The Lost Islands
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Lagoon

The Boss

Rutger

The Marauder

Khyber

The General

Tattoo

The Companions
None None None

The Thieves

Acid
Caine
Kythri
Luxor
Thranduil
Tribulation

The Associates

Abraxas
Cahyr
Cullen
Garmr
Iridium
Vadimir
Wechuge

The Soldiers

Alioth
Enigma
Nataanii
Omnipotent
Remmick
Solas

The Trinkets

Dior
Druna
Edith
Eriana
Pandemonium

Boss's Decree

For every brother you bring into the Lagoon, you may have a trinket of your own. I will not touch, barter, trade, or do anything with them. For every foal you create that lives here in the lagoon, you must win a battle or bring in a new brother.

If neither of these criteria are met, come them turning two and remaining in the lagoon, they are mine to do with as I see fit.

The Offspring

Briseis (Carthage x Clio)
Flynnrir (Garmr x Druna)
Gersemi (Garmr x Dior)
Gothic (Garmr x Dior)
Phaethon (Acid x Sabah)
Sadie (Abraxas x Mercy)

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.
rattlin' over the bogs
Posted on February 1, 2026 at 11:38:38 AM by Remmick

Remmick
I CUT A STOUT BLACKTHORN FOR TO BANISH GHOSTS AND GOBLINS

[cw: brief mentions of loss/drowning, and a moment of passive death ideation]

The sun rose over the Islands, and there, upon a muddy stretch of Lagoon shoreline, a figure lay prone halfway to the hightide mark, sides rising and falling irregularly. His white tipped tail, strewn over the dark sand, was kissed by the incoming tide, and minutes later, when it lapped at his hind fetlocks and washed the mud from his chipped hooves, he stirred, groaning and wincing with the movement.

A curse was uttered ‘neath his breath as pain rippled through him, and he blinked his bleary eyes until he could make out features of the landscape before him. For a brief moment, his heart lurched - it all seemed so familiar - but the sound of the waves hissing softly as they rolled onto the sand around him dragged him back to reality.

Drawing in a deep breath, flinching again as his ribs protested, he let loose a ragged call. From beneath his knotted mane, his ears twisted, straining to hear something, anything. But it was just him, and the ocean, and the sounds of the bogland before him.

Something like a sob rumbled from deep in his chest, and his eyes stung. With no reason to rise, he slumped back over on the sand, willing the ocean to take him. He’d find his beloved Lirín in the watery depths, along with Branóg, his little shadow, and the last of their broken family that had followed him into the sea before the storm had torn them all away from him. They would be together again, and could go on to seek the spirits of those that had been lost to them earlier in their plight.

But just when the saltwater was frothing at the curve of his back, the wind fell still and gentled the sea, so that the sounds from inland were carried to him, ringing so true, like a song that had resonated in his bones from before he’d been born. Face damp from saltwater that had not come from the sea, the stallion’s heart twinged, and a ghost of a smile twitched across his pale mouth.

If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear the murmur of his small herd, the lilting laughter of his daughters, and his firstborn’s voice calling out to him, deeper now that he was on the cusp of maturity. As his eyes fluttered open, the memories faded, and the stallion grit his teeth against the pain as he heaved himself to his hooves.

New wounds would heal in time and join the fading scars already marring his hide in places, but the agony that went unseen - his heart torn to pieces and yet somehow still beating in his chest - would remain. Beaten and bloody and bruised as he was, there was something in the stallion’s spirit that refused to die.

Turning back to let his blue eyes scour the sea, his head hung low. No sign of his handful of surviving mares and foals. "If they’re gone, truly," he murmured to the wind, throat tight and aching, "then it is for me to remember them, so…" He turned, and ventured deeper into the marshy terrain, limping and weary, but alert, and thirsting for drinkable water.

This land was unknown to him, yet he navigated it as though it were second nature to him. If it turned out that any of his family had survived, he was certain they would end up here, and so, lifting his head and calling out to announce himself, the stocky roan stallion resolved in his heart to remain, so that he would be waiting to reunite with those he loved with all that he was.
html by dante & bg image // reference [design by daggeradopts & lines by hunter-raider on dA]



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