Kingdom Meeting (Reply by June 5th)

[Errant]

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth With Mountain deposed, there is nothing standing in the way of the Tundra returning to its position as a respectable kingdom. The Brotherhood has never been especially large and Errant has no grandiose plans for them. He only wants them stable and reliable, a bastion of strength in the north. For that to work, the black king needs to know exactly what they want of their kingdom, and of him. Raising his head, Errant calls for the Brothers. When they’ve arrived and each has been greeted with a nod, he begins to speak. “Mountain is gone, and we are free of his reign of madness. I do not know what damage he might have done to our relations with the other kingdoms, but it is time to see where we stand.” They have no grand maester to organize this knowledge, and Errant knows that the responsibility will fall to him until a man worthy of the title steps up. “I am inclined to extend alliance to the Jungle as well as to the Falls – for the use of their healing waters.” He pauses, looks around to see if there are any objections, and then asks for them in case there are those not willing to speak up until asked: “What are your thoughts on these matters? Should the Tundra have more alliances or should we stick to treaties? Are there kingdoms that we should be wary of?” e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

ooc: this is also an activity check! so reply by June 5th or be removed from the board please

[Crito]

The bay roan stallion hides out when he knows Mountain’s reign is drawing to an end. He hates the man as much as any other brother - had wished the finale of his demise long ago – but he can’t be present for the execution. Not only because of his age (had the crazed man attacked, the older brother wouldn’t have stood a chance) but because of his softness. More than the warriors, perhaps, he knows the value of one’s mind. To lose it, or to never have it in the first place, is an incomprehensible fate. He’s not sure the once-king even knew of his own madness. Putting him down like a rabid wolf that is too close to base leaves a sour taste on his tongue. The sour taste lingers, but once the business of kingslaying (or whatever had felled the king from his throne) is over, Crito emerges again. He does so at Errant’s call. It’s loud and clear over the still winter scene. Snow had fallen the night before, and it now blankets the flatlands, crunching in satisfying fashion under the stallion’s feet as he walks across it. The air smells crisp and new, and he drinks it in greedily, trying to clear his mind for the meeting ahead. It’s difficult, though. He wonders if rehabilitation had ever been a possibility for the mad king; he wonders if the man was too far gone to save, that killing might have been its own kindness. As he draws near the gathered, he reminds himself that he does not know how Mountain had left. Secretly, he’s glad when Errant doesn’t tell them, either. Their king wonders of Mountain’s potential effects on the other kingdoms. Crito can only supply a partial answer. “The Chamber applauded us for dealing with Mountain ourselves – so no need to worry about them.” He smiles briefly, directing his attention to Errant. “Congratulations, by the way.” The roan looks about at the others, his grey eyes thoughtful. They seem to be a solid bunch this time around, he thinks. Before, the Brotherhood had seemed stretched thin. But now, the men have grit to go along with their scars. Many are physically imposing; he only hopes the diplomatic side is equally strong. “I would be happy to go to the Jungle. I agree that they are a natural fit, alliance-wise.” It’s been too long since he’s been back to the place of his birth, anyway. Extending a relationship would make the trip that much better. ( c r i t o )

reference picture //character info

[Aneku]

