"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
Dust swirled around the stallion's hooves as he wandered aimlessly across the borders of certain lands, noting when the scent of another stallion became stronger and avoiding those lands. He was in no mood to fight this morning; though a good battle could rouse him from his tired state. Each hoof fell heavy against the ground as he lazily strolled forward, jaw opening wide as his tongue lolled out to the side, deep into a refreshing yawn. Damp settled in over his eyes as they glazed with his sleepiness; wandering too long could be dangerous, he needed to find somewhere to settle for the night. The scent of females invaded his nostrils as he snorted heavily, eyes widening slightly as he entered a lustrous field of never ending blades of grass. Many had congregated here; his eyes rolling in his sockets as he loathed the thought of conversing with someone at the moment in time.
He had lived alone since his birth and generally had little time for a lot of others, a hardened heart and a hardened stallion. He had friends in the past but slowly he let them drifting away, preferring his own thoughts to the spoken words of others. The last rays of the sun tipped over the edge as the sky lit up with an orange hue, the fire colours licking away the last brilliant flashes of the day gone by. Sighing he lowered his head, teeth ripping at the blades of grass near enough for him to not bend down so much. Solomyr was never known for being the most energetic of equines. In battle he was a fierce and strong opponent, who would willingly engage with flighty movements to catch his opponent of guard; left to his own devices though, he would much rather stand tall and proud. The orange eventually faded down to the lower hues of blues and purples as night began to settle in, his legs beginning their movement again as the elegant mass strode along the grasslands, avoiding small clutches of equines as he wandered. Shaking his head gently side to side he wondered what equine would come to bother him. There was always one, either they were too curious of the black mass with what hind legs or simply lonely equines looking for a bit of company.
It seems almost inevitable that he would end up here. He spends far more time lingering on the edges of the field than he cares to admit. But it is rare that he actually finds anything worth noting, much less another worth approaching. Today is another long, tedious day filled with nothing of note, though he still lingers along the edges of the field, invisible to the prying eyes of those who frequent this place. In all probability, there is no need for him to be invisible. But the Tundra seems to have enemies these days. The theft of Tarnished is all too fresh in his memory. As far as Hurricane is concerned, better safe than sorry.
The Tundra needs new brothers. Not just warm bodies, but those willing to put their back into it and fight for the land. That is why he is here, even though he recognizes the chances of finding such a man here are very slim.
But today his patience pays off. As the sun is just beginning to set, staining the cloud studded sky with brilliant hues of orange, red, and purple, he wanders into sight. He appears strong and able, holding himself slightly aloof from the other denizens of the field, not seeking out their company. Excellent. The Tundra needs strong men who don’t need to be coddled all the time.
Now comes the hard part.
Stepping forward, his pale body becomes visible in one swift motion. He doesn’t particularly wish to frighten the man after all. Although he doesn’t look as though he would be easily frightened. All the better.
Settling his feathered wings against his sides, he joins the stranger where he stands idly. Hurricane offers him a nod of greeting, piercing black eyes studying the fellow with unwavering intensity.
”I am Hurricane.” He pauses a moment. It wouldn’t do to be rude to the man. Terse he might be, but he can manage manners when he wants to. ”And you?”
From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
They needed soldiers, they needed men and women with grit and steel spines. They needed diplomats too, or else Kronk would have to continue the task of making alliances. If that were to continue, the Gate’s would probably remain friendless. The orange and white stallion snorted. When did he start playing politics? He knew when, and the very thought caused his anger to rise.
Slowly, he was beginning to learn to control his rage. He was learning to cope with failure. It was harder when there was no enemy before you to fight. Waiting was more difficult than doing. He felt the anger like a pretense at his back. He felt lit like a suffocating cloak that was just tight enough to make breathing difficult. He would pant and wheeze and always he would feel the failure. Still, all that would stay in his mind. It would stay locked away where Kronk could pull it out and examine it privately. In public, right now, he had work to do. He had revenge to sow.
Kronk saw a man by himself. A sturdy black creature who seemed content in his solitude. Perfect. He walked over, weaving in and out of bodies, eyes locked on the one creature who probably wanted to be left alone. Over the years, Kronk had learned that the quiet ones were also the thinkers. The ones who enjoyed their own company had a well developed enough minds to exist on thoughts alone. He liked them. As long as they weren’t so bent on solitude that they couldn’t take or give orders, Kronk liked them.
But, apparently, the stallion was not alone. Kronk saw the Tundra man in a sudden burst, and he had to suppress the surprise. He channeled it into nothing more than a stony expression. He hadn’t met the Tundra man, but he could smell the snow and ice on him. And besides, they were probably looking for the same kind of recruit. Kronk wouldn’t turn down a woman who fit the bill, but he would admit a partiality to brothers in arms. Kronk nodded in greeting to both men.
“Well met, gentelmen. I’m Kronk.” And indeed he was.
A silent breeze swept across the blades of grass as they began their wave-like dance, Solomyrs ears twitched about the top of his head subtly as he began to relax into the serene absense of sound. A hind leg began to rest as he lazily let his jaw drop into a long yawn, the day had weighed long on him and he had welcomed this rest for some time. Though it seemed fate were to not be so kind to him. A rougher rustle invaded his mind as a single ear flexed to the sound of a creature approaching, in a single sweep both ears swivelled to lay flat against his skull. For just one moment could he not be kept perpetually awake. He was not equipped with the best social skills, having little respect for those who demanded it rather than deserved it. Though he knew the beast approached he did not change his stance, nor did his eyes flutter open from their droopy lids. He would address the other in his own good time. The stench of musk and male was heavy as he slowly breathed in and out, assessing just who was approaching him; though he had not been prepared for what his vision would reveal.
The eyelids lazily lifted and brought ahead of him a winged stallion, he did not know such creatures existed here. He had passed many equines in his time but none adorned with the feathered appendages the one before him had. The thoughts ran through his head while his face remained stone, ever unchanging. It spoke its name and asked him of his, he contemplated leaving the stallion with no more than an utterance; that was till another creature decided to invade his space and so called grace him with his presence. Neither looked particularly like they would be the ones to carelessly converse, both looked to have a purpose; though they hid it well behind stone faces. "The name is Solomyr. Is there any need for you to disturb me or may I go back to my rest." The vocals were rough and harsh, spoken through a raspy throat as his dark eyes scrutinised the pair.
His hind leg still hung lazily but he decided it was time to adopt a stance more suited for his personality. Solomyr stood straight,his alabaster socks standing out in the darkness that pressed ever closed to the small band of males. Ears not moving from their position he lets his nostrils quiver as he familiarised himself with their scents, attaching them to the names he had been given; though a name meant little to him. He had never stayed anywhere long enough to bother to remember anyone's. They were insignificant pawns in a game he wished not to play.
The gray stallion stands easily next to the newcomer, his pale coat standing out starkly against the other man’s onyx one. They are not left alone for long, though Hurricane had not expected they would be. He has lingered unseen along the edges of the field long enough to know the social norms of the place. No horse is left alone for long in these parts. And so another approaches, this one a brown and white stallion who introduces himself as Kronk.
The latest addition to their small group is unfamiliar to Hurricane, which in and of itself is rather odd. Whether or not he had actually met them, he had heard of or seen many, many horses. It seems to be a natural consequence of having lived on this earth for such a long time. Nevertheless, he offers a brief nod of acknowledgement to the stallion. He detects a faint hint of ash and smoke coming from Kronk, telling him immediately from which kingdom he hails. There is only one place that had burned recently.
As the newcomer speaks, offering his name before curtly asking after their purpose, Hurricane turns his steely eyes back to the dark stallion. As far as he is concerned, this works all the better. No need to waste time on useless pleasantries.
”If you’re looking to rest, you picked a poor place to do so.”
He pauses a moment, eyeing Solomyr in consideration.
”I’ll be brief. I come from the Tundra. I am in search of men willing to help build up the kingdom, to fight for it. It is a harsh land, but offers its rewards as well.” Pause. ”To be frank, it takes a certain strength and fortitude to do well there. Not all are cut out for it. If you don’t think you’d have what it takes, I’d recommend accepting whatever he’s about to offer.”
He tips his head in Kronk’s direction as he speaks the last. Settling back, having spoken his piece, his dark eyes remain fixed upon Solomyr, a silent challenge held within that flinty gaze.
From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward
Well okay, it seemed like they were doing this. That was fine by Kronk. In kinder times, in gentler periods in history, Kronk thought the Gates could have been a sanctuary, a paradise for anyone who wanted to rest the soul with easy living on thick green grass beneath a light blue sky.
Now was not that time.
Now Kronk needed soldiers to guard that paradise, strong men willing to go to war for it. It was not a kind time to live in the Gates, and Kronk wasn’t looking for kind men to guard it. Soldiers, it was said, did not need to say pretty words. But, how did you recruit a stranger to pledge life and limb to a place he didn’t know?
You didn’t, that was the answer.
You just had to recruit strong men and hope that they saw something in the charred, burned place that had once been Heaven’s Gates. All Kronk could do was offer them a place and hope that place wheedled up into their soul and took hold. Love, duty and honor was like an infection. It burned through its host, causing their blood to boil and their heat to rise. It didn’t care about practically, and it didn’t care about priorities. Or at least it didn’t with Kronk, maybe others could rein in the feeling, could use it to their own ends. He could not.
But still, Hurricane suggested Solomyr take Kronk’s offer if he wasn’t cut out for the Tundra. Kronk let out a little bark of laughter. Sure, there was more food and warm sun in the Gates, that was true enough. The Tundra was bitterly inhospitable, but was it plagued by the Chamber? Maybe it would be soon. Kronk’s rye smile turned dead pan.
