"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
He walks towards the Tundra like he was meant to be here all along. He knows nothing about this place, as he knows nothing about much of Beqanna, but he is determined to learn and to fit in. Corin will never really fit in - he is striped and he is gold and neither of those things are too common, even in this land of magic and mystery - but he doesn’t want to stick out more than he has to.
He stops, looking around, wide eyes taking in everything they can. There is a sky-scraper-high wall of thick ice in front of him, stretching either side of him, and he can only see one small chink in the wall. He heads towards it, keeping his head low but still marching forward. He can’t show weakness; someone told him that, once, and he sticks to it as best he can.
The cold settles around him as soon as he passes through the wall; his breath is white, and the wind nips at his ears. It’s not painful, though, but he knows winter is just around the corner and this land will be more frozen than it already appears to be. He thinks, just for a second, that maybe this wasn’t the best choice. Then again, if he can survive here, he can survive anywhere.
Finding a clearing, the gold striped stallion lifts his head. He doesn’t call out, there’s no need - he can see several horses looking at him already. Corin waits, patiently, to see who will be the first to greet him.
It had honestly surprised the graying blind man that Corin had agreed to follow him to the Tundra. Sure he might had spoken more about his home than Phaedrus had, but he hadn’t thought it would be enough. Not that Brynmor is complaining, in fact, it’s more like the opposite. It had been his first trip to the field in an attempt to recruit some men for the Tundra and he had succeeded just like that. And he would be lying if he would say that it didn’t feel good. ”See, I’m not worthless like they all say, I’m capable to contribute something for my home” he says smudgy, his lips curling up in a satisfied smile. His words were addressed towards his friend, the imaginary voice in his head. ’Don’t get too excited, Brynnie. This was just beginner’s luck’ is his friends snarky reply. Yet Brynmor cannot bring himself to care, he is simply too content with his success.
He isn’t far away from the opening in the ice wall when Corin passes through. Normally he wouldn’t be too fond of others just crossing their border like that. And they couldn’t say they didn’t know they had entered the Tundra’s territory, the southern wall was a pretty clear sign. Yet he also knows that he had been the one to invite Corin in, meaning that the striped man wasn’t the one to blame. In his slow, careful step Brynmor follows the stallion into the lands. Like always he had been lurking around the wall, easily picking up the scents and sounds of those who enter their kingdom, and now he used those same senses to follow Corin.
”You came” he simply stated as he reached the other male. While he slowly moves himself around the striped man to face him a small smile spread across his lips and he dips his head in a greeting. ”Welcome to the Tundra.” He directs his gaze in approximately the direction Corin is in and like always his gaze is pretty accurate, only a little off. But Brynmor would have to admit that the snow made it easier for him. With even the slightest movement – the moving of your weight from your left legs to the rights would be enough to cause a crackling sound – he would know where the other horse stood. ”I assume you are interesting of joining the Tundra’s brotherhood?”
"Through your secret."
OOC: 'Italic' is what the imaginary voice in his head says and thus only Brynmor can hear and "colored" is what Brynmor himself says.
She has kept to herself since coming back; well, aside from the lukewarm welcome she received from the one stallion who smelled like here but not really (even if his scent was becoming more prolific on the air). The little mare doesn't mind being all alone in the vastness of such a harsh unforgiving land - she rather likes it, it is as rugged and challenging a place as any could be and she welcomes the trials and tribulations it presents to her. Maybe she would think otherwise if she wasn't blind and could see how devastatingly bleak the tundra really was, except that she thought it wonderfully frigid and downright homey but that's because she was born and raised here.
The cold nips at her heels and she leaves her lonesome ways and thoughts behind to move closer to the places they've been known to gather in. She's in search of company without really knowing why when she's so used to being on her own but apparently she is feeling the need to hear others speak, breathe, and generally exist. Sometimes, the tundra makes you feel really small and aware of how you fit into the grand scheme of things just through the sheer scale of ice and snow and coldcoldcold, brrrrr. Roan shiver-shakes a step or two as she nears a clearing and smells a stranger. Well, he definitely doesn't smell like here or the other stallions she's scented on the air.
