Lagoon |
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The BossGarmr |
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The MarauderPeyote |
The GeneralMarko |
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The Companions |
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| None | Druna | None |
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The ThievesJormungandrKhyber Kristjan Síhtríc Tribulation |
The AssociatesAziziAtticus Leukos Lucifer Salinger Thranduil |
The SoldiersKheldarVaingard Rosto |
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The TrinketsNone |
Boss's Decree"For every brother you bring to ourmidst, 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 OffspringNone |
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. |
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Posted on September 21, 2015 at 07:19:15 PM by PSYCHEDELIC
“It’s freezing again.” Psychedelic complained aloud, thankfully far from wherever his brothers may be lurking in the Lagoon. He appeared as grumpy as one could be, shivering on occasion from the chilly, biting winds that raked at his coat. That’s normally what happens during winter, yes. The voice sounded unamused, equally irritated by the seasons and even more so due to Psychedelic’s need to constantly mention how unhappy and cold he was. Psychedelic snorted and twitched his ears, wondering if it might be smarter to find where the men of the Lagoon were lurking. If he could make a good pal or two maybe the winters wouldn’t be so bad. When the cold turned freezing, Psychedelic didn’t care who you are, he’d cuddle up to just about any warm body that would let him. It was a lot better than shivering his ass off alone, after all. “Maybe we should head over to Atlantis.” He mused aloud. “Visit Asche again?” Yeah, you keep trying to wiggle your way in all buddy-buddy with a band stallion and see how that goes. “Spoilsport.” Grunted Psychedelic, grimacing as another gust of wind brushed over his body, carrying with it the distant scent of brine from the coast which bordered one side of the Lagoon. The sea is too rough today anyways. You’d wind up smashed against rocks and dead before you’d even make it to Atlantis. The voice was right, thought Psychedelic, for though he could not see the ocean he could hear the roar of its wild waves. If he couldn’t travel to Atlantis, he could at least move about, perhaps seek out a familiar face or venture into the common grounds to find a stranger to speak with. Though the Lagoon was filled with bodies, it seemed sleepy. As time crawled by the voice within Psychedelic’s head continued to push him into remembering the tales his father had spoken of when regarding the Lagoon. The sleep needed to be cleared from his brother’s eyes, he thought. The islands, the band stallions, they thought nothing of the Lagoon and the men who called it home. Psychedelic would much rather be hated than ignored. It was too cold now to do anything about it but, perhaps when the earth thawed and the sea calmed, he would do his part in giving the Lagoon a name again. Call it destiny. Psychedelic laughed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment as he moved forward. His muscles were sore from shivering but he pressed onward, flicking his ears this way and that to catch the sound of the closest horse nearby. It wasn’t long before he caught sight of a familiar face, though the name escaped him. Something with an R, maybe? He was taller than Psychedelic, at least by a foot, and a rich chocolate brown in color. Whoever he was, he was a brother and that meant Psychedelic should probably know him a bit better. That, and because he was larger he might just make the perfect windbreaker. “Hey, you!” Psychedelic called out, ears pressed forward and eyes bright as he advanced on the stallion. “You sick of this winter too?” He asked once he was nearer, seeking someone to gripe with about how absolutely terrible this stupid season was. “It’s… uh… something with an R, right? Your name?” WE'RE THE VOICE, WE'RE THE VOICE, WE'RE THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD |
Replies:
- In my scabbard was a Peacerose. - By R O D R I G O September 30, 2015 at 09:38:29 AM
- we're the trash in your bed - By PSYCHEDELIC October 22, 2015 at 08:23:40 PM
- In my scabbard was a Peacerose. - By R O D R I G O October 28, 2015 at 01:07:41 PM
- we're the trash in your bed - By PSYCHEDELIC December 2, 2015 at 07:43:36 PM
- In my scabbard was a Peacerose. - By R O D R I G O October 28, 2015 at 01:07:41 PM
- we're the trash in your bed - By PSYCHEDELIC October 22, 2015 at 08:23:40 PM
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