OOC: Hope you don't mind him dropping by? If not feel free to ignore this post. Just thought it would be better posting him here rather than cluttering the board? When you've had the sweet nectar of life taint your lips, nothing ever is the same again. When you've seen the life, the soul, lift from another right infront of your eyes, you are a changed man. It's these things that had shaped the fiery steed since his birth upon The Beach, some years ago now. The vile creature he was, a hellion spawned on earth. He lay beside the golden mare as she quivered and quaked, succumbing to her end -- he just made it that little bit faster. He remembers her words. It's those words that carved the mountainous path for him throughout his life. He was nothing like his brethren. Nothing like the pale stallion, Viento. No, of course. Because it was Aneku that had ended the golden mare's life. And it was he that was the curse upon her lips. Viento was the golden child if you will. Born of love, of care. Not the spawn of some sordid moment. The fiery brute had taken a long time, deliberate and slow was his search for that pale stallion. He found out many things, he found out he had children, he had a life. Aneku had found out that he lived in The Tundra -- many years ago now. Of course, he wouldn't be there. But where else to start again than to take the place of his 'rightful and honourable' brother? Aneku's ashen feet sunk into the thick bed of white. Cool and crisp, the air matted his mane, pulling at his skin in frostbitten bites and snatches. He welcomed the cold, it matched his frozen heart. His deadened eyes matched the backdrop of naked trees and wasteland. He already felt at home. He thought a second, his body bled into the backdrop and he was gone, a flash and he reappeared a hundred feet infront. He did this until he was near the border. He wasn't careless, he might have been a brute, a hellion of sorts but he was not careless. He knew the regulations and wouldn't break them without fair warning. So he stood by the border, the glimmering ice further in catching the bleak sun's rays. A glass kingdom, flawless and crystalline. It drew him in, the first moments of his life, he went over and over, playing back Jinca's words like a broken record. It was burning his crimson tipped ears. You are nothing like your brother, Viento. She had sounded so heartbroken, repulsed. He was the snake born in Eden. The repulsive creature with eyes of oblivion and a heart as black as night. Skin like fire and a thirst for blood. The memories shifted and his ear cocked to the sound of a call; an invitation, at least that was what the chestnut hellion took it as. He was deliberately slow with his stride, a lazy jog taking him further into the Tundra, where he saw glimpses of a few residents. His nostrils flared, catching the scent on the air. Everything frostbitten, cold. He stored it all into memory and remained more on the outskirts of the group that was building. He caught the eye of the black stallion, his obsidian gaze watching him thoughtfully. A King's respect is often due, so Aneku did not probe, he did not step out of place, instead he stood like a fire brand upon the white hinterland, stood and waited, listened and remained silent. His ears lazily perked, attuned and attentive, his eyes, though deadpan, saw all. carnage x jinca • teleportation • death god of nowhere

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[Hurricane]

The call rings out clearly across the cold air of the Tundra. His pale ears flick towards the sound, the distinctive voice causing him to lift his head from the patch he had dug in the snow. It is rare to find him on the ground rather than patrolling the skies, but even he has to eat. Now though, his meal could wait. The meeting could not.

He had been expecting this actually. With Mountain gone, Errant would need to cement his claim. Call the Brotherhood together. Give orders. Be a king. So Hurricane answers the call, dappled body launching into the overcast sky with the ease of many years of practice. His large, pale wings carry him swiftly over the barren earth until he finds Errant and the gathering Brothers.

He settles onto the ground, hooves punching through the snow to land on the frozen layer beneath. He is alert, attention evenly divided between the newly crowned king and the slowly gathering group of brothers. As soon as the scarred stallion begins to speak, Hurricane’s dark eyes fix on him as he listens.

He does not speak immediately, allowing other’s the have their say first. He mulls over Errant’s questions for long moments, collecting his thoughts before adding his own voice.

We should make alliances, rather than treaties. While treaties have their time and place, they are all too easily broken. If you need me to, I would be willing to visit any kingdom you wish us to ally ourselves with.

He pauses for a moment before adding his second opinion. He suspected this opinion would be the more controversial one.

I also think that we should send an envoy to any kingdom with a magician. Make an alliance if we can, and keep our guard up if we cannot. While magicians may not be any more or less duplicitous than any other horse, they have the power to back it up if they so choose. Not all of them are as… circumspect in the use of their magic as you are. And we already know the havoc even a single magician can wreak if he or she so chooses.

There is never a day that goes by

that is a good day to die.

