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.

Sins of the father; (Bozena)

For the first time in a long time, Bran felt loneliness begin to once more creep into his soul. He had thought his sire’s misgivings would be his undoing, but the memories of Liland were quickly disappearing from even his nightmares. He and Nattergal had promised one another, that for whatever fate the gods bestowed upon them, together they would remain. He had meant those words more than any empty promise he might bestow upon a lover for they were promises written through the shared blood that ran through their veins. Nattergal was his life, even in captivity he welcomed the change as long as it meant he could remain with his brother at heart.

But things change.

A soft sigh escapes his lungs as Bran let his pale blue gaze scan the rocky outcroppings and dense treelines that lined the lower edges of the Peaks, hoping to see the tawny image of his brother emerge once again. Nattergal never comes. Bran knows without it having to be said that he is gone, so often his brother spoke of the lands beyond where the ocean tides rose to meet the island. It was where father had gone, and so many others. Life on the islands was not always kind, but neither did Bran believe was life elsewhere. It was all the same world beneath the same gods. Why would fate be any different anywhere else? Nattergal didn't think that way, in that instance, they were different.

Though he did not want to admit it, their time in the Peaks had illuminated a myriad of differences that Bran himself had never before seen. While Nattergal resented being kept captive in the Peaks, Bran did not mind it in the least. His once sleek coat of cinnamon and sugar hues had transformed under the colder environment of the Peaks. No longer was he the gangly stallion-colt, but now, his snow white pelt blended into the backdrop of the snowy peaks. His once thin coat is now thick and full, making him appear even more muscular and filled out. Lean muscles, trained upon the sloping peaks make the treks easier than they had been when he had first come here. Nattergal despised the Peaks and the women here, Bran did not see much difference. Though the mares for the most part avoided him, truthfully he did not find life here much different than the bachelor herd.

Nattergal had always spoken about returning to the Lagoon, and Bran would have happily followed in his hoofprints if that was where his brother wished to be. However, now that Nattergal was gone, Bran felt for the first time, true loneliness. Ears fall backwards as the stallion sends his pale gaze towards the higher peaks where most of the mares spend their days. Occasionally, they would linger on the lower elevations where he tended to roam, but for the most part, the past few days he had been left to his own thoughts. Today however, he was determined to change that. He had enough demons in his head without adding to them.

It is not hard to pick out the Prime Minister against the dull gray and green hues of the rocky slopes. Keeping his stance casual he sidles towards her, dropping his head here and there to snatch a mouthful of grass along the way. Once he is within earshot does he finally turn to transfix his gaze upon her dark form. ”Bozena? Remember me? My brother is…. Was Nattergal.” he muses, his words halting in their gruff delivery. How long had it been since he had last used his voice? Pale ears swivel atop his skull as his head dips, ”I thought I would ask for my freedom… follow my brother’s wishes… but now, now I think I would prefer to stay… at least a while longer if it is okay with you.” he continues, his resolve strengthening within his chest as once more he raises his pale gaze to meet hers. An almost boyish grin slides across his ash dusted lips as he tilts his head towards her, long gray forelock folding neatly across his visionfield. ”I kinda like it here…. Aside from being labeled captive and all.” he adds with an almost nervous chuckle.


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