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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; Posted on March 4, 2021 at 06:13:57 PM by Bran
Bran had almost expected Bozena to ignore him, most of the other mares did aside from grimaces of annoyance or blank stares. Oftentimes, he found himself wondering what they thought of him, was it really that odd that he would find their standoffish company a comfort? He had not gotten close to any aside from Nattergal and it was only his brother who knew the history from which they came. The mark that Liland had left upon the islands had long since faded and as far as Bran knew, he and Nattergal were all that was left. Well, all that was left. Now he was alone.
Perhaps it was that aloneness that caused him to find solace in the harsh peaks and it’s cold mares. Perhaps it was merely the last place he had seen his brother and thus the faint hope remained that his brother might one day choose to return. Whatever the reason, Bran was not quite ready to leave the lonely mountains behind and thus, decided to approach the prime minister.
He had not realized that his breath held in his lungs when he first approached. The way Nattergal described her, the black mare was a vicious warrior with hard eyes and even harder demands. However as she lifts her head to fix him in her dark gaze, there is a softness there that Bran had not expected. Politely she extends her velvet muzzle towards him and instinctively he lets out a sigh as pale head extends towards her own. Whiskered lips brush against hers, inhaling the scent of the mountains and the freshness of snow that overshadowed her own feminine scent. Though he was nearly 6 years old now, Bran still had not found the unrequited lust for the female scent. However she did have quite a pleasant scent about her, but he is careful to withdraw quickly enough to prevent any guarded feelings or suspicious eyes. He did not need to give her any reason to deny his request.
Silently she listens as he speaks, her brown eyes softened and almost gentle enough that despite his initial nervousness, he feels himself begin to relax in her company. As he finishes, she replies with warmth in her tones that she had meant to seek him out sooner. Gently he gives his broad head a shake, she had more pressing matters than to babysit him. He had not intended to make her feel guilty at all in his approach. He merely wanted to make sure that it was still possible he could stay here without having to worry that suddenly he might be asked to leave. She speaks of his brother and once more that all familiar pang of loneliness begins to gnaw at his sides. Sadness glistens in his pale eyes as the image of his tawny brother emerges in his mind. Nattergal was always the more serious of the two, the grievances of their father a wound that festered even in the years since Liland’s disappearance. Bran had learned to let that wound heal, but Nattergal had not been given the chance. Perhaps now he would find that peace that Bran had, for that, the pale gray stallion could only hope. However even the thoughts of his brother does not cause him to miss her words as they trail in ending. She had lost family too. Surprise lights his gaze as once more he took in the dark mare before him. Perhaps it was the lighting as the sun peeked over the cresting ridges, or maybe it was the commanding manner in which she held herself. Either way, Bran found her in that moment to have aged as though the weight of the confession was heavy enough a burden without it being named aloud.
Yet the moment is fleeting. In an instant, Bonenza once more the gentle smile and kind but firm prime minister of the fierce mountain mares. She explains that she had her reasons for bringing the lagoon stallions here to the peaks, that she believed it to be the right thing and to this Bran finds himself unable to provide an answer. He has never been responsible for anyone except himself. Content just to eat and drink enough to survive and follow his brother to whatever island he sought fit to visit that day. Natt was always the adventurous one, the one who made friends or enemies wherever he went and Bran was content always to merely stand in the shadows and watch. Those days are behind now. Bran could only imagine the struggles that Boneza went through in her daily life, responsible for not just herself but for the other mares who looked to her for guidance. It was enough to cause his whiskers to gray at the very thought.
She goes on to welcome him, his eyes brightening despite the calm reserve he tried to maintain. The mountains seemed to call to his soul, their hardy nature a comfort to the loner stallion. While he had not liked the idea of being considered a trinket, neither had he been particularly pleased with the life Nattergal attempted to make in the lagoon with the brotherhood. It was all titles after all but still. Something about being labeled trinket. To hear Boneza call him friend… it was a relief and despite himself, he finds his broad head lifting a bit in pride. A friend to the peak was a title he would gladly accept. She asks that if he should choose to ever decide to leave, that he not bring harm to the mountain mares.
For a moment he remains silent, his pale gaze drifting over the sloping hills and rocky outcroppings. Already the zephyr winds brought with it a cold chill, the promise of winter’s grasp not far away. He knew it would not be many days now, before the residents of the peaks awoke to frost covered grasses and dustings of snow blanketing the uppermost rockface. The land precious to him more so now that he was alone. Lips pressed together in a thin line as he drops his head into a low bow, ”Boneza…” he begins, building the words up in his own mind and heart as they fall past his lips. ”I could never bring harm here. I do not know what my future holds, or for how long it will allow me to remain…” he continues, lifting his head to meet her steady gaze. ”But I can promise that I will never hurt the way of life that you and your fellow mares have built up. It is too precious to me, even if I am just an outlander." Replies: