"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
The skies are cold and gray, the heavy clouds threatening snow. But for now, they hold off. They would hold off as long as he wishes it. They have a meeting to attend, one long in coming. But the time has arrived, decisions must be made. To that end, Hurricane stands on a slight rise near the caves. His steely eyes survey the landscape, taking in the vast, raw openness of the Tundra. And he calls them together, those of the Brotherhood and those women who might wish to join. Their numbers are not large, but they are growing. And that satisfies the gray king.
But they still have further to go.
They trickle in, and Hurricane studies each face as they come, familiar and unfamiliar alike. When finally they have assembled, Hurricane addresses them. His speech is plain, as it always is, his words straight to the point.
”I have called you because we have much to discuss. As most of you are likely aware, war is brewing. As yet, we have no part in it. Today we must decide what part, if any, we would like to play.”
He pauses, gaze traveling those assembled. He already knows which part he would wish to play, but if those of the Brotherhood differ from his, he would accede to the wishes of the majority. He is neither a dictator nor a tyrant, after all.
”My preference would be to ally with the Amazons. To that end, I have already approached them with a suggestion. However, as the decision has not yet been made, I am bringing this matter to you. Should we choose to continue with an offer of alliance to the Amazons, we would like to establish a mutually beneficial exchange of sorts, something similar to exchanges done many years past. Fillies born of the Tundra would be given training and sent to the Amazon, and in return the Amazon would send us their colts.” Pause. ”Only those willing, of course.”
He would not force anyone to leave who did not wish to, so long as they were loyal to the Tundra.
”Would anyone have objections to such an arrangement?”
One by one they start to appear, carefully studying each other and the king. Although they aren’t with many, but except for their King there are only a few faces he recognizes. Some of their scents smell familiar though, as they linger around the Tundra. But in the middle of all faces he is looking for two in particular. Corin would come, he’s sure of that, but Brynmor is silently hoping for Roan to join them too. He had grown to like her and he desperately wanted her to stay. By attending this meeting she would at least show that she meant it – not that Brynmor thought that, but to make sure the other’s would accept her too.
He listens calmly, attention focussed on their gray and winged king. The formerly blind man had never learnt much about kingdoms. He knew that there were more around and that they were divided in ‘good, neutral and evil’, but other than that there was nothing. Except when it came to the Chamber of course. Brynmor had lived there for years, dumped in a dark corner and without anybody looking out for the blind boy. He genuinely hated the kingdom, hated them for what they did to him, as they had a part in what he had become nowadays.
”I trust you on this matter. As for my personal opinion I don’t really care what side will be chosen, as long as it doesn’t include to fight side by side with the Chamber.” His blue eyes, that still seemed to be a bit off, are looking straight at Hurricane. ”You know why. But if you would ask it of me, I would fight side by side with them.”
Then he moves back, searching for the little mare that he has come to care for. ”I think it would be profitable to have the Amazones as our allies and the child swap could be a good way to get the ranks filled. I do not object” he finishes. With that he has said everything he wanted to say. He would do what the Tundra would ask of him, his loyalty lied here, and he trusted Hurricane to do whatever he thought was the best.
He cannot say he feels particularly free to participate in this – a doubt all newcomers to any place must face, it seems. He comes to Hurricane's call with a quiet worry, all his own. It has been a very long time since the old stallion has felt out of place, or as if he was encroaching on something entirely outside of his welcome. He feels a newborn’s outsiderness, a sensation he has not felt since he was a colt on the perimeters of social circles. That was long ago – long before he had withdrawn from society, for a very long time.
But he comes all the same. Driven by the impulsion to fit in, he realizes in this moment with a nod to the grey stallion atop his rock and snow, it maybe be something he is far too old to be pursing so hotly. But, he is also too old to take to the skies so completely, anymore. Perhaps too old for that, above all. This place is new his roost. His place to stay and to rest, to help, and to be – split between here, and wherever she may be. So he must engage.
Of the war, he is surprisingly indifferent. Clock would likely never mistake Corruption for being hard or apathetic, but that is because it is she who gets his softness and passion in full. It is she he gives it too so willingly, to hold and keep safe for him. He is not a brute – violence is not his primary calling, though he is made so perfectly for it; and if he could choose he would have no part in it at all. But if it is that he cannot, having delivered himself to the hands of this rugged ice hall, then so be it.
He knows nobody in the Gates. Or the Chamber. Or the Amazons. As far as he knows – his children are a mystery to him, and he has no friends outside of his love. And so in the end it means little to him.
