I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate.

It has been ages since he had seen her. She had gone, and he had paid little heed. She would return. She always did.

Except then she didn't.

Normally, he would have simply moved on, forgotten she existed. But she had been one of his favorites. With her willingness to learn and her aptitude for pain, she has intrigued him. It is true, little could hold his attention for long. But he had always returned to her. Perhaps not for weeks at a time, but inevitably, he would return.

But then she is gone, and he finds himself wondering why. So, he follows her.

His life is filled with leisure, his whims the only thing directing his activities, so there is nothing to stop him from doing so. At worst, he would have wasted a few days. At best, he would find new and fascinating ways to entertain himself.

Before long, he finds himself in the Tundra.

The massive wall looms before him, casting a shadow over his massive, scarred frame. His bland gray eyes scan the horrendous thing, wondering what would possess anyone to erect such a useless, icy artifact.

Why G’ren would choose such a place to come to, he cannot fathom. But then, he is a beast born of fire. A monster, really, with his hideously misshapen frame entirely barren of hair and blackened skin turned char.
As he passes through the narrow opening, a shiver passes down his spine. Apparently, even he is not immune to the weather. With only a thought, flames hiss across his skin, caressing his body, encasing him in delicious heat. The frost beneath his feet sizzles, melting as it gives way to fire.

As he continues, he does nothing to hide his presence. He doubts he will be alone long. But that concerns him little. He has come for only one thing.

”G’ren.” Her name rumbles from his chest in a loud, commanding time, his voice hoarse and scratchy from injury and disuse. No doubt she would not be the only one to hear.

Never once, however, does he doubt she will come.

Raelynx

khaos x eyrie

"With my speechless calm eyes."

She was a strange case indeed. However, that didn’t mean they hadn’t welcomed her into the Tundra. And neither that they wouldn’t protect her when she found herself in trouble. Brynmor liked the companionship of the Tundra’s women - G'ren included-, although he had learned his lesson when it came to children. Henson wasn’t a mistake, not at all, but he wouldn’t be able to betray Roan is such a way again. Yet, there would be plenty of other males in the Tundra that would give her a child, if she wanted to.

He didn’t know who the father of her children was, neither had he really seen any of them around in the Tundra, but her swollen stomach had been enough to tell them. It was her own business and it wasn’t Brynmor’s task to pry if she didn’t give him a reason to. However, this might be it.

The graying male watches the stranger pass through the gate, flames licking his skin and melting the snow underneath his hooves. He’s a scarred creature, like he had been burnt alive, tortured in some kind of way, but he does no longer seem to be bothered by the flames that dance across his skin. He’s different from Killdare, the magma king of the Chamber, but in some ways they are alike. Such as in how they totally stand out in the Tundra and don’t match with the snow covered lands.

Throwing away his cloak of invisibility he moves forward, revealing his presence. As the formerly blind male moves forward he eyes the stranger and you could say he was careful. Brynmor didn’t like strangers in the lands, just crossing the border (like the big ice wall wasn’t a big enough sign) and walking in without calling out for them.

His muzzle brushes past her shoulder briefly, acknowledging that he was there to stand by her side, but his eyes never leave the stranger. ”And a home she wishes to be at, because she’s free to leave if she truly desires it. Something that would sadden me” he joins in, only having heard her last words. Tilting his head a bit to the side Brynmor let his eyes move over the flamy creature from close by. ”What has brought you to the Tundra, if I may ask?”

"Nothing is coming to rise."

I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate.

It is true he had been tortured in the most terrible and gruesome of ways. But he wears that torment upon his skin like a hideous trophy, something to be proud of. For he is. Proud of it, that is. He had been taken, bent and corrupted by the greatest of gods. He wears his mark as a badge of honor upon the very center of his charred forehead. His cracked lips will always pull into a macabre smile at the memory of that time. It is a time any other might remember with horror, but one he recalls only with fondness.

And, in turn, he passes that gift along. He is always open and free in regards to his intentions. None could ever say they have been deceived by him. He is not clever enough to deceive. No, all who had entered into his care has done so willingly. Or, at the very least, knowingly.

She not the least of them.

She comes of course. He had known she would. His bland gray eyes fix upon her the moment she comes within sight, his rounded ears pricking forward as his nostrils flare to draw in her familiar scent. A scent now tinged with ice and snow and strange male. Even as she greets him, expressing her surprise, stating her purpose, her intentions, he remains silent. There is nothing he need say to that. She would go with him. She always has.

