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Lagoon
The Boss Garmr
The Marauder Peyote		The General Marko

The Companions
None	Druna	None

The Thieves Jormungandr Khyber Kristjan S�htr�c 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.

everyone _diestwice
Posted on January 23, 2016 at 05:42:47 AM by kaleo


THE SKY WAS BLACK, and the stars (like fireflies) strengthened and faded, each one a tenacious spark caught in the deep, dark web of night. The evening moon glistened like a diamond (or some kind of pallid, sparkling gemstone). Paths of her cold light percolated through the silvery strips of clouds in which Luna had nested upon since the sun's setting, refracting off of the littoral sands, making them glow ever so slightly in the moon's pure light. It smelled like night (clean and crisp), though the scent of pine needles implied a forest along the coast (and, heeding the potent smell of cedar sap, I would venture to say it is not too far inland). A soft zephyr sifted its icy, probing fingers across the beach (and you could guess how cold I was when it found me, though luckily, the breezes are few and far between here). It definitely was freezing, whether the air was still or unsettled. It hurt to breath, and each exhale nearly crystallized before ones eyes. Each breath sat gelid on the lungs, yet tasted fresh (and salty, like everything on this forsaken shore). Despite having been below freezing, the air was viscid and heavy. Poseidon's beasts have ravaged the sandy coast with a kind of bubbling, pale foam at their mouths (though what they say I cannot decipher; I don't know what sound the wind makes, the water makes, the stars or the moon make...and on a new shore, I truly don't know what to do besides wander and wait). The night dragged on at an achingly leaden rate, and a lone body trudged relentlessly across the cold, dark beach, silently imploring nature to grant him an early sunrise. TRAILS OF MESSY HOOF PRINTS zigzagged along the dim-lit beach, and the moon's light faded as a new day dawned. Poseidon's garbage littered the shores: driftwood, seaweed, and other debris sat motionless on the sand. As each pace passed swiftly by, more began to materialize out of the shallows (or perhaps I could just see more because it was slowly getting lighter out; shapes are beginning to show volume and depth now); at the time though, it looked as if the night sky had shattered and left its broken pieces all along the coastline, miles behind and miles ahead. (Thankfully it is dawn now, so I can hunt for safe sleeping at last.) The sun has already begun pulling itself above the ocean's crest. A vibrant and brilliantly orange bridge formed and stretched from horizon to coast (and even though things aren't always what they seem, I feel as though it is beckoning me). Since the first few steps on this island, it has been constant trudging through fetlock deep sand. The grass is brittle, bitter, and stale. The winds are cold, though migrating inland is asking for trouble with either predators or the territorial equines in this archipelago. (I have learned that a willingness to temporize can avoid trivial conflicts.) Sticking to the shores in this situation has been worth the discomfort in exchange for safety and a sound mind. DAWN SHED SOME LIGHT on the land, and luckily there were trees on the east side of the island, of which the colt had been sauntering towards for the past half-hour (since the sun had risen to be exact), and after climbing over the initial dune, it was a simple walk. The lone, dark stallion had to be sure that the night hour predators were tucked away and quiet for the day before he searched for food, water, and shelter. (I find that they are quieter and less active in the daytime.) It has been a custom since weaning, and has kept him alive for years now, as most of his earlier confrontations with wolves and territorial moose/elk have been catastrophic (and I have the scars to prove it). As he neared the forest-front after a mile of walking across beach grass (and finding only some frost on the stems to quench my thirst), he noticed that there seemed to be more shrub and undergrowth than he would have liked. (Yeah, I'll be tickled and scratched from now until night in here!) The stallion skirted the edges and followed it more inland for at least ten minutes before finding a good place to enter, where the undergrowth had thinned and shortened to below his knees. He looked around quietly. (This seems to be a massive forest. I must be careful to keep track of where I am walking. Traveling too far inland is a grave mistake.) And so he walked into the forest, deciding he was much too tired to find somewhere else, eating when new shoots of greenery exposed themselves and licking frost or frozen puddles when the opportunity surfaced. After another hour of wandering, he found himself a cozy set of trees. The air began to warm and the ocean breezes turned still. His eyes drooped and his legs were motionless after a long night of constant motion. It didn't take long before dreams and memories clouded his usual vigilance. HE AWOKE AROUND MIDDAY and moseyed his way further into the woods. The more he walked, the more closed in he felt. (It has to open up eventually...?) Though the trees became slightly shorter, thicker, and sparsely covered branches turned needle-laden. It immediately became warmer. After a few hours of searching, he had hit the cedar and pine groves that he had scented from the shore. (I need to turn around. This was a mistake.) Though something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A dark shape had pushed through the trees, and the distinct scent of horse hit his nostrils. The amateur stallion snorted softly. (Did I really just see that?) His sanity was questioned. IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG for him to find his way back to the little grove that he had previously slept in, thoughts whirling through his mind. Though he did calm himself. (It's nice here, for now. I'll just sit and wait until I fall asleep again.) And so he did. The dark colt waited and waited, though sleep didn't come easy. He got a few minutes here and there, but the naps came in short bursts. Even in his perfect place he felt restless. (What do I do tonight? Where do I go?) So until the sun started to sink, he had questions disrupting his sleep. In conclusion, he had decided he needed to communicate with the world. He was going to go find that mystery horse, and making it to the beach will have to wait. (But where did the horse go?) He stood. He waited, and the sun sat heavy on the western hills, spending its last few breaths of the day's light and warmth before night set in again. HE HAD ALREADY SET OFF on his quest to find the dark horse he saw earlier, expertly retracing his steps to where he had become uncomfortable and turned around. (Now the horse was about five lengths to the right...right?) He moved to the general area in which he believed the equine had passed. It was completely dark out, though his sharp vision could pick up bits of the horse's trail through disturbed underbrush, and his nose was still in pristine working condition. He quickly picked up the trail and followed it (cautiously and carefully) through the pines. The trail jutted south, and the dark colt kept thinking to himself that he was going to hit the shore again before long. He grew more tense as time went by, lost in his relentless pondering. (Where is this horse?) Then he stopped suddenly. He had failed to see the change in landscape. The trees had grown and the ground under his hooves was much more sandy than in the pines. He had hit the southern coast, and he could see horses not but a few lengths ahead (walking past me from the left? And there are two!) They continued side by side, moving along a vast inlet. He made a loud nicker, a noise of sheer excitement, and trotted towards them. He had found someone. Then he realized his mistake and halted before backing up a step in dismay. Who did he find? They weren't even the horses he had followed here. Are they friends or foes? (At least I have a 50% chance...) The stud stood still in the night, moonlight washing over his lithe, fit form, and although he was in unfamiliar terrain, around unfamiliar horses, he felt confidence flutter in his heart-girth. (Well, I can't say I don't deserve what comes to me. Tonight is the night I find out whether or not deaf is synonymous with death.)

THE SKY WAS BLACK, and the stars (like fireflies) strengthened and faded, each one a tenacious spark caught in the deep, dark web of night. The evening moon glistened like a diamond (or some kind of pallid, sparkling gemstone). Paths of her cold light percolated through the silvery strips of clouds in which Luna had nested upon since the sun's setting, refracting off of the littoral sands, making them glow ever so slightly in the moon's pure light. It smelled like night (clean and crisp), though the scent of pine needles implied a forest along the coast (and, heeding the potent smell of cedar sap, I would venture to say it is not too far inland). A soft zephyr sifted its icy, probing fingers across the beach (and you could guess how cold I was when it found me, though luckily, the breezes are few and far between here). It definitely was freezing, whether the air was still or unsettled. It hurt to breath, and each exhale nearly crystallized before ones eyes. Each breath sat gelid on the lungs, yet tasted fresh (and salty, like everything on this forsaken shore). Despite having been below freezing, the air was viscid and heavy. Poseidon's beasts have ravaged the sandy coast with a kind of bubbling, pale foam at their mouths (though what they say I cannot decipher; I don't know what sound the wind makes, the water makes, the stars or the moon make...and on a new shore, I truly don't know what to do besides wander and wait). The night dragged on at an achingly leaden rate, and a lone body trudged relentlessly across the cold, dark beach, silently imploring nature to grant him an early sunrise.

TRAILS OF MESSY HOOF PRINTS zigzagged along the dim-lit beach, and the moon's light faded as a new day dawned. Poseidon's garbage littered the shores: driftwood, seaweed, and other debris sat motionless on the sand. As each pace passed swiftly by, more began to materialize out of the shallows (or perhaps I could just see more because it was slowly getting lighter out; shapes are beginning to show volume and depth now); at the time though, it looked as if the night sky had shattered and left its broken pieces all along the coastline, miles behind and miles ahead. (Thankfully it is dawn now, so I can hunt for safe sleeping at last.) The sun has already begun pulling itself above the ocean's crest. A vibrant and brilliantly orange bridge formed and stretched from horizon to coast (and even though things aren't always what they seem, I feel as though it is beckoning me). Since the first few steps on this island, it has been constant trudging through fetlock deep sand. The grass is brittle, bitter, and stale. The winds are cold, though migrating inland is asking for trouble with either predators or the territorial equines in this archipelago. (I have learned that a willingness to temporize can avoid trivial conflicts.) Sticking to the shores in this situation has been worth the discomfort in exchange for safety and a sound mind.

DAWN SHED SOME LIGHT on the land, and luckily there were trees on the east side of the island, of which the colt had been sauntering towards for the past half-hour (since the sun had risen to be exact), and after climbing over the initial dune, it was a simple walk. The lone, dark stallion had to be sure that the night hour predators were tucked away and quiet for the day before he searched for food, water, and shelter. (I find that they are quieter and less active in the daytime.) It has been a custom since weaning, and has kept him alive for years now, as most of his earlier confrontations with wolves and territorial moose/elk have been catastrophic (and I have the scars to prove it). As he neared the forest-front after a mile of walking across beach grass (and finding only some frost on the stems to quench my thirst), he noticed that there seemed to be more shrub and undergrowth than he would have liked. (Yeah, I'll be tickled and scratched from now until night in here!) The stallion skirted the edges and followed it more inland for at least ten minutes before finding a good place to enter, where the undergrowth had thinned and shortened to below his knees. He looked around quietly. (This seems to be a massive forest. I must be careful to keep track of where I am walking. Traveling too far inland is a grave mistake.) And so he walked into the forest, deciding he was much too tired to find somewhere else, eating when new shoots of greenery exposed themselves and licking frost or frozen puddles when the opportunity surfaced. After another hour of wandering, he found himself a cozy set of trees. The air began to warm and the ocean breezes turned still. His eyes drooped and his legs were motionless after a long night of constant motion. It didn't take long before dreams and memories clouded his usual vigilance.

HE AWOKE AROUND MIDDAY and moseyed his way further into the woods. The more he walked, the more closed in he felt. (It has to open up eventually...?) Though the trees became slightly shorter, thicker, and sparsely covered branches turned needle-laden. It immediately became warmer. After a few hours of searching, he had hit the cedar and pine groves that he had scented from the shore. (I need to turn around. This was a mistake.) Though something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. A dark shape had pushed through the trees, and the distinct scent of horse hit his nostrils. The amateur stallion snorted softly. (Did I really just see that?) His sanity was questioned.

IT DIDN'T TAKE LONG for him to find his way back to the little grove that he had previously slept in, thoughts whirling through his mind. Though he did calm himself. (It's nice here, for now. I'll just sit and wait until I fall asleep again.) And so he did. The dark colt waited and waited, though sleep didn't come easy. He got a few minutes here and there, but the naps came in short bursts. Even in his perfect place he felt restless. (What do I do tonight? Where do I go?) So until the sun started to sink, he had questions disrupting his sleep. In conclusion, he had decided he needed to communicate with the world. He was going to go find that mystery horse, and making it to the beach will have to wait.

(But where did the horse go?)

He stood. He waited, and the sun sat heavy on the western hills, spending its last few breaths of the day's light and warmth before night set in again.

HE HAD ALREADY SET OFF on his quest to find the dark horse he saw earlier, expertly retracing his steps to where he had become uncomfortable and turned around. (Now the horse was about five lengths to the right...right?) He moved to the general area in which he believed the equine had passed. It was completely dark out, though his sharp vision could pick up bits of the horse's trail through disturbed underbrush, and his nose was still in pristine working condition. He quickly picked up the trail and followed it (cautiously and carefully) through the pines. The trail jutted south, and the dark colt kept thinking to himself that he was going to hit the shore again before long. He grew more tense as time went by, lost in his relentless pondering. (Where is this horse?) Then he stopped suddenly. He had failed to see the change in landscape. The trees had grown and the ground under his hooves was much more sandy than in the pines. He had hit the southern coast, and he could see horses not but a few lengths ahead (walking past me from the left? And there are two!) They continued side by side, moving along a vast inlet.

He made a loud nicker, a noise of sheer excitement, and trotted towards them. He had found someone. Then he realized his mistake and halted before backing up a step in dismay. Who did he find? They weren't even the horses he had followed here. Are they friends or foes? (At least I have a 50% chance...)

The stud stood still in the night, moonlight washing over his lithe, fit form, and although he was in unfamiliar terrain, around unfamiliar horses, he felt confidence flutter in his heart-girth.

(Well, I can't say I don't deserve what comes to me. Tonight is the night I find out whether or not deaf is synonymous with death.)

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[x] - By Jetta April 18, 2016 at 07:31:19 PM

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Lagoon

The Boss

The Marauder

The General

The Companions

The Thieves

The Associates

The Soldiers

The Trinkets

Boss's Decree

The Offspring

Rules