ran my wandering mind away; Scorch/Hurricane/any

[Crito]

The trip to the Jungle is an arduous one for the older man. The heat of new summer weighs heavily on his back, making the trek that much more difficult. It’s the furthest possible journey in all of Beqanna, he reminds himself, trying to sooth his irritation, of course it isn’t easy. Still, the roan wouldn’t shed any tears if a magician came along and say, flattened the land a bit. He wouldn’t miss a few of the pocked-by-overturned-stones-hills that seem to appear just as he’s finally caught his breath again. Only his anticipation at seeing his birthplace once more (perhaps for the final time?) powers his feet up and over them. He grits his teeth and trudges on, the picture of restrained impatience. The alliance is already set in stone, he knows. Maybe it is redundant to press forward with this trip when a Jungle envoy has already sealed the deal. Maybe he should stay within the confines of his chilly now-home, focusing on internal matters before venturing out again. But it’s a trip he’s been rather looking forward to ever since he volunteered for it. Crito knows that Errant understands his desire to visit the Jungle has far deeper roots than simple diplomacy. It’s been well over a decade since the former prince had stood beneath a kapok tree - had listened to the cries of the howler monkeys. And, perhaps for the first time since he saw and heard those things last, he finds he misses them. There is also the matter of Scorch, of course. It’s been several years since he has seen his burning twin. He hardly knows the woman she has become (though he can imagine she is little changed from their childhood days; the fire to his ice). He knows that he has nieces and nephews – that the Blood Alliance continues on through her whereas it had stopped with him – but he only knows one by name. That boy, Simeon, had been a promising addition to the Brotherhood at first, eager and present. But in the months since Errant’s coronation, he had disappeared. It is one particular piece of information Crito is not looking forward to sharing. When the ground begins to soften with humidity and the air becomes thicker, the men (if Hurricane has indeed followed him) have nearly made it. The thick wall of trees rises ahead of them, so like the Tundra’s ice wall, if a bit more permeable. The old stallion is a diplomat, though, and he knows better than to venture past this obvious border. He waits (and is truthfully glad, as it gives him a chance to rest) even though he knows the direct path that would take them into the Jungle’s heart. A macaw takes flight, a spectrum of colors he has gone many years without seeing, holed up as he has been in the desolate north. It brings a smile of recognition to his lips. Though it had felt like an escape when he left it, the Jungle will always be a place he is glad to return to. Even if only for a while. ( c r i t o )

reference picture //character info

[Hurricane]

The growing warmth is not quite as noticeable in the distant reaches of the sky as he makes his way south. His wings beat a strong and steady rhythm, carrying him easily through the cloud studded skies. He can see the land slowly changing far below him. From the flat, vast expanse that is the hallmark of the tundra to rolling hills broken occasionally by mountains or flatter prairies and meadows. He can tell immediately when he is nearing the Jungle. The foliage becomes more dense, more vibrant and steam begins to rise into the air.

He had left well after the red and white stallion with whom he was supposed to travel, but his much quicker means of travel and brought him to the edges of the land of women at nearly the same time. His dark eyes catch sight of the stallion moments before he drops from the sky. He lands next to him, hooves sinking quietly into the softer earth.

His speculative gaze scans the fringes of the kingdom, seeking what knowledge he can. He had never before had the opportunity to visit the Jungle, having spent the majority of his life either wandering far off lands or lingering amongst the cold snows of the Tundra. The land is foreign to him, uncomfortably muggy with air thick as a bog. But he pushes those mild discomforts aside easily. Life in the Tundra is certainly not always pleasant or comfortable, which has caused him to learn well how to deal with life’s myriad of weather induced discomforts.

Survey of the thickly forested land complete, he turns his attention Crito beside him. The roan stallion appears tired, the long trek from the north having taken its toll. It’s startling sometimes, to be reminded that most men are not as enduring as he. That most will begin to fade, to falter and stumble, and eventually die. It is a sobering reminder, emphasizing the harsh and cruel nature of life. And perhaps that is why they are here, today, securing an alliance. To make life a little less cruel by ensuring that fewer men and women must die because of the petty vagaries that plague this land.

With that in mind, he returns his focus to the looming jungle and lets out a call to announce their presence.

There is never a day that goes by

that is a good day to die.

Hurricane

html c Insane

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

Ah, how differently they have aged. His bones ache, and hers do too, though from battle, not stiffness. His lungs burn from walking where as hers burn from rushing from Sister to Sister through the most humid kingdom in Beqanna. His mind drifts to the comforts of a magician whilst hers drift to their power, their usefulness, and their untrustworthiness. Alas, though these things they share, Crito and Scorch are destined to be opposites (to the naked eye, at least).

A distinctly male call pierces the regular chaos that is the Jungle. Finding her interest piqued, the Khaleesi tunnels her way through the many passages of the Jungle, vines tearing her bald skin as she forges new walkways. Ever since she and Crito had raised themselves together as children, Scorch has been this way. Why take the well-worn path when only trees, tigers, and boulders stand in your way? Of course, her icy twin had never been fond of this means of travel. This wasn’t the first of their differences, though; not by far.

The fire-clad Queen arrives shortly, blood trickling down her barrel, though she hardly notices. The shimmer of her frosty grey eyes reflects the homeland from which the two men have come, though by no purposeful means.

