"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
09-30-2015, 09:27 PM (This post was last modified: 09-30-2015, 09:28 PM by Hurricane.)
So many changes have come in such a short period of time. Their king had disappeared, leaving their quiet kingdom in a state of upheaval. It is a state that Hurricane simply cannot abide. And apparently, neither can anyone else. But it is time. He has made his choice and so has Tarnished. Now it is time to win their brother’s approval.
The harshest days of winter are behind them, the wailing winds and heavy snows slowly giving way to the weak northern sun. Though the temperatures are still icy by the rest of Beqanna’s standards, for the Tundra, the days are turning warm. In truth the Tundra really only has two seasons. Winter and not-quite winter, a time when a few hardy plants would chance growing, when the ground would turn soggy from melting surface ice, and when a few brave creatures would venture north. He looks forward to that time, still several months away, but hesitantly edging into the softening winds.
He reaches the ruins in short order, the sacred place that houses their cave. Tarnished walks beside him, as prepared as anyone can possibly be prior to encountering their fears. He halts outside the cave entrance, dark gaze fixing upon the roan stallion as he takes his measure. The man spares him only glance before forging ahead into the cave’s dark interior.
And so he waits, standing with quiet patience as Tarnished confronts his demons. He does not know how many hours have passed before the stallion finally emerges, but he is still there, still waiting, his position hardly changed. He offers him a nod of acknowledgement, of acceptance, as he steps forward. Side by side, they stand before the barren kingdom.
Calling to his brothers, those loyal ones that have remained, he asks them to come. Once all have finally arrived, he begins.
As I’m sure you have all found by now, Errant is gone. He left with Lea some months ago and has not returned. While this is great cause for concern, it has left us in an untenable position, without leadership. There are those in Beqanna who already seek to take advantage of it.
He pauses, dark gaze moving to each brother in turn before landing on Tarnished.
Brothers, I would like you meet Tarnished. He arrived here a short time ago, and has since expressed interest in assisting us with our dilemma. As you can imagine, I was quite skeptical of his intentions.
For the brothers that had been present prior to Errant’s crowning, they would know precisely of what he spoke. He had not been kind in his questioning of their former king.
Having spoken with him at length, I have some confidence that he truly means his words. He has entered the cave and has become one of the Brotherhood. Pause. Tarnished has offered himself up as our next king, and I would stand beside him as a brother King. If the Brotherhood is amenable, we would put the kingdom to rights and halt any aspirations others might have for us.
He quiets then, gaze scanning the gathered stallions as he watches their reactions. He gives the floor to them, to Tarnished, that they might voice their own thoughts as well. Hoping that they would be amenable to their solution. Hurricane knows that he is too blunt, too honest; he would no doubt offend any number of the other kingdoms before his reign was done. But neither could he allow their kingdom to be perverted for another’s selfish desires.
There is never a day that goes by
that is a good day to die.
Hurricane
html c Insane
OOC: Just a note, we do have permission from Cassi to assume the throne. For the most part though, we would like to try to keep this as IC as possible. So feel free to have them talk it out.
Upon returning from the depths of the cave, there is a noticeable difference in the cheeky shape-shifter; it's most evident in the way he carries himself--he seems weightless, relieved; Atlas without the world on his shoulders.
He wonders, briefly, what Demian might make of all of this. Would he see it as a sign of betrayal? Would he offer support for their endeavors? Rebuilding The Tundra would be no small task, and as Tarnished takes up arms beside his new Brother, he decides that he would much rather be focused on that than trying to repair a broken relationship with his close friend. A 'diplomatic' visit to The Valley is certainly in order. He grins.
Hurricane addresses... The Tundra and Tarnished glances around skeptically. There is no one to address, save for the poor soul they'd met at the wall and Dominion. He clears his throat, deciding to take the floor when it's offered. "First order of business, gents--this one should be obvious, recruiting. We need bodies. That means The Field, that means The Meadow, that means going herd to herd if we have to and I'll be right out there with you; of course, I prefer quality over quantity, but even the best soldier cannot fight off an army of hundreds. He will eventually buckle and succumb to his enemies."
