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@Glacierstar your lore is finito! Do I have your permission to put Militia on my showcase? Also, you might want to put a trigger warning just in case, there is dark topics [s](i also went over 400 words but you don't mind right?)[/s]
[quote][i]“Shhh, my dear. It’s okay, don’t be afraid.”[/i]
No matter how much she tried to soothe the whimpering dragon strapped to her worktable, it wasn’t enough to calm the spooked derg. But of course she knew that was going to happen, the blacksmith training herself to shred every ounce of sympathy she held within herself before attempting such job.
Besides, having any compassion for a victim results in a job gone wrong.
The Guardian let out a disappointed huff when the other dragon’s whimpers began to get louder, picking up a rather menacing tool and set it right next to her victim forcefully. Her victim cried out in fear, struggling against its restraints to no avail.
“Listen you!” She roared, making her victim cower in fear. “For a dragon who wanted to die so badly, you sure are making a lot of noise. I’m trying to help you so you can help me, so why don’t you lay still, look pretty, and embrace your death, hm?”
The other dragon gave Militia a look of pure venom, which made her sneer maliciously.
[i]‘Still a fighter? Well, not for long.’[/i]
She was hoping this operation would go smoothly. The dragon had too many hardships to even want to continue living so they were the perfect target. The magic laced in her goggles revealed to her that the dragon had high levels of iron, an important ingredient to aid her search for the perfect blade. Yet her victim did not seem to want to cooperate, even though the dragon did want to die.
However, not with any help.
“I didn’t want to have to use this, but you left me no choice.” She picked up a large syringe, filling it up with some strange orange liquid. Her victim thrashed about in its restraints, letting out muffled roars that would fall on deaf ears. The thrashing only grew more violent as Militia held down the dragon so she could be able to administer the serum. It took a few minutes of fighting her victim before the needle successfully made contact with its skin, Militia grinning maliciously as the thrashing slowed as the serum caused the dragon to become sluggish. As soon as the dragon was knock out, the Guardian picked up the tool she placed on the table and went straight to work.
The deed took 12 hours to complete, since the Guardian had no effective tool to make the blood spill any faster. Her workshop reeked of gore and raw flesh yet the Guardian did not care. In her claws was the perfect blade, a surge of pride and accomplishment hitting Militia like a wave. She sat down the blade on a clean table. The Guardian then piled the carcass on a cart, wheeling it towards the back of her workshop and burying it in a deep grave she prepared for whenever she could get her hands on a victim.
“Thank you for your service friend. You did well.”
As soon as the hole was covered, the Guardian went back to her workshop to do some cleaning. Besides, she needed the place spotless before the next victim fell in her clutches.
[size=3][font=times new roman]Lore by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2671213]Sacrilegious[/url][/size][/font]
[/quote]
Here's the code just in case you want to copy and paste the lore exactly how it is written (meaning with the italics and whatnot)
[code][i]“Shhh, my dear. It’s okay, don’t be afraid.”[/i]
No matter how much she tried to soothe the whimpering dragon strapped to her worktable, it wasn’t enough to calm the spooked derg. But of course she knew that was going to happen, the blacksmith training herself to shred every ounce of sympathy she held within herself before attempting such job.
Besides, having any compassion for a victim results in a job gone wrong.
The Guardian let out a disappointed huff when the other dragon’s whimpers began to get louder, picking up a rather menacing tool and set it right next to her victim forcefully. Her victim cried out in fear, struggling against its restraints to no avail.
“Listen you!” She roared, making her victim cower in fear. “For a dragon who wanted to die so badly, you sure are making a lot of noise. I’m trying to help you so you can help me, so why don’t you lay still, look pretty, and embrace your death, hm?”
The other dragon gave Militia a look of pure venom, which made her sneer maliciously.
[i]‘Still a fighter? Well, not for long.’[/i]
She was hoping this operation would go smoothly. The dragon had too many hardships to even want to continue living so they were the perfect target. The magic laced in her goggles revealed to her that the dragon had high levels of iron, an important ingredient to aid her search for the perfect blade. Yet her victim did not seem to want to cooperate, even though the dragon did want to die.
However, not with any help.
“I didn’t want to have to use this, but you left me no choice.” She picked up a large syringe, filling it up with some strange orange liquid. Her victim thrashed about in its restraints, letting out muffled roars that would fall on deaf ears. The thrashing only grew more violent as Militia held down the dragon so she could be able to administer the serum. It took a few minutes of fighting her victim before the needle successfully made contact with its skin, Militia grinning maliciously as the thrashing slowed as the serum caused the dragon to become sluggish. As soon as the dragon was knock out, the Guardian picked up the tool she placed on the table and went straight to work.
