Creative Corner

(Please do not lock or archive this topic, if you can help it? It will all be PG13 and it will be used I swear, but I may briefly go inactive at times. I will be keeping a portion of clan lore here.)

Here is where I will put solo stories and prompts. If you have a prompt for me and would like to see me build on it, you may definitely whisper me, but please do not comment in this thread itself. Feedback is also welcome via profile comment or PM, if you feel the need.

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- Page 1

• A Forgive Me Not Rite
• Something to write home about
• Song for a returning mother
• Backup history log 1 - Age of Warriors
• A Forgive Me Not prophecy
• Lament of the Blessed
• Backup history log 2 - Age of Pestilence

[center][b]A Forgive-me-Not Initiation Rite[/b][/center] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24538069] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/245381/24538069_350.png[/img] [/url] A speaker sits atop a tall, flat rock, surrounded by her disciples. The last time they'd all got together was the placing of the egg in Railclaw. They had had to modify the ceremony there, so as to avoid offending the more religious of the dragons there. The ceremony was to be repeated today, the former being only a ruse so as to be allowed within the Railclaw borders to place one of their agents. The agent was not here today, as there had been an accident involving an attempt to recruit a wild dragon. Clutched in her hands is an egg, tinted green with the Plaguebringer's influence. "As a species we are divided. Dragons are each and every year hatched, raised, trained. They become doctors, soldiers, lawdrakes, preachers, herbalists, soap-makers, shopkeepers, hunters- but regardless it is not this that keeps them as a whole divided. Look around you. At the ground where we stand. Corrupted. Vile. Some might even find it morbidly rather pretty. Look at your neighbors' eyes. All of you. Observe the color- see how we are mostly of the plague flight, of plague talents. But we are not plague dragons. We are not slaves to this system that turns brother against brother, sister against sister, all for the will of their 'gods'." The speaker dips her head. The dragons around her wait attentively. "T' 'ell with it I'm terrible at speeches. Buttercup, step forwards!" [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=23449726] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/234498/23449726_350.png[/img] [/url] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=20066145] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/200662/20066145_350.png[/img] [/url] The pearlcatcher climbs up onto its neighbors' back, and he obligingly rests his head on the rock and allows himself to be used as a ladder of sorts. Buttercup once up on the rock lowers herself to a very deep crouch at the speaker's feet. Hogweed at the time had her eyes elsewhere, scanning the gathering. How few they were now, how scrawny and sickly their members. This couldn't go on much longer unless they could get many new dragons into their order. Tyrrel the poisonwing whined softly, noting the distraction of their temporary leader and drawing her attention back to Buttercup, and with a sickly sweet smile she eyes her potential new apprentice expectantly. "From rock we began. No longer. We finish as free as the sky and as deep as the world's very core. Yet the sky is taken from us. The core is so inhospitable as to melt the very bones of the gifts it belched forth. No longer. We drink of the waters which poison us with rock's particles. No longer, for we shall again free the sky, take of fire's gift. We shall again purify the waves, and drink of them. We live in fear of a death that could strike nearly any dragon on the wing or on open ground at any time, one which we cannot fight, for it is a death that usurps control of the very muscles of our wings. No longer. It shall power our devices and weaponry. We gather together with our opposition to fend off the bitter cold with which we shall preserve our food. We are blinded by day, so that we cannot see by night. Never more for we shall create beautiful works of light and dark intermingling to please eyes of any color. We shall perceive all, we shall know all. There will be no more threat of things we simply cannot know to react to. All poisons shall be ours to use, all medicines ours with which to heal. The soil shall be rich, the plants themselves under our control. Forgive me not for I have sinned only against a broken order. Forgive me not, for I am purpose. Forgive me not, for I am a dragon." Hogweed nodded her approval. hunched forwards. extended her hands carefully towards the pearlcatcher dragon, offering the egg to her. "Welcome, sister. There is nothing to forgive." For several long seconds Buttercup held the egg in her claws, and she imagined she could feel the life within. She had been practicing for her true ceremony for many weeks, and at long last she was welcome within the order of the Forgive Me Nots. There was no true 'right' answer when entering the order, her speech had been a labor of her own mind following a loose guideline, and had it not been delivered fully and perfectly, she knew she would have been slain on the spot by Lord Tyrrel. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=26174320] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/261744/26174320_350.png[/img] [/url] There was still one thing left to do, however. This egg belonged to the hooded outsider that sat at the very back of the group. Gliding down carefully from the rock, Buttercup landed lightly near the watching mirror lass, and carefully handed her the egg. Hriss thrummed cheerily. Though she was yet waiting for her own ceremony, working on her own entry speech, she had gained a few ideas from Buttercup. As Tyrrel was the father of her most recent clutch, the hatchlings would be welcome within the order so long as they broke their shells within the camp, and Hriss was excited for them.

A small scroll blows in on the wind, seemingly of its own volition. The mummified leg of some bird, likely having been alive and attached at the time of the letter's writing is still attached to it, and the date of the letter simply reads '10/1'. The script is slightly faded, and rain has muddled a bit of the ink, but it is in the handwriting of a gloomy little fae who long ago went to seek fame and fortune among mirrors as a bard. It begins,

"Dearest (unreadable)

It has been quite a long time since I have written, as for a long time I had lost hope that my squallbird would be able to find its way home. She is getting old now, her laying and cawing days long behind her, and in her ripe old age I will wish to retire her to the perch I've set up in the Railclaw plaza if she fails to find you. How have you and your"- (What follows is a smudged, crumpled blur, ruining the better portion of two lines)

"-children are alright, and I am a great grandfather now, though as time goes on I find myself no longer able to identify all of my descendants by name. Many of them are also entertainers, and even now my dearest son Darcy and the heir to my nest and hoard is planning a wedding with the princess of a nearby clan. Even now I find it almost hilarious that I should be the father of a king, but if one cannot find humor in these dark times, I quite doubt the plaguebringer would have nearly as many subjects.

I haven't found out any news of my parents, although if they are indeed alive I would wish to speak to them one last time, as though Faust tells me I have many more years on my life, I will soon be too old to travel.

Best of wishes, Drull, Frost minstrel"

"Far and near we listen here to hear a tale of thrash and wail
A bitter song for those now gone,
For only gods shall hear them

And as not gods we are at odds with silver flails and feather tails
And if the night is worth the fight
The day is ours alone."

King Darcy leaned out over the balcony, eyeing the dragons below. He knew that his guards were on the lookout for signs of danger, but the recently ended war between Clan Empatheia and the dragons of Railclaw had kept him on edge. He'd deliver his speech, but the fae king could not deliver it with as much calm within as he outwardly portrayed.

"The harpies screech and preach and strike and yes they may do all the like
but though we call for those who fall
Not only scales flew over 'Rail.

Your lives and lithe ferocity do draw some animosity indeed
from blind beasts who bind,
who with only eyes see.

Who with only cowardice flee.


Who with only thoughts ill kill and who primarily innocent blood spill."

There were murmurs from the Railclaw citizens below, some of agreement, some of disagreement, some of spite. A bogsneak freshly home from her seeking of wild flesh for her brood wept towards the back of the crowd, her daughters stolen away from her while she had been off to find them gifts of fine food and dress. A tundra lass's jaws moved mechanically, silently as she chanted some off-rhythm rhyme of her own within her mind. A skydancer male he'd once known well stared unmoving up at him, his yellow eyes those of a stranger.



"No longer. No, stronger. The plaguebringer has delivered unto us pain and now it is our turn to seek of her strength. See how the harpy blood on the ground grows black and does not dry, while that of us dragons stays red or red-brown and sticks firmly to the ground. Make of it what you will, but make of it our revenge, Railclawers. Our revival, our survival, our victory is at hand."

11/28/16 - King Jachiel steps down, heralding Nott and Darcy as the new rulers of Empatheia. Strange stories of witchcraft and Serthis attacks are on the rise in Railclaw.

12/1/16 - King Jachiel is pronounced dead. Hours later, the wild mage Windherald succumbs to her wounds. Jester, Silver and Moses attack Siivvullok. Faust interferes and Jester and Moses are slain.

12/18/16 - Queen Nott is gifted the egg of a nocturne dragon, and with it on her throne calls the Custos knights to Empatheia for a meeting, including former member King Rhoss of Railclaw. The egg hatches during the meeting, and is taken as a sign that peace is on its way at last. Toxin is imprisoned by his own people for treason, and Dash awakens from their curse and absorbs the soul of its sibling Buttercup, renaming itself Anubis.

