Creative Corner

Welcome to Wyld's Creative Corner!

I'll share lore and art that I do for various on-site projects or that I do just for the heck of it. I hope you enjoy!

This story is for the Camp Elf project (http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/raf/2228757/1). The two young Tundras both have this lore in their bios. They are for sale and in the AH; I will also consider other offers. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34158883] [img] http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=1&body=67&bodygene=3&breed=6&element=7&gender=0&tert=131&tertgene=5&winggene=3&wings=127&auth=08b26f1c72d793b01da8911e0f7f5ce154b370b9&dummyext=prev.png [/img] [/url] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=34158884] [img] http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=1&body=109&bodygene=9&breed=6&element=7&gender=1&tert=174&tertgene=5&winggene=3&wings=114&auth=4fff885e4e306d72a2869c6121fdd9fc53c97f12&dummyext=prev.png [/img] [/url] Fluffy and Nyomi smiled at everyone who showed up to wish them a happy adulthood, and ate the cakes and salad with gusto, then stretched their wings. “Where are you two headed?” Their Mom’s question was lazy—Amour had eaten cake too. “It’s getting dark, you know.” Their Dad, CottonCandy, looked worried. “We know!” Fluffy smiled. He liked the darkness. “We’re going camping!” Nyomi grinned widely. “What? Where?” CottonCandy stood up, as if to stop them. “The Viridian Labyrinth.” “We talked it over. There’s plenty of food there, so even if we get lost, we’ll be fine!” CottonCandy looked alarmed at the work lost, but Amour just laughed. “They’ll do fine—you took them foraging there all last week.” “But—they’re my babies!” Amour hugged him. “I forget how old you are sometimes. Don’t worry so much—they’re young, true, but you trained them well.” She smiled at the youngsters. “You bring back some sweets for your Dad, you hear?” “Will do!” “No problem!” “Bye—we mean, good night! We’ll be back in a few days, with lots of stories and sweets!” And with that, the two young tundras flew off into the northlands. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=30835188] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/308352/30835188_350.png[/img] [/url] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=663222] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/6633/663222_350.png[/img] [/url]

[b][size=6]The Meaning of Santa[/size=3][/b] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=111020] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/1111/111020_350.png[/img] [/url] Alastair, WyldDandelyon’s clan’s long-lost tundra progen, stood next to a huge bucket of stones, handing out one to each member of the clan. They’d been written on with magical writing, so each person could be the secret Santa to another dragon. One after one, dragons approached and took a stone. Driochta, the clan’s loremistress, came up behind him, looking grumpy. “But what is this word, ‘Santa?’ It seems to be associated with the Night of the Nocturne every year, but where did it come from? I’ve asked all the nocturnes I know, and not one could tell me.” “It means ‘gift giver’, teacher.” Jenny, the newest addition to the clan, volunteered, taking a rock from the bucket Alastair held. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=27842974] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/278430/27842974_350.png[/img] [/url] “I know that’s what dragons use it to mean, but where did it come from?” Jenny shrugged, which made her butterfly wing apparel shimmer beautifully. She shrugged again, admiring the effect. “It’s always been that way, as far as I know.” Driochta sighed. “You’re, what, a month old now?” Jenny nodded. “Ready for my first nest, even!” “Well, nothing was ‘always that way’, things come from somewhere. Even the gods came from somewhere.” Alastair nodded to Jenny to move on so the next dragon could take a rock. She swished her tail as she did so, setting both her dress and wing adornments to gleaming again. “Well, they did!” Driochta grumbled. “So they did.” Alastair nodded, and handed her a rock. “I’m not in line to participate in this thing!” She glowered at Alastair. He smiled back. “And yet you are here, and you have a rock in your hand. Now, be off so everyone else can enjoy the party. Picking a gift for whoever that is should distract you from being a sourpuss for at least a little while.” She flounced off, setting her starlight cloak to fluttering gracefully. Her companion comet trailed after her. At the other end of the cavern, Jenny watched the teacher leave, holding her stone. Jenny was worried—she was so new to the clan—how would she know what to get anybody? She turned her own stone over and breathed on it. Driochta’s name picked up the exhalation and gleamed briefly. Slowly, Jenny smiled. In the following weeks, Jenny was noticeably absent from the lair from early until late, and often overnight. A number of the dragons sought out Driochta to ask if she’d headed on to serve ShadowMama or if she was planning to leave for another clan, but Driochta had no answers for them. “She seems happy enough, when I do see her,” was all she could say, besides agreeing it was very odd that she had not yet had a chance to teach her any of the clan lore. Finally, the night of the big party arrived, and people started to receive their gifts. Jenny was missing until late into the night, when she finally flew in, snowflakes swirling off of her still-shimmering apparel. She flew straight to Driochta, a book in her hand. “I flew to every corner of Somieth with your question. I visited many different clans, and while I could not get any definitive answer, this book holds one hundred tales about Santas, each one from a different clan. I bring it to you as my Santa gift—a compilation of Santa lore, of the tales told to hatchlings and sung at parties. I hope you will enjoy reading it.” Driochta felt her eyes gleaming with emotion. “Oh, Jenny, it is a perfect gift for a teacher and loremistress! Thank you so very much!” She hugged the book to her and then, though the party was still going on, she sat down right where she was, opened the book, and started to read. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=609608] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/6097/609608_350.png[/img] [/url]

This art is the portrait of a dragon to be raffled off next December as part of the Team Nickelklaus project: [img]http://i.imgur.com/h6Awd7s.jpg[/img]