The deed took 12 hours to complete, since the Guardian had no effective tool to make the blood spill any faster. Her workshop reeked of gore and raw flesh yet the Guardian did not care. In her claws was the perfect blade, a surge of pride and accomplishment hitting Militia like a wave. She sat down the blade on a clean table. The Guardian then piled the carcass on a cart, wheeling it towards the back of her workshop and burying it in a deep grave she prepared for whenever she could get her hands on a victim.
“Thank you for your service friend. You did well.”
As soon as the hole was covered, the Guardian went back to her workshop to do some cleaning. Besides, she needed the place spotless before the next victim fell in her clutches.
[size=3][font=times new roman]Lore by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2671213]Sacrilegious[/url][/size][/font][/code]
@Glacierstar your lore is finito! Do I have your permission to put Militia on my showcase? Also, you might want to put a trigger warning just in case, there is dark topics (i also went over 400 words but you don't mind right?)
Here's the code just in case you want to copy and paste the lore exactly how it is written (meaning with the italics and whatnot)
Quote:
“Shhh, my dear. It’s okay, don’t be afraid.”
No matter how much she tried to soothe the whimpering dragon strapped to her worktable, it wasn’t enough to calm the spooked derg. But of course she knew that was going to happen, the blacksmith training herself to shred every ounce of sympathy she held within herself before attempting such job.
Besides, having any compassion for a victim results in a job gone wrong.
The Guardian let out a disappointed huff when the other dragon’s whimpers began to get louder, picking up a rather menacing tool and set it right next to her victim forcefully. Her victim cried out in fear, struggling against its restraints to no avail.
“Listen you!” She roared, making her victim cower in fear. “For a dragon who wanted to die so badly, you sure are making a lot of noise. I’m trying to help you so you can help me, so why don’t you lay still, look pretty, and embrace your death, hm?”
The other dragon gave Militia a look of pure venom, which made her sneer maliciously.
‘Still a fighter? Well, not for long.’
She was hoping this operation would go smoothly. The dragon had too many hardships to even want to continue living so they were the perfect target. The magic laced in her goggles revealed to her that the dragon had high levels of iron, an important ingredient to aid her search for the perfect blade. Yet her victim did not seem to want to cooperate, even though the dragon did want to die.
However, not with any help.
“I didn’t want to have to use this, but you left me no choice.” She picked up a large syringe, filling it up with some strange orange liquid. Her victim thrashed about in its restraints, letting out muffled roars that would fall on deaf ears. The thrashing only grew more violent as Militia held down the dragon so she could be able to administer the serum. It took a few minutes of fighting her victim before the needle successfully made contact with its skin, Militia grinning maliciously as the thrashing slowed as the serum caused the dragon to become sluggish. As soon as the dragon was knock out, the Guardian picked up the tool she placed on the table and went straight to work.
The deed took 12 hours to complete, since the Guardian had no effective tool to make the blood spill any faster. Her workshop reeked of gore and raw flesh yet the Guardian did not care. In her claws was the perfect blade, a surge of pride and accomplishment hitting Militia like a wave. She sat down the blade on a clean table. The Guardian then piled the carcass on a cart, wheeling it towards the back of her workshop and burying it in a deep grave she prepared for whenever she could get her hands on a victim.
“Thank you for your service friend. You did well.”
As soon as the hole was covered, the Guardian went back to her workshop to do some cleaning. Besides, she needed the place spotless before the next victim fell in her clutches.
Lore by Sacrilegious
No matter how much she tried to soothe the whimpering dragon strapped to her worktable, it wasn’t enough to calm the spooked derg. But of course she knew that was going to happen, the blacksmith training herself to shred every ounce of sympathy she held within herself before attempting such job.
Besides, having any compassion for a victim results in a job gone wrong.
The Guardian let out a disappointed huff when the other dragon’s whimpers began to get louder, picking up a rather menacing tool and set it right next to her victim forcefully. Her victim cried out in fear, struggling against its restraints to no avail.
“Listen you!” She roared, making her victim cower in fear. “For a dragon who wanted to die so badly, you sure are making a lot of noise. I’m trying to help you so you can help me, so why don’t you lay still, look pretty, and embrace your death, hm?”
The other dragon gave Militia a look of pure venom, which made her sneer maliciously.
‘Still a fighter? Well, not for long.’
She was hoping this operation would go smoothly. The dragon had too many hardships to even want to continue living so they were the perfect target. The magic laced in her goggles revealed to her that the dragon had high levels of iron, an important ingredient to aid her search for the perfect blade. Yet her victim did not seem to want to cooperate, even though the dragon did want to die.
However, not with any help.
“I didn’t want to have to use this, but you left me no choice.” She picked up a large syringe, filling it up with some strange orange liquid. Her victim thrashed about in its restraints, letting out muffled roars that would fall on deaf ears. The thrashing only grew more violent as Militia held down the dragon so she could be able to administer the serum. It took a few minutes of fighting her victim before the needle successfully made contact with its skin, Militia grinning maliciously as the thrashing slowed as the serum caused the dragon to become sluggish. As soon as the dragon was knock out, the Guardian picked up the tool she placed on the table and went straight to work.
The deed took 12 hours to complete, since the Guardian had no effective tool to make the blood spill any faster. Her workshop reeked of gore and raw flesh yet the Guardian did not care. In her claws was the perfect blade, a surge of pride and accomplishment hitting Militia like a wave. She sat down the blade on a clean table. The Guardian then piled the carcass on a cart, wheeling it towards the back of her workshop and burying it in a deep grave she prepared for whenever she could get her hands on a victim.
“Thank you for your service friend. You did well.”
As soon as the hole was covered, the Guardian went back to her workshop to do some cleaning. Besides, she needed the place spotless before the next victim fell in her clutches.
Lore by Sacrilegious
Here's the code just in case you want to copy and paste the lore exactly how it is written (meaning with the italics and whatnot)
Code:
[i]“Shhh, my dear. It’s okay, don’t be afraid.”[/i]
No matter how much she tried to soothe the whimpering dragon strapped to her worktable, it wasn’t enough to calm the spooked derg. But of course she knew that was going to happen, the blacksmith training herself to shred every ounce of sympathy she held within herself before attempting such job.
Besides, having any compassion for a victim results in a job gone wrong.
The Guardian let out a disappointed huff when the other dragon’s whimpers began to get louder, picking up a rather menacing tool and set it right next to her victim forcefully. Her victim cried out in fear, struggling against its restraints to no avail.
“Listen you!” She roared, making her victim cower in fear. “For a dragon who wanted to die so badly, you sure are making a lot of noise. I’m trying to help you so you can help me, so why don’t you lay still, look pretty, and embrace your death, hm?”
The other dragon gave Militia a look of pure venom, which made her sneer maliciously.
[i]‘Still a fighter? Well, not for long.’[/i]
She was hoping this operation would go smoothly. The dragon had too many hardships to even want to continue living so they were the perfect target. The magic laced in her goggles revealed to her that the dragon had high levels of iron, an important ingredient to aid her search for the perfect blade. Yet her victim did not seem to want to cooperate, even though the dragon did want to die.
However, not with any help.
“I didn’t want to have to use this, but you left me no choice.” She picked up a large syringe, filling it up with some strange orange liquid. Her victim thrashed about in its restraints, letting out muffled roars that would fall on deaf ears. The thrashing only grew more violent as Militia held down the dragon so she could be able to administer the serum. It took a few minutes of fighting her victim before the needle successfully made contact with its skin, Militia grinning maliciously as the thrashing slowed as the serum caused the dragon to become sluggish. As soon as the dragon was knock out, the Guardian picked up the tool she placed on the table and went straight to work.
The deed took 12 hours to complete, since the Guardian had no effective tool to make the blood spill any faster. Her workshop reeked of gore and raw flesh yet the Guardian did not care. In her claws was the perfect blade, a surge of pride and accomplishment hitting Militia like a wave. She sat down the blade on a clean table. The Guardian then piled the carcass on a cart, wheeling it towards the back of her workshop and burying it in a deep grave she prepared for whenever she could get her hands on a victim.
“Thank you for your service friend. You did well.”
As soon as the hole was covered, the Guardian went back to her workshop to do some cleaning. Besides, she needed the place spotless before the next victim fell in her clutches.
[size=3][font=times new roman]Lore by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2671213]Sacrilegious[/url][/size][/font]
@sacrilegious
:OOOOOO It's wonderful!!! I love it so much!! I think I might have to put a cw, but you did an amazing job capturing what I had in my mind's eye for her! Tysm!!!! Feel free to put this piece on your showcase ^^
:OOOOOO It's wonderful!!! I love it so much!! I think I might have to put a cw, but you did an amazing job capturing what I had in my mind's eye for her! Tysm!!!! Feel free to put this piece on your showcase ^^
@sacrilegious
:OOOOOO It's wonderful!!! I love it so much!! I think I might have to put a cw, but you did an amazing job capturing what I had in my mind's eye for her! Tysm!!!! Feel free to put this piece on your showcase ^^
:OOOOOO It's wonderful!!! I love it so much!! I think I might have to put a cw, but you did an amazing job capturing what I had in my mind's eye for her! Tysm!!!! Feel free to put this piece on your showcase ^^
@sacrilegious
Hi im back
[b]Dragon Image:[/b]
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=46074979]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/460750/46074979_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[b]Dragon's Name:[/b]Samara
[b]Theme of Story:[/b] Samara is an ex-psychopomp who got fired after failing to reap the soul of her pet cat, "Kitten", one too many times. After being kicked from the afterlife, she wanders Sornieth blessing any cat she finds and protects them from death by granting them their sharp claws to help fight off other psychopomps. She's basically the reason all cats have 9 lives.
[b]Word Count:[b] 400-ish :)
[b]Flat or Detailed?:[/b]Detailed
[b]Payment Type:[/b] treasure
@sacrilegious
Hi im back
Dragon Image:
Dragon's Name:Samara
Theme of Story: Samara is an ex-psychopomp who got fired after failing to reap the soul of her pet cat, "Kitten", one too many times. After being kicked from the afterlife, she wanders Sornieth blessing any cat she finds and protects them from death by granting them their sharp claws to help fight off other psychopomps. She's basically the reason all cats have 9 lives.
Word Count: 400-ish :)
Flat or Detailed?:Detailed
Payment Type: treasure
Hi im back
Dragon Image:
Dragon's Name:Samara
Theme of Story: Samara is an ex-psychopomp who got fired after failing to reap the soul of her pet cat, "Kitten", one too many times. After being kicked from the afterlife, she wanders Sornieth blessing any cat she finds and protects them from death by granting them their sharp claws to help fight off other psychopomps. She's basically the reason all cats have 9 lives.
Word Count: 400-ish :)
Flat or Detailed?:Detailed
Payment Type: treasure
@Glacierstar lol welcome back! that will be 40kt :)
@Glacierstar lol welcome back! that will be 40kt :)
@sacrilegious
[b]Dragon Image:[/b][img]http://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/dragon?did=50109564&skin=0&apparel=29581,17902,17929,17911,17920&xt=dressing.png[/img]
[b]Dragon's Name:[/b]Clover
[b]Theme of Story:[/b] Clover is a mage who was abandoned by his family because of his white feathers(Coatl Superstition). He spent the majority of his life wandering Sornieth helping people and basically entertaining the few dragons who came to see him. He lived in the Windswept Plateau for a while and one day he was attacked by an emperor, which the Windsigner intervened and saved his life, which is why he became a wind representitive. Later on, my clan takes him in and all is well.
[b]Word Count:[b]500 words
[b]Flat or Detailed?:[/b]Flat
[b]Payment Type:[/b]Treasure
[b]Thanks![/b]
@sacrilegious
Dragon Image:
Dragon's Name:Clover
Theme of Story: Clover is a mage who was abandoned by his family because of his white feathers(Coatl Superstition). He spent the majority of his life wandering Sornieth helping people and basically entertaining the few dragons who came to see him. He lived in the Windswept Plateau for a while and one day he was attacked by an emperor, which the Windsigner intervened and saved his life, which is why he became a wind representitive. Later on, my clan takes him in and all is well.
Word Count:500 words
Flat or Detailed?:Flat
Payment Type:Treasure
Thanks!
Dragon Image:
Dragon's Name:Clover
Theme of Story: Clover is a mage who was abandoned by his family because of his white feathers(Coatl Superstition). He spent the majority of his life wandering Sornieth helping people and basically entertaining the few dragons who came to see him. He lived in the Windswept Plateau for a while and one day he was attacked by an emperor, which the Windsigner intervened and saved his life, which is why he became a wind representitive. Later on, my clan takes him in and all is well.
Word Count:500 words
Flat or Detailed?:Flat
Payment Type:Treasure
Thanks!
@Shibe01 no need to ping me! your order comes up to 50kt! send a cr and i’ll start on your request :)
@Glacierstar i got a little overboard and this became a whopper [s](821 words...oops)[/s] but i hope you like it! can i put Samara in my showcase? edit: i had to change some words :/
[quote=lore]Samara was [i]ticked[/i].
Actually ticked is an understatement, she was furious.
Furious at the Afterlife Council, furious at herself. But most of all, she was furious at her damned cat that managed to evade every attack she made against it. The Guardian grumbled at herself bitterly, almost knocking over a tree as she huffed and puffed while walking. It was her fault her cat was so good at evading attacks, she trained the creature to dodge any psychopomp that wanted to reap its soul, herself included. Of course the Council had doubts about her loyalty and [s]forced[/s] assigned her a task to reap her own cat.
To make a long story short, that didn’t end up well.
The Council, tired of watching her fail the umpteenth time, revoked her status as a psychopomp and kicked her out of the Afterlife. Now the Guardian wandered aimlessly around Sornieth with nothing else to do. Besides taking her anger out on random trees that she passed by and disturbing the peace with her angered roars. Soon the Guardian’s feet started to ache from all the traveling, Samara finding a clearing so she can rest and possibly calm down before she hurts herself. The sounds of the birds chirping sweetly and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees managed to soothe the ex-psychopomp, the ambience almost making her fall asleep if it weren’t for a curious meow that pulled her away from her peace. Two curious green eyes stared at her across the small pond that took up most of the clearing space, the owner hidden amidst of a bush. The staredown lasted for a few seconds, another meow coming from the bush as the cat that hid itself emerged. Samara growled lowly at the furry creature, warning it to stay away. Yet that didn’t deter the cat, the creature limping its way over to the Guardian.
“Hey now! Stay away, I’m not in the mood to deal with your kind.”
“Meow!”
The cat rubbed itself against Samara’s claws, the Guardian grumbling at the disobedient animal but not pushing it away. Her nose picked up the smell of blood coming from the creature and examined it as it rubbed against her. The blood was coming from the cat’s paws, in between the toes were claws were suppose to be. But there weren’t any.
“Declawed huh? You’re basically a walking target for psychopomps to reap your soul. Why would any owner do such a thing to you.”
The cat meowed sweetly, Samara giving it a soft small smile before procuring a small potion stashed in her wing plumes.
“Here, drink this up. It’ll stop the pain and the bleeding. If I’m lucky, I should still have my powers and be able to give you a new set of claws.”
The cat licked its chops after drinking a bit of the potion, watching as the markings on Samara’s skin start to glow. The magic engulfed the cat’s paws, growing new and deadlier claws in between its toes. Samara felt a wave of triumph overcome her as she watch the cat admired its new set of claws. The happy moment was broken when a psychopomp suddenly sprang from the trees, their scythe poised and ready to strike.
“Samara? What are you doing here? It doesn’t matter! Back away outcast! This is my kill!”
The Guardian growled at the reaper, catching their swinging scythe in her jaws before it could hit the cat. The furry creature yowled and scratched the attacking psychopomp on their foot, the reaper letting out a roar and cradling their injured foot.
“What the hell?! I was told this thing didn’t have claws! Yikes, that hurt...” The reaper growled at Samara and snatched their scythe away from the Guardian. “Keep your damn cat!” And with that, the injured psychopomp disappeared in the trees.
Samara’s companion meowed loudly, rubbing its body on Samara’s foot affectionately. The ex-psychopomp chuckled and gently picked up a paw to examine the cat’s claws. Thinking that the Guardian wanted to play, the cat latched onto Samara with its other paw, the Guardian wincing at the sharp nick of pain that surfaced.
“Damn, I did make those things sharp...” Her words trailed off slowly as an idea popped in her head. A [i]wonderful[/i] idea at that. An idea that would guarantee payback for what the Council did to her and presented a new calling for her life. Samara said not a word as she gently picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder before unfurling her wings and ascending to the sky. Her feline companion let out another yowl and gripped her hood as she started to fly off. From then on, Samara searched around Sornieth for cats on death’s row, equipping them with killer claws and intent for them to fight for their lives.
And of course, the Council wasn’t too happy about that, not that she cared.
[size=3][font=times new roman]Lore by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2671213]Sacrilegious[/url][/size][/font]
[/quote]
and the code
[code]Samara was [i]ticked[/i].
Actually ticked is an understatement, she was furious.
Furious at the Afterlife Council, furious at herself. But most of all, she was furious at her damned cat that managed to evade every attack she made against it. The Guardian grumbled at herself bitterly, almost knocking over a tree as she huffed and puffed while walking. It was her fault her cat was so good at evading attacks, she trained the creature to dodge any psychopomp that wanted to reap its soul, herself included. Of course the Council had doubts about her loyalty and [s]forced[/s] assigned her a task to reap her own cat.
To make a long story short, that didn’t end up well.
The Council, tired of watching her fail the umpteenth time, revoked her status as a psychopomp and kicked her out of the Afterlife. Now the Guardian wandered aimlessly around Sornieth with nothing else to do. Besides taking her anger out on random trees that she passed by and disturbing the peace with her angered roars. Soon the Guardian’s feet started to ache from all the traveling, Samara finding a clearing so she can rest and possibly calm down before she hurts herself. The sounds of the birds chirping sweetly and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees managed to soothe the ex-psychopomp, the ambience almost making her fall asleep if it weren’t for a curious meow that pulled her away from her peace. Two curious green eyes stared at her across the small pond that took up most of the clearing space, the owner hidden amidst of a bush. The staredown lasted for a few seconds, another meow coming from the bush as the cat that hid itself emerged. Samara growled lowly at the furry creature, warning it to stay away. Yet that didn’t deter the cat, the creature limping its way over to the Guardian.
“Hey now! Stay away, I’m not in the mood to deal with your kind.”
“Meow!”
The cat rubbed itself against Samara’s claws, the Guardian grumbling at the disobedient animal but not pushing it away. Her nose picked up the smell of blood coming from the creature and examined it as it rubbed against her. The blood was coming from the cat’s paws, in between the toes were claws were suppose to be. But there weren’t any.
“Declawed huh? You’re basically a walking target for psychopomps to reap your soul. Why would any owner do such a thing to you.”
The cat meowed sweetly, Samara giving it a soft small smile before procuring a small potion stashed in her wing plumes.
“Here, drink this up. It’ll stop the pain and the bleeding. If I’m lucky, I should still have my powers and be able to give you a new set of claws.”
The cat licked its chops after drinking a bit of the potion, watching as the markings on Samara’s skin start to glow. The magic engulfed the cat’s paws, growing new and deadlier claws in between its toes. Samara felt a wave of triumph overcome her as she watch the cat admired its new set of claws. The happy moment was broken when a psychopomp suddenly sprang from the trees, their scythe poised and ready to strike.
“Samara? What are you doing here? It doesn’t matter! Back away outcast! This is my kill!”
The Guardian growled at the reaper, catching their swinging scythe in her jaws before it could hit the cat. The furry creature yowled and scratched the attacking psychopomp on their foot, the reaper letting out a roar and cradling their injured foot.
“What the hell?! I was told this thing didn’t have claws! Yikes, that hurt...” The reaper growled at Samara and snatched their scythe away from the Guardian. “Keep your damn cat!” And with that, the injured psychopomp disappeared in the trees.
Samara’s companion meowed loudly, rubbing its body on Samara’s foot affectionately. The ex-psychopomp chuckled and gently picked up a paw to examine the cat’s claws. Thinking that the Guardian wanted to play, the cat latched onto Samara with its other paw, the Guardian wincing at the sharp nick of pain that surfaced.
“Damn, I did make those things sharp...” Her words trailed off slowly as an idea popped in her head. A [i]wonderful[/i] idea at that. An idea that would guarantee payback for what the Council did to her and presented a new calling for her life. Samara said not a word as she gently picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder before unfurling her wings and ascending to the sky. Her feline companion let out another yowl and gripped her hood as she started to fly off. From then on, Samara searched around Sornieth for cats on death’s row, equipping them with killer claws and intent for them to fight for their lives.
And of course, the Council wasn’t too happy about that, not that she cared.
[size=3][font=times new roman]Lore by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2671213]Sacrilegious[/url][/size][/font][/code]
@Glacierstar i got a little overboard and this became a whopper (821 words...oops) but i hope you like it! can i put Samara in my showcase? edit: i had to change some words :/
and the code
lore wrote:
Samara was ticked.
Actually ticked is an understatement, she was furious.
Furious at the Afterlife Council, furious at herself. But most of all, she was furious at her damned cat that managed to evade every attack she made against it. The Guardian grumbled at herself bitterly, almost knocking over a tree as she huffed and puffed while walking. It was her fault her cat was so good at evading attacks, she trained the creature to dodge any psychopomp that wanted to reap its soul, herself included. Of course the Council had doubts about her loyalty andforced assigned her a task to reap her own cat.
To make a long story short, that didn’t end up well.
The Council, tired of watching her fail the umpteenth time, revoked her status as a psychopomp and kicked her out of the Afterlife. Now the Guardian wandered aimlessly around Sornieth with nothing else to do. Besides taking her anger out on random trees that she passed by and disturbing the peace with her angered roars. Soon the Guardian’s feet started to ache from all the traveling, Samara finding a clearing so she can rest and possibly calm down before she hurts herself. The sounds of the birds chirping sweetly and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees managed to soothe the ex-psychopomp, the ambience almost making her fall asleep if it weren’t for a curious meow that pulled her away from her peace. Two curious green eyes stared at her across the small pond that took up most of the clearing space, the owner hidden amidst of a bush. The staredown lasted for a few seconds, another meow coming from the bush as the cat that hid itself emerged. Samara growled lowly at the furry creature, warning it to stay away. Yet that didn’t deter the cat, the creature limping its way over to the Guardian.
“Hey now! Stay away, I’m not in the mood to deal with your kind.”
“Meow!”
The cat rubbed itself against Samara’s claws, the Guardian grumbling at the disobedient animal but not pushing it away. Her nose picked up the smell of blood coming from the creature and examined it as it rubbed against her. The blood was coming from the cat’s paws, in between the toes were claws were suppose to be. But there weren’t any.
“Declawed huh? You’re basically a walking target for psychopomps to reap your soul. Why would any owner do such a thing to you.”
The cat meowed sweetly, Samara giving it a soft small smile before procuring a small potion stashed in her wing plumes.
“Here, drink this up. It’ll stop the pain and the bleeding. If I’m lucky, I should still have my powers and be able to give you a new set of claws.”
The cat licked its chops after drinking a bit of the potion, watching as the markings on Samara’s skin start to glow. The magic engulfed the cat’s paws, growing new and deadlier claws in between its toes. Samara felt a wave of triumph overcome her as she watch the cat admired its new set of claws. The happy moment was broken when a psychopomp suddenly sprang from the trees, their scythe poised and ready to strike.
“Samara? What are you doing here? It doesn’t matter! Back away outcast! This is my kill!”
The Guardian growled at the reaper, catching their swinging scythe in her jaws before it could hit the cat. The furry creature yowled and scratched the attacking psychopomp on their foot, the reaper letting out a roar and cradling their injured foot.
“What the hell?! I was told this thing didn’t have claws! Yikes, that hurt...” The reaper growled at Samara and snatched their scythe away from the Guardian. “Keep your damn cat!” And with that, the injured psychopomp disappeared in the trees.
Samara’s companion meowed loudly, rubbing its body on Samara’s foot affectionately. The ex-psychopomp chuckled and gently picked up a paw to examine the cat’s claws. Thinking that the Guardian wanted to play, the cat latched onto Samara with its other paw, the Guardian wincing at the sharp nick of pain that surfaced.
“Damn, I did make those things sharp...” Her words trailed off slowly as an idea popped in her head. A wonderful idea at that. An idea that would guarantee payback for what the Council did to her and presented a new calling for her life. Samara said not a word as she gently picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder before unfurling her wings and ascending to the sky. Her feline companion let out another yowl and gripped her hood as she started to fly off. From then on, Samara searched around Sornieth for cats on death’s row, equipping them with killer claws and intent for them to fight for their lives.
And of course, the Council wasn’t too happy about that, not that she cared.
Lore by Sacrilegious
Actually ticked is an understatement, she was furious.
Furious at the Afterlife Council, furious at herself. But most of all, she was furious at her damned cat that managed to evade every attack she made against it. The Guardian grumbled at herself bitterly, almost knocking over a tree as she huffed and puffed while walking. It was her fault her cat was so good at evading attacks, she trained the creature to dodge any psychopomp that wanted to reap its soul, herself included. Of course the Council had doubts about her loyalty and
To make a long story short, that didn’t end up well.
The Council, tired of watching her fail the umpteenth time, revoked her status as a psychopomp and kicked her out of the Afterlife. Now the Guardian wandered aimlessly around Sornieth with nothing else to do. Besides taking her anger out on random trees that she passed by and disturbing the peace with her angered roars. Soon the Guardian’s feet started to ache from all the traveling, Samara finding a clearing so she can rest and possibly calm down before she hurts herself. The sounds of the birds chirping sweetly and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees managed to soothe the ex-psychopomp, the ambience almost making her fall asleep if it weren’t for a curious meow that pulled her away from her peace. Two curious green eyes stared at her across the small pond that took up most of the clearing space, the owner hidden amidst of a bush. The staredown lasted for a few seconds, another meow coming from the bush as the cat that hid itself emerged. Samara growled lowly at the furry creature, warning it to stay away. Yet that didn’t deter the cat, the creature limping its way over to the Guardian.
“Hey now! Stay away, I’m not in the mood to deal with your kind.”
“Meow!”
The cat rubbed itself against Samara’s claws, the Guardian grumbling at the disobedient animal but not pushing it away. Her nose picked up the smell of blood coming from the creature and examined it as it rubbed against her. The blood was coming from the cat’s paws, in between the toes were claws were suppose to be. But there weren’t any.
“Declawed huh? You’re basically a walking target for psychopomps to reap your soul. Why would any owner do such a thing to you.”
The cat meowed sweetly, Samara giving it a soft small smile before procuring a small potion stashed in her wing plumes.
“Here, drink this up. It’ll stop the pain and the bleeding. If I’m lucky, I should still have my powers and be able to give you a new set of claws.”
The cat licked its chops after drinking a bit of the potion, watching as the markings on Samara’s skin start to glow. The magic engulfed the cat’s paws, growing new and deadlier claws in between its toes. Samara felt a wave of triumph overcome her as she watch the cat admired its new set of claws. The happy moment was broken when a psychopomp suddenly sprang from the trees, their scythe poised and ready to strike.
“Samara? What are you doing here? It doesn’t matter! Back away outcast! This is my kill!”
The Guardian growled at the reaper, catching their swinging scythe in her jaws before it could hit the cat. The furry creature yowled and scratched the attacking psychopomp on their foot, the reaper letting out a roar and cradling their injured foot.
“What the hell?! I was told this thing didn’t have claws! Yikes, that hurt...” The reaper growled at Samara and snatched their scythe away from the Guardian. “Keep your damn cat!” And with that, the injured psychopomp disappeared in the trees.
Samara’s companion meowed loudly, rubbing its body on Samara’s foot affectionately. The ex-psychopomp chuckled and gently picked up a paw to examine the cat’s claws. Thinking that the Guardian wanted to play, the cat latched onto Samara with its other paw, the Guardian wincing at the sharp nick of pain that surfaced.