Tarnished pauses, allowing his statement time to sink in before continuing. "Mind, that does not mean we're going to war any time soon. But better safe than sorry." The roan horse looks to Dominion then and flicks an ear back; he studies her intently, those golden eyes never wavering--she'd walked through hell and back many a time, and while he doesn't expect her to appreciate the gesture (yet), he nods his head towards her. "The spotty one, Dominion, is mine. If you'd like to have your mares trained in combat bring them to her. They'd be valuable assets when it comes to Tundra defense until we have more men capable of defending the wall. Hurricane and I have discussed a possible deal with the Amazons in the future. Should it go through, you will be informed of what the deal entails. Now then," he looks around at... well, all three of them, his gaze lingering the longest on Dom ('Please be silent'). "Any questions?"
(I don't have access to my laptop right now, wrote this on my phone. My apologies!)
Vanquish x Nocturnal equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity
Hurricane beckons, but it doesn't come crawling; not yet, at least. It isn't a pet or a slave. Its ties and loyalties waver with the changing wind. It wants its power back, its reputation, its fear-instilling abilities. Unfortunately, it is needing to begin from scratch to achieve its past success. Generations have since past. The tales mothers would warn their children of at night now reflect newer creatures that bump in the night. Infection is no longer poisoning their mouths or stories; it is no longer spilling blood across Beqanna.
The temptation to approach is waning. When a deep breath is drawn in it notices another male approaching the empty area. There are only two of them as of yet, speaking outward to a nonexistent crowd. A brow quirks. A talon tears across the snow. Infection eases forward placidly to listen now and is unimpressed with what is heard. The distaste churning in its gut is concealed behind a stoic expression. Its voice is knives against their ears, chilling to their bones. "My, my, how eager," its attention flickers between the two men, "Hurricane proposed the idea to see if the Brotherhood approves the idea." There is no one, it muses with a glance over its shoulders before craning its head back to them. "The proposal is in the air and yet you," it inclines its head toward Tarnished, "are already giving orders." The demands fall on deaf ears. "You jump before thinking. A fault. A rookie and young mistake."
Its voice is raspy and grueling. The unmarked graves of its victims churn when it speaks and the souls eerily scream in its head. "I am not amenable. I don't support him," it glances to Tarnished then to Hurricane as the silence returns.
infection
infection by aeris | html by insane | picture c darkcloud013.deviantart.com
The spotted stallion does what he had not yet done and should have, if at least only once: attend a meeting of the brotherhood. Roe feels rather guilty about this, but manages to reason to himself that late is better than never. Making his way to the ruins in answer to Hurricane's call, he listens to the words whilst taking in the trio before him with his emerald gaze. He didn't know either of these stallions, or the mare; but since they didn't know him either it doesn't really matter. One The two stallions before him were apparently going to replace the long-missing Errant, his kin. Yronwood recognizes the sense in that. The Tundra could not go without leadership. He just hopes that wherever Errant has vanished to, he's safe and unharmed.
Well, he definitely doesn't have a mare to partner with, but if and when he ever does, he will indeed heed Tarnished's words and introduce her to Dominion. The young stallion bows his reddish head low to the duo of newly-crowned rulers, recognizing them as his monarchs. Feeling caught up in the earnest words of Hurricane and Tarnished, he speaks. "My name is Yronwood, son of Dorne. I haven't nearly been as active for the kingdom as I should have been, but I'm here now. Here to do whatever
I can do help the Tundra become great again, anything it needs of me. " His eyes flicker in the direct of the ice wall, as he wonders if there is any luck awaiting him out there in the recruitment business, then back to the three horses before him.
His time in the Chamber does not change him overmuch.
It takes him longer to return home than it might others, perhaps. His pace is slow and ungainly; he is exhausted by the time he passes easily and without thought through the icy hole in the wall. But he is just as grumpy and cantankerous as ever. If anything, he’s become more so thanks to his time in captivity. It is not hard to understand why – they’d practically passed him around like a cheap gift, threatening his life and livelihood. Well, that may be a bit over the top. His response about war and gore and death if he’d been harmed might have been too much, too. But it had worked, hadn’t it? Not a single hair on his balding head is missing. No new scars (apart from those he’d gained in the caves) mark him as a prize of the Chamber (though it might have hardened his soft, diplomat image, he wagers). All in all, it had turned out all right because he had assured it would. Crito never thought they’d kill him or sacrifice him to their tree – they’d have Errant and Scorch at their borders in hours if they had. But it was better to protest too loudly, just in case the idea crossed their charred, heathen minds.
He ambles slowly through the mushy snow, the cold of it like a balm to his aching joints. Fire seems to shoot up through them in a way it hasn’t before, as if he’s gotten worse in his time away. He doesn’t know that Errant is gone and the relief his body had felt in his presence is gone now, too. All the bay roan knows is that it is more of a struggle to reach the ruins than ever before.
