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