Hurricane

html c Insane

[brisk]

for a moment, you were wild with abandon like a child, just a moment Brisk is the daughter of a sire with history both in the Tundra and elsewhere, and a dam with history consisting mostly in the Tundra. She is born and bred and raised from the chilly slopes of the kingdom, and would continue to live and work for the Tundra if it were not for her unfortunate gender. In the brutal lands of an all-male kingdom, there came a brutal female. But she still finds herself slipping into the rankings when they are beckoned for a meeting, despite her obvious lack of working because of her gender. She has a right to be there, however; she is still a member of the kingdom (at least until the spring of her fourth year, where she must decide whether to spend her years bearing children or move elsewhere to work toward a life of servitude), even though she spends her time with the wildlife rather than the actual kingdom. The presence of Errant as king doesn’t shock Brisk – both of her parents spoke of the magician as a good ruler during his years. Honestly, she doesn’t care who the ruler of the Tundra is, so as long as she can continue living here until she is kicked out or labeled a broodmare. When they begin talking of treaties and alliances, Brisk cannot keep the look of eternal boredom onto her harshly-drawn face. Sharp eyes turn toward each speaker, ears twisting to take in their words. Her mother had taught her briefly of the kingdoms and their various mission outlooks, but beside that she knows little of the outside world. Brisk remains silent, although her mind thrums with tidbits of information she might find worthwhile. Her mother had also taught her to remain silent in the presence of a man unless spoken to, despite how brash and outlandish Brisk is. And so she remains externally calm, her harsh eyes moving toward each one that speaks. brisk rigdon and annaliesa

[Brennen]

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 good for them to move forward promptly from the fall of Mountain. Brennen is glad to come to the call of a King with a brain in his head, and gladder still to come to the call of one who is familiar. He had been cautious of accepting unproven men into their ranks when Rapscallion and Mountain had come along (though not particularly inclined to do anything about it at first), and time had proven his gut feelings accurate. It would be good to return to a known status quo for a time.

So he lands amongst them, folding his wings and looking at the faces that surround him. Errant, of course, but moreso at the others. He knows little of Hurricane, though he approved of the way the other had deported himself while they dealt with their mad king. And Kratos – the young Brother is rash, perhaps, but is that not the way of the young? – Kratos is fierce as well, raw power that might be shaped to true skill with the temper of time. He had held his own against Brennen when the battled. Crito is there, a calm voice against their bright flames, and the warrior knows that he will be an asset when so many of them are warriors first and diplomats second. Then there are strangers – a silent chestnut there, and the mare. They are missing several of the other younger Brothers, but Brennen does not doubt that they will come in their time.

He listens to the others before he, too, speaks. “I am in favor of alliance with the Jungle and the Falls.” Those would be his first picks, in fact – he thinks with a half-smile of Malka and Scorch and the strength of the Jungle women, and his own affinity for the people of the Falls. None of Neraza’s brood rule there now, not for many years, but it doesn’t matter. One day they will return home, and Brennen will do the best he can to ensure they have a home to return to. The part of him that once loved her still owes them that, and he is glad they have the healing waters to make them a strong candidate for Alliance to his icy home.

He is more wary of magicians. “I do not think every Kingdom with a magician worthy of alliance.” he says quietly, “And unless the King goes himself, we may never know a magician unless they choose to reveal themselves. Better that we make our alliances few, and maintain a polite distance from the others. I think it will be enough that they know of Errant, and they will choose easier pickings.” Three of their Kingdom brethren will be without magicians because no magician could survive long in the Falls, Gates, or Chamber. Brennen feels no real affinity towards the Deserts without Morphine within their borders, has no cares for the Dale at all, and dislikes the Valley. Better to keep their alliances few, and uncomplicated.

“I, too, can go wherever necessary. Perhaps I should accompany Crito, just in case the women of the Jungle are less than receptive to our overtures.” He knows nothing of Crito’s familial link to the Amazons, nor probably do any of the other Brothers know of his own son living there even now, but he knows well the warrior skill the Amazons can bring to bear. It would not do for an overzealous sister to bring harm to their diplomat if Crito traveled alone.

brennen

immortal, winged, bone-bending, ice-manipulating, wind-manipulating Tundra warrior

[Nihlus]

there's no religion that could save me

no matter how long my knees are on the floor

i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding

if that'll make it right

Ah, how he has missed the fun. Mountain, dead? His head spins. Where is he? Frowning, his ominously glowing blue eyes flutter open. When the bare Tundra landscape greets him, he jumps out of his skin.

