"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
05-31-2015, 05:12 PM (This post was last modified: 05-31-2015, 06:01 PM by Killdare.)
Of course, he seethed. Ivories gritted inside maple maw, as he stepped heavily across the fields. Up and run off without him, could she not bother taking a moment to wake him? Was this too much to ask?!
His sister was a plague 'pon the earth, and he was given her out of pure spite he knew. Had he not been such a heavy sleeper this would not have happened, but would Killdare admit this? No. He wouldn't. His irritation with his sister only further soured his mood. When they had first set off from Calcordia he had the intentions of finding a herd land they could both be welcomed in. Now, forget it. Let her fend for herself, father would not approve, but father wasn't here now was he? Not that Gore needed protection, it was merely a courtesy. They were blood, be it only by the same stags loins or not. He was confident in the fact he could keep just as good an eye on her regardless of his location, he had tracked her this far hadn't he? That was perhaps the brutes one redeeming quality, though he was young he could track easily and expertly. No magic or fancy sorcery involved, though he had spent the better part of the last year honing his skills to what they were today. She was here all right, around somewhere likely finding a new play toy, he grunted.
Killdare loped around the chilled fields, the last of winters bane clinging to the lands with a death grip. It made no matter to the bay, he had received nights out in the cold as part of "training" according to his father. The clip-clop of his hooves cut through the hard terra kicking up pieces of earth in his wake, his feathers hanging limply having lost their battle with the cold. He would find his own way in this land, seek out some herd that would only serve to better him, to provide him with things to benefit himself. Yes, that sounded like a plan indeed, and if he could still keep tabs on his sister, all the better. Of this, father might be proud...
Women were fickle creatures, weren’t they? She couldn’t deny that she had the ability to be fickle herself, though she wouldn’t describe herself as such. And not because she didn’t realize her flaws (she had them, after all), but because she had always been loyal to the Chamber. This one fact had not changed her entire life, which was not all that long yet not all that short either. Every action she took was for the benefit of the Chamber.
So perhaps some of her loyalties to certain horses appeared to be fickle. And on the surface, certainly they were. But it all came down to the same thing. Had they betrayed the Chamber? Had they stopped serving their kingdom to the best of their ability? If the answer to either of those questions was yes, then she had little need for those horses anymore. Or more to the point, little respect left for them. She has done nothing but serve her kingdom, will continue to do nothing but serve her kingdom.
That motive is of course what brings her to the field. She is here somewhat frequently, though finds that this place is still often lacking. The meadow and the Valley have often proven more fruitful than the field, but in the end, most of them leave. Apparently everyone else lacks determination and drive. Ah well. She’ll persist anyway, because she must, if the Chamber is to thrive.
One of these sorry saps has to pan out to be more than a sorry sap, right? The law of odds would suggest so.
She notices a stallion still standing by himself, which is unusual. It doesn’t take long for new faces to be surrounded by recruiters typically, like starved lions around a kill. But that’s what they were, were they not? She makes her way over, her bay and white coat grown long over the winter and not yet shedding. The last of winter still hung in the air, and while the Chamber was slightly warmer than the field, not by much.
Despite the long hair of her coat, she is still elegant and beautiful in her way. Wild and uncaring, her mane tossed on either side of her neck, her coat still streaked with a few patches of ash from the trees of the Chamber. She has never bothered much with appearance, but in truth, it is her careless that makes her beautiful.
“Hello,” she says, drawing to a stop in front of the stallion. She nods her head, though just slightly. Not a bow, but a reasonable enough greeting. “I’m Straia, from the Chamber. And you might be?”
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
He’s not been to the Field in some time, but the path beneath his hooves is a familiar one. He had recruited in his youth, finding men with the potential to strengthen the brotherhood and spreading the word of his father’s kingdom. The kingdom is his now (again?), and he feels the same sense of responsibility, though the pressure to grow is not so heavy. Errant is in no hurry to find a potential someone, but his grey gaze as he look out over the homeless in the field is still curious.