He listens to the other grey stallion speak (one of the handful of complete strangers he now lives shoulder to shoulder with), and the big black bird is struck by the trust and loyalty in his voice. Hurricane commands a great deal of both, it would seem, and from his scant experience, he can see why. He can see, as well, the wisdom in a swap of colts and fillies. The diametric construction of their two kingdoms – the Tundra and the Amazons – seems to be so suitably made for this.
“On the matter of war, I admit I haven’t much of an opinion or stake either way, at least not as of now. I am willing to defer to the majority will. As for the deal with the Amazons, I think it's a very sound idea.” He shifts his big wings on his back, “I am Corruption, by the way.” His voice is ever the ancient rumble of a mountain shedding stones. Ponderous, straightforward.
i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding
if that'll make it right
Their new king, hmph. Nihlus couldn’t be more concerned with who sat the throng, the Tundra remained the useless slab of ice it has always been. It is empty though, and perhaps it is therein that Nihlus finds comfort. Having come from a large, loud, and overly complicated family, the quiet of the Tundra plays down what could have been a legendary stallion. Instead of investing himself as he ought to, here, Nihlus finds just the right amount of stimulation for his fancy: none.
Back to the point. Their new king Hurricane (who isn’t family, aka Errant, and therefore is of no matter) calls them together, though there could hardly be more than five of them. Grumbling pleasantly to himself, Nihlus foregoes two of his three abilities, choosing to meander over to the meeting ground in the gleaming skin of his strapping equine-self; while he does so, he reaches for his rain manipulation, just for the hell of it.
A frown clusters between his glowing eyes when he cannot immediately summon the precipitation. Struggling against an unseen force, the good looking man gnashes his teeth and wastes his energy summoning a meager amount of snowflakes. Having been born with his trait, it is presumable that has it better mastered; still, the results are pathetic. The moment the few glittering flakes land, against horse or ground, they melt; but whatever. At least they look pretty, right Nihlus?
Snorting irately, the stallion lopes the rest of the distance, halting next to a blind horse just as Hurricane begins speaking. The drawl is much the same as ever, which leaves Nihlus bored as hell. Luminous blue eyes shifting to the greying stallion next to him, the Noorison admires his physique unabashedly. The time passes more quickly, until he finds he has room to speak.
"Sorry to burst your bubbles, but the child exchange with the Amazon’s does not work.” Eye roll. "I mean, you can make pretty promises all you want, but exactly how many of us are actually having kids? Anyways, my grandmum Scorch tried to do the same thing, and Brunhild before her and basically forever and ever this has tried to happen, but it’s not worth wasting words over.” He shrugs, dropping the topic to further his point.
"Anyways, allying with them is always a solid plan.” The stallion settles into a comfortable position, eyes wandering to the gathered stallions with a boredom-inspired hunger. "I’m Nihlus, in case anyone forgot.”
Nihlus
rain manipulating, rabbit shifting son of Sinder & Noori
The king calls to them; Roan raises her head from where she has been rooting through the snowbanks and devouring mouthfuls of grass when the call goes out across the land, thunderous and booming. She responds to it like the rest of them do, abandoning whatever droll task was at hand and she goes to them, knowing full well that she may receive a less than stellar welcome but she is rather undaunted by such a fact, owing to the knowledge that there have always been a few foolhardy but tough mares subsisting on the sparse fare and companionship of the Tundra. To that, she is no exception having spent her first and earliest moments here under another king’s great wing.
She recognizes Hurricane by his scent but it is in the crook of Brynmor’s side that she hides, pressed against him, rather docile and quiet as each of the stallions voices an opinion on the matters at hand. They talk of war brewing and that does not entirely surprise her even if she is not exactly politically inclined or involved. Same with the foal exchange and alliances - those things have always traditionally existed for them, sometimes successfully and other times as a complete and utter failure. She has little to say or add in the way of all of this and merely keeps to the gray stallion’s side, his scent a familiar assurance to her as the little blind mare stays well… blindly off in the direction of where the king probably stands.
Roan had some thoughts as to why the foal swap wasn’t always a successful venture - they weren’t exactly breeding and if they did, the mares were often members of other kingdoms to begin with and the foals stayed with their mothers. Must be kind of hard to swap what you don’t have and therefore the Amazons cannot follow through either and send their colts if they’re not receiving anything on their end. But she kept her mouth shut thinking that the wiser course to stick to for the time being. It was enough that she was there - the lone mare amongst them thus far.
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?
Since he’s in the land of the aware once more, he supposes this would be a good time to make his presence known. Hurricane knows he’s around, of that much Brennen is sure, but the others he has not really met. He flicks honey-brown eyes across the group, not spending more than a cursory moment on the gray and the black strangers. His eyes linger longer on the third stallion, realizing that his first thought was not true. This boy he knows – and he can’t help but quirk a half smile as he listens to the younger man talk and hopes in spite of himself that he’s matured in the years that have passed.
