The Lost Islands
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HEAD OF THE PRAIRIE
zevulun
SECONDARY THIRD
castillon lir
GUARDIANS
jasper, micah, thames, lohan
 
RESIDENTS OF THE PRAIRIE
hirka, eira, aura
eirena, frond, aurelie, luna
mage, daire, vervain, claret
lior, hael, atropa belladonna
vernonia
name, name, name
 
CHILDREN OF THE PRAIRIE
eriana, name, name
*odette, eudora, *dolores
adira
name, name, name
 
ALLIES
ENEMIES
rafe (badlands)
evrain (hills)
sephiroth (thicket)
bacardi (forest)
mariael (arch)
tyr & oswin (ridge)
none





 
GUIDELINES

- the Prairie stands as a symbol of peace and prosperity among the islands
- anyone is welcome to live here so long as they do not bring harm to the Prairie or any of it's residents
- adventure and exploration is not only allowed, but encouraged! residents are asked to use their better judgement and not travel to places that could bring them harm
- the head of the prairie has final say in all prairie matters. the secondary and third positions are not able to be challenged for and are selected by the head
- the guardians take on a more active role in the prairie; they must protect the inhabitants of the prairie and go on patrols of the prairie borderlines and shore. they can welcome strangers to the prairie and invite anyone to live here, though they must inform one of the leaders of any newcomers or visitors
there is a crack in everything

Beschea

Boomslang


He lay in the grass on his side, staring up at the clouds that crept overhead and smelling the dry, dusty scent of the earth. Maybe, down here on the ground, the flies would not be so pesky. He could always find an anthill to lie on, as he’d seen small animals and sometimes birds do. Boomslang was probably a little too big for that sort of thing, though. He sighed and closed his eyes, quite content to fall asleep where he lay. It was peaceful down near the ground, with his ear close to the soil.

His thoughts drifted like the wind through the grass, alighting on memories like dragonflies before flitting on to the next thing to catch his attention. It was the call of another horse that startled him out of his doze and back to wakefulness. Boomslang lifted his head and sat up, his ears twisting toward the source of the sound. It had come from the part of his home that bordered the Forest territory. He rocked to his feet and shook out his skin before trotting toward the border. The lonely stallion wasn’t entirely certain of who awaited him there, but he had a very strong hunch it was the stallion he’d met recently— the only stallion to face him with an open hostility that was completely appropriate given the situation at hand.

Although the bruise under the flesh of his shoulder had healed, Boomslang was still aware of the other man’s teeth, and when he came upon the red dun stallion standing knee-deep in his grasses the Criollo stopped a few paces away. He was well out of range of another attack, unless the other stallion were to lunge toward him. "Mornin’" he said, ears at attention and his body tense with anticipation of a scuffle. Even though the Prairie was his land, Boomslang had no mares or foals to share it with. If the red dun proved to be too aggressive, he would take himself elsewhere on the Islands. Land was land: he could find another home if it came down to that. "Somethin’ wrong, or are you jus’ here to visit?" Neither seemed likely, but he thought he’d ask.




"all men are mad,
in some way or the other."

Beschea
html by russell for uforia, 2013 & beyond
image courtesy of wikipedia.org


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