No one can live your life for you. That means they can't tell you who you are - what you are - either. Question others. Question yourself. Come to your own conclusions.
??? Pronouns. UK Time.
Grats to you, EssayOfThoughts!
Some Neco art!
Nera:
[img]https://i.imgur.com/0yQ2Wd6.jpg[/img]
Sange (the neutralized ghoul)
[img]https://i.imgur.com/SUE7MNr.jpg[/img]
[size=1]@3idolon @TheCell @kmrikkari @Horseleech @SashaFiredrake @Mnkn10 @EssayOfThoughts @Bara2684 @reotheleo @WolfandCrow @StDuke @Pebz @Shadowfire1223 @ToxicSugar @vengeful @WolfTrickster @Scorpiontail @Meilkor @Turboblaze @Blightwyrm @Yuubi[/size]
[center][size=7][color=DarkRed][font=Bradley Hand ITC][b]SPOTLIGHT[/b][/font][/color][/size][/center]
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=219747][size=6][color=maroon]FelinaeFatale's[/url][size=6][color=maroon] Eupatrid[/color][/size][/center]
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=42639619]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/426397/42639619_350.png[/img]
[/url][/center]
[color=maroon]Necromancy runs in my blood. Ever since I took my first breath in this world, inhaling the pathogens that so marred my homeland, I knew, in my soul, then and there that this would be my calling.
But my ambition meant nothing, the magic of the plaguelands is volatile and unforgiving; it obeys only the worthy. To truly receive Mother's gifts, I must undertake the trials. The trials of the Wyrmwound will decide my fate. It will separate out the weak, the typical, and the exceptional. It will determine who I am.
My family honours the Mother above all else; she guides our ways, through all our lives. Her word is law. We, as prophets of her cause, need only to spread this gospel. And I needed only to allow her infection unto my skin, to accept, to endure, to surpass, to survive. This is the resilience that Mother demands from her children.
From the day I was old enough to understand what that meant, I had dreamed of my trial, playing out scene after scene of triumph, where everyone from elder to hatchling would behold me in reverence. But nothing could prepare me for the gruelling truth, the crucible that drove me to the very edge of my endurance... and off it.
From the first day, a particularly virulent strain of the Wyrmwound plague had taken to my body. I burned as any mortal creature would burn in its clutches; a lifetime of plague was not enough to prepare me for the savage and gripping power of Mother. I was in awe, I was consumed until I knew nothing but the contagion.
"Kill the boy," my father had prayed when I first fell under her fetid touch, "kill the boy and let the man be born."
The air was gravel, hard and burning, and it was all I could do to breathe, and pray. For her blessing, for her strength, for her favour, and for it to all be over soon. Days and nights blurred together into a single static picture, and the world was both bitter and warm. For days I just laid there, enveloped in the sickly orange glow of the Wyrmwound crater. I could feel the pestilence ravaging my body, feel its path beneath my skin. It was carving out festering blisters, splitting my flesh until it was red and weeping in the wide open air.
This was the Mother's power, a power that could one day be mine, should I survive her blessing. So I gritted my teeth and endured like a good little plagueling.
On the eve my fever broke, weeks later, it seemed to me like a lifetime had passed. Suffering under the gripping plague, I had no notion of time, there was only the heat, and the crippling pain. When I cracked open my eyes, I learned to breathe again. The air was crisp and painless. I had died and was reborn. The world seemed brighter. More saturated, more alive than it ever was before. The sores on my back had started to close, with the rotting tissues replaced by new, healthy cells. Beneath my skin the virus still thrummed, I was surrounded by it, but it did not harm me. I had it accepted it and survived it, I am immune. This power now mine to control.
The first time I wielded the infectious magic of the plaguelands, I did not hunt nor fish for the slight bodies of animals, but turned my sights to the towering forest of alien trees; life as resilient as it was old. With a brush of my hand, the twisted and gaunt branches of a great tree groaned under their own weight and fell with a mighty crash. The bark flaked away as though mere feathers in the wind. The once mighty bowers withered and paled before my eyes, lifeless and dull. I was overcome by that sense of power, tingling from my claws to my tail-tip. What can stand in my way now, with the power of life and death at my beck and call?
I had proven myself an infectionist, capable of wielding the great viral magics that so defined my kind. Now, I must prove myself a real Necromancer, to infect and to heal. The blight of the plaguelands are not so merciful as to kill quickly, the cankered trees will suffer a long, slow death. A fate that I could change, if I were a true disciple of Mother. Focusing, I found some deep, untapped well within myself, still and bottomless. I felt as though I could see every virus, every dying cell, and reaching out, I commanded with a silent will. The blight faded from the tree, trails of black replaced by smooth brown bark, oozing secretions evaporated into thin vapours, leaving the tree with a small puff. The tree that was dead moments ago is now cleansed of disease, parasites, and the years it had endured. It was young, vibrant, and healthy once more.