Literally.

The Tundra suddenly is not, and is, all at once. Where hard lines stood at the horizon and upon the small, sparse bushes, undefined edges now waver. No sun adorns the sky, though the sky itself is a dull scarlet, and entirely empty. The earth beneath him is made up of dozens of shades of navy, and it moves hazily, as though a heat of unimaginable magnitude distorted his vision. As though this is not disorientating enough, Nihlus watches as mysterious lights float through the vegetation, lights which perhaps represent souls, or perhaps they are other beings entirely.

Horrified, the young stallion dashes inland, towards a call which sounds incredibly distorted to his astral-ears. Behind him a physical print remains, frozen in terror. His surroundings move like liquid over his skin, making his travel seem slow, even as the earth flies beneath his hooves – or should I say, where his hooves should be. As he looks down, he realizes that he is levitating, and incredibly un-horse like. He remembers the light-balls dashing through the atmosphere with a sickly feeling in his stomach.

This is because of Carnage. Gail. I didn’t save Gail. This is my punishment. My own personal hell.

Before he manages to understand this new power of his – this gift – he arrives to the meeting. Silver light-balls rotate around Errant, the only physical remainder of their realm. Nihlus startles, his physical body twitching as his astral-form begins rotating the new king. The magician’s voice rings strangely in his mind, as though it is, and is not, similarly to the land around him. Nihlus wonders if perhaps he sees his uncle in this way because of his magic. Frowning, the man speaks – or rather, thinks – towards the newly crowned king without realizing that only the magician will hear his other-realmed voice.

"I’m sorry I couldn’t help kill Mountain, I had to rescue Gail – say, are you seeing what I’m seeing?" He glances to the hazy navy landscape, then to the sunless, dust-red sky. "I’m really quite frightened. For the record, I want an alliance with --"

--Oh! The black-bay stallion suddenly disappears from the meeting, leaving behind the random realm he had chanced upon, trading it for the one which they all knew intimately. Breathing heavily, Nihlus realizes that his skin drips in sweat. A frown decorates his handsome face. What the actual fuck. Shaking his head wildly, the young stallion inhales shakily before moving towards the meeting for a second time.

Little did he realize that he had exerted himself to the point of being unable to hold the projection for such an extended period of time. Perhaps, later, he will learn.

"THE JUNGLE!" He gasps hoarsely whence finally he does arrive, in this reality. Everything about him seems ragged, and in his exhaustion, fatigue, and utter confusion, he does not even notice the stares he is bound to get.

Fuck. What did I think, going into a wormhole for the devil’s mistress?

Nihlus

rain manipulating, rabbit shifting, astral-projecting son of Sinder & Noori

[Errant]

