Peak |
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The Prime MinisterKhar'pern |
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The CodebreakerAshteroth |
The GeneralMarceline |
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The Companions |
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The ThinkersNaydraTitan |
The PoliticiansAraratAxelle Hollis Mae Nashira Serenity |
The WarriorsClarityKaeja Lysimache Starling |
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The TrinketsBelovedCato Cullen Güneşlenmek Isengrim Jigsaw Kazimir Octavius Starscream Yıldırım |
PRIME MINISTER'S DECREE"None." - Leader |
The OffspringDiccon (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. |
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Posted on May 27, 2014 at 06:00:58 PM by jezibelle
 bay blanketed mare of nowhere The bay blanketed mare of nowhere did not expect the silver-black stallion to have so many names. Even Impa had only two, and one was just a shortened version of her full name— Impa had had years to make a name for herself and this stallion had many. She wondered how old he was as he finished his list. Dreammaker. Soulseeker. "Moonwalker," she added, for here was her lover in the flesh, come to her finally as a true horse and not just light on her back, the secret she would never share. He was hers, and she remembered the promises she whispered for him when she had no one else in the world. He had finally come to her, and in such a way that the waiting had been worth it.
His story hit so close to her heart, Jezibelle’s jaw dropped in silent pain. Make no noise! It had been years since she had allowed herself to feel anything, much less emotions that struck so deeply, and here in the space of minutes the mare had experienced the lowest of lows, all of her heartbreak and isolation and rejection from childhood and during her young adult years refreshed with the voice of the moon-maned stallion. A jealous spike in her heart seethed with envy that he had belonged somewhere, at least once: Jezibelle had never had such a privilege. This mountain was Impa’s, not hers, and Jezibelle lingered only because she had no where else to go. She closed her mouth when he turned back to her, and stiffened when the stallion moved to stand beside her. Jezibelle did not tolerate the touch of others; it was a foreign feeling, one that held more promise of a bite than anything gentle, and although that had been true of Rurisk she had never shied away from her brother, and had instead put herself between the buckskin and his herd to protect the mares who did not deserve his anger. She deserved it, and she accepted her punishment willingly because it was her fault their brother had had no allies. Jezibelle could have stepped forward, should have said something to their father, but she was a coward. It was partly her fault Rurisk was who he was. And Impa— Jezibelle had taken comfort there, when the thing had been born, Imp, her mouth full of acid spit and cutting teeth. She did not want the chestnut filly, hated her more with each passing day, but she was not like Kisei. No. She was like her mother, silent and sulking and victimized by the slightest altercation, damaging others by her self-involved attitude. Her ears twitched but did not pin— the stallion spoke of suicide, and the mare knew this because she had tried, twice, to leave this world and find something better for herself on the other side. Her lack of success had been disappointing the first time but expected the second, and the mare had resigned herself to living out her weary years until her time came. She still had little regard for her own survival and never actively avoided places that might be dangerous to her, at least not until the incident that had produced Imp, but she still had no thoughts for her own future. Jezibelle drifted in the wind and had landed with her sister, caught like a cobweb on the broken branches that jutted from her sister’s heart. There was some desire to ease her sister’s suffering, but until Impa admitted that Kisei was a bad father, a monster, there was little Jezibelle would do that did not include repeating his mistakes and aggressions in an attempt to convince the black mare of his fallibility. The stallion’s shoulder brushed hers and she caught her breath, her heartbeat increasing to double-time. He named himself to her, finally, with a word that must have come directly from one or both of his parents, his first name, the name that identified him among his siblings, the stars. Balthazar. The moon had never had a name, not until now, but it fit neatly at the top of his identity. There could not have been any other word to sum him up more succinctly. He moved again, this time to stand in front of her, and Jezibelle blinked to see him standing so close, eye-to-eye. Why had he given her his true name last? The others did not do him justice, sounded more like epithets thrown to bear him down under the weight of his imagined crimes, and she mourned for him, sensing that unfairness had trickled into his life until it became a rampant river of injustice against him. When he said her name, his breath tickling the inside of her ear and his voice flowing into her head like rainwater, she felt paralyzed. Last time a horse who had not been family was near her, she had been violated and forced to carry that blood-red parasite until her body finally rejected it, pushed it out in a rush of blood and fluid onto the ground where instinct gripped her and she saved it instead of letting it suffocate. Jezibelle never wanted to go through that again, not the process that produced a foal nor the endless time of extra weight and hunger that preceded a newborn. She trembled and braced to flee but he spoke again, his voice like thunder in her ear despite how softly he spoke, and her eyes flew open from where she had squeezed them shut against the memories of being raped and giving birth. These were the words her brother would say, she thought, if he had a voice. Balthazar retreated. While Jezibelle had not spoken up for her brother when it would have mattered most, she did so now for the silver-black stallion and resolved that if ever the time came where Rurisk needed a voice, she would be his. "No," she said, and her voice was soft, weak, uncertain, but she tried the word again on her tongue and it leapt from her mouth with vigor, unsticking the rest from the bottom of her throat and freeing her so that finally she could breathe. "No, you deserve better than them. If they can’t recognize what a service you’ve done for them, they don’t deserve you, never deserved you— you saved them from an evil they stood too close to to see his flaws and it is their fault for not stepping back to see if there was some truth to what you knew. He is dead and the world is better off without him— they should have thanked you, not condemned you." Jezibelle did not realize she had been holding so much in for so long, hadn’t realized the words had stacked up inside of her and compressed into a tight packet of pain that was only now being torn open, its pressure relieved so suddenly that she wanted to weep with relief, and she did not know if she cried for the father whose misguided attempts to do his best by his family had turned him into a corrupted, bitter old soul or if she wept for the ingratitude bestowed upon her brother and her Moonwalker for their successes in destroying two separate blights that had infested the world. A moment ago his touch had sent her mind to thoughts of flight, but now as his nose touched her cheek, softly and then with more pressure —still gentle— she leaned into his touch. This stallion was no different from her brother. Both had been treated unfairly, and both had killed a monster. She could not distrust someone so broken, for he could have nothing to hide. "I’ve been waiting for you," she admitted, her voice gone soft and quiet again, the strength in her previous words having already faded from the air. "For nine years." And, more recently, for several months, hoping he would eventually return to where they first met. He’d looked back, that day, and it was that glance over his shoulder that had started Jezibelle’s hope and initiated her slow-growing interest in her own future. "Balthazar, Moonwalker, of the Desert." This was information she deemed important, and she repeated it for his sake, her voice strengthening again as she spoke of someone who was more important than herself. "Tell me more," she said, and while it was not phrased as a question there was still polite request in her tone, a wish for him to continue that made it clear she wanted to listen. |
Replies:
- and i’ll kneel down - By B A L T H A Z A R May 28, 2014 at 10:21:12 AM
- bittersweet between my teeth - By jezibelle June 1, 2014 at 05:43:21 PM
- [x] - By jezibelle June 8, 2014 at 00:55:51 AM
- bittersweet between my teeth - By jezibelle June 1, 2014 at 05:43:21 PM
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