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
Gόneşlenmek
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.
Making love to a m e m o r y (any)
Posted on April 20, 2016 at 06:45:09 PM by Macabre




"If Love himself weep, shall not lovers weep,
learning from what sad cause he pours his tears?
Love hears his ladies crying their distress,
showing forth bitter sorrow through their eyes
because villainous Death has worked its cruel
destructive art upon a gentle heart,
and laid waste all that earth can find to praise
in a gracious lady, save her chastity."

She felt guilty even stepping foot in here.

It seems this was becoming a trend -- Macabre's life came crashing down and she immediately sought out relief and shelter in the Peak. It was so selfish of her, to use this herd, this place, for such reasons. But the petite mare had no where else to turn.

She had been on edge, more flighty and worried than usual, since her run-in with Vodnik of the neighboring Ridge. The image of heaving stallion lingered on the forefront of her mind, but not necessarily in the way she had anticipated. Macabre was fearful of the stallion during what seemed to be an excruciatingly nerve wrecking experience. Instead of experiencing trauma from the fear she had felt, Macabre found herself over analyzing the stallion's words, memorizing his facial expressions, and searching for meaning behind his haunting dark stare. There was something about Vodnik that made her curious. She secretly wanted to know more. But the petite chestnut mare was smarter than that. She knew that dramatic situations such as this never amounted to any good. She was old and wise enough to know that just because the experience had been thrilling -- and he had hadn't kidnapped or attacked her -- that didn't make Vodnik worthy of her time.

Plus her life up until that point had seemingly settled. For the first time in months, Macabre felt at ease with the company she had in Paradise. She wasn't afraid of Alillil. She felt as if she had a purpose there among his herd. She woke up each day with a challenge ahead of her, a problem to solve and a friend to assist. He needed a sounding board. An advisory committee of sorts, that he could gauge on the difficult topics that were surely to arise during his tenure as lead stallion of the terrain. She felt that her opinions were of worth here. In some ways, it had become a motherly role for the mare, whom was robbed of her chance to mother her own kin. She wanted to give guidance, to worry about, to watch grow up. Macabre had been content in this relatively uneventful span of her life.

But inevitably, trouble found her.

Vodnik threatened to challenge Alillil for her ownership. He made good on that promise.

She heard the bulky stallion's throaty call at the shoreline, and a sinking feeling dragged at the bottom of her stomach. She couldn't stand there and witness the pummeling that was likely to come next. So she fled, piloting her skinny body through the surf toward the only place she knew where she would feel safe.

The small chestnut mare stumbles awkwardly down the semi-familiar rock laiden path into the Peak, chocolate lobes pricked forward and at attention above her poll. She moved with quick but short strides, her slender, stick-like legs carrying her across the lowest points of the valley leading up to the Peak. Familiar scents of mares wafted in the passing breeze. She ambled on quietly, dark eyes wide and hoping to recognize a friend, her heart beating against the confines of her chest, hoping to spy Jetta in the distance.




"Hear then how Love paid homeage to this lady;
I saw him weeping there in human form,
observing the stilled image of her grace;
and more than once he raised his eyes toward Heaven,
where that sweet soul already had its home,
which once, on earth, had worn enchanting flesh."

Macabre | 6 | Mare | Mustang X Morgan | 14.2 HH | flaxen chestnut | © Vinyl




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