There is a lone stallion, but his gender alone is not enough to intrigue Errant. There are a plethora of other variables to consider, none of which can be measured by sight alone, and so Errant approaches. As is common in the Field, someone is there first, greeting the bay stallion with a nod and an introduction. Her winter coat – it is a she, Errant notes as he steps forward – indicates a home in the mountains, and the smell of pine and ash identifies her as a resident of the Chamber even before she says her name.
“I’m Errant,” he says, both to the mare as well as to the stallion, shaking his dark mane out of his eyes as he does so. “From the Tudnra.” Straia has already asked for the man’s name so Errant says nothing else, waiting for a reply. No sense rushing, after all, not when he has all day. The cold is not a hindrance too him; his shaggy black coat is thicker even than Straia’s, the result of a lifetime spent in the far north.
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
06-01-2015, 04:06 PM (This post was last modified: 06-01-2015, 04:50 PM by Call.)
He had taken to staring everything down, from passing mares, to stallions , and foals alike. To be honest it was anything but endearing, and perhaps was the reason so few had approached him. Of course, he himself hadn't the slightest idea as to why. He had racked it up to being his lack of years spent on this earth, no one took the young seriously, even his father had his doubts. He hadn't said it outright of course , but Killdare knew.. he wasn't as naive as he appeared to be. At least not in that aspect. So instead of accepting the lack of company as his own doing, he turned the tables. (surprising i know ) That one's too skinny he decided eyeing a black stag recruiting a chestnut mare off to his right. Wouldn't be worth my time training to do anything in that herd ,he thought as he scrutinized his competition. This activity didn't last long before the young bay became bored of his inward conversation.
He had been considering finding some mischief to entertain himself. There certainly were a lot of loose women about, who's to say he couldn't have a little fun? His thoughts were soon redirected as the form of a dual colored mare crossed the field in his direction. She was not hard on the eyes at all, even with her winter's shag clinging to her, and her pelt littered with what was that?...ashes? That was an oddity indeed, though he found the scent of charred pine and horse a pleasant aroma, widening his nostrils and breathing deeply. She had a regal sense about her, the way she carried herself...he knew this was not just some broodmare. His interest peaked as she approached, and stood directly across from him, he took the faint incline of her dial to mean she was here strictly on business. He straightened, lowering his own crown only just..as was often sought from his elders or training commanders. His first thought was that this femme was some sort of general , perhaps a captain, it was not uncommon in his own homeland for mares to climb positions in the ranks. Some, he even might allow, had been deserving of the titles. Though few, yes, though few.
Only after she had spoken and made introductions, did the young brute give his own pleasantries. Besides, he had wanted to hear what she had to say, and one couldn't hear if they were constantly chattering."I'm Killdare", he offered adjusting his weight while making sure to be mindful of his stance. "It is my pleasure to meet you Straia of the Chamber, and to which proprietor do I owe such an audience?" Of course, he was inclined to assume the mare had been sent by whichever stallion had ruled this Chamber dominion.
But a mere intake of breath after his name and question had emitted as a fog from his heated maw, did Killdare note the stallion that had approached. A bleak soot colored scoundrel like that of his own sire, which automatically made him slightly defensive. He gave a quick nod to the second recruiter, though it was undeniably forced. "Afternoon", he returned.
She doesn’t undervalue youth. After all, she had been rather clever as a child. Granter, she used such talents to annoy her father and her panther man, but she also put such talents to good use in recruiting and diplomatic trips. It hadn’t taken her long to prove her worth in the Chamber. Her son had taken even less time, an old man trapped in the body of a yearling. He had never spent a day as a child, not really.
She remembers Davos in the field as well, still a boy but smart and determined. It’s a shame he hadn’t stuck around. The boy had potential to be great, and the Chamber needed both potential and greatness. She was working on it, certainly, but she couldn’t do it alone. That’s why she dragged herself to the field. Again and again and again. One of these days, there’s got to be someone worthwhile here. She’s convinced that it must happen. One of these day, the worthwhile one might even stick around.
He was certainly right, Straia was no broodmare. Never had been, certainly never would be. She wasn’t one of those Queens’s that necessarily expected to be Queen her entire life. When a better monarch for the Chamber presented him or herself, she would step down for them. The one thing her father had always been right about was that the Chamber deserved the best. It was such a shame he hadn’t been able to recognize when he stopped being the best. But that’s off topic. The point here, is that even when she steps down, she will never be a broodmare.