Hurricane’s voice is carried over the spring winds. At first, Crito thinks it’s for the army, and therefore not his concern. Maybe I’ll find a cave and sleep for a week, he thinks to himself, grimacing as another piercing pain rattles his knees. But he hears something new in the grey man’s voice, something akin to urgency and uncertainty in a way he doesn’t think the pegasus has ever sounded. Puzzled and intrigued, despite his exhaustion, he keeps on towards the ancient ruins.
Crito’s old, stormy eyes take in the scene when he comes upon it. A small group has gathered around his Brother, taking up a respective stance around him. The once-Hand notices that his own blood-brother is absent, however, and his frown deepens. Hurricane’s words soon mirror his observation. Errant is gone? And his lady, Lea – he’s just brought her back in time for both of them to disappear? It doesn’t make sense, and for once, Crito doesn’t think it’s his fuzzy mind that’s to blame. Errant is a king above all and before all; he’d never let family matters overwhelm his responsibilities to his people. But as they always are, others are quick to grab at the mage’s still-warm crown in his absence. The roan is fine with Hurricane stepping in (at least until Errant returns) but this new ‘brother’ is a different story.
Fortunately, Hurricane gives the newcomers name. Crito isn’t sure he would have learned it if not, as readily as he assumes authority over them and delves into kingdom matters. Another new man (though he uses that term lightly, seeing the peeling and rotting flesh that haphazardly adorns him) seems to agree. He challenges this Tarnished, calling him out on his eagerness to take the helm. Being the only peacemaker surrounded by warriors for years on end has at least given the old man a sharper tongue. He appreciates this barb directed towards the yellow-eyed place-holder, but he doesn’t supply one of his own. “You have my confidence,” he says to Hurricane instead, sharing a glance with the only horse he really trusts among the gathered. “Thanks for trying to bail me out, by the way.” A short-lived grin rises and falls on his face. He looks back at the others, not knowing of his sister’s recent death. “The Amazons won’t be any trouble, unless Scorch has pissed someone off again. But perhaps you should share the details of the deal now – unless you plan on turning the Tundra into a dictatorship on your first day.”
Being female didn’t stop Dominion from hearing the summons that rang out across the kingdom. She’d been waiting for such a call since Tarnished went into the great, mysterious cave to be tested and become a Brother himself. Since she’d thrown in her lot with them for the time being when Nish had made his decision, she headed toward the source of the call, fully intending to keep her mouth shut since she knew her opinion wasn’t much sought after in the bachelor kingdom. What with having a uterus and all.
Dumb.
But, the idiocy of ruling out half the population as potential active kingdom members aside, it was where Nish felt he needed to be. Dom had never given enough of a damn about where she lived to put in a strong vote one way or another, and frankly if it was intolerable she could always leave. For now, she’d support her friend in his endeavors. He was a candidate for co-ruler and the meeting would determine whether he succeeded; of course she would be there.
Her friend seemed worlds lighter, returning from the cave and whatever demons he’d faced in the process. There was a sparkle in his eye she hadn’t seen much, and its presence set a smile to playing with the corners of her mouth though she tried to keep a straight face at this most solemn occasion. She almost succeeded through his take-charge, problem-solving speech—which was dead fucking on; the Tundra needed bodies like a desert begged for the fall of sweet, sweet rain.
Ah, but then he paused, studying her. Nodded at her and declared her his, and she lost the battle, giving him a solemn nod despite the grin on her face. Of course, dear. As you wish, dear. You’re mine right back, hope you know what you’re getting yourself into. Oh, she’d play the game for him, no question. He’d done it to keep her safe, to declare her off-limits to anyone with wandering eyes, and it was endearing. Sweet. But formality or not, there was weight to those words, and if he didn’t know it already he’d learn it soon enough.
She knew that lingering look. She gave him one right back, agreeing to his silent request. She wasn’t going to object to the declaration, nor was she about to interrupt an important meeting about the future of the kingdom to have a discussion about their relationship. If he needed to talk about it, they’d talk later. “Of course I am, as you are mine,” she said simply. “And I would be happy to train anyone who’s sent my way.”
As for the rest, it would sort itself out. Nish could fight his own battles, he didn’t need her standing up for him. And her sex would mean doing so would be more likely to diminish his position than enhance it. So she watched silently, at least for the time being.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
They come, trickling slowly in until the small group is gathered. There are more here than he had expected, but far less than he would have liked. The Tundra had long been a quiet kingdom. Though quiet and small, they had never been weak. He does not intend for that change. But for them to become strong, especially in the absence of their magician, they would need to make other changes. This he recognizes well. Old he might be, but stupid he is not.
