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.

we're the trash in your bed


I feel like we’ve become a part of some sick cosmic joke.

Psychedelic said nothing, continuing his ambling walk along the shoreline, ear flicking as the waves tumbled in and reached up the beach only to pull back shortly after. Behind them they left little bits of white, bubbly froth which soon dissipated beneath the late spring sun. Soon it would be summer – hell, it already felt like it – and years of leaving the islands and coming back to the islands to stay for months meant he knew the changing of the seasons rather well here.

“I was four years old when I first came to these islands.” He said to what appeared to be no one. “Seven, the last time I was here.” Again, another quiet pause; his only audience were the birds. “That means every three years I come, stay for a couple years, and then vanish again.”

His voice disturbed a jay who’d been perched on a branch (or maybe it was just that he’d turned more inland) and as he walked under it, it cawed at him, tilting its head this way and that to observe him with beady black eyes. “So yeah, I think we’re a part of some sick cosmic joke.”

He heard a faint sound as if someone wanted to laugh – but not too hard – and blew more air than normal through their nose.

Joke or no, the fact remained Psychedelic couldn’t stay away from the islands. It had been intended as a stopgap when he was young. A place his sire had spoken of, where his grandfather had ruled among men, and he’d been idly curious. Now, though he was born a wanderer and seemed he may die one, it drew him back again and again and again.

“Maybe I swallowed a magnet?”

What?

“A magnet. You know, like, maybe the Lagoon has a giant magnet under the mud and I swallowed the opposite magnet so I can’t ever really get away from it.”

That’s ridiculous.

“Yeah… I guess if I’d swallowed a magnet I’d be pulled through the air and slammed into it, wherever it is… or I’d have disposed of it long ago.” Psychedelic broke off and frowned as the familiar loamy smell of stale water and men sunk deep into his nostrils. A wide grin split across his mouth just seconds later.

Look out, Lagoonies. He’s baaaaack…

we're the drunken gods of the living dead
WE'RE THE VOICE, WE'RE THE VOICE, WE'RE THE VOICE IN YOUR HEAD


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