“Damn, I did make those things sharp...” Her words trailed off slowly as an idea popped in her head. A wonderful idea at that. An idea that would guarantee payback for what the Council did to her and presented a new calling for her life. Samara said not a word as she gently picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder before unfurling her wings and ascending to the sky. Her feline companion let out another yowl and gripped her hood as she started to fly off. From then on, Samara searched around Sornieth for cats on death’s row, equipping them with killer claws and intent for them to fight for their lives.
And of course, the Council wasn’t too happy about that, not that she cared.
Lore by Sacrilegious
and the code
Code:
Samara was [i]ticked[/i].
Actually ticked is an understatement, she was furious.
Furious at the Afterlife Council, furious at herself. But most of all, she was furious at her damned cat that managed to evade every attack she made against it. The Guardian grumbled at herself bitterly, almost knocking over a tree as she huffed and puffed while walking. It was her fault her cat was so good at evading attacks, she trained the creature to dodge any psychopomp that wanted to reap its soul, herself included. Of course the Council had doubts about her loyalty and [s]forced[/s] assigned her a task to reap her own cat.
To make a long story short, that didn’t end up well.
The Council, tired of watching her fail the umpteenth time, revoked her status as a psychopomp and kicked her out of the Afterlife. Now the Guardian wandered aimlessly around Sornieth with nothing else to do. Besides taking her anger out on random trees that she passed by and disturbing the peace with her angered roars. Soon the Guardian’s feet started to ache from all the traveling, Samara finding a clearing so she can rest and possibly calm down before she hurts herself. The sounds of the birds chirping sweetly and the breeze rustling the leaves on the trees managed to soothe the ex-psychopomp, the ambience almost making her fall asleep if it weren’t for a curious meow that pulled her away from her peace. Two curious green eyes stared at her across the small pond that took up most of the clearing space, the owner hidden amidst of a bush. The staredown lasted for a few seconds, another meow coming from the bush as the cat that hid itself emerged. Samara growled lowly at the furry creature, warning it to stay away. Yet that didn’t deter the cat, the creature limping its way over to the Guardian.
“Hey now! Stay away, I’m not in the mood to deal with your kind.”
“Meow!”
The cat rubbed itself against Samara’s claws, the Guardian grumbling at the disobedient animal but not pushing it away. Her nose picked up the smell of blood coming from the creature and examined it as it rubbed against her. The blood was coming from the cat’s paws, in between the toes were claws were suppose to be. But there weren’t any.
“Declawed huh? You’re basically a walking target for psychopomps to reap your soul. Why would any owner do such a thing to you.”
The cat meowed sweetly, Samara giving it a soft small smile before procuring a small potion stashed in her wing plumes.
“Here, drink this up. It’ll stop the pain and the bleeding. If I’m lucky, I should still have my powers and be able to give you a new set of claws.”
The cat licked its chops after drinking a bit of the potion, watching as the markings on Samara’s skin start to glow. The magic engulfed the cat’s paws, growing new and deadlier claws in between its toes. Samara felt a wave of triumph overcome her as she watch the cat admired its new set of claws. The happy moment was broken when a psychopomp suddenly sprang from the trees, their scythe poised and ready to strike.
“Samara? What are you doing here? It doesn’t matter! Back away outcast! This is my kill!”
The Guardian growled at the reaper, catching their swinging scythe in her jaws before it could hit the cat. The furry creature yowled and scratched the attacking psychopomp on their foot, the reaper letting out a roar and cradling their injured foot.
“What the hell?! I was told this thing didn’t have claws! Yikes, that hurt...” The reaper growled at Samara and snatched their scythe away from the Guardian. “Keep your damn cat!” And with that, the injured psychopomp disappeared in the trees.
Samara’s companion meowed loudly, rubbing its body on Samara’s foot affectionately. The ex-psychopomp chuckled and gently picked up a paw to examine the cat’s claws. Thinking that the Guardian wanted to play, the cat latched onto Samara with its other paw, the Guardian wincing at the sharp nick of pain that surfaced.
“Damn, I did make those things sharp...” Her words trailed off slowly as an idea popped in her head. A [i]wonderful[/i] idea at that. An idea that would guarantee payback for what the Council did to her and presented a new calling for her life. Samara said not a word as she gently picked up the cat and set it on her shoulder before unfurling her wings and ascending to the sky. Her feline companion let out another yowl and gripped her hood as she started to fly off. From then on, Samara searched around Sornieth for cats on death’s row, equipping them with killer claws and intent for them to fight for their lives.
And of course, the Council wasn’t too happy about that, not that she cared.
[size=3][font=times new roman]Lore by [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2671213]Sacrilegious[/url][/size][/font]