Creative Corner

Whelp, I decided that the best way to encourage myself to finish my lore revamp was to actually post the lore somewhere. So here it is. Maybe I'll organize it when I have the time. And a few more stories. [quote=Pinglist] @howtoquityou @MysticalScribe [/quote] [center][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/6ebac1c3cbef5bb5bd12d2bfee99d123/tumblr_nl9b5zO8up1ssnvh6o9_500.png[/img][/center] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=48235925] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/482360/48235925_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] The weary traveler laid down their bag with a sigh, alighting on a small plateau. The storm had struck out of nowhere, a mess of rain and wind strong enough to blow Lost halfway across Sorineth. But a quick survey of the scenery revealed that, miraculously, she was still somewhere on the Windswept Plateau. Bless the Windsinger for that. Shaking the water from her wings, Lost flicked open the compass around her neck, one talon rifling through the bag for her map. She froze before finding it. The compass hands swung wildly, oscillating from one direction to another as if surrounded by magnets. “What the…?” Lost smacked the device a few times, but to no avail. The damned thing was broken. “Ah, curse it,” she muttered. She’d heard of compasses malfunctioning around the Arcanist’s territory, but the Windsinger’s? “Guess I’ll have to find where I am the old-fashioned way.” Lost glanced out across the plateau, idly scanning the forests and fields below as she thought. She could follow the stars at nightfall, provided the sky stayed...wait, what was that? Lost squinted, shoving thick spectacles up their snout. No, there was no mistaking it. Smoke! Civilization, dragon or otherwise, could tell her where she was. With a prayer of thanks, Lost swept off the plateau. It was an inn. Dragon sized, made of wood and ornamented with lanterns. Smoke rose cheerfully from several different chimneys. Lost landed softly in the front clearing, tense in anticipation. But no attack came. Nobody came. There was just rising smoke and the sound of windchimes. The front doors creaked. Lost jumped, wings flaring instinctively. But it was only a tundra, staring at them in equal surprise. Then he laughed, throwing his head back in a way that made his mane dance. “Hello there! Ah, my apologies, friend. I didn’t expect to find you here.” He spoke as if he knew Lost, though she were sure they’d never met before. The tundra pushed open the doors the rest of the way. “Come in, come in! Tea is almost ready.” He turned in the doorway, beckoning Lost to follow with a flick of his tail. [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=19235067] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/192351/19235067_350.png[/img] [/url][/center] The kitchen was a large affair, built with bamboo is a very Wind-esque style. The tundra, who introduced himself as Blue, took a shallow kettle off the fire and poured two cups of tea. It had a pungent but rather pleasant smell. He pushed one towards Lost. “Th...thanks?” She took a hesitant sip. Minty, with just a hint of sweetness. Probably not the safest thing, she reflected, to sip some random drink given by a strange tundra. Even if he was well-intentioned, a tundra’s memory - or lack thereof - could prove fatal. Lost hesitantly swallowed the mouthful, resolving not to drink more. “It’s alright,” Blue said. “The tea is safe. I would never hurt a visitor.” “Oh - no! No, it’s not that…” Lost said with a skeptical glance at their cup. She pushed her spectacles up their snout, nervous. “You think I might’ve used the wrong plant?” Blue asked. He laughed again, this one more of a chuckle as he sipped his tea. “I understand. But as faulty as my memory can be, my nose is never wrong. This is the blend we use to welcome new friends.” Lost paused. “You knew I was coming?” “Of course.” “But…that’s impossible.” Not even Lost knew she was coming. Lost didn’t even know how she got there! Blue chuckled heartily. “It’s nothing so mystical as you are thinking, my friend. The Crosswinds enjoy storms; they often use them to blow in new friends. I can just feel it when someone is headed our way.” He took a sagely sip of his tea. “So. Who did they send our way this time?” Lost sputtered. It was too much. “The Crosswinds? Feel what? Who-?” she stammered, nearly knocking her spectacles off her nose in the effort to adjusting them. “I’m - I’m afraid I don’t understand!” Blue smiled sympathetically. “Calm down now, my young friend. No need to get your tail in a twist. Why don’t you tell me your name, and you can ask as many questions as you like?” “I - uh - I mean -” They sighed. “I’m Lost.” Blue stared at her quizzically. “Well, yes, most dragons who find their way here are. But we’ll sort that out as soon as-” “No, no!” Lost resisted the urge to slam her face into the table. She hadn’t thought that through. She hadn’t thought a lot of things through when choosing her name. “That’s my name. Lost. My name is Lost.” Understanding dawned in Blue’s eyes, and he took a deep breath. Catching a scent, as so many tundras did. “A pleasure to meet you, Lost. Welcome to the Crosswinds Inn,” he smiled. “What would you like to know?”

