"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
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
It is clear that tension bristles between Syden and the mare, and Magnus frowns momentarily.
It was not in his nature to let other stallions talk down to mares, but since he had not heard anything that was overtly cruel, he kept it to himself. Besides, he had walked into the conversation late and had no way of knowing what was said before he arrived. For all he knew, the mare had been horrifically rude—although, looking at her now, Magnus could not imagine her doing so. Still, he brushed it off, suppressing his typical urge to protect those in his vicinity and watched the stallion with renewed interest.
As Hurricane gave his pitch, one corner of his lacerated lips rose into a corner. It was an honest proposal, and he was grateful for it. Too often recruiters came to the Field with sugared words and false promises; it was nice to see that Hurricane presented the Tundra for what it was—flaws and all. When it became silent, Magnus shrugged his scarred shoulders. “As he said, all kingdoms will have the same foundation for their proposal: protection, camaraderie, the chance for promotions. That is all the same.” Not that Magnus’ viewed his offer as one that came from, say, the Valley—but that was neither here nor there.
“As for my motives,” his voice fell off, considering what drove him to the field every day. “I’m from the Gates. Usually, my motive is simple: help individuals find a home that suits them. The Gates can be a great many things to a great many people. It is a haven for some. It is a fresh start for others. For many, as Hurricane said, it is a place to gain rank and power.” His mouth becomes a grim slash across his face, “However, if I am being honest, my motive right now is to find strong soldiers for her ranks.”
Magnus considered the other stallion for a second, frowning in thought. “A few years ago, the Gates was attacked by another kingdom here, the Chamber. It was unprovoked; the actions of a bully.” It had been before Magnus had returned to Beqanna—returned to the Gates—but that was irrelevant. He should have been there to help protect them. “The land is recovering, and we are growing, but Beqanna is uneasy. I have a feeling war is on the horizon, and we need the strong, the willing, the brave to fight for the Gates.”
It was not an easy offer. It was one that demanded bloodshed before he had even made the choice—but it was also a noble one should he choose it. There was a chance to be on the right side of history. “You look like a soldier, and it would be an honor to fight alongside you—but, ultimately, the choice is yours.” He nodded toward Hurricane. “The brotherhood is a noble kingdom, and they would be lucky to have you.”
Still, Magnus hoped this stallion would be willing to join the army.
Hoped he would be willing to fight for a kingdom he had never even seen.
He wasn't pleased to watch the mare go, despite her confidence that irked him so. He liked having her in the playing field, but this conversation was better suited for the stallions. And so he dipped his head to her, letting that suffice as a good day, but his attention was immediately back on the two winged stallions. They both seemed rather similar, but Hurricane seemed more blunt - fitting to the area he inhabited. It sounded cold, and rugged, but intriguing nonetheless - especially if this stallion was any indication of what he was to find there.
However, Magnus had captured his attention just as quickly. The hints of a war and the promise of being a warrior was oh-so tempting to this already scarred stallion. He had seen wars and he had seen warriors, and his scars told stories all their own.
He didn't answer right away, absorbed in thought. He was surprised, nearly amused, at how they seemed to need him in their own rights, and again he was filled with the feeling of power. It made him hunger for more, a gentle gnawing at his belly, and he embraced it.
"Both of you have made generous offers." That much was true. To trust a stallion they had never met, to welcome him into their lands. "And I am tempted by both. To fight alongside either of you would be an honor, for I can see the strength you hold." Flattery tasted good on his tongue. "Hurricane, I can see how the Tundra must be a sight to behold. Your ruggedness is not lost on me, nor is your truth. I am not one to lead a soft life, for I am restless and not amused by petty things." His attention turned to the other, a smirk tugging over his lips. "Alas, Magnus, your worries of war excite the soldier in me. I thrive in such chaos, for in that madness I learn more about myself...and those I serve alongside." He would be lying if he thought both options weren't tempting in their own right. A rugged life, promised each day, versus one that may find him growing soft without war. Both lives tugged at him, warring against his desires. "I would be inclined to accept both offers, if such a thing were feasible. Both homes tug me towards them. A rugged life satisfies my craving for the rough, but the promise of war tempts me even further."
11-23-2015, 11:33 AM (This post was last modified: 11-23-2015, 11:35 AM by Hurricane.)
He would have to have been blind, deaf, and dumb not to know that war is brewing in Beqanna. Not to know that the Gates hungers for revenge. Every kingdom has heard of the terrible fate that had befallen the Gates' tree by now. He is certain that he would ache for revenge too, if someone had attacked the Tundra in such a way (but then, only a fool would attack the Tundra’s caves. They are dangerous, even for a member of the Brotherhood).