She chuckles at this comment, her eyes glittering slightly with amusement. Not at him, and that much is clear. But rather at the thought that outside of Beqanna men always ruled. Oh, but not here. And certainly, not with her. “You owe the pleasure to me,” she says with a grin and a flick of her tail. She may have grown up, but there’s certain things about her that have never changed. The tell-tale flick of her tail when she’s being playful, the mischievous gleam in her eye. Not flirtatious, mind you (though some have mistaken her as such), but simply playful. “Queen of the Chamber, at your service.”
But they don’t get any farther before another approached. She’s not surprised, and she knows the name. The current king of the Tundra (and also a former king of the tundra). She did know this bit for a fact, given that she had just recently come back from the Tundra. A brief meeting, she didn’t get the impression that the brothers wanted much to do with the Chamber. She hadn’t expected anything different from that visit. “Ah, a King and Queen, you must be something Killdare.” She nods to Errant, a silent introduction. They hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting in her visit. “So tell me, what are you looking for?” she says, looking at the boy.
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
It is impossible to not notice the forced way that the bay stallion greets him. Rather than become offended, Errant is simply curious – why is he so different from Straia? There’s the obvious answer, that like most horses new to Beqanna this stallion is accustomed to herds comprised of a single stallion and his harem of mares, and the arrival of another male is a threat to his dominance. But Killdare has given no other sign that this might be the case, and so Errant doesn’t assume. He seems rather at ease with Straia, and the piebald mare has an easy charm about her.
Errant can’t really blame him.
The black stallion returns the mare’s nod with one of his own. With no Grand Maester to oversee diplomacy in the Chamber (the result of the previous king, Errant is inclined to think), the responsibility falls to Errant to keep track of the kingdoms, and those who sit upon their thrones. The Tundra and the Chamber are not enemies (in his childhood, they had been bound together by blood), but neither are they the best of friends. They are both small kingdoms, driven and motivated, and it is likely that Kildare would flourish either place if e lives up to the promise he shows.
Of course, Errant is not inclined to simply step aside and let fate play out with Killdare’s decision; he’d rather have something to do. He might not be as charming as Crito or as persuasive as Brennen, but Errant does have a lifetime of successes to thank the Tundra for and is inclined to share that with others. It’s his luck, of course, that Straia is asking the same questions that he would, leaving the shaggy black king with little to say. He thinks it might cause him to seem reticent or dull, but he is patient, and knows that Killdare’s answer to the bay and white mare’s answer will help determine if the Tundra can offer whatever it is that Killdare is searching for.
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
06-02-2015, 04:46 PM (This post was last modified: 06-02-2015, 06:50 PM by Killdare.)
This little endeavor...
This little migration....
Had thus far proved to be much more interesting and profitable than Killdare had originally anticipated. Even though ,yet, he hadn't really held anything of worth. No titles, no lands, nothing to grasp in his own 2 hooves so to say, he did however hold the prospect of two different territories. Besides that it would show his father his worth, that he could indeed make it outside of the herd.
Twin auds flicker as the laughter floats from the mares maw, reaching out across the frozen air to his eardrums. The words following were almost foreign to him. He had owed the audience to her? How bizarre, he thought this land was going to be full of more curiosities,and how right he was. A small toss of his head to the side in his shock, before acceptance crept in and settled him, made a display before the three. Collecting himself as he formed a response that would be appropriate he calmly returned, "Well then, excuse my assumptions I stand corrected." He wasn't entirely sure what to make of her gestures, knowing what he knew now. That before him was not the war minx he had expected, but the commander of the herd itself. Was she toying with him? He had wondered how she had achieved such a status, which only enticed him to her more. She was interesting, perhaps he could learn from her, she had a way about her that he just could not place. Albeit he would have to suffer some form of shame he was sure, to apprentice to a mare. Perhaps if he chose to go with her he would simply just not mention that little tid bit when he ascended . Afterall, no one had said he had to be outright forthcoming with his intentions. He could just watch, listen....
