The Lost Islands
CLICK FOR IMAGE CREDITS


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 white trash circus

WE'RE THE DRUNKEN GODS OF THE LIVING DEAD
we're the voice, we're the voice, we're the voice in your head



“Beat’s me,” replied Psychedelic with a shift of his front limbs as if rolling in a shrug, “I’ve only lived here since summer.” He grimaced slightly, the shift of his weight had made his left shoulder ache ever so slightly. One ear flicked as he appeared momentarily thoughtful. “My dad grew up here though, but he never said anything about winters. So did my grandfather, but I never met him.” Blinking, Psychedelic focused on the young colt rather than memories of relatives that had once lived here. It wasn’t particularly useful information or anything the colt could possibly care about, but Psychedelic had mentioned it as if he was simply voicing his thoughts out loud.

Young kid.

Psychedelic’s ear flicked.

Maybe he was born here.

Psychedelic blinked and a bit of a frown shadowed his brow. “Say, this your first winter?” Maybe the colt was barely on the verge of being a yearling. He did have that sort of youthful look as though a part of his body was still caught in colthood while the other tried to grow into the stallion he’d become. Not that Psychedelic was any expert on guessing ages though.

Léon, the boy called himself. “I’m Psychedelic.” A mouthful compared to the others name but not the strangest one Psychedelic had heard.


we're the trash, we're the trash
WE'RE THE TRASH IN YOUR BED


Replies:


Post a reply:
Name:
Email:
Subject:
Message:
Link Name:
Link URL:
Image URL:
Password To Edit Post:




Create Your Own Free Message Board or Free Forum!
Hosted By Boards2Go Copyright © 2020


<-- -->