Post when you're going, and when you expect to be back. Or I will hurt you.

A gallery of sorts; post pictures, stories, poetry, or whatever.

Post your links here.

Want something on the site? Want to throw an idea out? Confused about something to the point where your eyes are all swirly? Then post here!

From the outside, the chapel is visible mostly as a high steepled roof with an unreachable bell tower and an equally unreachable bell. The walls are coated in blue plaster that has fallen away in places, leaving a sky-like pattern on the outside. Inside, the old chapel maintains an aura of peace. No one can say which god was worshiped, if any that a unicorn would know. It lacks pews, suggesting worship was done standing or on the ground. There are steps leading up to a platform on which a rotting old lecturn stands, with a few notes, all but ruined by time, still upon it. The windows are stained glass, fogged and blurred by time so that the colors and shapes are hardly visible. The wall sconces are filled with old wax and the bugs trapped inside. The only ornamentation found is in looking up. A fresco, all but perfectly preserved by time, is painted on the ceiling. It is a circle with something like a star in the middle. in between the points of the star are the breeds, each in its corner, all eyeless. Running inside the circle are the silloutes of unicorns, each one running to be the next, each breed flowing into the other. and at the bottom, by the door...a piece of plaster is missing, so that you cannot see what the final image was.

A gleamingly white stone wall once surrounded the town, with fortified watchtowers at each corner and a single iron-studded gate. The gate has long since fallen from its hinges, the towers collapsed inward upon themselves, the walls swathed and pulled over by the encroaching vegetation of the forests beyond. They have, however, served their purpose as a last defense, for the wilds have not yet consumed the town they guarded.

The center of the town, once bustling with activity, and now empty and silent save for the occasional intrusion of the wind. It possesses few features of note, save for its single white-blooming magnolia and the well built beneath it. It is fairly wide, many paces across, paved in broken and corroded cobblestone.

Sometimes, a challenger will issue a duel. It happens, just as a regular battle would. And when such a duel, a formal cmbat occours, this is the sanctioned place to do it. the battlegrounds lie near lake imbifer, but time has been much crueler to this spot. It is a dry lakebed, all life having been taken from it long ego. The ground is made of red clay over solid stone, which on hot days will become cracked, and on wet days will be slick and impossible to walk in without getting stuck.

The cypress trees, the ancient behomeths of the swamp, tower above the other trees. Their knees rise from the muddy ground, standing like statues to some ancient tree-god. When the waters of winter receed, they leave behind a mud-and-clay ground, barren of grass, and trees marked with dark waterlines. Within days, however, small plants have sprouted up, and the ground becomes firm. There are things both beautiful and frightening here.

Lake Imbifer is settled in the northwest of the Orphic Forest. It is in a large clearing, so the lakeside is a grassy place, good for sunning. A few trees exist on the slope leading down to the lake. There are trees growing in the shallows as well, cypresses, with their knees rising from the water. In the center of the wide, dark lake is an island with heavy grass and a single fir tree. There are rumors of something strange...and huge...living just beneath the surface of the lake.

Taking up most of the area around the ruins is the Orphic Forest. The canopy trees of this forest are often pines or oaks, with smaller trees and underbrush of innumerable variety. Because of the climate, most of the trees do not lose all their leaves in the fall. Still, there is a thick layer of leaflitter on the ground, broken often by small flowers--white violets are the most common--and sparse grasses. Life abounds here. You know, pretty birds, cute little bunnies....and big poisonous spiders and fairly deadly snakes.

The land ends at the salten sea, a salt-water ocean with deliciously warm, clear waters. Well, it's really more of a gul- *gets thwapped* Anyway, The beach is made of pure white sand, with small shells littering the beach. There are a few large, driftwood logs and many smaller pieces. From time to time something interesting washes up on shore. All in all, the salten sea is a pretty peaceful place, unless you meet something interesting in the water.

Out between the swamp and the sea lies the marsh: grass and reeds streatching out for leagues. While it may seem to be a green, soggy wasteland, there are animals that call it home. In the small puddles and ponds scattered and hidden in and by the marsh dwell fish and frogs of all sorts, and the creatures that would live off of them: egrets and cranes, ducks and, of course, turtles. There is more in the marsh than just animals and reeds: strange, exotic plants grow between the more mudane ones.

Several acres of flooded pasture adjacent to the cyprus swamp, a place of boggy ground and lush vegetation. Irises grow in great abundance here, covering the soggy ground in great swathes interspersed by innumerable small brooks and channels. During the dryer months, the water receeds, leaving a lush carpet of grass between the flowering drifts. Wading birds, turtles, and jewel-bright little frogs can be seen here by the quiet and keen-eyed observer.