She smells Brynmor, having only recently met him herself but he was an oddly affable sort once he let down his guard. The little roan mare offers him a friendly nicker of greeting - both of them really. She listens to Brynmor talk before saying anything at all; “Hello, I'm Roan and you should definitely join the brothers here - it's too quiet.” Sometimes, she could be a little forward but she smiles all the same to them. It's not her business if the newcomer will stay or not but it would be nice to smell (since she cannot see, the euphemism would otherwise be silly) new life breathed into the icy wastes.
In his many years living in the Beqanna, Hurricane has increasingly found the uncommon growing far more common. It is the hazard of magic, he supposes, and if he had been one for nostalgia, this might have made him so. In ages past, when he had been young, he had been considered unique. A stallion with his gifts, born of two women, had been a sight rarely seen. Today, the circumstances of his birth might be considered almost boringly common.
So to see a pale stallion with golden stripes crossing the border of his kingdom surprises him not at all, even if it is something he has not seen before.
He had perched himself atop the great ice wall, standing sentinel over the lone entrance into the kingdom, giving him an unfettered view of those who might enter. Which, he will grant, is not many. But today there is one. He is rapidly greeted by Brynmor, who appears to have been the reason for the newcomer’s arrival. The man might be odd, but he is proving a useful asset to the kingdom. Whatever his origins might be, his actions have certainly spoken for him. Being a man of action rather than word, this holds more than enough significance for Hurricane to judge on his own.
Spreading his pale wings wide, he leaps from the lofty height of his perch, floating easily down to join the small group. He notes another has approached, a small mare he has never met before. She smells of the Tundra though, so he knows simply by this fact that she cannot be a foreigner.
He lands amongst them with a creak of ice beneath his feet and a rustle of feathers as he folds his wings. He is in time to hear the roan mare’s introduction, ironically named Roan, before offering a simple introduction of his own.
It doesn’t take long for him to be approached. The first horse he recognises - Brynmor, the stallion who convinced him to try the Tundra - and Corin smiles widely before remembering that the horse cannot see his expression. He opens his mouth to speak, but another horse approaches, a roan mare, and she is quickly followed by another stallion. Corin shuffles slightly, shifting forwards an inch or two before he introduces himself to the two strangers. “Brynmor, it is nice to see you again. Roan, Hurricane; it is nice to meet you both. My name is Corin,” and suddenly, he almost feels as if he is home, as if this frozen land with ice walls has completed something within him that he didn’t know wasn’t whole. He doesn’t recognise any of the names, not even that of the stallion who is now his king. But he is young and new and surely they can let this slip, just once.
The mare is intriguing to look at, and Corin finds it hard to keep his eyes off her; funny, given that she is blind. He isn’t sure why - perhaps it is because the striped stallion has never had much luck with the ladies, and though she may not be conventionally pretty (just as Corin is not conventionally handsome), she still has some presence that he is drawn to. He doesn’t understand her role here, in the kingdom of brothers, but he finds himself hoping she will stay around for a while.
He turns to the two stallions, smiling at Hurricane (who can actually see him). “So, what should I do first? If I’m to stay here, I want to serve the Tundra as best I can.” He doesn’t have a clue how kingdom life works, despite both his parents having stayed in different kingdoms throughout their lives. But he’s keen to learn. He’s keen for his life to start.
It doesn’t take long before more join them. First there is Roan, who’s hooves cause a crackling sound on the snow, and then the king joins them. Brynmor notices his arrival before Hurricane actually lands on the ground, the flapping of his wings and then the soft thud of the landing. After dipping his head slightly in Hurricane’s direction he turns to smile at Roan, still not aware of the fact that she also cannot see him smile. He offers her a soft snicker, before carefully moving in her direction. ”How have you been?” he asks her softly, reaching out to gently press his nose against her shoulder. His aim is slightly off, touching more her neck than her shoulder.
