"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
Oh, misty eye of the mountain below.
Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls.
A home was needed in order to persue happiness. He had resided in the both the valley and the golden plains with other children but grew to spend most of his life in the meadow. Yes, the meadow provided everything he needed to survive. That fact however did not stop him from leaving the safe meadow for the adventureous field.
The field where he knew he could find a place that suited his potential. Ruan was still young, a little over four years old. He had many years to expierience life. The stallion knew of good for he was naturally kindhearted. Bad had also started to stain his life in the loss of his deranged mother and separation from his sister. Aspiring to be an optimist he surpressed the few negative memories he had, and held his head high.
Stepping out of the cover of the trees he walked slowly into the field. Tall grass brushed against his legs as he inhaled the scent of summer. There were groups of both sexes gathering around a fresh face trying to recruit all over. Looking up to the sun and closing his eyes he rested for a moment. After waiting for some time Ruan heard the steps of another slowly approaching.
He paid little mind until the steps closed in on him. Opening his eyes he came to face the horse. Hazel eyes smiling at the stranger, he spoke sweetly. "Hello, I'm Ruan."
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
Errant has not recruited in a very long time. It is not that he does not enjoy the task (he is a social creature, with all the necessary skills), simply that he has had no reason to. He has let the Tundra manage without him, and emerged only recently to see what havoc has been wreaked up on it. The presence of two suns had only caused physical damage; the rule of king Mountain will cause utter destruction.
The present state of limbo in their kingdom leaves him hesitant to bring new members into the fold, but Errant does not feel that the kingdom deserves to perish simply because they have not yet made their move.
So he comes to the field, a medium sized black stallion with heavy scars and bright grey eyes. He does not look at the women for long, and instead seeks out stallions. He is searching for new brothers, after all, and while women serve a purpose the Tundra has no need for them.
The spots are what catch his eye. Not the purple of them, simply the spots themselves, but as he approaches the stallion Errant can find no obvious marker of kin in him. So perhaps those spots did not originate from his Lea; this stallion isn’t family. Errant approaches anyway, because the stallion is young and bright eyed, and he returns the friendly smile with one of his own.
“Hello. I’m Errant.” He bobs his head, a little polite greeting, and then adds, “I’m here looking for potential new members of the Tundra’s brother hood. Does that interest you at all?” Best to find out early, he’s always thought. There’s no point recruiting a stallion and then having them leave when they discover that female company is few and far between. There are a handful of female residents and brothers are permitted to associate with whomever they want, of course, but they do not live side-by-side with mares the way that the six main kingdoms do.
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
Oh, misty eye of the mountain below.
Keep careful watch of my brothers' souls.
Ruan was somewhat familiar with all eight kingdoms. His time spent in the meadow gave him insights to the types of horses who lived where. The Tundra and it's brothern always sparked a flint of curiosity within him. So when the scarred black stallion introduced himself, his ears perk up.
The thought of living among a brotherhood led his mind to question. Could he learn to be a stronger warrior? Would he appear to be a man rather than just a young horse? One thing he knew for certain was that he could live without female companionship. Ruan had made it four years of his life without engagement or courting a mare, he was sure that living amongst more stallions would do little harm.
Respectively, he nodded to Errant. "Pleased to meet you. I'd like to hear more of your brotherhood." Nervously he gave a quick smile. He was unsure of how to go about these things, he had never really been recruited somewhere. There is a first time for everything, isn't there?
There is a first time for everything. Like, for example, the first time you step into the field despite having been an active member of two kingdoms for several years.
Bonus points if it's also your first time into the field after having become co-queen of said field.
But subtract points for being an old-as-dirt magician who's been there, done that, and bought the t-shirt so many times that it almost isn't fair to call anything a first.
Such is Camrynn, her coat shining black in the sun, soft and beautiful over a perfectly muscled body. She is undoubtedly gorgeous; her mane and tail fall just so, that unnatural grace that every horse likes to think they have, that strange beauty that shouldn't actually exist but it does right here on her black frame. She is entirely unmarked, save for two distinctive features: a gold crook and flail stand out proud against her black chest, and a small line of diamonds and gemstones drapes elegantly across her left cheek. Today her eyes are a shade of lavender, a color picked entirely randomly, without any thought to it whatsoever. They shift at her will, those eyes of hers, the first trait she'd ever been blessed with in the womb. Before her illusionism, before her magic.
She flexes that magic today and easily transports herself from the Deserts to the edge of the field. She could have walked, or she could have appeared directly next to her intended target, but she is a creature of whim, and today she feels like appearing from the side of the field, the area sheltered by trees.
She scans the crowd, finding a host of familiar faces here. She has checked it before she had ever made the trip, making sure it wasn't empty, making sure there were at least some horses here who might be new friends for the Deserts. She's not terribly picky about what kind of horses those new friends might be; she knows that their kingdom is somewhat lacking in numbers, and she knows that it's to their best advantage to build that up. Whether she does that with mythicals or non, axe murderers or tree huggers, she's only moderately concerned.
Her eyes land on a stallion, drawn there by not one, but two auras of power. Her interest is immediately piqued by the presence of a magician she hasn't met; she feels drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like she is with all her magical brethren, and she makes a mental note to be sure to track him down and meet him in person later.
But she is also drawn to the other stallion. He appears pleasant enough, and she can feel a soft, cold air of power radiating from him too. His coloring is amusing – she makes a note to try dark purple herself someday – and he looks like a hard worker. That's more than enough for her.