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth Crito is the first to speak, and Errant turns his grey gaze (the same grey as Crito’s) to the roan stallion as he speaks. He speaks of the Chamber and Errant nods – he’d smelled the pine and ash in the air and had assumed diplomats from there had visited, but had trusted his Brothers to deal with them on their own. It seems that had done so, and Errant is glad that it had gone well. Crito also offers to go to the Amazons, which brings a small smile to Errant’s dark face; he wonders what it would be like returning to a birthplace after so long away. An unfamiliar chestnut stallion comes to linger at the edges of the gathering crowd, and though Errant does not know him, he greets him with a nod regardless. Perhaps a new recruit, or a stallion come to visit – Errant does not mind, and he has no secrets from his brothers. He catches something, a faint memory of a name that he might have known from the aura around the stallion, but Errant is not invasive or abusive with his magics, and lets the stallion keep whatever secrets that he has. Hurricane speaks up next, the pale stallion as opinionated as Errant had expected him to be. He is glad of those, though the other horse might think otherwise; differing opinions provide stability in a kingdom in the same way that alternating layers of stones strengthens the walls of a building. Errant appreciates this kingdom because they are a nation of Brothers, not of clones. Brennen echoes the other’s thoughts on alliances with the Jungle and the Falls, and Errant is sure that these had been good ideas. The large-winged horse does not agree with Hurricane on the issue of magicians though, and Errant finds himself nodding. The Valley and the Deserts both have magicians, and the idea of tying themselves into an alliance with two opposite ends of the spectrum of light versus dark would seem to inevitably lead to conflict. He’s about to say as much when something speaks, and he glances up, trying to pinpoint the location of the voice. It’s Nihlus, but as soon as Errant finds him he’s gone again, and then is suddenly in the distance, pulling up to the meeting with heavy breathing. Frowning, Errant only nods. He will figure out what has happened with Nihlus later. “We seem united on alliances with the Falls and with the Amazons.” He says, glancing around to see if there are any last minute dissenters. His grey gaze does linger a moment longer of Brisk, aware without effort that she is Rigdon’s daughter and Lea’s niece. She’s nearly old enough to choose what to do with herself; he is curious what she will choose. But for now, the kingdom is most important. “Crito, if you would go with Hurricane to the Amazons and propose an alliance, Brennen will go to the Falls. Perhaps Nihlus, you could join him?” Errant knows of the older stallion’s affection for the neutral kingdom and of Nihlus’ lack of commitment to any kingdom – he means to offer the young horse something to do and the older one as pleasant an experience as possible. “And Crito, if you could let your sister know that Simeon is unlikely to ever achieve any rank in the Tundra with his performance thus far.” Errant had hopes for the boy, but his absense and lack of dedication has done little to support that. “I do agree with Brennen regarding magicians. Allying with kingdoms with magicians is a defense that I do not feel we need. We should be wary of them, but not overly cautious. Perhaps with them – with the Desert and the Valley – a treaty might be in order. Friendly steals and challenges, but no promises of aid in war?” Here he looks to Hurricane, his grey gaze meeting that of the winged stallion to see what he might think of Errant’s addendum to his auggestion. e r r a n t no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

[Kratos]

The black and white stallion had been skulking along the Tundra’s great wall, bitter-faced and grumbling for days when the call came. Ill-tempered and bloodied, he was no sight to be seen let alone a presence to be pleasant enough to be around. He had been searching for Rhy since he was shit from the wormhole just outside the Tundra’s borders. Kratos had traveled from the Tundra to the Jungle and back more times in the past few days than any horse his size should have been. He is more of a mountain than a river and mountains don’t tend to like to move much.

But he comes anyway, still smelling of the Otherworld and the wound on his flank blossoming out from his white hide like some twisted obsidian flower. And even though he comes, his hooves are heavier than ever and he is late to the summoning of the Brothers. When he arrives he tilts his heavy head to Errant in acknowledgment as he loiters along the edges of the gathering. He nods stiffly to the old man although he had missed what Crito said, but next his black gaze crawls to the chestnut who’s name he did not know. “Who are you?” He asks, there is no aggression in his voice although the words fall bluntly from an intemperate tongue.  Kratos has not missed the presence of the mare but he does not extend the same question to her – he merely regards her with a weighted glance.

His attention is pulled away when Brennan begins to speak, flicking an ear to catch the winged stallion’s words as he offers him a tilt of his head as he had Errant. Kratos’ flesh still bore the story of their battle, Brennan’s ice shards had painted a macabre illustration across his legs and belly that was only half-healed. But it only made the titan begin to feel a kinship for the bay, blood spilled together is friendship half-earned his father had said once.