1/19/17 - A goodbye feast is thrown in honor of Batinka, who leaves Empatheia forever to spread the Plaguebringer's words.

1/27/17 - The trial of Sir Toxin, overseen by Erika, Magister, Cyr and Kyle comes to an end. Toxin is executed by Ravreneim.

2/5/17 - A National day of mourning is declared in Railclaw after a harpy raid ends in the loss of multiple nests and many Railclawer lives.

2/8/17 - King Darcy of Empatheia addresses clan Railclaw on their own ground, offering his sympathies and ending his speach in a poem. http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2020440#post_25508058

2/24/17 - Haze is killed on a hunt.

3/2/17 - Troubled by the constant infighting in Railclaw society, King Rhoss puts himself at the mercy of the Plaguebringer, leaving Railclaw to serve her. Gyrfalcon becomes the new Railclaw king.

3/7/17 - Railclaw begins a campaign against the Forgive Me Nots following an executive decision from the new king, Gyrfalcon. Panic and Magister lead the attack.

3/8/17 - Prince Markarth returns to Railclaw, and is welcomed by his brother, Gyrfalcon. Magister is slain in battle, and Railclaw troops withdraw from the attack on the Forgive Me Nots. It is a victory for the clan, but at the expense of their founder's life it is a hollow one.

"Click clack, the snapping teeth caught
the gleaming afternoon,
the day still hot as embers and stinking of the filthy wastelands outside the royal gates.
I see... I see our dear little prince, blood and skin upon his mouth and a twinkle of pride in his eyes.

Those unnerving, colorful eyes.
Those eyes that glinted without recognition,
glittering in gallant gloating over the crumbled body of a fallen fae.
I know this fae. It is King Darcy of Empatheia. Our plans have surely succeeded, for you, Tyrrel, are at his back, and that over there, the flicker of a black snake in the garden is Nagaina. Perhaps I am here, for I do not know whose eyes I see through, but they blink and turn to the regal form of Queen Nott, who advances with swanlike, slow grace upon the young prince, whose face is buried sniffing into sprigs of wilted rosemary.

He turns upon her, sparkling like the sun, and there seems a red glow about him as he advances upon his mother and, knocking a concealed knife from her claws pulls her into the loving hug of a lost boy found, but her eyes are still on her fallen king, and not the boy whose body contains the soul of both her son and father, and of many fathers' fathers' fathers before that.

Her fate is uncertain. We will still need to deal with her on our own, quietly if we can."

Tyrrel regarded his apprentice with a scaly brow lowered and a tense jaw, listening intently. After awhile he recognized that the younger guardian, the water dragon who stood staring up at gods know what, blue eyes glazed with the idle surrealism that spouted prediction alongside torrents of nonsense, had not merely paused. "Is that all you see?" he asks quietly, his voice gentle but as chilly as the rot-laden, foul fog that misted over from the nearby shadow border. There was an almost amused certainty in what Flagellation had babbled all brooklike in its flow, but he gave nothing as to what courses of action they aught to take to reach this prediction's end.

"For now."

Either he did not know, or, more likely he did not wish for it to be known.

[center][b]Lament of the blessed[/b][/center] The sun never touched this part of the wood, yet plants flourished here, their leaves tinged blue or purple rather than green, and often times their sides sharp or damp with thorn or poison. Foxfire grew on fallen logs only in distant, tiny patches, and there was nothing here for the bioluminescent creatures that pocked the land except thorns, bark and cold, dark soil. Here was the part of the old shadowed grove that was by some considered the purest, the truest to the master of this land. The particular patch of land was known to some as Inkfall grotto, and the near silence about it, interrupted only by the occasional step or breath of an animal, fall of a leaf of otherwise sign of life, was palpable. The wind was still, the opening in the earth untouched where it led down into a hollow hill, down into a shrine enshrouded in the blackness even a shadow dragon's eyes could not pierce without assistance. This was a land moved only by the turn of the world and only at the pace of the world, never to be hurried or bothered. But what is this? What, pray tell, is the noise that comes in rhyming rhythm, from breath to breath? What stirs the perfect silence? Not but a simple prayer in a language nearly forgotten by dragon or beast, and a figure old enough to have known it, though he bore no fading in his old wings and no greying on his red mane. Practiced but flowing with gratitude and sorrow in alternating notes, a simple song- a hymn not of notes at first, but falling into them as if on whim, as a poet remembering a forgotten rhyme first in portions, then in stanzas, the voice traced old words and older syllables, of the sorts the wild dragons used in their wordless, language-bereft calls. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30615059] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/306151/30615059_350.png[/img] [/url] It was only the cry of an old sinner, a long dead dragon. It was only Lewis, alone for all he knew in the dark, calling out to his savior once more. Only holy words from a sharp-toothed devil's sanguine lips. Only this and nothing more.

