Name: Brigadier
Age: 31
Race: Belgian Draft Horse
Gender: Gelding
Height: 16hands
RP Colour: Sienna
Brig - as he is affectionately known - was Tyden's horse while he resided as a youth in Ardenburough. Currently an RP is in the works to bring ol' Brigadier back to Kalidore for a very pampered retirement!Brigadier is a rotund sorrel gelding with a fondness for cookies, and never met an apple he didn't like. He taught many young pages to ride, and likes nothing better then to be prancing before the crowds in a tournament or parade. A true showman, he definitely knows how to play the crowd - if for the only reason it usually pays out very well in more cookies!
Backstory ~
An excerpt, from Tyden's youth, approx age 16: Brigadier gave his head a final toss, objecting to the bit on principal, not because he had anything personally against it. Tyden often rode him bitless, and he didn’t see the point of its use for any occasion, even if it did complete the fancy new bridle Geraint had just surprised them with for the occasion. It was on that note he conceded; Brig did like pretty things. More so, he liked the attention he got when he was wearing them, which usually translated into lots of petting from small children who smelt like cookies, and possible apples. Brig loved apples. He was also true sportsman, and loved the games; nothing warmed his blood like a cheering crowd, and as the crowds gathered he pranced, eager to be strutting about in front of them.
“Hold, Brig!”
Tyden scolded, as the bucket-sized hooves came uncomfortably close to his boots. He slipped in the bit and fastened the buckles while the sorrel gelding worked it over with his tongue. “You can have it off again as soon as we’re done. And contrary to belief, it’s never interfered with your eating yet,” he glanced at the girth belt, which was a full notch longer then it had been this time last year. It never failed – when he was away, Brig had the entire stable wrapped around his shiny copper neck, slipping him goodies whenever they passed. But it wasn’t that he was exactly fat, rather, Brig was build much like Sir Geraint – round as a barrel and stout. Built like a warhorse should, except that Brig had never been to war, and if Tyden had any say in the matter, he never would. Instead he lived an easy life in the principal stables, teaching the young squires how to ride, partaking in the occasional fox hunt or hack here and there, and prancing merrily in each and every holiday parade, which he enjoyed a lot. When there was a competition at hand – Brig was rearing to go. At eighteen he had lost none of the spark in his eyes, and still managed to clean up the rounds against younger, hotter horses, with the aid of a clever rider on board. Usually that rider was Tyden; the two were pretty much inseparable. They understood each other, and more often then not, their minds were on the same thing.
Tyden reached over to clip on the reins, looping them back across the saddle. Now Brig was looking the way a classic warhorse should – trailing pennants and positively gleaming in polished light amour. Most of it was for show, but also to protect the horse from an ill-aimed joust or careless sword during the games. There was still the mask, but Tyden didn’t see the need to have him sweat in it before it was time. Plus he still had to get ready himself.
“Oh, isn’t he handsome!” came a squeal from behind. Brig’s ears moved forward and lolled his head over Tyden’s shoulder, assuming the position to petted. Tyden had to shove it away with some effort before he could come all the way out of the stall. There was a group of girls in their teens, local girls but well dressed, and the youngest was peering at Brig with that dreamy look in her eyes. Her elder sister he recognized, Katherine, if memory served; he’d seen her and her friends about town, and when she saw him she leaned to her friend and said loudly enough to be overheard, “Now, was she talking about the horse, or the rider?”
Tyden lolled his arm over Brig’s neck, assuming a similar position. “Good afternoon, ladies… come to see the games, have you?”
“Is he going to be in the competition?” the youngest one had come right up to them, her hands clasped together fiercely as she admired Brig’s new head collar. Brig nibbled at a tassel on his breastplate as if it intrigued him, or maybe it was just an excuse to arch his lovely neck. The girl squealed. “Oh, I hope he wins! I will be cheering him, for sure!”
“Brethelle darling, usually you are expected to cheer on the knight,” her sister corrected primly, coming forward to claim her wayward sibling. She planted herself beside the horse but her gaze was forward. “Isn’t that so,” she addressed Tyden directly.
Tyden stretched as if to shrug, but it did casually flex his forearms in the movement. “I think Brig would do well to hear people cheering for him; though it might go to his head and he’ll decide to do the whole course himself, win the games single-handed and even take the roses… could put me out of job in that case,” he grinned.
“And what about you?” she inquired pleasantly, “Would the cheering go to your head, too?”
“Wellll,” he drew out his contemplation into several syllables, “I suppose it might depend somewhat on who was doing the cheering.”
Her eyes danced, and her nose gave a tiny wrinkle as she pretended not to grin. “And who will you have cheering for you today?” she asked.
“If I’m lucky,” he began skillfully, catching a glimpse of
Adrik headed across the yard towards them, “perhaps I’ll find...” his gaze was drawn back up to the courtyard, because it had just registered that Adrik wasn’t alone. He was talking to, and had on arm, a young woman, someone whom Tyden had never seen before. His head turned, following their movement without realizing he was doing so until Brigadier dipped his head and blocked them from view. He swung under the horse’s neck, unable to place the odd fluttering that compensated his balance as he sought for them again on the other side. Adrik had spotted him at this point and waved in greeting, but his own gaze was drawn completely and wholly by the girl....