He is also not surprised at the gray stallion’s eagerness for war. The young always are (he includes Magnus in his definition of young, for to him, he is). Even Hurricane had hungered for war and justice in his youth. He had anticipated battle in the way a child anticipates Christmas morning. But he had continued living, had changed and grown old. And war had lost its shine, the allure dimming after centuries of watching it come and go. Beqanna had been young when he had been born, its magic still wild and scarce. In that long ago time, he had been an anomaly. A stallion born of two mares, with uncommon gifts of his own. Today he is simply one of hundreds, save the fact that he has lived far longer than most here ever will. He has seen kingdoms rise and fall, has seen empires built and watched them crumble. No one ever stays on the top.
But he is not surprised. He rarely ever is anymore.
The gray stallion finishes his piece and Hurricane dips his head slightly in a faint nod of acceptance. His choice is made then. Hurricane sees no need to remain. He cannot help leaving the man with something to consider though.
”War is temporary. Should you change your mind, I am easy enough to find.”
He would never beg for recruits. If men were to survive in the Tundra, the choice had to be theirs. But he neither would he turn away the willing.
With one final glance at the pair, he turns and leaves as quietly as he had arrived.
He appreciated the calmness of Hurricane - he didn't seem particularly offended by his choice. He was young, younger than both of these stallions by years, and drawn to the temptations of war and the chance of fame. He could practically taste the spoils of war, and it was exciting to him. But, after a war, he could see himself being drawn to the tundras. He needed that roughness in his life, he would not be content to be complacent.
"I appreciate the offer." He dipped his head to the stallion before he left. "I think, perhaps, I might pay a visit to the Tundra before too long." He was curious, for sure, to see this landscape and the others there. He could assume that they were reminiscent of this stallion, and wondered if he would one day achieve a rank as high - he assumed - as both Hurricane and Magnus.
He watched the stallion leave, refocusing on the other with a firm look. "But now I ask you, do you accept me as one of your own? I can assume that you are the one who must decide if you truly want me after all. I will fight for you in the event of war, and I am not afraid to die." This was true. He was aware of his mortality and was not afraid of it. But he knew that Magnus could very well reject him - he knew of his temper, and he knew he could be provoked well enough. But Magnus did not know that (perhaps he did, he couldn't possibly know what the other stallion could see), and he had no intention of showing that side of himself. This was his chance to give himself another life, and he wasn't about to screw it up.
you and I both know that the house is haunted and you and I both know that the ghost is me
Magnus remains quiet as Syden makes his choice—quiet as Hurricane takes his leave. He was perhaps not as old as Hurricane, but he had decades to his name (although many of those had been spent beneath the pulsing waves of the ocean) and he knew the intricacies of war. He had seen it fall upon the land, and he had carried his weight throughout it. Magnus did not hunger for revenge as many throughout Beqanna assumed he did, although he could not deny he had more of a taste for bloodshed than a man of the Gates should. What he did hunger for was justice. The Chamber was just a bully, and he would not be content to lie down and take their abuse. Further, he would not be unprepared should they attack again.
So he cannot deny the grim pleasure at Syden choosing to join their ranks. Watching him with his burning gold-flecked eyes, he finally nods. “Yes, we would be grateful to have you on our side.” He is silent for another second, considering. When he does speak, his voice is husky, genuine. “I hope that it will not come to you lying down your life for the Gates, but if it does,” he pauses, straightens his shoulders, “then your name shall be remembered among her people for centuries to come. We do not forget our warriors.”
Taking a step back, he motions toward the borders. “So, are you ready to see your new home?” He knew that it would most likely not be the stallion’s first choice, or his permanent home, but he hoped that the quiet beauty of the Gates would perhaps spark something in the other. It was not the harsh power of the Tundra, but there was something worth protecting there—and Magnus needed other soldiers who saw the value in stepping up to shield it. They needed those who were willing to die to save that sanctuary.
He found himself brimming with an excitement induced by his choice to follow Magnus. He knew his strengths, and war was one of them. Although he was not as battle-tested and tried as he assumed the other stallion was, he had his own scars from those he had fought in. And never had he lost a battle. He had not an inkling of an idea about the size of this new army, but he knew that strength could make up for numbers. And he had that strength, he knew that. The spoils of war, and the fame that could befall him should he perish, was all to tempting. He could see himself growing power-hungry, easily, if put into an army, but he knew he had to act with self-restraint. There was so much he did not know about this new land, and about those who inhabited it.
Patience.
So instead, he dipped his head to Magnus by way of reply, keeping his thoughts to himself. His eyes had not left the golden ones of the other, and he moved forward, as if a shadow, when the stallion moved in another direction - presumably, towards his new home. He knew it did not promise the ruggedness of the Tundra, but he allowed himself to keep an open mind, for this place would become his home, and he would not deny himself the chance to embrace it. "I am by all means, ready to see this land which I have sworn to protect." Hungry as he was for the exhilarating madness of war, he kept his tone solemn; he was not about to rush in like a fool to a place he had no reference for. A good soldier never ran in unprepared.
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