He still had heard very little from the shadow that adorned their little trio. He stood there quiet but observant, a silent watcher perhaps waiting for Killdare to slip up. To perform or say something atrocious that would snuff out his interest in him. Killdare watched this one carefully, he wasn't exactly sure what he had wanted with him, he felt like he was being tested. His father had liked to test him. To warp his young mind. He had before gone weeks without water, until his tongue had taken on the consistency of sandpaper. He had endured days upon days without sleep, being made to stand in the elements, his skin blistered and raw. He had even taken life when he was so instructed to, whatever need be done, besides, Killdare carried an "It's me or them" mentality. He had been ran, and he had been beaten...but he hadn't been broken. Perhaps that was why father had been so hard on him? Killdare wouldn't give, he wouldn't beg like the others. Instead he would endure his torture in silence, or if the mood struck him a smart comment. His father would only look on, glowering at him in reticent disapproval.
At the last question he was inclined to give a forward answer,"I'd like a place among a combat division, opportunities for advancement perhaps to lead a battalion. I'd like safeguard in the herd and, will do my part to protect the herd in return." Though he desired much more, that would do for now he decided. He would start small, build his way up, work his way into the inner goings on. From there who knows, but he knew there was only one way..and that was up.
She had fought in the army, in her day. She had trained and done a few battles, though nothing of any real significance. But if nothing else, she wasn’t completely worthless in a fight. She wasn’t necessarily a threat in a fight either, but she wouldn’t be bowled over by the first stallion that got an idea in his head during breeding season either. Not that any of them had ever tried. Must be something about her.
But in the end, diplomacy had suited her goals more. It was endless more useful to be clever and skilled with words when the need arose than it had been for her to kick others. Not that, sometimes, she didn’t want to just kick them instead. It would be easier, and she always liked easier. After all, if the situation allowed, she was blunt and honest. It saved so much time.
Her rise from princess to lady to queen was an interesting one. The first step was nothing but hard work, and to be fair, the second step was hard work as well. If she hadn’t deserved the title, her fellow kingdom mates would have had her head. The Chamber isn’t exactly known for being full of tolerant pushovers. But still, she had sold her own father for a crown. That part was fun, and no real secret. He stopped deserving the crown, and so she stopped letting him wear it.
If only the story were actually that cut and dry. But for the masses, it was. Eight and the Valley took most of the blame for the takeover, and Straia took just a bit. It looks good to the world, it allied the two kingdoms that had been fighting for far too long, and brought some life back to the once dead kingdom. All in all, she saw it as a win. Except for the part where her father and sister now hated her, but everything comes with a cost. That was the cost. She had known it, and she was willing to pay it.
In the end, she would pay the Chamber far more than just that. She knew this. Atrox had given her heart, Warship his freedom, Makai his life. The Chamber was a cruel mistress, but those that loved it served loyally despite this. Or maybe because of it. She still wasn’t entirely sure.
He answers, and she likes his answer. Direct and honest, just the way she enjoys the world to be. It never is, of course, and she will always lament this. But she does her best to surround herself with others that tell her what they want. She’s inclined to give these things so long as they prove their worth. And also inclined to take them away when they stop being worthy. She operates under those principles, and expects the same from anyone else.
“I suspect most kingdoms can offer you that,” she says truthfully, because everyone was seeking more members. Everyone had an army, and eventually they needed new generals. New lords and advisors and whatever other titles they had created. She needed all of the above in the Chamber. Her current Commander was beginning to disappoint her, and she was inclined to replace him if he didn’t shape up soon. “I can certainly offer you a place in the Chamber army, and I love promoting those that prove themselves.” Hell, it wouldn’t even be that hard. Her army did nothing. She wanted them to train, challenge, mock. Apparently she couldn’t rely on anyone to get them moving besides herself though, and she has added that to her list of tasks. After yelling at the diplomats for failing to tell her what they found on their kingdom visits.
Seriously, did she have to do everything? Not entirely true, Kavi and Erebor were quite useful as well.
