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The Lost Islands
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Peak

The Prime Minister

Khar'pern

The Codebreaker

Ashteroth

The General

Marceline

The Companions
None None None

The Thinkers

Naydra
Titan

The Politicians

Ararat
Axelle
Hollis
Mae
Nashira
Serenity

The Warriors

Clarity
Kaeja
Lysimache
Starling

The Trinkets

Beloved
Cato
Cullen
Güneşlenmek
Isengrim
Jigsaw
Kazimir
Octavius
Starscream
Yıldırım

PRIME MINISTER'S DECREE

"None." - Leader

The Offspring

Diccon (Cicada x Khar'pern)

Rules

• The Vulcan Peak is where homeless mares come to live as a sisterhood. Stallions may not live here except as captives or companions for the Leaders.

• Warriors keep mainly to fighting, Thinkers keep mainly to raiding, and Politicians may do both, neither, or act as diplomats. Members may issue their own battles and raids, but should generally consult the General, Codebreaker or Prime Minister for permission.

• All major decisions are determined by vote, but the Prime Minister maintains order within the Peak and has the final say.

• Elections for leadership positions will be held every TLI summer, provided the qualifying criteria are met.

• You can find detailed information about how the Peak works on the Rules page.
Pure, innocent instinct.
Posted on August 19, 2012 at 08:05:39 AM by thane

He couldn’t get the smell off. With even the slightest movement, the stench of the blue mare rose up off his skin, invading his nostrils and threatening to choke off his air supply. For a time, he had stood in the thickest part of the lagoon, with tendrils of clinging moss drapped over his shoulders, in hopes that the musky stench of the swamp would wash away the nauseating smell of the woman. Neck arched forwards and mouth gaping, the stallion had imitating a gagging, chewing motion, wishing that he had the vile ability to void his stomach contents, imagining that even the strong acrid odor of bile could have flooded his senses and made him blind to the woman’s scent.

Not entirely certain when the idea had invaded his mind, he had fled for the murky pools of the lagoon, plunging into the sickly green swamp water without second thought. As he had fallen into the pool, his skin was suddenly awash with the thick, musty stink of the lagoon. He suddenly smelt of earth and the rotting remnants of wood and the vegetation that had been sucked into the foggy waters of the lagoon a long time ago.

Finally, he has found relief.

As for the squandering and writhing remainder of his concience that had once led him down the straight and narrow path, even if he had used his teachings for the wrong side of the law- all his actions had been (according to all his teachigns and the traditions of his people) justified. As he wades shoulder deep in the dank water, the stallion finds his thoughts flip-flopping against his better judgement, and soon enough he finds himself charging out of the lagoon.

It had been a while since he had run. The last time he had fled across the lands at anything faster than a casual trot had been in the pursuit of his prey. The woman, screaming about her needs to keep her child alive and to pleasure her current lover, had not been fast enough. She had died when he caught her, by a yank of her mane she had tripped, thrown off balance by the stallion and ended quickly at the edges of his hooves. He had alwas been told that if he were detected or initiated in a chase, he had not done his job correctly.

Now, he runs for a piece of silence, the wet muck of the lagoon’s waters drying off his skin as he runs, leaving the scent of the swamp in place of the stench of the blue woman’s heat. Eventually, when he does stop, he finds that he had absent-mindedly climbed the steep slope of a place that was growing more and more familiar, the more he visited. Thane’s lungs were almost bursting at the exert of energy, bringing him to cringe and fall to his knees, finding a quick slumber as his conciousness leaves him at the expense of his light-headedness and lack of air, his breathing coming in quick, short breaths as his heart hammers in his ears.

…


Blinking against the sudden brightness of the sun, the stallion finds that he has awoken to a clear blue sky that seems a little too close, his mind carefully put to ease as he no longer finds himself drowning in the stench that he had been fighting only the day before. Standing, he pretends as though nothing has happened, scowling at the after-effects of his sudden evacuation of the lagoon and slipping his ears back to press them to his mane, now soiled by swamp water and sweat. And yet, the look of the lagoon had grown on him. His mane and tail were now coming down in clumped masses of black hair, his skin was stained with smears of greens and browns- the dried remnants of the grasses, mosses, and dirt and mud of the swamp, painting him like a feral warrior of the marsh, and here he was, standing on the wide, open-faced side of the mountain that made up the tribe of women.

And the home of, he thought, his one would-be ally in the world.

The rest of them were supposed to be dead, either at the tips of his own fingers, or at those of the others that had been bred into the clan that took him in. Thane had imagined that Anath would not want to see him again, once he had disappeared after her story, finding himself overwhelmed with the traditions of another god-loving creature that he seemed to have so much in common. What frightened him the most, though fear was not an emotion that he could as easily put his finger on as the disgust and rage that had filled him earlier, was that he had enjoyed her company more than almost anything on these small islands. Repulsed at the idea of physical confrontation that was not through the need for self preservation or the duty of his people, the stallion had avoided the mare’s home for some long time, suddenly finding that his subconcious had brought him here when he had been begging to get away from the lagoon.

It struck him as strange, that his mind, still preserving the seperation from his body that had been carefully bred into him, had brought him here, of all places, instead of the quiet haven of the meadow or the roaring abyss of the falls.

Shuffling his feet as he spins in one direction, inspecting the trees there, and then whirling back again, he listens to the clipping of his hooves against the stone ground, realizing that he had slept in a break in the trees where there were few plants and even fewer trees, where the sun had baked the grass of the sheer, rock surface of the mountain. Here, he made his stand. “Anath!” His voice rings out loudly, demanding her presence almost aggressively, knowing that anyone that had acquainted themselves with the champagne mare would be likely to come, in hopes of shooing off the swamp king as he stood deep in vulcan territory. No longer was Thane a welcome visitor of this place- if he ever had been in the first place- and he was stepping over lines in coming here now.
Thane
"The swamp king moves in stealthy silence."
stallion. mutt. smoky grullo. Ee aa DD nCr. 15.2 hh.
character and text by russell.
html & character by Russell
Click image for full size.


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