"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
11-11-2015, 12:46 PM (This post was last modified: 11-11-2015, 02:36 PM by Brynmor.)
Brynmor
"I will see."
Every summer his coat got lighter, as he moults his winter coat for the summer version. Like most others Brynmor becomes a fuzzy teddy bear during the winter, but now it’s once again smooth, with dapples appearing on his body. Compared to last year he has become more bulky too, slowly getting broader and more muscled – all though he would be more muscled if he would be able to move more freely – too. Yet the haunted look had not yet disappeared from his blank gaze.
’You sure are something pathetic.’ Groaning softly to himself the graying male tries to ignore the unfriendly comment, pressing both his ears against his skull as he walks through the field. Yes, the field, that is correct. He no longer roams through the meadow. Brynmor had been told that it was time to move now he no longer reeked of the kingdom he had spent his youth in. ’Just look at yourself, looking pitiful as you have been cast out of your home, the home that neglected you too’ the voice in his head continued, humouring him slightly. The Welch Cob hybrid grits his teeth as he stomps his right foreleg on the ground. ”Oh shut up, you know why we’re here” he replies with an angry snap before he tries to ignore his imaginary friend again.
He can hear the dripping water before he could’ve – if he hadn’t been blind – seen it. Not knowing where else he should go he decides to move in that direction. His step is slow, careful, but with his heightened senses he can move himself around without hurting himself. Only trotting or galloping – just like jumping and other antics – were out of the question, simply because Brynmor wouldn’t be able to keep up with any possible obstacles if he would move faster than his calm pace.
As the sun shines down on his back merciless he reaches the lake, the sound of the dripping water more prominent now. To lessen his thirst the graying male lowers his head, carefully nearing the edge of the water before stepping into on the shallow bank. His ears move restlessly, trying to take in all the sounds around him.
"Through your secret."
OOC: Bryn will go to the Tundra, but to keep up a natural flow of things, feel free to reply with ponies from other kingdoms too ^^. Or if you have another plot idea, please tell me!
The air in the highest reaches of the sky is crisp and cold, a refreshing chill that ruffles the feathers of his outstretched wings and knots his pale mane into tangles. His goal today is the field. The Tundra needs members, and for that to happen, it apparently requires an inordinate amount of time in the vast grassy expanse housing those searching for homes. He has found it more difficult of late to find time for these visits, though they are important. Granted, he has found the demand for his time greatly increased of late. Unfortunately, that seems to come with the territory when one has been put in charge of a kingdom.
As the open space comes into view below him, he banks sharply, dropping with startling speed from the sky. The thrill of the sudden fall echoes through him, speeding his pulse and causing a rare glint in his eye. One that could almost be called happiness. If one knew him, they might be surprised at that, might deny that such a thing is possible. But then, smiles are rarer on his lips than are daisies in the Tundra.
Snapping his wings wide, he slows his descent, black eyes surveying the expanse below him for a likely candidate. Pickings are inevitably slim when one is looking to recruit for the Tundra, given the nature of the kingdom. So he is surprised to find a lone stallion almost immediately, one who appears to be waiting rather than hunting.
Drifting nearer, he settles onto the earth a short distance from the gray stallion with a gentle thud. The other stallion seems intent upon a drink, giving Hurricane a chance to study him closely. He can see immediately that something is different with the man, given the way he moves. His careful, premeditated movements indicate that he is unsure of his surroundings. Blind perhaps.
This changes nothing, however. Even a blind man could be quite useful. Stepping forward, the winged stallion offers a quiet greeting, allowing the stranger time to slake his thirst.
”I am Hurricane. From the Tundra. And you are…?”
Though his bluntness might be considered rude by some, he hopes that this man has better sense than that. They need men with sense. Men who recognize and understand such a direct approach and an unwillingness to waste time.
11-17-2015, 02:11 PM (This post was last modified: 11-17-2015, 02:12 PM by Brynmor.)
Brynmor
"I will see."
All though the thud is soft his ears pick up the sound, tipping in the direction without lifting his head, as the breeze that brought the sound to him waves his mane and tail gently. Brynmor’s hearing is better than average, just as his sense of touch and his ability to smell. He can hear the male approaching while the droplets of water drip of his chin. ’He has come to fetch you like a dog’ his buddy snarky remarks, but it doesn’t reach the gray man’s ears.
Carefully to not slip he moves himself backwards again until all four of his hooves are on the shore. He snorts softly while curving his neck slightly to reach in the direction he guesses the stranger is. ’Oh lucky you. Like they predicted, there he is, the almighty Tundra warrior. I hope you’ll be happy as the Tundra’s poor little boy’. Brynmor grits his teeth together before stomping his foot again, trying to hide his irritation by pretending to scare off the summer flies. No, he is no longer a stranger. He is Hurricane, as the stranger introduces himself. ”Brynmor. My name is Brynmor” he replies instantly. ”From nowhere really” he adds after a short pause and offers a wry grin.