Hodr's Lore [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33885251] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/338853/33885251_350.png[/img] [/url] SHWS_M ____ Beira and Hodr were hatched on the Solstice in neighboring clans, so their first experience of the world was a huge, interclan party. Perhaps that shaped their attitudes on life, or perhaps not—their siblings had the same experience, after all, but only Beira and Hodr found everyday life in a lair to be too quiet and predictable. They were constant companions, wandering in and out of both lairs and the surrounding woods. They made forts out of mushrooms, scrambled over boulders, and climbed trees—both of them achieved their first flight on the same day, when Hodr fell out of a tall pine tree. Beira leapt into the air to try to save him, and a moment later, Hodr managed to spread his wings and take flight. They barely avoided smashing into each other in mid-air, and immediately flew up as high as they could to take in the world. Even though that wasn’t really very high, it let them see that the world was much wider than they had realized. Soon they were pestering every grownup in sight—but especially people who had flown in from far places—about the rest of the world. Not everyone was understanding about their pestering, and then Beira’s father, Storyteller, would take them aside and tell them stories. They twined their tails together every night, swearing that as soon as they were grown, they would explore every corner of Somieth. And because Storyteller was the absolute best storyteller in the world, they vowed to send him letters about their travels, because then with one letter, they would be sure their parents and all their friends—and doubtless many hatchlings to come--would hear their stories. Dear Storyteller, The Viridian Labyrinth is almost as tangled as the Tangled Wood, except it’s so green and bright! There’s purple here too, and pale blue, and black and grey and even the phosphorescents, but they’re just homey dots in all the green! The mushrooms here come in brighter colors too, but they still taste good. We came across another young skydancer—she was all greens too, even her eyes, and she was wearing nothing but flowers and lace. I almost tripped on her while I was scavenging for mushrooms, she blended in so well. And boy did she scold me! I interrupted her meditations, she said. But then Beira came over and apologized for me, and explained we’d never seen so much green, and she complimented the flowers, and then the dragon—Amaranth, she said her name was—took me to the best mushrooming place ever! They were growing on, under, and around this huge, fallen tree, and there were these huge, red flowers that tasted so sweet—I admit, I gorged myself, and then fell asleep, right there on the log. I could live right here forever, but I promised Beira we would see the whole world. I’ll just collect some of these flowers and mushrooms and put them in my pouch. That way, I’ll have plenty to snack on as we fly. I’m sending a few of the best mushrooms with this letter. You’ve got to try them! Love, Hodr. Dear Storyteller, After visiting the Viridian Labyrinth, we moved on to Sunbeam. Everything was so bright! But it still felt like home, because there were ruins all around. Who would have thought Light and Shadow would have so much in common? I mean—I should have known, really I should have, because I know the light realm is called the Sunbeam Ruins. But ruins have always been one of my favorite part of the Tangled Wood—climbing old pillars, and clearing away brambles to delve into forgotten basements. You find the best mushrooms there, you know. But here—the ruins are all standing tall, out in the open, like old bones bleached pale by time and sunlight. It looks so bare and clean, I despaired of finding my favorite foods. I had resigned myself to eating flowers and butterflies, like Beira, when a newfound friend said, in his fae-flat voice, that they have the best mushrooms in the world here. And he led me to a stand of mycena mushrooms. They are so good! I’d suggest growing some at home, but my new friend says they don’t grow well without a lot of light. How very strange! I want to go explore the Hewn City, but right now I’m too full and sleepy. It’s so tempting to settle here and join the archaeologists studying the City and eat mycenas every single day, but I was tempted to remain in the Shrieking Wilds too. I’m really looking forward to seeing the rest of the world. Now I think it will be hard to choose a place to settle. Maybe I’ll travel the world forever! Love, Hodr Dear Storyteller, The Sea of Currents and the Shifting Expanse were also both very different from the Tangled Wood, but in very different ways. But that didn’t prepare me for the Ashfall Wastes! It’s so hot everywhere, here. And there’s no ruins! It’s like everything in this region is oriented toward the future. The swords they make here are astounding, and the armor is even more amazing. And then there are the cooking pots, full of mushroom casserole. And other things, of course. Not everyone is lucky enough to be able to eat mushrooms. When we arrived, Beira headed off to see how they make pottery things, and I wandered aimlessly for a while, until I came across one of the forges with metalworkers crafting so many wonderful things. I have to tell you, Storyteller, for the first time in my life, I understand Beira’s fascination with making things. I—I still think I’d rather study the past, but if I were to settle here, I could be happy making swords, or maybe even statues. It would take a while—so far the only thing they’ve let me do is pump the bellows and watch. But I could learn this, I know I could. Still, it’s so hot and even the deepest night isn’t dark, with lava boiling out of the mountains. I’m not sure I’d ever get comfortable with that. It makes it hard to sleep. And there’s no ruins here—and more of the world to see still. I’d better go find out what Beira’s been up to, and let my ears rest—metalworking is a noisy business! Love, Hodr Dear Storyteller, It’s the biggest land on Somieth, so we headed to the Southern Ice Fields after the Windswept Plateau. Beira brought some kites with us, but they picked up layer after layer of frost and finally froze tight to one of the spires in the Fortress of Ends. Happily Beira laughed at that—we added to the historical site, though that wasn’t our intention. There are scientists and historians here too, studying the strange things hidden deep in the spires. You can see the most on very clear—and very cold—days, but they also have special magical flashlights that can send a light deep into the spires without melting them. It’s so fascinating! We skipped the Cloudscrape