11-29-2015, 12:43 PM
Hurricane is always aware. He knows when there are newcomers upon his land, even without magic to aid him. Unfortunately he is not always nearby. He is only a man after all, one who must rely on (relatively) normal means of travel. Having wings does not grant him any special ability to arrive at his borders instantaneously, even as much as he would like it to.
His wings beat a steady rhythm as he makes his way across the cold, gray skies. It is one of those rare winter days where snow is not falling from the sky. This far north, snow is far more common than the sun is. Blizzards are expected and cold is so commonplace that it changes the men who live here. For better or for worse is yet to be determined.
He sees the pair of men long before he reaches them. One an unmarked white that nearly blends with the snow, the other a dappled pewter that contrasts easily with their icy surroundings. Hurricane himself is a snowy gray marked only by faint dappling on his flanks and knees, his wide, feathery wings extended, blending nearly perfectly with the gray sky above. Even without his invisibility, he wouldn’t be immediately visible against the pale, snow-laden clouds.
He is grimly satisfied to see that Brynmor is living up to his potential and already making himself an active member of the kingdom. He circles the pair, once, twice, high above as he watches them for a moment before making his descent. Even as he falls from the sky, snow begins to drift down alongside him. The Tundra never goes for long in the winter without snow flying.
He lands amongst the two stallions with a solid thump, his wings snapping shut as he settles them against his pale sides. It seems that Brynmor has been chiding the newcomer for violating their borders, and Hurricane cannot fault him for it. The wall stands for a reason, which fortunately makes it nearly impossible to cross their borders without detection. Although, if the man’s intention is join the Brotherhood, Hurricane could forgive him the oversight. It is true the Tundra is in need of Brothers, and he is not about to turn one away.
His steely gaze fixing upon the newcomer, he studies him for a long moment before finally offering an introduction, blunt though it may be.
”I am Hurricane. What is your purpose here?”
His wings beat a steady rhythm as he makes his way across the cold, gray skies. It is one of those rare winter days where snow is not falling from the sky. This far north, snow is far more common than the sun is. Blizzards are expected and cold is so commonplace that it changes the men who live here. For better or for worse is yet to be determined.
He sees the pair of men long before he reaches them. One an unmarked white that nearly blends with the snow, the other a dappled pewter that contrasts easily with their icy surroundings. Hurricane himself is a snowy gray marked only by faint dappling on his flanks and knees, his wide, feathery wings extended, blending nearly perfectly with the gray sky above. Even without his invisibility, he wouldn’t be immediately visible against the pale, snow-laden clouds.
He is grimly satisfied to see that Brynmor is living up to his potential and already making himself an active member of the kingdom. He circles the pair, once, twice, high above as he watches them for a moment before making his descent. Even as he falls from the sky, snow begins to drift down alongside him. The Tundra never goes for long in the winter without snow flying.
He lands amongst the two stallions with a solid thump, his wings snapping shut as he settles them against his pale sides. It seems that Brynmor has been chiding the newcomer for violating their borders, and Hurricane cannot fault him for it. The wall stands for a reason, which fortunately makes it nearly impossible to cross their borders without detection. Although, if the man’s intention is join the Brotherhood, Hurricane could forgive him the oversight. It is true the Tundra is in need of Brothers, and he is not about to turn one away.
His steely gaze fixing upon the newcomer, he studies him for a long moment before finally offering an introduction, blunt though it may be.
”I am Hurricane. What is your purpose here?”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