Still trying to determine where Hurricane is exactly located the graying black sways his head around, his body following the movement until he is pretty sure that his blank orbs are staring in approximately the right direction. ”Can I assume that you have come to offer me a place among your ranks?” The male in front of him played it direct, so why couldn’t Brynmor himself? And why wouldn’t they deal with it like this? It was clear that he was looking for a home and if Hurricane would’ve had doubts he probably wouldn’t be here anymore. So why shouldn’t he play along to speed things a little up?
He knew what he had to do, but who said he couldn't use the situation for his own good? Life among the Tundran warriors couldn't be worse than spending his life in utter solitude. The darkness was already maddening enough.
As soon as he lands the other man seems to sense his presence, seems to understand why he has come. He moves carefully along the bank of the stream until he comes to stand near Hurricane, his eyes searching despite the blankness in them. He is slightly off in his gaze, though close enough to impress the pale stallion with the accuracy of his sightless stare.
He quickly learns that the other fellow’s name is Brynmor. The man’s directness almost brings a smile to his features. Almost. He can appreciate such directness. It is something he is often guilty of. So much so that he wonders if he might inadvertently offend potential allies. Not that that can be helped anymore, given the current state of affairs. In any case, that is not a worry for here and now.
Steely eyes turning, he gives Brynmor a brief, assessing gaze before continuing the conversation.
”You assume correctly. I will be honest: the Tundra is not always an easy place to live, though there is reward enough. You may join me if you wish.”
He makes the offer easily enough, no hint of wariness in his voice. But he is always suspicious. Despite his penchant for bluntly offering the truth as he sees it, he never expects it in others. He has seen too much of this world to believe otherwise. Unfortunately, their ranks need filling, and if this man is willing to put in the work, he is welcome to work his way up. The Tundra though, has a way of taking care of its own. And if this man could survive what the caves would no doubt have in store for him, he would be openly welcomed into the Brotherhood. And if the man turned traitor to the kingdom, he would be dealt with accordingly. The Tundra has never been a kind place.
It isn’t like Brynmor had a choice in this matter, although he had to make sure that it did look like he had one. He had been kicked out of the only home he had known, send away with a clear promise of punishment if he would fail. But when would he fail? Was that if he wasn’t able to find anything useful or did they think he failed if he wasn’t able to climb up the Tundra’s ranks? Honestly, Brynmor had started to not care about it all during his stay in the meadow. He would prove that he wasn’t a that much of a worthless puppet as he seemed, even though the voice in his mind often told him he was totally useless.
He snorts, a joyless grin pulling on his lips. He was used to hardness, his former home hadn’t been kind or welcoming to him either. Sure he was blind and sure the Tundra might offer different challenges, but it wasn’t like it would scare Brynmor off just like that. ”As long as you gain something in the end, hardness isn’t something I’m weary off” he replies. And yes, Brynmor wanted to gain, he would be happy to show his kidnapper and puppeteer that he no longer required his guidance. But until then Brynmor would have to keep pretending.
As he stays silent he shifts his weight, turning his body slightly, while he keeps his blank gaze in the same direction. Brynmor has one of his ears tipping forward, to catch any sound Hurricane would make. ”If the Tundra warriors are willing to welcome a blind and partly useless man among their ranks, I’d be happy to join you, Hurricane.”’It isn’t like anybody else would you anyway. You’re good for nothing’ sounded it in his head, but Brynmor wasn’t even listening.
As far as Hurricane is concerned, there is always a choice. The real question is, can you live with your choice? All of his choices have led him to where he is now, have brought him to this point in time. It is true, not all of them had been good choices. Hindsight is twenty/twenty, as they say. But he cannot regret his choices. They had brought consequences, ones he lives with now, will always live with. But they had been his choices. Just as this stallion would choose his own path, whether he saw it as a choice or not.
It is always easier to travel down the path of least resistance though. Of least pain and heartache. But it is still a choice.
For some, this might make them bitter, or angry. For some, it might even make them happy. It had simply made Hurricane hard. Unrelenting and unforgiving in a way few are. Even he can recognize the fallibility of this outcome. But he cannot blame fate for this, or destiny, or the gods, or any number of things he might find to blame. It had all been him. His decisions.
He wouldn’t change it though.
Hurricane stares at the blind man for a long moment after he speaks, flinty eyes considering. When he finally does speak, it is in an almost off-handed manner.
”You are only useless if you believe you are.”
He doesn’t elaborate, does not explain his statement. The man would understand, or he wouldn’t. He is not a babysitter, will not coddle his men. If they wish to be something, they must make something of themselves. Just as he had.
”Come, I will show you the way. The decision to stay or go is yours.”
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
I will get a post up for you in the Tundra shortly
