Do you wanna play a game?

[Errant]

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth Even without magical aid (not that Errant is prone to use of it at all), it is clear that Killdare is more at ease with Straia, despite the surprise that he’s shown at her seemingly unexpected rank. Errant is no stranger to Queens (he is both the son of, lover of, and sire of several queens), but they – like all women – have no place in the society in which Errant exists. They are not without merit, of course, but the same mysterious air that Killdare finds intriguing about Straia is one that does not exist in the Tundra (unless one considers Nihlus, who plays the coquette to anything with a heartbeat). When Killdare tells them what he is looking for, Errant’s dark ears prick forward curiously. He’s intrigued, and clearly pleased, nodding as the other stallion elaborates. That is exactly what the Tundra needs and he intends on saying as much when Straia speaks up. It’s no surprise that all kingdoms desire a similar set of attributes in their potential members – they all want the best and the strongest. Errant wants the same thing, men that will prove loyal to the kingdom (though not to him personally as a King; in that too he and Straia are also similar it would seem), men that will advance the Tundra’s reputation as battle-ready warriors, as tough and unyielding as the northern tundra in which they make their home. “You can be called whatever you’d prefer in the Tundra.” He says, sure that Straia had meant no offense and somewhat amused if his faint smile is anything to go by. “There is a place for you in the Tundra’s Army, and the other men and I will be more than happy to call you by whatever title you achieve. There are plenty available, though you’ll likely have competition for the highest ranks.” Rather than glance over at Straia – and make it clear that he doubts Killdare will have competitors in the quiet Chamber – he keeps his grey gaze steady on the stallion. “While my kingdom isn’t as innately hospitable as Straia’s, you’re welcome to visit there as well.” It does not good to lie about the terrain of his homeland; it is a cold and harsh place, but he cannot imagine any other place more capable of men into warriors. “I’m sure I could find you someone to spar with, if that’s of interest to you. I’m could use some practice myself.” In this he is unlike Straia – Errant is a warrior. The scars on his hide are tribute to that, healed wounds from past battles – some of them for his life. He’s not lost yet, and is curious how Killdare might measure up against other warriors that he has faced, and against the other warriors of the Tundra. Fairly well, he assumes, but he can only judge from experience. e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her