Nihlus is there too, smelling like there, smelling like them and when Gail’s name leaves his lips, Kratos lets out a loud snort – frustration scrawled across his face. Nihlus had been there too, in the Otherworld with the Great Old Ones. They both had returned and yet Rhy had yet to still fall beneath his gaze, it crossed him and made him noticeably more irritable.

He turns his stormy gaze back to the King as he speaks on alliances and treaties and magicians. Magic was no novelty to Kratos, he had been reared amongst dragonwings and dragonfire – his stepmother a magician herself. Kratos was, of course, partial to the Deserts and now the Jungle. The titan had many bloodties that still lived amongst the sand dunes beneath the two new queens, one a magician herself. “Both the Valley and the Deserts have magicians on their thrones,” he begins, “but the Deserts have two magicians at its helm,” he says. Kratos shifts his weight from his injured left side before he continued, “and although there were many years of unrest between the Valley and the Deserts beneath my father’s reign, there has been even more years of silence between the two. I don’t think a war between the two is of any immediate threat, I see no reason why we should not treaty with them both.”  Kratos’ gaze flicks from face to face from beneath a black veil of forelock, “I have no opinion on the Falls and the Jungle would make for a staunch ally, although it’s clear their queen hunts power.” Which wasn’t necessarily a negative attribute in Kratos’ tally book. “I’ll go to the Deserts,” he offers, it had been over a year since he had felt sand beneath his hooves.

Kratos

the electric titan of vanquish and lyric

[Aneku]

Magic, a pulse that rivulets through the ground beneath, like an electric current that ebbs and flows within all in Beqanna; both a blessing and a curse, both revered and feared. The topic, Aneku hears, is about the Magicians that Beqanna boasts in it’s ranks. An ash tipped ear curves and listens to each man as they show themselves and make themselves known, not only in appearance but with silver tongues and gilded words. The chestnut beast knew nothing of hierarchy, knew nothing of past events, he also did not make himself a fixture in politics. He was a stray leaf, blowing on the breeze, but unlike a decaying piece of foliage, he was very much alive, and very much all ears. As each new face turned up, he watched them, his deathly eyes meeting each with a studious stare, cold, knowing. He was an outsider, he knew as much and he also knew never to step over a boundary. He was wise, not stupid. Brave, not brash. A beast within but dead on the outside. He licked his lips, enticingly listening to each in turn. He briefly met the gaze of the girl; her wayward eyes and face of ennui made her quite the spectacle. But the blood-red beast acknowledged nothing, just listened, just watched. Until he was met with a glance from the crown. An acknowledgement was given and thus the beast drew his muzzle, a slight dip, respect. Nothing more, and no less. Fiery tendrils crept over his face as the crisp wind blew through the icy valley. His skin peppered with a frostbitten kiss, he became numb, attuned to it all to soon. He could live here, he could see himself a firebrand upon the white background quite easily.  he snorted, cool, low. If his brethren could have lasted here for a while, then the decision was already made in his mind. He had to learn things, store them in little crevasses in his mind. That was when dangerous things could happen. Finally someone spoke to him. He waited with a patience of an elder. He had no say in conversation, he was an outsider, a vagabond. His grey muzzle twisted a little as the painted one spoke. ”Aneku.” he answered. One word, one name. His head then turned to each, a long deliberation taking over everyone’s face. They each were worn in their own way. They lived lives of a thousand memories, some scarred with them, some tainted with a heavy weight on their shoulders. He was a quiet one, but Aneku saw things. He knew things. ”Your numbers look sparse,” his voice is chilling, cold, just like the sharp wind that billowed past him, making him look like wildfire as it took hold of wisps of mane. ”I’m here to add to them.” a long, deliberating pause and he added once more, with a slight grin on his otherwise dead-pan features. ”If you want.” Regarding the rest of the conversation; of alliances, of dead kings and magicians, he said nought. Just remained silent, watching, imposing in a way a fly might impose upon a corpse. Eyes and ears and feelers holding a grip upon the living. He was there, just there. Waiting. Watching. carnage x jinca • teleportation • death god of nowhere

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