The Lost Islands
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Lagoon

The Boss

Garmr

The Marauder

Peyote

The General

Marko

The Companions
None Druna None

The Thieves

Jormungandr
Khyber
Kristjan
Síhtríc
Tribulation

The Associates

Azizi
Atticus
Leukos
Lucifer
Salinger
Thranduil

The Soldiers

Kheldar
Vaingard
Rosto

The Trinkets

None

Boss's Decree

"For every brother you bring to our
midst, you may keep a trinket all to
yourself. She will not be sullied or traded, unless you deem otherwise. But should you bring a mare here without a new brother first, then I will consider her property of the Lagoon as a whole
and do with her as I see fit." - Garmr

The Offspring

None

Rules

• The Lagoon is where homeless stallions come to live as a brotherhood. Mares may not live here except as captives or companions for the Leaders.

• Soldiers keep mainly to fighting, Thieves keep mainly to raiding, and Associates may do both, neither, or act as diplomats. Members may issue their own battles and raids, but should generally consult the General, Marauder or Boss for permission.

• All major decisions are determined by vote, but the Boss maintains order within the Lagoon 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 Lagoon works on the Rules page.

• Upon election, the Boss can issue a rule for members to follow during their tenure. It is up to leadership to enforce.
the drunken gods of the living dead
Posted on May 13, 2023 at 02:56:01 AM by PSYCHEDELiC



we're the voice, we're the voice
we're the voice in your head
we're the trash, we're the trash
we're the trash in your bed

Did you beat someone up, dad?

Psychedelic’s dark-lined ears flicked as his yellow eyes shifted from Vána to their son. He heard her shush the colt and felt it soothe something inside him, some old pathetic thing that wanted to know someone feared him. The stallion’s eyes stayed on his son, seeing much of that same adoration across his face he’d once seen Talya wear. If there was any good in him he’d drive her off into the waiting guard of an overly protective herd stallion who’d take pity and protect and raise Thranduil as their own.

Unfortunately where it seemed Psychedelic’s grandfather found kindness and softness in his final years, his grandson was opposite. Gone was whatever good had once lived in him; or, maybe not gone completely, but actively buried as though he was ashamed it could exist at all.

“You don’t have to shush at all, boy,” he encouraged, “and yeah, I did,” as nice as it might’ve been to leave it there, he grunted with amusement before adding, “and then they kicked my ass harder than I kicked theirs.” His lips pulled into a brief grimace as he adjusted his stand to take the weight away from his injured side. “I’ll get them back though,” he promised, though there was no true urgency in the issue. The longer Tyr’s son was kept away from the Lagoon, the better. Maybe while he was stuck over on Atlantis he’d cross paths with dear ol’ pops and decide to keep himself there.

Psychedelic mentally shoved the thoughts of them away, letting his attention return instead to Vána and Thranduil and, somewhat to Peyote, who was still lingering near his younger brother. He could see the look of excitement still in Peyote’s blue eyes, which looked eerily bright with the white of his face smeared with dried, cracked, dark mud. The boy probably wanted to nip and pester his brother into chasing him, or sparring with him, despite how young Thranduil was. But, for now, he was behaving. He was lingering on the fray, stretching his neck to bump his nose against wherever of Thranduil he could reach, but mostly letting their attention stay on Psychedelic.

“What’ve you two been up to?” His voice was uncharacteristically light, curious as he looked from son to captive. The boy loved him, he was sure if there were any slip-ups on Vána’s behalf, he could figure out how to trick Thranduil into accidentally telling him. He wondered if she would flee on him, if she would give him an excuse to comb the islands and find her and drag her back even further against her will. Sweet words had brought her here to start, then a child had trapped her for a time, but the older Thranduil grew the more Psychedelic knew he risked losing his newest toy. The edge of his lips twitched with a grin and he looked back at their son. Same, strangely warm and almost happy, fatherly voice for a tone when he asked, “Given your mother a headache yet today?”


PSYCHEDELiC
of the lagoon



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