Crags, deciding that we were cold enough that we didn’t need a close look, and then stopped in the Snowsquall Tundra for some nicely cooked food. Beira had hot chocolate with sautéed cactus (how odd that cactus will grow here!) and these lovely cakes made with juicy insects instead of raisins. I found my favorite Mycena Mushrooms! They taste different here, heartier, somehow, and for once I really wanted insects, so the cakes were a welcome addition. I guess staying warm takes extra food-power! You wouldn’t believe how much I ate. Well, maybe you would, but our hosts were surprised. Beira learned how to piece wolf and elk pelts together into warm blankets and art capes while I had my post-food nap. They’re not only warm, they’re cuddly too! But it’s time to move on! Love, Hodr Dear Storyteller, Next we headed to the Scarred Wasteland. After talking it over, Beira and I hired a guide, to keep us out of trouble and healthy. We paid with the lovely capes Beira made, which made me sad for a moment, but as she said, she can always make new ones. We viewed the Wyrmwound and the Rotrock Rim from above, and then the guide took us on a tour of a tiny part of the Abiding Boneyard. It was so fascinating—and there are scientists and historians here, though periodically one gets lost. I’m not sure I’d want to work here, I’d have to be so very careful to mark my path! The tour was on a very clearly marked path—there was an actual painted line on the ground, and we were warned not to stray from that line, not even to fly into the air. The air currents are tricky here, the guide explained, and tend to lead people deeper into the maze, rather than out. Then the guide took us into the Wandering Contagion, where we finally got to eat—weird spicy insects and so many different kinds of mushrooms! Beira was so busy asking how they made sure the foods weren’t tainted for us out-flight dragons that she hardly ate anything, but I stuffed myself, as usual. You’ll be happy to know I paid attention to how to tell if a mushroom is good to eat or poisonous before I took my nap. There are poisonous mushrooms all over Somieth, they said, so this is a good thing to know, even if the poisonous ones are rare everywhere else. It was scary, really. The Wandering Contagion keeps wanting to expand, and we learned that there are dragons who spend their whole lives protecting our own Tangled Wood, the Sea of a Thousand Currents, The Windswept Plateau, The Starfall Isles, and even Dragonhome! The invasive plants and fungi even send out seeds and spores to try to find places to grow in parts of Somieth that don’t border on the Wasteland. But they said that many of the best medicines come from here too. Of course, they said that in the Viridian Labyrinth too. All in all, though this is a fascinating part of the world, and the mushrooms are amazing, I’m just as happy to move on to the Starfall Isles. Love, Hodr Dear Storyteller, Dragonhome is best described as rugged. There are historians here too, of course, and plenty of help digging if ruins are found, but it just seems so bare and rocky. I’m very happy to have the cantrip for finding mushrooms here, though if we eventually move somewhere where they’re not hard to find, I might have to consider choosing to eat less of them on purpose! There’s so much history here, though ruins are rare, that there’s plenty to learn. Beira is off checking out how beads and cut crystals are made, and I’m busy talking to historians, who are interested in interviewing both of us about our travels. Can you believe it? Our stories will be preserved in Dragonhome’s central library! Tomorrow, we’re going to head out to Greatwyrm’s Breach, and visit the very first known dragon settlements. And then we’ll visit the Pillar of the World. But the best thing—I told Beira she’s cute! You should have seen her face. It was very satisfying! And I think maybe she thinks I’m cute too. I hope so! After she ran off, the elderly spiral who was going to be interviewing me counseled me to patience. He said we’re young—I feel so old, right now, and full of new knowledge, but I guess he’s right. Looking forward to seeing you again, and eating familiar mushrooms too. But not quite yet. And there’s still a whole world to study. I think I could study things for a thousand years in any of the regions of Somieth, and never run out of things to learn. Did you know being a grownup is fun? DuskRay didn’t know what she was talking about—always telling me to stop having fun and get to work--or maybe she just never found things to be passionate about. A little effort doesn’t keep things from being enjoyable. In fact, I’m starting to think it’s the things that you have to work at that are the best fun in the long run. Love, Hodr (Pinging @Wintercreek)

Beira's Lore [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33887380] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/338874/33887380_350.png[/img] [/url] SHWS_F Beira and Hodr were hatched on the Solstice in neighboring clans, so their first experience of the world was a huge, interclan party. Perhaps that shaped their attitudes on life, or perhaps not—their siblings’ first experience was the same party, after all, but only Beira and Hodr found everyday life in a lair to be too quiet and predictable. They were constant companions, wandering in and out of both lairs and the surrounding woods. They made forts out of mushrooms, scrambled over boulders, and climbed trees—both of them achieved their first flight on the same day, when Hodr fell out of a tall pine tree. Beira leapt into the air to try to save him, and a moment later, Hodr managed to spread his wings and take flight. They barely avoided smashing into each other in mid-air, and immediately flew up as high as they could to take in the world. Even though that wasn’t really very high, it let them see that the world was much wider than they had realized. Soon they were pestering every grownup in sight—but especially people who had flown in from far places—about the rest of the world. Not everyone was understanding about their pestering, and then Beira’s father, Storyteller, would take them aside and tell them stories. They twined their tails together every night, swearing that as soon as they were grown, they would explore every corner of Somieth. And because Storyteller was the absolute best storyteller in the world, they vowed to send him letters about their travels, because then with one letter, they would be sure their parents and all their friends—and doubtless many hatchlings to come--would hear their stories. Dear Dad—er, Storyteller, It’s so odd to be so formal with you, but we agreed these stories would be shared far and wide, so, I’m not sure which address to use! I should have asked before we left, I guess. The Obscured Crescent is so—it’s so vast! The old temple is comfortingly dark and gloomy, and the scrying pool reflects the moon, all broken up into fanciful fragments. One looks like a dragon, for a minute, and then more like a centaur, while the one next to it is like a dozen birds flying in formation and still another seems more like a field full of wildflowers. There’s magic in the water for sure. I can believe the stories that if all the clutter was cleared out of it, people could see whole scenes or stories from afar—but don’t worry. I know Shadowmama has claimed this place, and I won’t try to clean the shadows out of it. So far, our journey has been pleasant. We flew over the Foxfire Bramble, since we’ve wandered there before, and stopped here to forage. I found some lovely green and purple beetles, but Hodr—well, you know Hodr. He ate a ton of these odd-shaped phosphorescent mushrooms and then laid down to take a nap. It’s so frustrating! I want to fly on and see some land not drenched in Shadow! But we swore to fly together, so I’ll try to be patient. Maybe I can see something else in the scrying pool, while I wait. Or maybe not. But tell everyone I saw _them_ there, ok? Love, Beira Dear Storyteller, Oh, Dad, I never imagined so much water. A lot of the dragons here swim, but others live on the shores or on tiny islands. There are insects everywhere, flying through the air, crawling on the islands and plants, and even skating on top of the water! Can you imagine it? I got myself quite soaked before I learned the trick of swooping down on the skaters with a bit of sticky honeyed bread or a honeyed shell, and scooping them up like that. Hodr tried seaweed (why do they call it seaweed when it’s in a freshwater lake?) and pronounced it just as bad as salad. But then he found some tiny mushrooms growing on the side of an island cliff, and all was well again. And he was fascinated by the Fishspine Reef, with all its sunken ruins. You know Hodr and ruins! But for once, he satisfied himself with just looking at them from above, saying his stomach was too full of mushrooms to try to learn to swim. I am fascinated with the net-making they’re doing here. They use nets for so many things here, from catching fish to holding flowers in your feathers to making hammocks for sleeping in. A young bogsneak showed me the basics, but I could only remember one or two of the knots. I dabbled in stone-carving while Hodr checked out the Hewn City—did he tell you? And I tried flower-arts in the Viridian Labyrinth too. There’s so many things to do, out in the world. How can anyone choose just one? Love, Beira Dear Dad, After the Sea of 1000 currents, we moved on to the Shifting Expanse. I would have thought Stormcatcher’s realm would be rainy, but it was mostly dry! I didn’t know you could have lightning and thunder without rain, but apparently you can. It was all sandy and strange, but the dragons were just as friendly as anywhere else, if a bit busy. Did you know that Stormcatcher is known for yelling, “Get back to work”? Well, even though the Gods haven’t been seen in generations, Stormcatcher’s people seem constantly paying attention to that quote. Busy busy, always busy! But they do make some fascinating things here, though nobody had a chance to show me anything. Maybe next trip! I also bought some books—lovely waterproof things, I’m not sure how they do it, but it’s necessary here. But I can work on my own at net-weaving and the other crafts, if I want. I do want to travel more, of course, not just to decide where to settle, but to learn things and meet people. The dragons here aren’t very interested in teaching tourists, which makes me sad. And they were certainly willing to sell us books and raw materials. If we settled here, I’m sure I could find someone to help me polish the skills I learn from the books—and then I could set up a shop to teach tourists. Hodr wasn’t very excited about this area. There were no ruins, and mushrooms were few and far between, until we got to Carrion Canyon. Then he was immediately a little happier, saying that where there are so many bones, there must be the remains of settlements. We didn’t find any (at least not this trip), but we did find lots of strange bones, as if there are—or at least were—other dragon species. And then he found some mushrooms, growing in the night, and with a full belly, he happily went to sleep. Love, Beira Dear Storyteller, The work of the crafters in the Ashfall Waste was fascinating, but I was glad when Hodr found me and reminded me that we promised each other to travel to all the corners of Somieth. I was more than ready to trade hot vents of lava for cool breezes. Not that all the breezes in the windswept plateau are cool, of course—but none of them are cool in the Waste. And every single breeze over the plateau welcomes explorers to the skies here. I’ve never met so many people like me and Hodr—early fliers drawn to the heights and the depths, yearning to see everything in Somieth, and perhaps beyond! The winds here are friendly too, and willing to help a dragon fly very high indeed. We got so high that we could see all of Somieth spread out below us like a map, but without the glowy colored borders that are on the map on your wall. Then, though we spiraled down slowly and had plenty of support from the wind, it took a long time to get back to the ground. Boy were we tired! Every single dragon we meet here has stories to tell, stories we’ve never heard before, and they are also eager to hear our stories. They have a city in the clouds, did you know that, Dad? It’s mostly paper and tree sap and magic, and it’s so beautiful. It took us several hours longer to get to it than our new spiral friend told us it would—it moves around with the breezes, and while the wind is playful everywhere, that’s even more true here. They have the tastiest flies ever! It’s as if Windsinger likes puns—flies for the fliers! And then I found the kite makers, and Hodr found mushrooms. I didn’t know you could use light wood, twine, and paper to make so many beautiful things! This has been a great trip so far! But we’re still eager to see it all! Love, Beira Dear Storyteller, The Scarred Wasteland was creepy! Once we were well away from there, I insisted we stop and wash in the ocean. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for spreading any of the nastier spores or seeds to anywhere else! So, then we moved on to The Starfall Isles. I—I’m, not sure I have the right words. After the wasteland, it seemed so bright and improbable. The tall pink crystalline peaks glowed in sunlight, of course, but also in moonlight and even in starlight! There were gems and strange creatures everywhere—well, maybe not strange in shape, but bright and shiny, and sometimes having strange magical powers. The little white satin mice are especially tricky. You never know what they’ll be up to. There are teachers here for all the flights, to help people learn not only battle magic, but fun cantrips too. For instance, I learned how to make little glowing lights. The teacher could use them to make night lights for hatchlings or moving displays for storytelling! I couldn’t make them last that long, make cool shapes, or glow, but I’m pretty good, the teacher said, making different colors. I’ll have to practice. Hodr decided to learn dowsing—holding a crystal over a map to find mushrooms, naturally! But then he also asked how to find ancient things—fossils, ruins, dragonmade and beast-clan-made items too. That’s apparently a lot trickier! We’ll be here for a while, while he learns, but that’s fine with me. I don’t think I’ve found anywhere that seems more like home than here, and there are people who are happy to learn the rudiments of the various crafts from all over Somieth here too—though nearly everyone knows some things I don’t too. I could stay here forever, making stuff and adding little magical touches. But we haven’t seen Dragonhome yet. So we will head there, eventually. And then we’re planning to head home for a while to talk over where we want to live as adults. So far, there’s good points to everywhere we visited, even the Wastes—and they did say that they can do some things to convey some immunity to the dangers to immigrants, though I didn’t ask how they do it. It sounded unpleasant and time consuming, and not something to consider on a short, careful visit. Besides, I was eager to check out the Starfall Isles. Rightly so! Love, Beira Dear Dad, Hodr thinks I’m cute! Can you believe it? I’m just sneaking this note off to you before my interview with this sweet old imperial lady. They’re putting our stories into the library here in Dragonhome, for anybody at all to read! It’s so exciting. And she says she thinks I’ll make a great teacher, which is reassuring and exciting too. Wherever I settle, in between wandering the world, I plan to teach all the marvelous hand-crafts of Somieth. They’re educational for hatchlings and relaxing for adults, and what could be better than bringing more beauty into the world? But right now, neither of those things are as exciting as Hodr complimenting me! Maybe he is growing up after all! Love, Beira (Pinging @Wintercreek)

[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33410951] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/334110/33410951_350.png[/img] [/url] [b][center][size=5]Naptime Story[/size][/b] by WyldDandelyon / Deirdre Murphy[/center] Sylvester tugged one of Boreal's whiskers. "Tell me again!" The imperial sighed. He'd told the tale four times already that day. At least hatchlings grow fast, he thought, and the young guardian would soon start to grow his beard. Then they would know that he had reached a size and maturity that would allow him to head out to seek the dragon he would, one day, protect. But that day hadn't come yet, and for the moment Sylvester was a big-footed, adorable chick. Boreal tucked his story book safe on a shelf and then settled down on a nice, warm boulder. He drew Sylvester to him, and then he began: "On a fine Spring day, two very green dragons named Brin and Lucky were flying in the sunshine. Brin realized she was hungry, and spied a blooming apple tree perched high on a cliff. The tree had only tiny flower buds, but around the base bloomed cliff lions and tulips. Her stomach growled. She loved flowers. She dove toward the tree a little too fast, being young and hungry. She wasn't clumsy, mind you, just eager enough that when the wind gusted, it drove her into the tree with a resounding thump. The tree bent back, being also young and resilient, and then sprung straight again, tossing her back into the air--but also tossing a lone nature egg into the air! "Brin squealed in surprise, and tried to grab the egg, but her paws just weren't close enough. She watched it arc upward, then pause, then start the long plunge to the sharp rocks and cold river below. "Oh no!" she cried. She tried to change her own trajectory, but wasn't far enough away from the tree. A sturdy branch tangled in her long fur and she ended up hanging from the branch looking very awkward indeed." The hatchling giggled, for he knew the answer to his question, which he voiced in an appropriately horrified fashion: "But what about the egg?" "Well, Lucky is indeed a very lucky dragon. He had seen that Brin was going to eat (her stomach rumbles are legendary), and decided to fly down nearer to the river to see if he could find some meat. He looked up when she cried out, and saw the egg plummeting toward him." The imperial paused dramatically. "Now, you can imagine that it's a very rare occurrence to see a dragon egg hurtling through the air toward your head!" "And horribly dangerous, for the poor egg!" "Yes, indeed. And not particularly safe for an adult dragon either. But Lucky proved his luck that day, and he caught the egg securely in his forepaws." "And he didn't crack it or anything!" "That's right. He kept it perfectly safe, setting it into a warm, mossy hollow near the river while he went to help Brin get untangled from the tree. They both had lunch, then brought the egg home to our lair quite triumphantly--finding a wild egg doesn't happen very often, you know." "And then the egg hatched!" "Well, not immediately, but yes, Lucky and Brin tended the egg until it hatched." "It hatched [i]me!"[/i] The hatchling preened, then yawned. His eyes drooped closed, and Boreal sighed. It would be so nice if the hatchling would take a nice, long nap. Boreal had things to do. Sylvester's eyes popped open. "I'm going to save an egg one day, just like Lucky! And then I'll take care of the hatchling, and her eggs, and their eggs." Yes, the baby was indeed growing up. Boreal rubbed Sylvester's head gently with his chin. "I'm sure you will, Sylvester. I'm sure you will." This time, when Sylvester's eyes drooped, he did indeed fall deep asleep, and Boreal was, at last, able to return to the adventure story he was reading. He would have to remember, when it was time, to ask Sylvester to keep an eye out for new books. Even if the boy forgot to send any to him, he would doubtless enjoy them himself.