“I’m offering much of the same. I serve the Gates. Recently, we’ve had a little invasion problem. I’m interested in recruiting men who are prepared to see some action. We need soldiers, plain and simple. Or if not soldiers, than diplomats who can think their way out of a tough situation. We have plenty of scared women and children.” Kronk couldn’t say much more. There would be consequences, if word got out that the Gates was stirring an army. Still, you couldn’t stir an army until you had one, and the orange and white stallion had revenge on the mind. He just hoped the rest of his kingdom would be ready when the time was right.
The sea of talk was soon to fall on deaf ears as he felt his consciousness slipping from his grasp; but now was not the time. Sliding his tongue between his teeth he grazed it sharply, a small rivulet of blood running from the muscle as the metallic taste aroused his senses. The alabaster stallion, Hurricane, was the first to address him, speaking of a home and rewards. Solomyr's lips curled up into a sneer as his ears flicked casually across the tops of his skull; selfishness had always been in his nature and it would take a lot of convincing without there being anything in it for him. When the other stallion spoke he did not find such words as alluring as the others; he cared not for mares and the young. It was a rarity that Solomyr cared for much else than himself; he was yet to be convinced there was anything worth so much of his time.
"Hurricane, I must ask more about these rewards, they do sound quite intriguing and something that would appeal to me." Turning his head to the other stallion, Kronk, he let an exasperated look cross his normally stoney features. "I cannot be convinced by the fear and weakness of others, all should be fit enough to fend for themselves; even a foal should be trained to either fight or run, whichever their talent is." Hips rolled lazily as he changed which leg he rested on, the night was beginning to move along and he wished so much to get his much needed rest. If he were to move somewhere new he would rather be alert than be easy to fool or surprise.
His tail lashed against his side rapidly as he turned to Kronk once more, "I must respectfully decline your offer. Though you seem noble in your stance, I wish you the best." He was not all arsehole, there was still a little good left in him. In a new land he could not afford to make any new enemies just yet, allies were useful; even if only for information. Once more the onyx stallion turned to the winged creature, wondering what else the other creatures were adorned with; as well as if he could ever find a way to be graced with such a gift. Flight would be exhilarating as well as such an advantage, not being able to help it he let his eyes slide over the smooth lines of the feathered appendages; a small jealousy growing within the pit of his mind.
If there is anything Hurricane is good at, it is recognizing the truth of another. For one who prizes honesty over nearly all other things (even to the point of being bluntly rude), this is unsurprising. It is quite likely a product of having lived so long. But whatever the reason, he is rarely wrong in his assumptions about what makes one tick. In the case of the black stallion before him, that would be personal gain.
So it is not unexpected when the other stallion asks after what rewards might await him.
”In return for your hard work, you will be offered promotions. Opportunities. These can be rewarded with certain traits.” He shuffles his wings slightly to emphasize his point, to demonstrate what he might expect. ”Advantages, if you will.”
He is unashamed to have tailored his words into something that would entice Solomyr. Everything he has said is the perfect truth after all. Of course, it is also true that, in all likelihood, the Tundra and Gates could offer the newcomer much the same things (though quite frankly, the Tundra has more than a few open positions Solomyr could rise into). There are a few key differences, however. One is that the Tundra has so very few women or children to care for and protect. The other is the independence provided to and expected of its members. The Brotherhood is not about to start coddling anybody. One that could not handle such independence (and even occasional isolation) would not last long in the Tundra. And Hurricane is not interested in men who will not last.
”If this interests you, you are welcome to accompany me.” He studies the man for a long moment for continuing. ”Once you’ve seen more closely what we have to offer, it may be easier to make the decision to stay or go.”
The day was done and the night was now in full swing, soon it would be day and he had claimed no relaxation for himself. Solomyr was tiring and it would not be long before that decision to remain conscious was taken from him. The alabaster stallion's vocals reached him once more as his ears twitched carefully to make his words as audible as possible. A smirk plastered itself across his lips as he listened intently to what the other had to say, ruffling his feathered appendages as he spoke of rewards and advantages. Being able to lift oneself higher than the birds dared to fly was a thrilling concept, one that clouded his mind as he became consumed by his own thoughts of what else could be offered to him and how it would improve him and make him more efficient.
Flicking his tail sharply against his flank he used the stinging bite to awaken him slightly as Hurricane spoke of accompanying him to 'the Tundra'. The cold would cause him no issue, his thickened coat could hold up to the harshest conditions this land had to offer. Though ice flurries tended to drive equines away it showed a sense of pride and resilience, one that he could not help but respect; though nomadic equines must also have made it their home, snow covered lands always seemed quiet and lonely. Hurricane studied him for a while, Solomyr's own gaze never wavered but he nodded slightly at his last words; he did not trust easily and this was almost giving him an escape as it were. Sighing he dipped his head and acknowledged for Hurricane to lead the way; not bothering to speak as the night began to wane.