“I suppose where we differ from other kingdoms are the type of horses you are likely to find. We are all rather determined,” there’s a slight emphasis on the word. She wouldn’t call them evil, because she didn’t plan to necessarily do evil things. Simply things that benefited the Chamber, whatever they might be. “No one will coddle you, or call you Brother,” this was no particular reference to Errant and the brothers, but rather she figured Sister was inappropriate. “But you will find that we have each other’s backs. You are welcome to come, take a look, and decide what you think. No one will force you to stay.” And then she falls silent, waiting to see what Errant would say, and what Killdare would think of it all. She thinks he would do well in the Chamber, but he could likely to equally well elsewhere with his drive.
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
Even without magical aid (not that Errant is prone to use of it at all), it is clear that Killdare is more at ease with Straia, despite the surprise that he’s shown at her seemingly unexpected rank. Errant is no stranger to Queens (he is both the son of, lover of, and sire of several queens), but they – like all women – have no place in the society in which Errant exists. They are not without merit, of course, but the same mysterious air that Killdare finds intriguing about Straia is one that does not exist in the Tundra (unless one considers Nihlus, who plays the coquette to anything with a heartbeat).
When Killdare tells them what he is looking for, Errant’s dark ears prick forward curiously. He’s intrigued, and clearly pleased, nodding as the other stallion elaborates. That is exactly what the Tundra needs and he intends on saying as much when Straia speaks up. It’s no surprise that all kingdoms desire a similar set of attributes in their potential members – they all want the best and the strongest. Errant wants the same thing, men that will prove loyal to the kingdom (though not to him personally as a King; in that too he and Straia are also similar it would seem), men that will advance the Tundra’s reputation as battle-ready warriors, as tough and unyielding as the northern tundra in which they make their home.
“You can be called whatever you’d prefer in the Tundra.” He says, sure that Straia had meant no offense and somewhat amused if his faint smile is anything to go by. “There is a place for you in the Tundra’s Army, and the other men and I will be more than happy to call you by whatever title you achieve. There are plenty available, though you’ll likely have competition for the highest ranks.” Rather than glance over at Straia – and make it clear that he doubts Killdare will have competitors in the quiet Chamber – he keeps his grey gaze steady on the stallion.
“While my kingdom isn’t as innately hospitable as Straia’s, you’re welcome to visit there as well.” It does not good to lie about the terrain of his homeland; it is a cold and harsh place, but he cannot imagine any other place more capable of men into warriors. “I’m sure I could find you someone to spar with, if that’s of interest to you. I’m could use some practice myself.” In this he is unlike Straia – Errant is a warrior. The scars on his hide are tribute to that, healed wounds from past battles – some of them for his life. He’s not lost yet, and is curious how Killdare might measure up against other warriors that he has faced, and against the other warriors of the Tundra. Fairly well, he assumes, but he can only judge from experience.
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
He listened rather intently, trying to find out what was held for him in these two prospective lands. Had they had what he wanted? Was there anything to be gained from it in return? Most of all where would that put him exactly in the wheel of politics, power, and authority?
He adjusted his weight,allowing his limbs to rest in intervals as he collected responses to his answer. Both combat divisions were recruiting, and he could likely advance in either. Each time this was mentioned he gave the informer a nod in understanding, of course he would have to earn the rank. That was to be expected, and was even welcomed in his opinion. Nothing ever given was anything to be boasting about, and if Killdare couldn't have some sort of bragging rights ..what good was it really anyways?
He determined hard work would be ahead of him either way he went, but this wasn't a deterrent. Both would require him to preform, and that he would do he decided. He would begin his training promptly, and thus forge his path up in result of that. There was no better way, there was only one way, and actions spoke louder than words after all. Lucky for him really, because he had thus far not been the most articulate young man. He preferred to simply prove his worth, to show others what he was made of. He was more of a "show" than a "tell" and so far it had worked out for him in life. " I thank you both for such fine opportunities," he began. "Both offers are surely, more than one could hope to receive upon arrival. I have chosen to cast my lot with the Chamber." There, there it was. He had made a decision, one he hoped he would not come to regret. He dipped his head to Straia, his first of many displays of respect he was sure.
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