The only part of Arangia which remains true to its purpose. At the center, where the grasses were firmly established, the hip-high weeds and tangled bushes were unable to take root, leaving a wide open patch of space large enough to hold the entire herd. The trees, although not well cared for, still bear some fruit, and the citrus perfume of their blossoms drifts through the air.

A wide, deep well built by humans for the irrigation of their orchard, ringed in cut stone to knee height and lined with the same. Irrigation ditches radiate from it in an expanding circle, becoming more obscured by grass as they proceed. A tall forked stick, the pivot for a bucket long since rotted away, stands at its side like a sentinel. The water in the well itself is bitter and unpleasant tasting, although within reach of any thirsty unicorn, and has little purpose except for as a landmark in the tangled sea of orange trees.

The place where all of the marsh paths meet, the crossroads is a circular platform, like the center of a spoked wheel. It has a small well erected at the center, for the sake of weary travelers, but bucket has fallen to the bottom, and all the mechanics have rusted by now anyway. This is one of the few places that have not been overtaken by grass or reeds. This serves as a fine central meeting place for the resident herd.

On the eastmost edge of the marsh, on the eastmost edge of the land, are two posts. They are made of metal, and have broken-off hinges that shows they may have once held up gates that have vanished from sight. Here, the road is its widest, but up ahead the road becomes less well-manages and sinks, slowly, into the soggy ground. The road is grassy here, with a single peach tree growing to the side of it.

As Luteus Island is located in the middle of the River Lethe, one has two options to get to it; one is to swim, and the other is to navigate the causeway. This is easier said than done, though. A thin, shifting shoal extending across from the western bank, it is difficult to see under the water, and almost never shows up in the same place twice. It makes the island superbly defensible, for a single sentry could hold off all comers at the narrows where the causeway abuts the dropoff of the bank.

All of the island's banks are steep, but the promonitory is especially so, a wide outcropping of stone overhanging the swirling waters where the river splits around it. It is of the same stone as the ruined town, and in places one can see where blocks were quarried for its building. Mostly, though, it is worn smooth, its cracks and imperfections covered by moss. A peaceful place, with a good view of the river and the causeway, meetings are usually held here.

The very edge of the land that was able to escape total destruction by the fire, the trees here are burnt, but not quite dead. Their bark is charred and blackened by smoke, but above, they still put out new growth. Mostly conifer, with some smaller bushes mixed in, it is a strange spectacle, with a distinct boundary between the untouched forest and the fire-scarred copse.

Not all of the copse shows obvious sign of extensive damage, and the thicket is ample proof of this. Between the smoke-stained trees, new growth has risen from the ash-enriched soil; grass, ferns, and the red-topped wildflowers that gave the place its name. It is a pleasant, open place due to the lack of underbrush and smaller trees, like an old growth forest. Towards its edges, though, you can see that the earth is still and mostly cinders.

The area of the delta most hospitable to long-term habitation, the banksides here are one of the few areas of firm footing and good grazing. Between the cordgrass can be found succulent, although slightly salty-tasting, forage. The ground is sandy and littered with shells, shaped by the constant motion of wind and waves into dunes and dropoffs. The ancient refuse of human rivercraft often washes up here; bottles, fish traps, boards, things so strange as to be unidentifiable.

A network of tiny islands and hummocks strewn across the entrance of the river, where fresh water meets salt and the current churns up high ground suitable for plants to live on. These tiny patches of dry land are rarely larger than ten feet across, but spaced closely enough to afford jumps from one to another. In the calm areas between them, fish and crabs can be seen scuttling back and forth across the sandy bottom. They make for amusing sport, as do the timid flocks of gulls and shorebirds.

The very peak of the ridge, where the rest of the swamp stretches out as small and insignificant. This would serve as the meeting place of any herd in relevance. There is, right near the highest point, the largest cypress tree for leagues, with a top so high that it ends up being swallowed up by the canopy before you see the top. and it were clear enough, maybe it could even be swallowed by the sky before you see the top.

The sides and top of the ride are covered in trees, evergreens like the cypress and pine, but other trees as well: trees that make flowers in the spring, blossoms that look like azaleas, maple-like trees, and strange trees with red berries. The groundcover is mostly dirt and dead weeds, with the occasional small flowering plant, iris or lily, fern, or tired old shrub. Although recent floods have not touched the ridge, many of the older trees have mosses that resemble floodmarks growing on them.