Backup Railclaw-Empatheia History Log- Age of Pestilence


3/19/17 - An Empatheian festival is thrown. Dragons rejoice!

3/27/17 - King Gyrfalcon puts a bounty on Valentine, dead, for treason of 120 gems.

4/23/17 - The Railclaw elite hunters kill a whale off the coast of the Ice flight, and carve its bones. Parts of the whale are scattered to all corners of Sornieth, with the largest portion sacrificed in the name of the tidelord.

4/26/17 - The Forgive Me Nots invade Empatheia, and king Darcy is slain. Toro rises to the throne.

5/4/17 - Archangel defects to Railclaw. The Empatheian army collapses in on itself due to ensuing infighting, and resources are quickly diverted to the large militia within the capital city.

5/17/17 - Empatheian citizen and minor celebrity Silverfrost, known privately as Winterfrost, is murdered beyond the borders.

5/28/17 - Clan Railclaw hosts a feast on Sorceare's property. The festivities last three days, after which the younger of the clan's hunters, those who did not bring in prey for the feast, disperse into the wilds to kill in the name of the Gladekeeper. House Faust of Empatheia also celebrates.

7/3/17 - Herop becomes matriarch of Clan Railclaw. She abolishes the Railclaw monarchy, to Mary's dismay.

7/17/17 - Nott dies.

7/29/17 - Archangel fuses to the ground, eclipsing a small graveyard. Flesh Hill is founded.

9/27/17 - Clan Railclaw and the Empatheian Empire forge an alliance. The two clans once being bitter enemies, this new development brings unexpected hope for those caught up in their pileup of intrigue and hostility.

10/9/17 - Antitheus is banished from this realm, driven back by a band of Empatheian warriors and led by the House Steel demon Delirio. Delirio does not survive. A national holiday is declared.

10/14/17 - Railclawers start work on a statue in honor of a past medic, Kyle. He was one of the founding members of the clan.

10/23/17 - Railclaw and Empatheian citizens celebrate the Riot of Rot together.

11/1/17 - The ship Miss Margret is taken by pirates in the sea of a thousand currants.

12/4/17 - Clan Pigsburrow falls to beastclan interference. Pigsburrow dragons flee south to Empatheia and Kaltvinter.

1/4/18 - An attempted bombing of the Railclaw treasury is thwarted by Aurelius. An investigation begins.

1/10/18 - Things go back to normal in Clan Railclaw after the would-be bomber is caught, tried, and disposed of.

1/28/18 - A particularly bad plague sweeps through the clans.

2/8/18 - News of Sir Marmor's death goes public.

3/6/18 - Old King Rhoss has returned to Railclaw. Rumors abound.

6/8/18 - A clan-wide party is thrown in Railclaw for the return of two hunters, Haze and Catsbane. The fall of a grand talonok arena will be sung of in tales for a very, very long time.

7/22/18 - Thundercrack Carnival begins again. The dragons of Railclaw are stirred up, singing and building in the name of the far-off Stormcatcher.

8/26/18 - Clan Railclaw warriors rally on top of Flesh Hill and launch a surprise attack on Dullmist. Flagellation is killed, and the city is bombed and burned.

8/27/18 - Gyrfalcon, Markarth, Eborsisk, Rooks and Alcippe are publicly heralded as the killers of Flagellation, demon founder of Dullmist. Other Railclaw warriors are praised for their involvement, and a funeral is held for Markarth, whose gryphonbone mask was recovered before the explosion that destroyed Dullmist.

9/7/18 - the Duchy of River Sorrow secedes from the Empatheian Empire.

9/23/18 - A cold war has started between Empatheia and Railclaw.

1/2/19 - Famine strikes Railclaw. Empatheian scouts pierce the border and circle in on the blighted warrior-hunters.