This is art for one of the Team Nickelklaus' Secret Santa dragon raffle dragons. [img]https://i.imgur.com/5SoIRVK.jpg[/img] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33330028] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/333301/33330028_350.png[/img] [/url] (Pinging @Soviett and @Witvhfire so they can find the art and get it into the dragon's lore.)

This is lore for Davinci, another of the Secret Santa / Team Nickelklaus raffle dragons. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=33446792] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/334468/33446792_350.png[/img] [/url] In late May, 2017, everyone was busy, getting ready for the Greenskeeper Gathering. His parents took turns watching over the nest, but their attention was divided. Omena and his partner Vehka had gathering to do, so he spent most of his time with the nest sleeping, and Inviga was busy helping to prepare food, and had brought a table to the nest-side so she could at least try to get enough done so she wouldn't have to cook all day and night through the festival, even once the single had hatched. So it's not surprising that they didn't notice the soft green glow at sunrise and sunset, marking the egg with the beloved shape of Nature's Tree. Not that it would have made any difference. Omena is a nearly silent dragon, focused on his partner and his work, and Inviga always made fun of dragons who believed in tales that the Gladekeeper and the other deities might mark certain dragons as their particular messengers. So when Davinci was born, he was considered a lucky festival baby--the usual sort of special, but nothing more. He was treated with bee-cake and steak and taught Gladekeeper's lore with the other hatchlings. It was noted that he asked particularly piercing questions and that he read a lot from the clan's scrolls, so when he challenged the teachers, his scholarship was praised and he was given special instruction in how to bring things up without being disrespectful to his elders. He wanted to know everything about nature, and was quite zealous in collecting seeds and planting seeds, protecting cocoons and egg-sacs, nests, and newborns. He read the scrolls, and took to writing corrections in them. The Clan Librarian caught him at it, and called him in to her office. "Davinci, you've been writing in the books." She frowned, and furrowed her huge, imperial brows at him. He stood tall, none of the usual squirming or wiggling spirals are prone to. "Yes. I have." He met her eyes with a visible challenge. Taken aback, she raised her voice rather more than she normally did with hatchlings. "That's a horrible thing to do! Why would you do that?" "They were wrong. I merely wrote corrections in them." "You've scribbled your 'corrections' in books on every realm in the world. You've never been to the Southern Icefield, the Starfall Isles, or anywhere but here." The long, skinny hatchling nodded, not the least nervous or intimidated by the yelling imperial. "That is true. But the scrolls were incorrect." "Why in Somieth would you think that?" The hatchling paused and thought for a minute, cocking his head to one side as if listening. "I--it's as if the knowledge is whispered in my ear." "And you trust this imaginary voice?" "It's not imaginary. It's real. It tells me where to find baby animals whose parents were killed, and where plants that need a bit of water or ash or compost are. It told me when the festival bee-cake I'd hidden to eat later had spoiled, so I wouldn't eat it and get sick." "Your nose would have told you that." "My nose told me it smelled different. I didn't know that meant it had spoiled, not at first. And then I knew, as surely as I know when the sun will rise and set, or when it will rain." The imperial growled, and then reminded herself it was not right to scare babies. With an effort, she lowered her voice. "Well, whatever you do or don't know, you must not write in our scrolls." "Not even when they're wrong?" "Not even when they're wrong." "But I can't just leave those lies sitting there!" Finally, the hatchling seemed distressed. "Older and wiser dragons spent a long time researching and observing before they wrote what they learned into those scrolls. They worked hard to make them as accurate as they could. It is disrespectful to write all over their words. You know that dragons can honestly disagree, right?" "I--I guess so." "And you have not spent years observing things and recording what you saw." "No, of course not." The tiny spiral's tail started winding around his legs. The imperial sat back, trying to look less imposing. "So it is very rude to call what's in our scrolls 'lies'. You see that, right?" "I--I understand truth. That's easy. Polite and rude is hard." "Well, you must not write in the scrolls." "But the truth matters!" The spiral was standing tall again, with no fidgeting at all. It was clear that, hatchling or no, this young one would be a dragon to reckon with as an adult. "I tell you what--we have plenty of paper. If you find something that you think is mistaken," the imperial stressed that word, "you can write up what you think it should say, and we'll store your writing with the scroll in question. That way, researchers can compare the two and see which one is more accurate." That was the end of Davinci writing in scrolls authored by other people, but soon nearly every scroll in the library had at least one accompanying sheet of paper. That wasn't Davinci's first clash with authority. He became a sought-after companion for gathering expeditions, until he started lecturing his elders. Whether it was pushing that they should not over-harvest a plant, leaving some to go to seed or pushing them to harvest this thing instead of that thing, he just would not be silenced. And he was just as bold in telling his elders they were "mistaken" (he had at least learned that word from the Librarian) as he was in correcting scrolls. It didn't help that the other young dragons started to listen to him more than to their elders. What had