Moving with grace, she joins the two of them, arriving just in time to catch the quick dialogue between the two stallions. Stopping elegantly near them, she regards them both with a small smile. "Gentlemen," she greets, her voice smooth like velvet, her tones pleasant. "I hope you don't mind the interruption." the smile grows a bit for a moment before she fades back into a more serious expression and gets down to business. "I'm Camrynn, from the Dewdrop Deserts. I can offer you a home as well, if you're interested."
when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold dark earth
“Same to you,” Errant replies, nodding his head. He’d expected, when the stallion had been the first to greet him, that the stranger would be a friendly sort, and he is glad not to be disappointed. While the Brotherhood is far from being a humorless place, the men currently in residence do seem to be a more somber sort. Their only exception is their wildly unbalanced king, but he will soon be taken care of.
“We’re currently in a state of transition, but our purpose remains the same.” (Let Mountain here of that rumor, and wonder where it started). “We’re a stallion-only kingdom, obviously, and consider loyalty and bravery to be the most lauded aspects of brotherhood. As a result, we are also a band of warriors, though if fighting is not to your taste we are always in need of diplomats as well.” Someone to temper their blunt tongues, anyway, at least to the public eye. Men of the Tundra tend not to shy away from difficult subjects.
“And if neither suits your fancy enough to make It your life’s work, you are still welcome to live as a Brother and hone whatever skills you do find useful. ” There had been a place for everyone, whether they aligned with the two caste model or not, when Errant had first ruled. He intends to be sure that it returns again regardless of their current king. “How does that sound?”
Rather than display his own magic, Errant tends to keep it bound tightly in his chest. It has a tendency to wander toward the heat when left unchecked, and Errant’s iron will is not fond of happenings without his knowledge. So he does not engage in flashy displays or gaudy appearances (he doesn’t even bother to read minds unless there are thoughts directed toward him). His sole exception to magic is on the battlefield, and he bears the scars to prove it. Because of this, he does not sense the approaching mare as anything mroethan she is, and he turns toward her with curious grey eyes.
He does not immediately recognize the black mare with her gold markings, but when she mentions the Desert he places her. She is Cammie, the horse that Scorch intended to place in the competition for the Deserts crown. Having never seen her disguised as a bay filly he does not suspect anything from her sudden transformation, and so he offers her a polite smile
“Hello Camrynn,” he says, nodding a head that is not quite as blocky as his younger sisters. He considers asking how she has fared in the competition for the Crown of the Deserts, but now is not the time. The Tundra will need to know, sooner or later. Today, he settles for later.
e r r a n t
no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her
04-14-2015, 06:53 PM (This post was last modified: 04-14-2015, 08:59 PM by Kratos.)
When the titan arrives, the Field is wrought with bodies, as it often was and a frown creases his black lips. Kratos was not overtly social, which was not a trait becoming of a prince – but then again Kratos had never been good at being a prince. At least not the kind his father had expected him to be, Lyric had just been satisfied with her savage son. But his father had recognized his faults, recognized that he was too eager to let his blood spill, too wild at heart and unheeding of cautions - the riot that lived in his chest wasn’t fitting for a prince then.
But even still, a prince is what he was (twice over actually) and so he was charged to stay in the Dale where his mother ruled as queen, he was to be her protector by order of Vanquish (as if Lyric needed any) and representative of his father’s presence there, too. But when Lyric had passed, Kratos’ will was still too unruly to sit upon her throne and so his father had allowed him to traipse between the kingdoms, without responsibility, without consequence. Hoping one day, his favored son would shake off his juvenile temper and allow the weight of familial obligations sit there instead. But the old dragon is gone, he is a prince no more and he has long shadows to fill.
Sooty eyes slide across the Field until they come to rest upon Errant and the mare before finally resting on the spotted stallion that they gathered around. At first glance Kratos assumes perhaps it is one of his siblings, but as he closes the distance between them that thought is soon abandoned. It was clear he was no child of Vanquish, his size told that much, but there was also no resemblance between the purple appaloosa and his mother either – just another stranger wearing familiar spots.
There’s a thickness that weighs in the air as he comes, a subtle shift of electricity that prickles the hair on their necks and brings a surge of anxiousness to sit atop their skin. Just as the body recognizes and reacts to the coming of a storm, it recognizes Kratos. He nods a heavy white head in his grandfather’s direction as he joins the trio, “they’d both be wise decisions,” he says to Ruan, “the Tundra or the Deserts, I’ve lived in both,” he adds, letting a single black ear flick in Camrynn’s direction. He can smell the spice and sand of his father’s kingdom (the Deserts would forever belong to the black dragon in Kratos’ mind) on her skin. He knew his stepmother had no intentions of ruling long without her Nightwalker, he knew of the competition but knew not the name of the victor. He wonders who now sat upon the throne he did not want, but instead of asking he says, “My name is Kratos, a warrior in the Tundra.” His eyes never leave Ruan as he continues, “But if you come to the Tundra you have the opportunity to lay with us a foundation that a mighty kingdom will be rebuilt upon. If you take the brotherhood, you will endure nothing alone.” His focus shifts to catch Camrynn’s gaze with charged, electric eyes, there was a quiet power that hummed from her skin and drew his interest – much like his father, Kratos is drawn to powerful women like moth to flame.
He would make it a point to visit the Deserts soon.
![[Image: leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v202/dsl_devin/leaanderrant_zpsqa4goyjv.gif)