Stepping forward, he circles her, ignoring the other male as he approaches. Brynmor moves in next to her, expressing his – and the Tundra’s – solidarity. Raelynx moves next to her then, opposite the stranger. His muzzle caresses her hip, her back and withers, a delicate touch tinged by flame. The scars (the ones he had given her) give him grim satisfaction, reminding him, and her, of who he is to her.

He presses close as he lifts his head, turning his fire-rimmed gray gaze to meet that of the other stallion. ”I have what I came for,” he rumbles, speaking to him over G’ren’s back even as he runs his fiery muzzle along her neck, wondering if she has learned to flinch yet. His possession is unmistakable, the claim he has made upon this mare undeniable. Her scars bear proof of that all too well.

Raelynx

khaos x eyrie

"With my speechless calm eyes."

He understood, in some sort of strange and gruesome way. He knew he shouldn’t, but how was the scar on his chest different? The wolf paw was big and the black lines stood out against his still graying coat. Once his coat would’ve turned completely grayed out, the lines would be clearly visible. Just like Offspring’s white scar underneath his eye. Brynmor too carried the mark with great pride, but his initiation was a completely different thing than this stranger’s encounter with a creature that had proclaimed himself a god.

But unlike the scarred creature in front of him, Brynmor didn’t land a hand on other horses. On the contrary, his touches were gentle most of the time, even when he was angry. The sole exception would be when he would have to protect himself, the Tundra or any of the Tundra’s habitants. And that included G’ren Fire. If he had to, he would launch himself at this stranger who had so boldly walked into their lands to claim her his, while he really didn’t have the right.

He had already wondered how she had ended up in this state. Looking so defiant and scarred all the same. She was different from Roan, who’s coat was marred with scars too, much less timid and able to clearly voice out her thoughts. Home. And that home was the Tundra, not this ‘cove’ where this stranger lived. Just when Brynmor was about to push himself in between them – with force if he had to – G’ren did him already the favour of moving away. Without thinking twice the gray warrior and counsellor put himself in front of her, blocking the stranger. His blue eyes met the gray ones and his head dips lower as his ears push further against his skull. ”You’re not welcome here” he states, pawing the ground to make clear he meant it. ”I have to ask you to leave.”

When she speaks again he turns his head a little to the side, to look at her out of the corner of his eye. He offers her a smile, a dip of the head, but his attention is focussed on the scarred, burned creature in front of him. ”You hear her, she chooses the Tundra over your home. There is nothing here for you to gain, so leave.” He snorts, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t much of a warrior, but he would take that role if that was what needed to be done.

As she walks away he makes sure that he’s still in between them, preventing the stranger from waddling further into their territory. And keen on keeping G’ren save.

"Nothing is coming to rise."

I love the way that your heart breaks
with every injustice and deadly fate.

He has never known anger or frustration. Indeed, he has truly known very few emotions except when he is giving or receiving pain. What he feels now can hardly be called either. It is little more than one might feel when bitten by a stinging fly (that is, if a fly to could come close enough to bite without suffering the repercussions of his flame), but even that much is surprising for the charred stallion.

G’ren Fire moves away from him, unflinching as ever, and Brynmor swiftly moves between them, challenging him in a way few have dared to do so in ages. A small thrill runs through him at the prospect, memories of a lovely silver mare, of a stallion black as midnight with cruelty stamped into his eternally youthful features, tumbling through his mind. He can feel each burn pulse and throb, the brand upon his forehead tingling as his body trembles with remembered electricity and fire.

It has been so long. Far too long since anyone has offered him pain. He misses it, aches for it. He is an addict, not of drugs but of pain.

A grin slowly curls his cracked lips, parting across yellowing teeth and bringing a hellish delight to his scarred features. This stallion had just inadvertently placed everything he craves right at the tips of his hooves.

With a low chuckle, he moves forward, making to brush past the graying stallion. The flames lick his skin with delicious, singeing heat. Should the other stallion refuse to move, he would feel the delight (or suffering, as most others seem to view it) of his fire. As he moves forward, his eyes fix upon G’ren Fire, a wicked, terrible light fueled by the thrill of anticipation coloring his normal bland gray gaze, and he speaks to her in a low voice. The promise in his voice is unmistakable. ”You may stay, but the child comes with me.”

It is his child, after all.

Raelynx

khaos x eyrie