Farenjer

It is time. Time to withdraw from the reaches of the Sanctuary. To pour from its caves in swelling numbers and to be pulled in by the chilling winds and the frozen soils to the North. Home as the unicorns claimed it to be. Where the frosted tundra met with his hooves, the crafter was closer to where he belonged. Icy winds bit at his wintery coat, and it brushed his dark mane across his face. He chuckled silently. "It seems that the snow welcomes me back." An amused mutter came from his lips and he looked ahead with an anxious gaze. Treading along the frozen soils he followed behind silently, much more ahead was Déodat. Who Farenjer had been with before at the Basin meeting back within the crystal caves of the Sanctuary. Sharing information back and forth with the handful who had arrived.

Farenjer steps within the Basin along with the accompany of other unicorns. Icy orbs rake along the handful who had followed Deimos and Illynx before he had reached the meeting. Lena and Déodat stood side by side. A man Farenjer had seen much around the Basin before but never actually met or knew, stood there as well. All familiar faces were here. Hopefully the others will follow soon. He thoughts privately.

The stallion silently stands, his ears rotated forward in attention. Watching Deimos as he spoke, welcoming them all back home. Excitement surges through Farenjer as the Basin's lady begins to announce. The mare begins with the introduction of how they survived other dark hours as well. A shudder ran along his neck, remembering how the land's light curled into a sudden darkness, the plants were shriveled and broken off, the cold increased, and how they couldn't even have the moon and starlight to see through this evil. It was a very dark time for him, as he had the shadows dance around him as if he were their horrid king. Farenjer shook his head a little in distaste as he continued to listen to Illynx. Now to the tournament discussion. The stallion lifted his head up in curiosity on who would now claim the rank of General. She announced it would be Torleik. Farenjer slowly turned his head over to the dark pelt of the familiar stallion. A mystical owl gryphon stood by his side. He turned towards the crafter and the fellow unicorns among him. The newly crowned general began to speak with deep vocals. Farenjer listened intently to the proud stallion's speech and he nodded his head in honor of the general and spoke up "Congratulations." A small grin lit his dark face as he spoke to Torleik.

Farenjer looked upon Déodat, who spoke few words for his rank, and dipped his head after to the lord and the lady. The crafter gave a little nod and thought. Amen. Illynx continued to speak to her people about the new men among the higher ranks, starting with the crafting tier. For the first time in a while, the stallion gulped as she spoke about Crowley's step down. "While he can never be replaced, we have welcomed his assistant, Farenjer, and the machinist, Ulrik, as our new cloth makers." The new weaver grinned even more as the invitation was announced and he dipped his head with respects towards her greetings words. It was exciting to think of such new doors that were opened for him now, and alongside him on top of the crafting tier would be Ulrik. It was rather dizzy feeling, thinking of working alongside the great unicorn. Farenjer had looked up to him as a role model for when he worked on his threads, even if the dark coated stallion preferred his iron works and machines.

She continued to announce of D'artagnan and a nurse, Kou's absence. Ah, the Time Mender. He remember that the same man had invited him with open arms to the Basin as he had arrived within the Threshold. He remembered when the unicorn was called a "brother" for once in his life. It was warming, inviting, and so he had followed this man to the North and within the confinements of the mountains. To this day he still never regretted his choice. It was good to hear that the Time Mender would be returning to his position among their ranks. Farenjer continued to press his ears forth in hard listening. Haruspex is open for all... Tangere among the healers now.... He blinked as Illynx spoke of the Time God, preserving their dear home in their absence. His tail swept the frozen soils with excitement. Perhaps that bundle of cotton he had arranged within the corner of his den was still lying there. It was not a waste of time after all... Then to the projects. Yes, the statues. A lot of work they were going to be to make, but with the help of Ulrik who worked with metals, and the volunteers from the other ranks to work with the statues, they were sure to have it done in under a couple of seasons. But art took time, especially useful art like the progressing statues...

After Illynx had finished, Lena spoke up “Congratulations everyone!” Farenjer dipped his head towards her warmly and smiled. He spoke "It is my honor to be with the crafting tier as one of the leaders." All my work has paid off. He thought eagerly, stepping back within the arrived unicorns and looking up to the leaders with a warm gleam in his icy orbs.

The meeting went well enough, at first. They trickled in to hear her words and gaze upon the boring steel splendor of the Lord alongside her, their faces familiar and sweet to her for the most part while others were somewhat more obscure. With each announcement of positions, the names stated rose to speak their part – she did not see one of their Corporals, however, or the face of the red haired Thief, and many others were missing. While Torleik’s words broke into the void between her own, she sends her golden eyes searching for them all, her brethren in arms, and finds that she is disappointed that some have not come to the call, and worried for others.

Where is her moon-eyed child, who she saved from the clutches of a dark forest? The one who had condemned her for an ill fated adventure?

Perhaps they are patrolling, or perhaps worse has happened to them. She does not let her face falter in worry and quickly subdues the thoughts for another time; there will be room to discover what has become of her legates in a future schedule. Today has already been booked.

Her crown dips in a timely fashion to conclude the snow flecked unicorn’s brief speech on his appointment and the subsequent and extremely miniaturized one of the present Corporal, a smile subtle and hovering about her mouth in pleasure of his enthusiasm. Not once did she remember the Lord Deimos so openly inviting his comrades to partake of the most valuable lessons to be learned in life, and while she was coming to understand that such public outbursts were impossible for the frigid son of a bitch, it was still refreshing to see a man of such charisma leading the fighters of the mountain.