Was there ever any doubt I would succeed? Both my parents had undertaken this same path and walked away victorious. This great line from which I claim my blood, there is no failure in our genes. We know only survival, and the plague.
Finally, I have come into my own.
The bright red of my eyes proclaims my lineage for all to see. The scars upon my back remain as vestiges of the trials I had endured. The plague sings in my palm, waiting all around me. The plaguelands seems to be a single living being, extending as far as the eyes can see. All that lives within this promised land pulses to a singular purpose.
You may think Mother is cruel, but she has given us the greatest blessing of all. The contagion. Who dares challenge us when the land itself fights with us? This glorious power has found us worthy of preservation. Of evolution.
It is the taint of the plaguelands, and it is the taint that runs in my veins.
Ye, look what havoc we have wreaked across these lands, that which pulses with life primaeval. This, this is what it means to be a dragon. This is what it is to be alive. I am a hunter, I am a warrior, I am a mage, but most of all, I am a survivor, a child of Plague.
by FelinaeFatale[/color]
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Due to today's [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/frd/2563948/1#post_36247013]server migration downtime[/url] next spotlight will be featured on November 25th, as it is not known how long the site will be unreachable.
Necromancy runs in my blood. Ever since I took my first breath in this world, inhaling the pathogens that so marred my homeland, I knew, in my soul, then and there that this would be my calling.
But my ambition meant nothing, the magic of the plaguelands is volatile and unforgiving; it obeys only the worthy. To truly receive Mother's gifts, I must undertake the trials. The trials of the Wyrmwound will decide my fate. It will separate out the weak, the typical, and the exceptional. It will determine who I am.
My family honours the Mother above all else; she guides our ways, through all our lives. Her word is law. We, as prophets of her cause, need only to spread this gospel. And I needed only to allow her infection unto my skin, to accept, to endure, to surpass, to survive. This is the resilience that Mother demands from her children.
From the day I was old enough to understand what that meant, I had dreamed of my trial, playing out scene after scene of triumph, where everyone from elder to hatchling would behold me in reverence. But nothing could prepare me for the gruelling truth, the crucible that drove me to the very edge of my endurance... and off it.
From the first day, a particularly virulent strain of the Wyrmwound plague had taken to my body. I burned as any mortal creature would burn in its clutches; a lifetime of plague was not enough to prepare me for the savage and gripping power of Mother. I was in awe, I was consumed until I knew nothing but the contagion.
"Kill the boy," my father had prayed when I first fell under her fetid touch, "kill the boy and let the man be born."
The air was gravel, hard and burning, and it was all I could do to breathe, and pray. For her blessing, for her strength, for her favour, and for it to all be over soon. Days and nights blurred together into a single static picture, and the world was both bitter and warm. For days I just laid there, enveloped in the sickly orange glow of the Wyrmwound crater. I could feel the pestilence ravaging my body, feel its path beneath my skin. It was carving out festering blisters, splitting my flesh until it was red and weeping in the wide open air.
This was the Mother's power, a power that could one day be mine, should I survive her blessing. So I gritted my teeth and endured like a good little plagueling.
On the eve my fever broke, weeks later, it seemed to me like a lifetime had passed. Suffering under the gripping plague, I had no notion of time, there was only the heat, and the crippling pain. When I cracked open my eyes, I learned to breathe again. The air was crisp and painless. I had died and was reborn. The world seemed brighter. More saturated, more alive than it ever was before. The sores on my back had started to close, with the rotting tissues replaced by new, healthy cells. Beneath my skin the virus still thrummed, I was surrounded by it, but it did not harm me. I had it accepted it and survived it, I am immune. This power now mine to control.
The first time I wielded the infectious magic of the plaguelands, I did not hunt nor fish for the slight bodies of animals, but turned my sights to the towering forest of alien trees; life as resilient as it was old. With a brush of my hand, the twisted and gaunt branches of a great tree groaned under their own weight and fell with a mighty crash. The bark flaked away as though mere feathers in the wind. The once mighty bowers withered and paled before my eyes, lifeless and dull. I was overcome by that sense of power, tingling from my claws to my tail-tip. What can stand in my way now, with the power of life and death at my beck and call?
