond, gaze turning to contemplate the distant skyline, his voice is low and matter of fact.
”I was never meant to be king. Should never have been, if truth be told. But things were bad then.” Pause. ”They are better now, and so, I must step down. Pass on the burden, as it were.”
Blinking, he fixes hard eyes upon the larger stallion.
”I have been watching you. If you pass the tests the caves present to you, I think you would be a worthy king.”
lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all. but lend me your heart and i'll just let you fall.
The stories he had heard in his youth had been fierce, intimidating and altogether terrifying, but there were many things that his mother (could he refer to her as that? She was undeserving of the title, to say in the least.) had tried to use to instill fear, obedience and understanding it him - but it was her own callous behavior that held more bearing than any of her words had. As the years had shuffled past him, one by one, he found himself growing too old for such tales of destruction. There were many things in his long expanse of life that he had seen, experience, tasted and felt, all of which had been either ten times worse or half as horrendous as he had expected.
He had lost love, life, status and his own being for so long, he was not entirely certain what else the demons hidden away into that mystified, dire cave system that beckoned him forth, calling for him. He wondered if it were simply because of the dreams (nightmares) he had suffered in his youth, but he could almost hear the soft thrumming song emerge from its cavernous opening - a siren's song for the willing and brave. The only thing he had run away from was loss itself, and he realized then that if the cave had any sort of understanding of what lies beneath his rough exterior of scarred obsidian, if it could see the secrets and the pain that had been locked away for so long within the recesses of his mind, the demons might be far beyond his own imagination's eyes.
He drew in a long breath, letting it icy cool air coat his esophagus in its comforting embrace, taking a moment to savor the way that the bleak sunlight bears down onto his skin, warming him to the bone. He could feel the alabaster King's eyes boring into him once more, which forces him to look again, expecting to meet his steely gaze again but now Hurricane has looked away towards the horizon of the distance mountains and falling sky. He watches him for a long, quiet moment, unsure of what else to say - he can feel the weight of his oncoming words, and his breath catches in his throat.
His words find him speechless.
His stoic facade melts away in an instant, his brow furrowed slightly as the winged man before him confesses that he is undeserving of the crown - Offspring shakes his head, his forelock falling in the way of his eyes as he physically portrays his disagreement - and wishes to pass it on. To him. He remains silent, allowing the true proverbial burden of weight to settle evenly onto his sloping spine as he himself takes a moment to peer out onto the horizon, to the very few that dot the line with their presence and the lively brush and pockets of ice.
And then, "It would be an honor to stand where you have stood, Hurricane. I accept and I will do whatever you seem necessary." He thinks of the Brothers, of his adoptive son Thaniel and of Isle and of war. While Hurricane may view himself as a fixture of failure, he does not. Each of them are safe, their lands untouched in a tumultuous time. He cannot say that he himself will keep wartimes away from the Brothers - who can possibly know the future? - but he knew he would do anything to protect the land he had grown to adore to the marrow of his bones.
"In times of strife, all that the King's men can hope for is an eventual time of peace. Endless war and unnecessary loss are never the symbols of a great King, Hurricane," His dark red eyes meet with his. "and I admire you for that. I will do everything I can to protect this great kingdom, as you have. Let me brave the cave. I am ready."