been a happy, well-ordered lair became a place of arguments and disputes. Once Davinci grew up, the clan warriors invited him to start training and spoke of the honor of serving Gladekeeper, but Davinci smiled at them and said he was serving Gladekeeper in Somieth. He knew--he said--that Gladekeeper didn't want him to join the ranks of the exalted. He had work to do in Somieth. He kept on tending the jungle around the lair and bringing back food for the clan, and teaching anyone who would listen. The older dragons started to avoid him, and the youngers looked more to him than their parents and the clan leaders. It all came to a head when a hatchling, a mischievous little coatl, vanished. She had last been seen talking to him, and the other dragons, old and young, came to him. They found him high in the library, twined around a perch, busy writing on a brand new scroll. One of the younger dragons asked, "So where is little Silly?" He shrugged. "I don't know." The missing hatchling's mother glared at him. "She was with you at mid-day." "Yes, she was. She wanted to know about frogs. I was happy to tell her. And then she started to ask about fish, and I answered those questions too." "So, where is she now?" "Her stomach started to rumble and she wandered off. Did you ask the cooks if they've seen her?" "I did, and they haven't." "Ah." Davinci kept on writing. "She had good questions. I'm writing about the things we talked about." The coatl, one of the clan's warriors, tore the scroll out of his hands. "She's missing!" "Hey--give that back!" One of the younger dragons, a Guardian, imposed his large body between the smaller dragons. "Davinci, can you help find her? You can find wolf cubs whose mother died--why not find Silly for her mother?" Davinci blinked. "But her mother isn't dead." From the other side of the guardian, the mother's melodious voice could be heard threatening Davinci. The librarian leaned her head over the guardian's back. "What about your voice?". She had never believed in Davinci's voice, that was clear even to him. "Can't it tell you where the baby is?" Davinci tilted his head as if listening. "I think it might, if she were in danger." He offered that hesitantly, then added, more firmly, "But it has nothing to say about her now." "So you think she's all right?" The guardian offered helpfully. "Well, I've never tried to locate lost dragons before. Maybe that's not part of my work. Or maybe it is, and Silly isn't lost. I would think it's most likely that she's fine and she knows exactly where she is." "But her mother doesn't know where she is." "What if she's not fine?" one of the other warriors growled. Davinci considered. "Well, if she's dead, there'd be no reason I'd know where her body is." "She's dead?" The mother wailed. There was a sound of ripping paper and then the coatl was diving over the guardian, claws outstretched toward Davinci's face. "What--wait--I didn't say that!" Davinci curled around, under the perch, and darted around his guardian friend and up toward the chimney. "I'll kill you!" The enraged coatl gathered her magic. The guardian tried to block her away from the chimney, in the process accidentally kicking the other warrior in the face. He roared and slashed out blindly, hitting the Clan Leader. A brawl erupted, knocking over bookshelves and sending scrolls flying. Davinci got wedged in the chimney, and in struggling to get out, showered everyone with soot. In only moments, the Librarian stood tall, and yelled as only an imperial can yell, "Stop!" Everyone paused, and in the silence, a high, melodious voice sounded. "Mama?" They all looked down. There was Silly, struggling to carry a trout almost as big as she was. She was soaked, and her path into the library was a mess of water and soot and crumpled, torn paper. "Mama? I caught us a fish! Look!" Things calmed down, but many dragons remained angry at Davinci. Silly's mother was sure she wouldn't have wandered out of the lair to go fishing if Davinci hadn't told her where the fish could be found. The Librarian banished him from the library, which made him deeply unhappy. The clan leader, who already didn't like Davinci for his lack of respect for his elders, nursed his slashed leg and blamed Davinci for saying such a hurtful and clueless thing, thus starting the fight. And the young dragons were deeply disappointed that Davinci not only hadn't found the missing child, but hadn't even known better than to irritate the warriors. It became clear to Davinci, as it had been to many of his lair mates for some time, that he was no longer truly welcome in the lair where he'd been born. People were noting that dragons didn't have to train to join the exalted. The cooks left whatever he'd gathered to be processed last, if at all. And the librarian wouldn't even let him use pen and paper. He decided to travel the world, to see the things that he somehow knew about in person, so someday a new clan might believe in him, and respect his knowledge. And along the way, he would teach as many dragons as possible about the importance of caring for the natural world. It was Gladekeeper's work, and his own work. It was sad, saying goodbye to his father and friends and (from the door) his beloved library, but he was barely out of sight of the lands he'd lived in his whole life when his heart lifted and a smile grew on his face. There was a whole world to see and know, and to write and teach about. He found he was looking forward to it. Pinging @Wintercreek