Immediately, a grin reveals her bladed teeth. Without thought, she steps towards Crito and nips at his graying muzzle affectionately. A low whicker rumbles from the depths of her chest in a familiar greeting, warmth spreading through her in a gentler way than her all-consuming fire. Removing herself from her brother’s proximity bubble, Scorch surveys the winged stallion next, though the greeting is far colder than the one she has offered Crito. In the end, however, they receive the same treatment.

”Gentleman, welcome. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

[Crito]

His Brother descends from the sky just after Crito stops. The bay roan looks admiringly at his wings, thinking they might have helped save him from sore muscles this journey would surely produce in a few days’ time. He’s not sure how many more trips like this he has in him, to be honest. A lifetime in the north has aged him far faster than it might have elsewhere – than it might have in the Jungle, even, had he chosen to remain. As he waits for the response to Hurricane’s call, he imagines what his days would have looked like in the leafy kingdom. How, as a man, he would have little responsibility other than producing more children for the women and defending the borders if absolutely necessary. Instead, as a part of the Brotherhood, Crito fulfilled neither of those duties: he has no offspring to his name, and can’t remember a single time he has engaged with his body.

How different life would have been indeed.

It’s not long before he sees her. She’s more eye-catching than the macaw had been, more unique than anyone else he’s ever seen. The fire leaps across her hairless skin, a burning beacon for the waiting brothers. Scorch, he thinks to himself, you always did have a flair for the dramatic. Far unlike him, of course. He is unchanging, the same speckled bay with storm-grey eyes he’s always been. Over the years his coat has begun to match his eyes; grey hairs grow alongside white in increasing number. His muzzle, once black as pitch, has lightened to flint. A toothy grin curves across his steely lips when he meets her gaze. He is almost certain her greeting will be as physical as it was the last time they met, and he braces himself for impact.

Instead of barreling into him though, Scorch is more reserved. She nips at his muzzle, and caught unaware, her teeth manage to connect. Crito winces at the stab of pain where she nicks him, but as he steps back, his smile doesn’t fade. It is simply her way, always has been (and he supposes it always will be, if she hasn’t changed by now). His only surprise stems from the relative innocence of the gesture compared to in years before. With a certain amount of bitterness, he realizes it’s probably due to his age. He shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.

“To King Errant, ultimately.” The old stallion knows she is asking for the winged stallion’s name, but he also enjoys messing with her whenever the opportunity arises. He allows Hurricane to introduce himself before pressing on. “We are here to formally secure the alliance between the Jungle and Tundra. Your Rhy has already gone before Errant. We decided to extend the courtesy to you as well.” He flicks his tail idly, knowing there is nothing for her to really decide more than has already been agreed to. His grey eyes look beyond her then, into the darkness of his once-home. “Might we come in? I’m not sure my Brother has had the pleasure.”

ooc: will add html later!

[Hurricane]

His dark eyes are fixed upon the tree line when she arrives. He sees her immediately, the hairless queen of the Amazons. He studies her, curious about this rather infamous woman. Flame arches across the entirety of her body, a green vine crawling up one leg to splash its red blossom across her chest. Her strength and ferocity is evident in her bearing. He would let her words speak for the rest.

If he is surprised at the warmth of her greeting for Crito, he does not show it. Her greeting for him is noticeably cooler. As he is rarely more than politely cool to those he does not know, he does not expect more. With his wings tucked firmly against his sides, he returns her greeting with one of his own, adding his name as a courtesy once Crito has said his first words.

I am Hurricane. Your hospitality is appreciated.

He does not add anything more as yet, allowing Crito to do the speaking. Admittedly, Crito is better at this sort of thing than he anyway. Hurricane, unfortunately, is far to blunt for most horse’s tastes. His forthright nature and brusque honesty were not always appreciated. He would add his voice when he felt it necessary, but for the time being the roan stallion is doing just fine.

There is never a day that goes by

that is a good day to die.

Hurricane

html c Insane

[Scorch]

WATCH THE FLAMES CLIMB HIGH INTO THE NIGHT

My dear Crito, despite the greying of your lovely bay coat (identical to the one which Scorch ought to sport) and the aching in your joints, Scorch’s restrain is owed to your companion over there. While she has not changed in the three decades of their existence, she has learned some manners. This dapple grey man would probably not appreciate the Queen tackling her old-man brother in the middle of a diplomatic meeting, alliance solidified or no.

Her eyes roll – very maturely, I might add – at her brother’s cocky reply. Smartass, the gesture implies. Her smile does not falter, however. “Any Brother is welcome in the Jungle,” She replies to his affirmation of the ‘brazen warrior women’s’ hospitality. Never let it be said that the ugly hairless lady was rude to her allies… Often.

“Of course, please, enter.” She steps to the side, opening the Jungle to the men. Foliage brushes against her hocks, though in this cramped space, her bubble of space is rarely respected anyways. “Yes, Rhy has spoken with me. I agree that the encouragement of exchanged foals is a good one, by the way.” She says easily as they begin walking through the kingdom. “But I believe this is enough politics for one day. If you wish to mingle among the Sisterhood or simply sight-see, be my guest. Unfortunately, Hurricane, Crito shall have to be your guide.” She winks at her twin. “I have business elsewhere. It was a pleasure, sirs.”

Veering into a smaller, alternate path, the Khaleesi leaves the men to their own devices with a swish of her scraggly tail.

Scorch

Khaleesi of the Amazon Jungle

Thought this would be a good place to end the thread considering my inability to post often