I had proven myself an infectionist, capable of wielding the great viral magics that so defined my kind. Now, I must prove myself a real Necromancer, to infect and to heal. The blight of the plaguelands are not so merciful as to kill quickly, the cankered trees will suffer a long, slow death. A fate that I could change, if I were a true disciple of Mother. Focusing, I found some deep, untapped well within myself, still and bottomless. I felt as though I could see every virus, every dying cell, and reaching out, I commanded with a silent will. The blight faded from the tree, trails of black replaced by smooth brown bark, oozing secretions evaporated into thin vapours, leaving the tree with a small puff. The tree that was dead moments ago is now cleansed of disease, parasites, and the years it had endured. It was young, vibrant, and healthy once more.
Was there ever any doubt I would succeed? Both my parents had undertaken this same path and walked away victorious. This great line from which I claim my blood, there is no failure in our genes. We know only survival, and the plague.
Finally, I have come into my own.
The bright red of my eyes proclaims my lineage for all to see. The scars upon my back remain as vestiges of the trials I had endured. The plague sings in my palm, waiting all around me. The plaguelands seems to be a single living being, extending as far as the eyes can see. All that lives within this promised land pulses to a singular purpose.
You may think Mother is cruel, but she has given us the greatest blessing of all. The contagion. Who dares challenge us when the land itself fights with us? This glorious power has found us worthy of preservation. Of evolution.
It is the taint of the plaguelands, and it is the taint that runs in my veins.
Ye, look what havoc we have wreaked across these lands, that which pulses with life primaeval. This, this is what it means to be a dragon. This is what it is to be alive. I am a hunter, I am a warrior, I am a mage, but most of all, I am a survivor, a child of Plague.
by FelinaeFatale
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Due to today's server migration downtime next spotlight will be featured on November 25th, as it is not known how long the site will be unreachable.
[size=1]@MiffMaff @ProbablySkeletor @Sovie @Copierthief @SashaFiredrake @AstralDragons @Alder @Horseleech @kmrikkari @Blightwyrm @okn @Necromancess @Minones @zombie0424[/size]
Hi! You've been pinged, since during last few weeks you obtained one or more dragons of the Necromancer subspecies (Necromancers, Necroservus, Ghouls or Neutralized Ghouls). The big part of this subspecies is lore and in order to expand it, each week one of the dragons is featured in our Spotlight, published in this thread.
[quote name="Kava" date="2018-10-05 23:42:12" ]
[b]How does the Spolight work?[/b]
It's a weekly event on our Creative Corner thread, which features one dragon every Sunday. The idea is to expand the lore, so each of the featured dergs has a short lore (minumum 50 words) to accompany them. It can be the bio they already have, some short story, poem, anything to show your dragon's personality, their adventures or anything you would like to share about them in any written form you like.
You can find previous spotlights [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2541754#post_35657518]here.[/url]
If you'd like your dragons to join the pool, let me know, which ones you'd like to add. I will randomly pick one every week (using [url=https://www.random.org/]random.org[/url] or a similar website) and you will have a week to prepare, as I will usually ask the owner of the picked dragon on Friday or Saturday, to confirm if they want to feature the spotlight the following week. You can of course prepare something earlier.
You can add or take your dragons off the list anytime.
[/quote]
Please, let me know if you'd like to add your dragons to the pool and if you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to ping or PM me. Thank you!
Hi! You've been pinged, since during last few weeks you obtained one or more dragons of the Necromancer subspecies (Necromancers, Necroservus, Ghouls or Neutralized Ghouls). The big part of this subspecies is lore and in order to expand it, each week one of the dragons is featured in our Spotlight, published in this thread.
Kava wrote on 2018-10-05 23:42:12:
How does the Spolight work?
It's a weekly event on our Creative Corner thread, which features one dragon every Sunday. The idea is to expand the lore, so each of the featured dergs has a short lore (minumum 50 words) to accompany them. It can be the bio they already have, some short story, poem, anything to show your dragon's personality, their adventures or anything you would like to share about them in any written form you like.
If you'd like your dragons to join the pool, let me know, which ones you'd like to add. I will randomly pick one every week (using random.org or a similar website) and you will have a week to prepare, as I will usually ask the owner of the picked dragon on Friday or Saturday, to confirm if they want to feature the spotlight the following week. You can of course prepare something earlier.
You can add or take your dragons off the list anytime.
Please, let me know if you'd like to add your dragons to the pool and if you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to ping or PM me. Thank you!
@Kava I would love to add my Virulent Ghoul Lucio to the pool, if that’s okay!