you can't give me what I need || Any

[Swagger]

if you can wait till I get home
then I swear we can make this last

 The past is but a mystery and he is a clean slate. Wherever life had taken him before matters no longer. All that matters is the present, the now. For whatever reason he is drawn to the land of snow and ice. It’s not their lack of femininity that he prefers for the ladies would always be a vice he couldn’t give up. It just seems the right place and the right time for him. Onyx hooves sink into the snow as his muscled body makes it’s way towards the one opening in the icy wall that reaches all the way to the sky. Inky tendrils of his forelock beat against his forehead as he peers through the whirling sleet and flakes that beat oppressively against his massive figure. Even as the storm rages against him, he halts at the border and waits. A stoic dark figure in a world of white. Snowflakes cling to thick lashes, snow drapes over his backside and still he stands silently. Waiting on the whims of the brotherhood to acknowledge him and make him one of their own.

S W A G G E R

I swear by tomorrow this will all be in the past

(I haven't figured him out yet so bare with me)

[Infection]

I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust

The Tundra. It doesn't whisper into its ear as the Chamber had but it's still drawn to the frigid hills and snow-capped mountains. It knows that it left behind a legacy, a dynasty. Its bloodline has run thickly in the successors but an odd feeling wraps over the deathcrawler that guides its steps toward the frozen wasteland.

It knows the border well enough as well as the land itself. It once ruled these parts, so many years ago.
Decades, but it feels like centuries.

A ragged breath is drawn into its reborn lungs when it pushes further into the frosty winds. Its unruly locks whip to and fro but it almost doesn't seem to feel the ice biting its skin. Everything is numb; its heart, its flesh, its mind. It has been rejuvenated but lacks any emotional ties that would make it truly alive.

Infection is a walking corpse.
But no one can tell just yet.

The biting wind carries a scent. Its senses are acute, adapted as any predatory instinct, and it takes minimal effort to find the stallion waiting to be acknowledged. With footsteps muffled by both snow and pads Infection draws near. Plumes of hot breath coil from its nostrils when it stops with a brow lifted in curiosity. "Welcome to the Tundra," it rasps with a voice that has been neglected, "Are you looking to be a part of the brotherhood or simply take up air?" A sickened green stare meets the stallion's before breaking away to look further into the kingdom where it sees minimal activity.

Perhaps another prime moment for the taking.

infection

infection by aeris | html by insane | picture c darkcloud013.deviantart.com

[Hurricane]

Snow swirls around him in wild disarray as he wades through knee-deep drifts, keeping within seeing distance of the massive ice wall that looms around the kingdom. The imposing structure stands sentinel against those that might wish to trespass upon the kingdom. He is eternally grateful that the wall stands to discourage such foolhardy trespassers. He is only one man, and patrolling an entire kingdom without that icy help would be taxing. Granted, some might be able to fly above, but they would be foolish to do so in this storm. And when the weather is clear, Hurricane is found in the skies far more often than the ground, so as to guard against such intruders. It offers an infinitely better advantage than does patrolling by foot.

But today he must, for he is grounded just was truly as any other winged creature. Unfortunately, winter in the Tundra is a harsh time. The snow is near constant, the wind an ever-present foe. But many had been daring their harsh clime this winter. It seems word had spread rather quickly of their leaderless state. He has every intention of remedying that before someone tries to take advantage.

He is nearing the single opening in the wall, an opening large enough to fit only a few horses through at a single time. As he nears, he sees a dark figure standing stoically on the other side, waiting for one of the brotherhood to notice him. Hurricane obliges him, slipping through the swirling snows to confront the visitor.

Another horse is their however, one with claws that sink into the snow, clutching at the icy ground as he walks. And as he reaches the black stallion, he speaks, welcoming him to the tundra, adding a rasping inquiry as to his intentions. Hurricane’s dark gaze turns flinty, fixing on the presumptuous creature.

As he steps forward, his body seems to materialize from the surrounding landscape, his pale coat and frosty wings blending almost perfectly with the frozen earth. His voice, when he speaks, is hard, as chilly as the land he calls home.

You are not of the brotherhood. What right do you have to offer its association to anyone?

There is never a day that goes by

that is a good day to die.

Hurricane

html c Insane

[Swagger]

if you can wait till I get home
then I swear we can make this last

It’s a strange creature that scales the ice towards him and his dark eyes narrow slightly as Infection grows near. He takes in the unusual pads that make up his feet, the nauseating green of his eyes. The corners of the sable man’s lips tug downward into a frown, distaste written along his features and his nostrils flare at the insult thrown his way. Before he can respond, another has joined them but this one is focused on the clawed creature. A brow furrows as he regards the two men, shifting slightly as the snow flurries against his pelt. ”Do people normal stand at the border simply taking up air in a snowstorm?” He pauses as his gaze shifts back to Infection, his lip curling slightly as he responds before the solemn expression reverts back on his features and he looks to the winged man. ”Of course I’ve come to join the Brotherhood.”

S W A G G E R

I swear by tomorrow this will all be in the past

[Infection]

I'm rotting inside
My flesh turns to dust

They won't take to its cold nature so willingly. They want a gentle man, one with emotions and concern for others. They want brothers they can rely on and yet it's Infection that arrived. With yellow stained canines and claws that knead into the snow and a grotesque stare it arrives as though prompted, as though it had never left. It claims its openness to wander because of its ties here although its lineage has only just stopped ruling. The dynasty it provided them with, however, gave the kingdom a chain of fair rulers. Its poisoned bloodlines brought life into the frozen hills.

They don't know this. The newer generations of the brotherhood know nothing of the blood that was shed and the strength it took to begin something so monumental to the kingdom's history. Every king is a large piece in a story so what of the king that began a dynasty?

Hurricane regards it with a foul mistrusting expression while the newcomer, remaining unnamed, replies snidely. Without having answered the alabaster brother Infection steadies its eyes on the foreigner. "You'd be surprised," a hoarse whisper spoken into the bitter wind. Plumes coil from its mouth, the heat mingling with cold, before disappearing for another breath to succeed it. "You need to freshen up on your Tundra history," its gaze narrows when it turns to look at Hurricane. The statement is said flatly and strangely confidently. Their eyes level on one another for a few heartbeats before it regards the stranger once more. "Your name?"

infection

infection by aeris | html by insane | picture c darkcloud013.deviantart.com

[Hurricane]

The dark newcomer takes the creatures questions in stride. Hurricane’s black gaze flicks briefly to the man, surveying him in one quick motion. The man would do well here, if he stuck around for longer than five minutes. In any case, he would not object to accepting him into the Brotherhood. His objections remain solely with the clawed man offering it to him.

If you do not fear snow and cold, than you are welcome to join. A meeting will be called soon. I’d recommend you attend.

He has never been one for beating around the bush or offering pretty words. If the man wanted to become one of the Brotherhood, he would be accepted. If he could make it through the caves, that is.

Turning his hard gaze back to the roan stallion, he fixes him with a piercing stare. Perhaps the man had been here once long ago (a very long time ago, or Hurricane would remember him), but things had changed in the intervening years. He trusts him just about as much as he trusts a clear sky in winter.

My knowledge of Tundra history is fresh enough. And frankly, we do not wish to renew bad habits.

Perhaps he knows nothing of this man’s reign in the Tundra, but he is astute enough to recognize trouble when he sees it.

There is never a day that goes by

that is a good day to die.

Hurricane

html c Insane