"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
There's none so blind as those who will not listen.
Too long. He has been away too long. And for that he only has himself to blame. Something he does too. Not the Reckoning, or the fairies, or Gryffen – though the pale wraith is to blame for a lot of other bad things in his life – no, the real blame here lies with him. Brynmor himself. Not something to be proud of.
He has been weak, both in actions and heart. Unable to face his own demons, demons he had beat before, but who had gotten back at him. He’d gotten too used to luxury, relied on his fulfilled wish too much. And so, when the fairies had removed all their given gifts, the demons had seen the chance to deliver their payback. Succeeded at it too. Laughed in his face when the fairies restored magic.
The only demon that shows, is his own reflection in the river’s surface.
It’s wobbly and deformed, also paler than he remmebers, the water rushing by too fast across many rocks and other unevenness. But it is the only right reflection. Brynmor is the demon, his own personal demon. He has dragged himself down, and now threatens to pull others down with him.
If there only someone would appear, to show him the right path again. Like Hurricane had done long ago. Once he had been strong enough to get back out of the dirt by himself – or had it only been a well-hidden façade? – but Brynmor is not strong. He’s weak. Has not taken care of himself, failed to do so, as he first had fought his demons, then given in to him.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
The world has changed around him, and he lives for the bright spots that feel either familiar or good – because they aren’t always the same, and there certainly aren’t enough things that are both. But strangely enough, his two worlds are colliding and he thinks the result might be something he can live with. It might even be better than that – it might be something he loves. But it’s not quite done, this new thing, and it takes careful planning and his supervision, and it’s going to take bodies. Not just any bodies – good, strong, smart, loyal bodies. So not just any man he meets, but carefully cultivated recruits, and so he spends some of that precious time searching for likely candidates.
But he certainly wasn’t expecting to see a familiar face, here where the river comes bubbling and burbling across the rocks and the plants. It takes him a minute of watching from afar to place the familiar face, to match a name to it, but when he does he immediately changes directions and comes towards the light-colored stallion, nickering a friendly greeting as he approaches. “Brynmor!” he grins at the other, and tries to stay in the present, letting the memories flash across the back of his mind but refusing to be caught up in them.
He hadn’t been Hurricane’s biggest fan, he’d admit to that freely, but despite the attitude problems Brennen was convinced the man had, he’d been a strong and loyal Brother of the Tundra. They might have butted heads a few times, but they’d also come together when it counted the most, like when they drove the insane Mountain from their throne. His memories of Brynmor are fuzzier, but also decidedly more pleasant. He would be pleased to bring the pale stallion back into the fold of the Brotherhood, but it has to be something the other stallion wants as well. “What are you up to, these days?”
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
There's none so blind as those who will not listen.
It is almost as if history is repeating itself. Almost, because there are a couple of little details that differ from before. This time Brynmor stands on the riverbank, instead of at the water bank of a lake, though the water again gently washes over his front hooves. Years ago he had found his way to the water to quench his thirst, today he is simply staring at his reflection. Although no longer blind, and yet at the same time staring ahead without really seeing.
One thing that is the same, is that a brother stumbles upon him. A brother that can offer him the purpose he thinks he has lost. Though Brennen does not resemble Hurricane one bit.
The nicker pulls his gaze away from his reflection in the water, to find the winged bay stallion approaching him. Like the other male, Brynmor needs a couple of seconds to put a face to the name. ”Brennen” he offers in return, a light dip of his head as his eyes study his former brother. Brennen looks good, not just alive, but thriving. Very unlike the greying male himself.
”Not too much, honestly..” he honestly replies, with a light shrug of his shoulder. It was easier to be a little vague than admit his weakness, his failure. In his blindness he had strayed away from Beqanna, not just strayed away, but also had allowed it to happen. ”What is Beqanna like these days?” What Brynmor really wants to ask, is what happened in the first place and what has become of the Brotherhood.
BRYNMOR
OOC: Sorry, I'm not yet feeling Brynmor. Hopefully he'll become easier to write with each post I write..
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
It feels good to be recognized, not for his strange reputation in the new world, but for his history as a Brother. First Scorch and now Brynmor, and his sons and daughters, and these things breath life into the bay stallion. Even the Alliane which lights fire in his blood. He may have been a shadow of himself before, but today as Brynmor observes he is thriving. A state he never imagined to regain without his Tundra.
The graying man’s words cause him to thoughtfully consider their world. “Beqanna is strange, but it’s settling into a new normal. We lost everything except some common lands, as you probably have noticed, and the new lands are different. The politics are different, with everyone settling into a new normal. But the spirit of the people remains the same.” This is what Brennen is counting on - the spirit of his people, old and new. His Brothers.
