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 June 1, 2014 at 05:43:21 PM by jezibelle
 bay blanketed mare of nowhere What makes a monster?
Jezibelle closed her eyes and saw her sire. "A horse filled with hate," she said, and could have elaborated if she had the energy. The bay mare was tired of family, however, and the thoughts that accompanied them. She had been stuck in the past for so long, nearly as long as her older sister, and it was eating at her. To be immersed in the history of another horse, specifically of this stallion whose pain echoed her own, was cathartic. Listening to Impa recount stories of their separate childhoods in an attempt to “get the story straight,” as she said, was exhausting. He asked why, why had she waited? but shook his head and moved on to offer an apology in place of her answer. His words soaked into her heart and filled her with a tingling warmth: no one had ever said they were sorry to her. Not her sire, not her dam, not her older sister for abandoning the family to their fate, not the mares of the herd for ignoring her and for turning a blind eye to the abuses their adored leader rained down upon his silent son. But here he was, her Moonwalker, and as if to convince herself that he was truly real Jezibelle reached out to press her soft muzzle against the hard line of his jaw. The heat of him against her nose, the dusty roughness of his coat, the resistance her fleshy muzzle found against the bone beneath his flesh— it all proved he was real. A giddy smile crossed her face and she felt dizzy with relief. She would not be alone anymore. He moved to stand beside her, as if he could shield her from the cold wind with his smaller body, and the action itself warmed her. The only time another horse had shown this much consideration for her body was when she had climbed the mountain and wept against Impa’s neck, unable to hide in her own denial any longer. Even then, the half-blind mare had managed to make the situation about herself. It was always about Impa. Jezibelle’s ears turned back as she resolved, again, to keep this secret to herself. The Moonwalker was hers, not Impa’s, and she would see to it that her older sister never had reason to know about the stallion. Impa would probably covet him if she found out— she always had swallowed everything that could possibly make Jezibelle happy. Balthazar’s next words confused her. The Peak belonged to women. It was the only place in the Islands that stallions could not call their own. She supposed she should not begrudge the pale-haired horse the strength he took from the Peak. Impa also found solace in the massive rock. Many mares did. Why should a stallion be refused that, when he could not make a home for himself among the mares who lived there? When he turned to face her, Jezibelle did not step away. As long as she felt in control of the physical contact between them she had no qualms with his closeness. He was much too small to be a real threat to her anyway. When he spoke of his desire to travel, the bay mare could not relate. She did understand how small, dark places out of the public eye could become like home, however, having spent most of her life flitting (as much as a horse her size could flit) through the various bunches of trees that covered the Crossing. It wasn’t until she’d witnessed Rurisk kill Kisei that Jezibelle had retreated from her shelter, having learned through his actions that trees were not places of safety and instead presented a new danger. She hadn’t admitted it at the time, but the thought had occurred to her that her brother might come after her next for failing to defend him when they were children. Loup-Garou. Jezibelle did not know the name, but understood the significance of it: there was the name of her Moonwalker’s brother. His accusations against himself were harder for her to believe. If the heir was dead, wasn’t it right for the second-born son —as the Moonwalker described himself— to step up and become next in line to inherit? She wasn’t confident enough to speak up. Kisei had never groomed anyone for leadership besides Impa, and he had shipped her off once she was of age to solidify an alliance with a stallion he should never have fought. Rurisk was certainly never considered for the position. Her ears flicked toward Balthazar and her dark eyes settled on his face as he spoke words that another horse might have found impossible. Fear made her whole body stiffen as she imagined Kisei stumbling across the Islands, his skull caved in and leaking brain fluid down the noble slope of his nose, dripping into his open mouth as he searched for her brother’s flesh. The thought of her father reanimated was terrifying. Balthazar’s next words eased her worry: he had survived. Jezibelle knew that Kisei had definitely not. Her haunches unclenched and her ears relaxed as she listened more attentively to the Moonwalker’s tale. As he relayed the tale of his brother committing matricide it made sense to Jezibelle, maybe because of how matter-of-factly he spoke or maybe because it was familiar in the way it ran parallel to Rurisk’s life. She was not surprised when her Moonwalker confessed to killing the monster, because that, too, made sense. She wondered now if Rurisk would have struck their father down had Kisei not been lying under a tree in the shadows and on his belly like a worm. He spoke of fire and Jezibelle assumed he meant himself and the deed (already done) he deemed terrible. "That fire saved you," she said in an attempt to comfort him and relieve his guilt. The words echoed his own and she basked in all he had told her. The bay mare took comfort in knowing that her family’s experience was not unique even as she mourned, silently, for those who had suffered a similar fate. The conversation shifted suddenly, abruptly, with all the grace of an earthquake. Jezibelle jerked as if Balthazar’s question had physically startled her (and in a way, it had). Attention was not something the blanketed mare was used to, especially such intense and singular attention from one other horse. It was easier in the herd because Impa was almost always there to distract the eyes of the other mares, and Jezibelle was of no consequence anyway. No one sought out her company unless they wanted something for themselves— not even her own sister. The tension that thrummed through her lessened, somewhat, as the Moonwalker eased the pressure on her to speak. The bay mare did not consider herself important and if she did tell a story, it would not be her own— but it occurred to her then that here was an opportunity to tell Rurisk’s side of the story, at least as much of it as she knew, that he could not. Here was a horse who would listen to her, who would believe her because he could not possible have any preconceived notions of the horses involved, and unlike her older sister, Balthazar just might sympathize with her mute sibling’s plight. He distracted her, briefly, from the guilt that hovered over her as he promised he would never leave her. Jezibelle did not know what to do with that promise. She settled for pushing her nose against his mane and inhaling his musky, dusty smell before withdrawing. For a moment she grappled with herself in silence, debating how much to tell this relative stranger about a life as private as her own. The bay mare had never been prone to speaking at length, although she had finally moved away from monosyllabic responses. Still, her response to his question was short: as concise as she could make it without being vague. "My brother used hooves where you used teeth," she began, her eyes on her Moonwalker’s marred face. "He was born without a voice and punished for it— punished by his father’s derision and teeth, by the indifference of the mares of the herd, by the silence of his siblings. He could have been mighty." As mighty as Kisei, if not more so— but their father had seen to it that Rurisk never learned the finer points of leading a herd from him. "Instead he was tortured and driven out of his home. Our father’s scorn, his hate— it was palpable. And it didn’t stop, even after Rurisk was gone." Jezibelle wrinkled her nostrils. She had stayed for three more years before slipping away, her departure as unnoticed by the Forest herd as her presence had been. No one missed her. "He just got worse and worse until one day my brother found him lying under a tree and he didn’t hesitate, didn’t waste any time in striking Kisei’s skull with his left forehoof. I heard it crack." Jezibelle’s voice faded and she pushed out her lower lip in the silence that followed as she considered all she had said. Yes, those were the important parts. She resettled her weight to lean a little against Balthazar. It felt good to talk about it with someone who was not sympathetic to the black stallion. Jezibelle held no fondness in her heart for him. |
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- [x] - By jezibelle June 8, 2014 at 00:55:51 AM
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