When Corin speaks up again the graying blind man turns his attention back to the striped one. There is a small smile on his lips and both his ears are turned in his direction. His sightless gaze moves to Hurricane, or where he guesses that the winged king stands, not directly replying to Corin’s words. ”Hurricane would be able to tell you how you could serve. But I’m glad to hear that you are willing to join the brotherhood.” Brynmor knows how he himself is able to serve the Tundra, now he has learned the way from his home to the field, but he isn’t known with other ways of serving the kingdom. But Hurricane would.
If he had been able to Brynmor knew how he would serve the Tundra. His motives weren’t totally noble, but in this short period he had grown loyal to his home. That Hurricane had been willing to take him in had been enough for that. He had been given a home, a real home, one that he wants to serve with all his might.
Roan is not sure why she sought out the newcomer herself, she is nothing in these lands but she smelled Brynmor and knows his scent well and decided to join them anyway. She hears the rush of wings and her heart leaps at the familiar sound but falls heavily back into the pit of her body the moment she smells the winged stallion - the scent is all wrong, but she doesn’t remember there being more than one or two others who had wings like her father did back when he was king here. It is hard to hide the disappointment on her face when Hurricane makes his introduction because he is not her father and she had hoped against all hope that Ianto was still there among them.
She feels Brynmor touch her neck, nevermind the fact that he missed her shoulder, and she smiles at him - neither is aware that the other is blind so their interaction is interesting to see. “I’m good and you?” she asks him, responding in kind as her own nose finds the generalized slope of his shoulder and presses there longer than it should so that she can inhale his scent deeply - it relaxes her, her nerves a little frayed now that the king has shown up amongst them and she’s nervous about her place amongst all of them now.
Unconsciously, she shifts closer to Brynmor until her shoulder is aligned with his barrel and bumps it a little. She takes comfort in his presence and in the fact that she knows him better than she knows the other two stallions but she offers Corin a smile, aiming it in the direction that she thinks he stands in based on how his scent is blown to her by the snowy wind. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance Corin, and you as well Hurricane.” Roan is genuine even though the words might seem bland in their expectation but she is truly happy to meet both of them, even if Hurricane’s status as king scares her just the slightest because he is the one who will really decide if she can stay or not.
She’s not sure how to approach him about staying though or if he’ll mind but Corin is asking what he can do to be of service to them so she just waits, there but not really, observing and hanging back quietly by Brynmor’s side.
Hurricane has never been one to freely bandy his title about, even amongst his own Brothers. He is not a glory seeker, nor does he wish to use it to gain any extra favor for himself. He would gain acceptance and respect through his own merit, rather than having it handed to him upon a silver platter simply because of the position he holds. In essence, he neither more nor less than any other member of this kingdom. So, to this effect, he feels no need to clarify his position in the kingdom until it becomes necessary. With any luck, by that time this new brother would know him as more than simply a name.
As introductions are passed around, Hurricane spares a brief glance for Brynmor and Roan. It appears the two of them had developed a relationship previously. Having no notion of the mare’s origins, he wonders if perhaps that is her reason for being here. Though given the fact that no hint of scent beyond the Tundra lingers upon her, she must have been within their borders for some time now.
That, however, is a mystery for another time.
The striped man is eager to begin his role within the kingdom, commending him nicely to the winged stallion. With any luck, his enthusiasm and dedication would last longer than many that had come before him (he has, it seems, grown cynical with old age - a failing he should likely work on). Having the floor ceded to him by Brynmor, he dips his head in a slight nod before turning the full weight of his gaze upon Corin.
”First, you will need to choose a caste – warrior or diplomat. Or both, I suppose. Once you’ve chosen, there will be plenty of tasks for you to complete.”
He pauses for a moment, considering.
”Regardless of caste, you can also recruit new members, like yourself.”