“I’m living now in a place called Ischia. It’s about as different from the Tundra as one could get - tropical islands.” Has he mentioned the warm islands are growing on him? Because he’s starting to think he wouldn’t give them up even if the Far offered him his Tundra today; let Krone and her empty followers move there. The Brothers will take the islands. “It’s a nice place - but purposeless. And quiet. But I have begun to gather those who remind me of home, and what we lost, and we are going to take it for the Brotherhood, and usher in a new era alongside the remains of the Amazons who have settled in the seaside Kingdom of Nerine.”
And he smiles, the expression slowly spreading across his face and every ounce of his old passion and mischief in that expression. Then he tilts his head and the unspoken question is clear in the space that hangs between them: you interested?
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
There's none so blind as those who will not listen.
In this world, Brynmor is nothing, has nothing. The Reckoning had taken everything he loved away from him. His family, Roan and Igni, his home, the Tundra, and his friends, his brothers, too. But he had lost himself too. He does want to blame the fairies, and their stupid Reckoning, but deep down the graying stallion knows that he only has himself to blame. A truth he still struggles with.
To hear that Beqanna is doing better, able to move on and settle into a new normal, as Brennen phrases it, unsettles him. Selfishly he wanted to hear that Beqanna is like him, struggling to find herself again, but it seems that is something Brynmor faces alone now.
”I noticed” he says, nodding lightly. He is not able to hold Brennen’s gaze, and instead his eyes wander across the riverbank and eyes the forest at the horizon. ”Beqanna is the same, and at the same time she is not.” How the people dealt with that, was something he would have to believe on Brennen’s word. The bay Brother is the first one Brynmor has seen, or spoken to, in years.
Brynmor cannot say that Brennen’s new home sounds appealing. The Tundra is the only real home he has ever known, and to know that it was forever gone still hurts like an open wound. Don’t get him wrong, he is glad that his Brother – perhaps the only one left – has found a new place, but Brynmor’s own heart still longs for the Tundra. And all that it stood for. The Brotherhood.
A Brotherhood Brennen is attempting to bring back. No Tundra, now snow and ice, on a tropical island instead, but nonetheless a Brotherhood. Slowly his ears flick forward, and for the first time in a while life shimmers in his eyes. ”The Brotherhood?” Brynmor is unable to not ask. He has to. It might be the most normal thing to Brennen to bring back the Brotherhood, but to Brynmor it brings hope. That and the desire to belong, to be part of, and help him find purpose.
No, to help him find himself again.
The silence stretches, and with each passing second the air turns more static. Expectations rise and the promise of it excites the graying male. ”Do you have a place for an old friend, among the ranks of your new Brotherhood?”
Brynmor had never been known to beat around the bush.
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
Ischia had not been especially appealing to Brennen at first either; but it had had its redeeming qualities. For one, it was hard to reach and easily defensible, which felt familiar and good. For another, it had been very nearly empty. For Brennen, in more than a bit of sulk after failing to settle properly in Nerine or Hyaline. But it’s growing on him; and his purpose makes it quite perfect. Perhaps returning Brothers will miss the weather of their Tundra, but they won’t miss the feeling of isolation, because the Island had plenty of that.
He feels a surge of feeling in his chest when Brynmor perks up at the mention of the brotherhood; every Brother (new and old) that he finds and brings home settles something inside of the bay stallion – it’s a bit like the feeling he gets from his children, and a bit different. He views each brother as true family, so perhaps it’s not that odd that he gets a similar feeling from them as he does from his children.
The anticipation rises between them, but for Brennen the anticipation has been growing for months; so he simply absorbs it and waits, still and quiet. Patience usually pays off, and today is no different. Brynmor speaks in the affirmative, and the bay stallion gives him another quick grin at his question, and a nod. “Of course we do,” he says, and then chuckles a little before continuing, “The young creatures I’ve been recruiting will need as many of us old-timers as we can find to show them how it’s done.”
Brennen hopes, of course, that the ‘young creatures’ he speaks of will also have valuable ideas and input of their own, but when you’re man decades older than most of them, you get to poke at least a little fun at their youth. And a balanced society always works out best – balance between old and new, young and elder, warriors and diplomats. There’s an inherent imbalance in a bachelor Kingdom, but that just means they must work harder to level out other areas. “Let me show you the way to Ischia,” he offers.
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
BRENNEN
ooc; sorry this is horribly overdue but here it is and maybe we can move them to Ischia? <3