“Brennen,” he gives the short introduction for the benefit of those who may not know, and affording Hurricane a brief nod. It’s not a bow, not an obeisance, but there are few Tundra Kings anymore who draw that sort of all-encompassing respect from what is quickly becoming an old man (that is…if he aged). At least he’s willing to acknowledge that Hurricane is the current King – it’s a start. “I agree that the foal trade with the Amazons is not always successful, but…” here he flicks his gaze to the boy across the gathering from himself (it doesn’t seem to matter that Nihlus is an adult now, and several inches taller than Brennen besides, he has the image of him as a youngster in his head and it won’t go away), “I thought that was how we ended up with you? From your Jungle family?” If he had an eyebrow, he would raise it – Nihlus has certainly referenced his relationship to the Jungle enough times in the past.
Perhaps he shouldn’t poke fun at one of his Brothers in the midst of what is surely supposed to be a serious meeting – but something about Nihlus has always kind of done that to Brennen. Perhaps it is that the boy is so completely into himself – just begging to be teased, and Bren is happy to oblige. Still, he’s had his moment and forces himself back to the here and now. “Forgive me my ignorance of current events but what sort of war is brewing?” He turns from Nihlus now to Hurricane, the faintest of frowns on his face. “I tend to agree with allying the Amazons, regardless of the reason, and I’m not a huge fan of the Chamber in general, but I’d like to know.”
Corin isn’t sure if he has been in the Tundra long enough for his opinion to count. But he is determined to be a part of this kingdom, and so when the meeting is summoned, he trots towards where his king and his brothers - it feels strange but so right, calling these stallions he doesn’t even know his brothers - are assembled.
He listens quietly, trying to blend in with the others, trying to look like he has been here for years, not mere weeks (difficult to blend when you are a golden striped zorse, but he must try). Everyone else speaks their piece, talks of war and alliances and foal-trading, until finally the conversation comes to rest on Corin.
He is glad that others felt they had to introduce themselves - Corin recognises Bynmor, of course, and Roan and Hurricane, but the others are all unfamiliar faces. “Corin,” he says simply, looking at the horses gathered. At least he is not the only one who didn’t know there was a war bubbling under the surface; perhaps he should have realised, there is a funny sort of quiet over Beqanna and it feels like it may snap any time.
“I know very little of this war, and of alliances, but I think that the Amazons would be a fine place to start.” The Amazons are one of the kingdoms that Corin has heard of; it would be hard to miss the legends of a great female warrior kingdom. And if this war is coming, it would certainly make sense to side with great female warriors.
“If more talks are to be had with the Amazons, I would be willing to join anyone going to speak to them.” He wants to find his place here, and a diplomatic mission could be a good start, a way to earn his keep. Corin will work hard, and he is determined to be as much as part of this kingdom as any of the stallions (and mare) around him.
He is not a man of many words, nor has he ever been. The speech, for him, is a rather lengthy one (though in truth, it had probably been terribly short by any other standards), and when he as finished, he remains largely silent, offering nods to each Brynmor and Corruption as they say their pieces. When Nihlus steps forward, offering his own opinion, Hurricane fixes a considering, if rather hard, gaze upon him.
He is far from stupid. He has been here long enough to know of past failures in such an endeavor. He does not expect miracles, nor has he promised anything he cannot (eventually) provide. But, in his opinion, to have the option open to them would be a boon. Besides, as Brennen is quick to point out, that ishow Nihlus had come to them. Still, he can appreciate the man’s candor, if not necessarily the sentiment behind it.
”Perhaps then Nihlus, you would like to renegotiate our terms with them?”
Indeed, Hurricane could use someone far better with words than himself to make such a visit to the Amazons. A point that would need addressing soon enough. But first, he turns to Brennen to answer the questions he had asked of the war.
”The Chamber attacked the Gates some time ago. The Gates, naturally, wants revenge and have managed to recruit the Amazons to their side. From what I have seen and heard, it seems to be only a matter of time until the two head for war.”
For the most part, the Tundra has gone rather unnoticed through the whole affair. Given the way the Tundra has been slowly awakening from its slumber however, he does not expect that to remain the case forever. His preference would be to have matters well in hand before that time comes.
”Since everyone is agreed, we will need to visit the Jungle. Corin, you will join me, and Nihlus, if he wishes.”
That matter settled, he continues on with more mundane business .
”I will be reinstating rankings within the kingdom, so please let me know in which caste you would like to be. There are also two sets of wings available for anyone who would like to join the air force.”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
Sorry for the wait guys!
There isn't actually any need to respond to this if you don't want to. Just let me know which caste you'd like to be in