Tarnished steps forward, taking the conversation from the where he had left it. He is blunt, putting forth his opinions as he had come to expect. Hurricane had always been guilty of stepping on toes, so he could not blame the other man for doing so. That does not mean he would not object. Hard gaze fixing upon the roan stallion, he clears his throat.
Let’s first settle the matter of ascension.
For this was far from settled. And as he expected, there are objections. How could there not be? This man is unknown to the Tundra. And though Hurricane had vouched for him, the brothers would be remiss in not questioning him.
Infection is there, and when he speaks, Hurricane’s steely gaze turns to him. He does not trust the man. He had come from nowhere, slinking in as though he owned the place. The creature had not made his intentions clear, whether he planned to become one of the Brotherhood, or if he had an ulterior motive for being here. Until he does, Hurricane intends to take his opinions with a large grain of salt.
Noted.
He keeps his response to the creature simple, allowing Tarnished to rebut the man’s words. Just because he stuck his neck out for their newest brother did not mean he would fight his battles for him. He would need to win their support and goodwill on his own.
And then there is another man, one he does not recognize. But he introduces himself, proclaiming his intentions to join. Hurricane dips his head in a brief nod, accepting the man’s offer.
In that case Yronwood, welcome.
Crito is the last of the Brotherhood to arrive, followed closely by the mare that had arrived with Tarnished. His ‘woman’ (he knows enough of men and women to know that their relationship is for convenience, though he does not question it. If Tarnished wanted to claim her as his mate so that she might remain, he would not object, so long as she offered no danger to the Tundra).
When Crito speaks, Hurricane nods, carefully considering his words. The man had gained his full respect long ago, and he would always take his advice into account. He acknowledges briefly the man’s word of thanks. He would have done no less for any of the kingdom’s loyal brothers, and he only regrets that he was not successful. When the man mentions Scorch however, he hesitates for a brief moment before informing him of the changes. He is not such a bastard so as not to feel sympathy for the man’s loss.
Lagertha now rules the Amazons. I’m sorry to tell you this Crito, but Scorch is dead.
He pauses a moment. Perhaps he could have been a bit more circumspect.
If the Amazons are amenable, we would like to set up an exchange of sorts, much like we had many years ago. Our girl children for their boy children. We would begin their training here prior to sending them there, he nods briefly at Dominion. Hence her offer of training.
Perhaps Tarnished would like to leave them in the dark until such a thing was a done deal, but Hurricane would like their opinions. He has no intentions of running a dictatorship, nor does he intend to allow it to become one.
I watch you fast asleep,
All I fear means nothing.
A familiar, sickly-sweet smell hits his nose and overpowers the permafrost; it brings back memories of a time when he’d been a little boy, too curious to not try absolutely everything at least once. He had taken a bite out of a rancid hare he’d found, just to see what it tasted like—and after maggots in his mouth, tears stinging his eyes, he had known better ever since. He casts the undead creature a sidelong glance, listens to what it has to say, but that’s it; it doesn’t rile him, though he wonders where it gets the idea that what he has done is a ‘rookie’ mistake. There are few enough brothers here that he could actually tear through them all and no one would be the wiser until summer came to melt the snow; instead, he suggests they go recruit, they bring witnesses—keep him in check and stop the slaughter from ever happening.
The next asks him of his plans, advises him against turning his reign into a dictatorship and Tarnished smiles, albeit darkly; a dictator would have shown up in full-force. A dictator wouldn’t have shared his ideas with a fellow Brother, his would-be cohort, but Tarnished says none of this—he lets them talk, lets them have their say. Most of them are siding with him regardless and so there’s no need for arguing anyways. It isn’t until Yronwood approaches that the roan stallion even twists an ear; the boy mentions that he is a son of Dorne and Tarnished nods his head. “Dorne, daughter of Vanquish and Lyric?” He asks, half-musing; he wonders how she is, what she’s been up to, he hasn’t seen any of his half-siblings on his father’s side in years—but it’s nice to know that their children are out there and thriving. “Dorne is my half-sister,” because, if anything, his mother had been big on family and made certain he knew their names.
The ones she was aware of, anyways.
He’s been trying to find the others on his own.
Hurricane pipes in to address the question about their deal with the Amazons.