This is lore for Lena, another SS dragon. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=36211961] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/362120/36211961_350.png[/img] [/url] Lena woke before dawn, restless. The dark was fading, the air sweet and inviting, and she wanted to go somewhere. Not anywhere in particular. Just out in the air, enjoying the dawn. She took off silently, so as not to wake her lair mates, and flew toward the sunrise. Once she was far enough to not wake anyone, she started singing. It was a beautiful morning--or would be shortly. The sun was rising, and the clouds were all edged with pink and rose, like her, and with gold, like the flowers on the mountainside below her. Off the top of her head, she made up a verse praising the clouds, even as she dove down to the mountainside to land amid the flowers. Their scent was delicate not yet brought out by the warm sun. The meadow soft and wet with dew. Lena sang and danced, then rolled in the flowers, coating her feathers with pollen so she was pink and rose and gold, like the sky. And then she heard the echo. She sang another note, and the mountains sang back to her. She played with the sound, calling up echoes like a call and response song, like she had her clan around her, all joining voices to make a bigger song. It was heady and magical, and she lost herself in the song for a while. Then a lower voice joined hers, and her eyes flew open. On the other side of the valley, a sunbeam dryad sat, his hair and leaf wings, like hers, matching the sunrise clouds. Her voice faltered--she had no fighting skills--but he just kept on singing. He was smiling at her, a gentle, shy smile, and when she fell silent, he gestured for her to continue. So she did. As they sang, the birds woke up and joined them, and then the low, lonely sound of a grove piper sounded from down in the hills. The song was wordless, at first, and then he started a popular love song, his voice lilting with a strange accent. It was a two-part song, and she sang her part. Their voices blended so well--it was so perfect. She closed her eyes and just sang. It was a magical moment, but that was all it was. Her future was with other dragons, and his with his own clan. She knew that. But still, when she opened her eyes, she hoped for something more. He was gone. The sun was warm on her feathers and the scent of the flowers was rich and full, but the birds and pipers had fallen silent. She hadn't heard him standing up or moving, he'd been singing with her just a moment before, but he was gone. She picked some flowers and wove a lei, and then another one, in silence. She tried singing, but it sounded empty without the accompaniment. Belatedly, she thought that she shouldn't be staying in a place that the beastclans had claimed, it wasn't safe. Still, she hesitated. Finally, she laid the leis on a warm boulder and leapt into the air, winging her way home, her heart full of conflicting emotions. Lena kept singing, off and on, all day, enough that her sister asked her what dragon had caught her eye. She just laughed, and said, "I like singing." Her sister knew that was true, and accepted the comment, whether or not she believed it. * The next morning found Lena waking before dawn, and again she rose into the soft, pre-dawn air. She told herself it was foolish to return, but her wings took her back to the mountainside, to the boulder which had no evidence of the flower leis she'd made the day before. Had some mountain goat come along and eaten them, or had he come to claim them? Hesitantly, Lena started to sing. She started quiet, but soon the song filled her heart and she let her voice soar, bouncing off the mountains. Like the day before, her own voice echoed back at her, blending with the birdsong. She kept her eyes open this time, gathering flowers to make another lei. No dryads or pipers joined her song, but she left the lei on the boulder again. This time, she flew up as high as she could and circled, watching the lei below. After a time, the dryad appeared next to the boulder. He picked up the lei and vanished. Her heart beat faster. * Day after day, Lena returned to the boulder, singing and leaving a lei. When that meadow's flowers grew thin, she brought flowers with her. Eventually, the dryad started to sing with her again. She went to her clan's loremaster, asking about the beastclans. Where did they live? What were their magics? What did they eat? She made up a feast suitable for his kind, and took it with her. After they sang the love song, which had become their usual end song, she took out the food and laid it out, leaving it with the day's lei. * The next day, she found a meal of fish and clams set out for her on one side of the boulder. She set the food she'd brought on the other side, sat down by the fish, and sang an invitation. He replied, and appeared by the food she had brought. She gazed into his eyes and fell silent. "Hello," he said. His voice was as melodious as any coatl's. "Hello." Suddenly, she felt shy. And he wasn't even a dragon! "Where did you learn to sing like that?" Automatically, she answered, "From my family. It's natural to coatls, you know." And then silence again, with birdsong. "And you? Where did you learn to sing?" "From the pipers, mostly. There's not a lot of sunbeam dryads who sing. It--it's lonely, always singing alone." "I like singing alone." Birdsong. "But of course, I only sing alone when I want to. I can see it would be different if you didn't have a whole family of singers." The dryad reached for some food, and paused. "I hope I picked foods you like." Lena took a bite and smiled. "It's delicious!" He ate too. "This is really nice. How did you know what dryads eat?" "Probably the same way you know what coatls eat." They laughed, and relaxed, and finished the meal. "I--" They both started, him low and her high, and it harmonized. They held the note out, savoring it, and then laughed together. He waved for her to proceed, the same gesture as he'd made the first time she saw him. She took a deep breath. "I don't know if you'd want to, but if you do, you could come live with my clan, and sing with me and my family as much as you want." He smiled. "I'd like that. At least I think I would. I'd like to try, anyway." "That would be great." They finished their meal, and then wove leis for each other. When they left, they sang a song of adventure and companionship, and it rang far more true than the love song. But then they sang the love song, for old time's sake, and then another and another, all the way back to her lair.