Might your fire ignite itself under all their fat asses, she thinks, her grin growing into a soft smirk.

After her speech had concluded and Lena had both accepted her new position and given praise to all others who had been promoted, the Lady’s smile is widened by Farenjer’s own proud words; she had been watching him, so studiously gathering cotton and other implements of the weaving craft, a loyal student to Crowley. She did not know much of him other than that he was of good foundations with a faithful heart, but that was all that truly mattered to her; if he was willing to work to benefit the herd, in ways, he would be benefitting her.

And that, my friends, is what this game of life is all about for the Gilded Blade; easy favors earned for easy tasks.

A familiar and gruff voice draws her eyes next, her golden orbs finding the strangely handsome figure of the Engineer as she had assumed; he is mostly late as always, a thing she has come to expect from the haggard and usually quite filthy stallion. She remembers a time she had once leaned on that disgustingly muddy shoulder of his – and wonders why she had decided it was a good idea at the time, even as worn down as she had been from the electric dragon. It had taken a good number of baths to wash the smut from that brief encounter from her skin and, even then, it had been with an amused smile on her lips that she had bathed it away.

"Then make bags," she laughs, her grin cheeky and her voice playful and lilting on the cold air, "and let all here who have interest in seeing our sentinels come to life begin work on mining; know I too will come to help when necessary and available. I am assuming you know to which caves to send them to?"

As quickly as it had been born, her good humor is smashed into small, jagged pieces that desire to lunge out at the next voice that slips into the clearing; she had not expected it to rancor her so, considering the man who spoke the words. Her ears and face both snap to his position at the first mentioning of meager, brow arching viciously on her usually charming face.

She parts her lips to retort, but is cut short by the voices of some of her fighters, the parted expression on her face closing into a curved and quite smug smile.

"Here stand our numbers, d’Artagnan, but they are proud and stronger than your words paint them, few as they may be," she says, her wisp of a smirk fading at the beginning of her words, "and not a one of them will compare to the sentinels when they are complete, not even the Lord Deimos. We mine to fortify our borders, not for additional comfort; doing both at once is a matter of proper utilization of time and resources. I will not waste time returning to broaden the caves on a later date when the workers are already present and mining to gather metals." A pause slips into her phrasing, her golden eyes glinting with a promise that she will accept little outbursts from a man so newly returned to their fold, a man who fled from a position he had been given in good faith.

He had already proven he was incapable of good decision making, so easily driven into the wilds by two stolen foals and a failed invasion to rescue them.

An entire war, staged for one man and his boys, and still he was dissatisfied.

The size of the ego on some of these men was enough to make a woman go mad.

"You are a man of great worth to our brethren, Doctor," she concludes, "be less quick to stain your reputation among your kin with hasty words born of a weary soul. Trust in the strength of our herd, believe that we might guide the Aurora Basin into a better tomorrow, or challenge one of us yourself for the rights to decide what is done within it if you feel that you can do better." She tilts her head ever so slightly, a smile returning to her lips as she looks upon him with what she hopes is portrayed as a face that wishes for him to stay and at least try to trust in the leadership that was provided to them.

Her final words to the Doctor are followed by the arrival of a large and hairy brute, a short bow given to his leaders before he gives little intelligence on himself. He is unable of a fight, but wishes to guard the borders? He has one thing right, at least, and that is that he’s big, and size does matter for some things. "The crafters will have use of your brawn, sir," she says, planning on detailing him more specifically on who and when would be appropriate for such measures, though she gets no such chance.

A stench turns her face away from the newest speaker, an odor she had hoped to never smell again. It is the putrid wind of the spider child, the black feathers of the pegasus mare. Her gaze is broad with temporary fear as she turns to face the source of the smell, body preparing to potentially re-infect herself in order to add validity to her just concluded speech to d’Artagnan and to make her prior sacrifices worth more than a vast jar of nothing.

But the face is familiar, no matter how fetid the beast has become, and she feels such sorrow for him. It is her fault he is this way. She remembers now.

What in Time’s name is he still doing here? Shouldn’t he have gone to prowl the mouth the caverns with the others, pulled to the healing pools by one of the myriad warriors or healers as she had been? That he was still on the mountain astonished her, the vague memories she had of her wraith’s existence full of a restlessness, a seeking for more to destroy, to ruin.

But the boy, now that she thought of it, didn’t seem to have had much sense to him in their last meeting. After all, he had been searching for Myrrdin, a man long gone from their ranks, as if the ancient unicorn had only disappeared a day prior, and rather than fleeing as she had hoped he would – he had sacrificed himself for her.

She sees the black feathers that fall like rain around them, the blur of his dark body intercepting the winged devil that sought to harm her. The lunatic man had tossed himself in the path of wolves for naught. She had been turned anyway, regardless of his selflessness.

And then he speaks, and she is horrified and intrigued at the same moment; he has changed not one bit but for the decay consuming his body.

"Do not approach or touch him!" she calls to the herd as Lena, sweet and dedicated Lena, rises to meet the challenge of fixing the broken Disciple. Turning her golden gaze to the monster in their midst, she smiles as sweetly as she can, hoping to keep him still long enough to let Lena’s magic do its work on the ruins of his flesh. "Just wait right there for a moment, darling," she simpers towards him, "Lena is going to reward you for saving me from that atrocious flying black monster."

[ OOC: omgardnovel! I think I got everyone mentioned though? xD]