“With that being said, Dominion,” he looks at her, pointedly, ”will go to the Amazons and offer our girls for their boys. The Amazons will no doubt want to know who is training their future recruits, especially if word gets around that it isn’t one of us.” He isn’t sure if she’s offended or not, but she’s off without a word and he loses sight of her in the blizzard before he can say anything more on the matter. Maybe she’s just eager to get away from the Tundra and its ‘oppressiveness.’
He smirks, then turns his attention towards Infection. The creature gives off a vibe he doesn’t like; it reminds him of bad dreams, monsters and other unpleasant things that sent children screaming for their parents in the middle of the night. “Perhaps you have a better plan?” He asks ‘innocently,’ as if there isn’t a hint of sarcasm behind the question. “Although, and I feel this must be pointed out, just in case anyone is unaware; a corpse doesn’t come wandering in to a meeting every day. There must be a reason, and if appearances are anything to go on, I highly doubt it’s a very good—“
The shape-shifter freezes; the world around him is collapsing into darkness, their faces are peeling away—there is nothing but earth, the land is bare. There are nothing but bones, their flesh is gone. And he is falling. And there is laughter. Awful laughter, familiar laughter that sounds much like his own. The hellhounds are coming. He is to be judged by Him and Him alone.
All is lost.
He is lost, for now.
tarnished
[Tarnished has been 'poofed' out of the meeting into the netherworld as part of a plot. x] No one should know who is responsible for this. Carry on!]
Vanquish x Nocturnal equus mutatio, immortality, disease manipulation, trait immunity
Tarnished continues the conversation, remaining level-headed in the face of the suspicion lobbied at him. Hurricane had expected no less. He had spent quite a bit of time with the man after he had made his intentions clear. Hurricane never would have spoken for him before the brotherhood if he had any concerns about the roan stallion’s ability. Nevertheless, it is reassuring to be proven correct.
Then, in the middle of his sentence, Tarnished disappears. Hurricane stills, dark gaze fixing on the spot the man had been standing but moments earlier.
”Fuck….”
The expletive leaves his mouth before he can prevent it (not that he would have done so in any case). Pale wings flaring wide, he pivots, dark gaze scanning the surrounding landscape as he tries to find the source. His position is low and defensive, preparing for an imminent attack. His gaze turns to the gathered Brothers, ensuring that everyone else is accounted for. They are.
”What the hell,” he growls in a low voice as he continues scanning the flat land extending out beyond the cave. His only thought is that it had to be a magician. No one else (that he knows of) has the ability to simply make a horse vanish as Tarnished had. Moving swiftly, he steps towards the small group of men, using his wings to urge them into a more defensive position. He doesn’t damn well care if anyone objects at this point. As far as he is concerned, someone had just declared war on the Tundra. Though, if a magician were indeed attacking them, this whole maneuver was all something of a moot point anyway.
Still, he bloody well won’t stand around and wait to be picked off one by one. Sharp gaze turning back to the group, he speaks simply, unwilling to waste time with platitudes or meaningless reassurances.
i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding
if that'll make it right
He’s outrageously late. Not fashionably late or avert your eyes late; outrageously. So much so that he honestly doesn’t catch a word of what’s said; then again, if the words were balls being thrown, he didn’t once stretch out a hand to catch one. So what I’m trying to say that not only is it his fault he’s late, it’s his fault that he doesn’t care that he’s late. Basically, he’s a douchebag and it’s all his glorious fault.
Swaggering towards the grouped men (boy oh boy, what a delicious sight) Nihlus is aware of the ripple of his muscles and the sheen of his bark-lined legs. Tossing his inky forelock from stunning blue eyes, the rogue stallion sifts through the men until at last he stands before the self-crowned king, all tall and muscular, and, to the naked eye, plain.
Grinning arrogantly, the stallion performs a sweeping bow. "Your highness,” He says dramatically. Straightening, the man holds the king’s gaze evenly. "Tarnished is gone. Away in an alternate universe I do not dare broach for longer than a glimpse. I would help him, but there’s no help to be had.”
Shrugging, Nihlus drops the heavy topic. "You’ll have no trouble running things yourself. I’ll chill in the peace caste for now, by the way.” Pivoting, the dashing lad sifts languidly through the crowd once more, purposefully brushing against the men in a rather disturbing fashion. Once to the back of the meeting, he pauses, listening for any last words. When they cease, he returns to his bachelor life, and in secret, mourns the loss of Errant.
Nihlus
rain manipulating, astral projecting, rabbit shifting son of Sinder & Noori