[center][b]New Beginnings[/b][/center] [center][img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/6ebac1c3cbef5bb5bd12d2bfee99d123/tumblr_nl9b5zO8up1ssnvh6o9_500.png[/img][/center] “What is this place?” Lost asked. “Who are you?” Blue smiled, something he seemed to do a lot. “Those questions are quite intertwined, my young friend. But to answer both, we must start at the beginning.” “The beginning? Which beginning?” “The very beginning.” “-and to this day, the Windsinger’s currents flow across Sorineth in a great river, delivering any of his children wherever they wish to go.” The old storyteller finished with a flourish. The hatchlings crowded around him clamoured their approval, some already calling out for the next story. However, it was one diminutive little tundra who’s tugging called the storyteller’s attention. “Yes, little one?” he said. “What about the winds that take you where you don’t want to go?” the tundra asked. “Like storms? And the Twisting Cre..Crash…” “Crescendo!” interrupted another hatchling. The storyteller regarded the tundra inscrutably. “What is your name, little one?” “Blue!” he said, puffing out a fluffy chest. The name fit, for Blue was indeed covered in a thick cobalt fluff. Not the most creative, perhaps, but the storyteller couldn’t fault the orphanage-keepers. His color was certainly Blue’s most striking feature. “Well, young Blue,” said the storyteller, “the Windsinger watches out for all of his children. Even the those who are caught in the wrong wind.” “But where do they go?” insisted Blue. The storyteller smiled. “Why, to the Crosswinds, of course.” There was a soft murmur among the hatchlings as they sensed a story building. Blue cocked his head, snout wrinkling. “Crosswinds?” “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Crosswinds before!” The storyteller feigned indignation. A few hatchlings shook their heads. “Well,” said the storyteller, “the Windsinger sends all lost things to the Crosswinds. That includes dragons. So when one is caught on the wrong wind, they simply wind up at the Crosswinds. There they can find the right wind and be on their way!” “How do you get there?” asked a small nocturne. “Why, by getting lost, of course. You cannot find your way to the Crosswinds unless you first lose it.” “What’s there?” piped up another voice. “Oh, all manner of things,” answered the storyteller. “Everything from treasure to lost kites! Oh, dear.” The storyteller glanced up from his small crowd to see one of the caretakers standing in the doorway. “It appears my time is up, hatchlings.” He stood amid the groans and complaining, smiling to himself. Just as well they leave in the middle of a story; it would give the hatchlings something to look forward to for next time. “Storyteller!” Blue’s voice chased him down the hall, somehow having slipped past the caretaker. “Wait, please! I have one more question!” The storyteller paused. “Yes, my boy?” “If...If only lost dragons can find the Crosswinds, how do you know where it is?” Blue’s green eyes were wide. “How do you know when you’ve lost your way enough to find it?” The storyteller considered for a moment. “The Crosswinds cannot be placed on a map, or found by a compass,” he said with a sly grin. “So when you’ve displaced your map and lost your compass, then you’ll know you’ve lost your way enough to find it.” Blue stared out across the plateau, filled with despair. Ten years. Ten years of chasing a legend, and for what? A marked up map and a scratched up compass? It hardly seemed fair. He flopped onto the short grass, drawing in the familiar scents of bamboo and dirt. He’d spent too long in the harsh wastes of the Flamecaller; he’d nearly forgotten the scent of growth. But chasing down the storyteller proved fruitless. Blue lost the trail somewhere within the Emberglow Hearth, left with nothing more than to return, despondent, to his homeland. He hadn’t even mustered to energy to check his compass, stuffing the traitorous instrument deep into his bags and trusting instinct to guide him back to the Plateau. Blue pulled out his map, studying the multiple crossed-out circles, lines, and theories. Ten years of wandering Sorineth, losing himself in hopes of finding it. The Crosswinds. All because of some hatchling’s tale that had captivated his mind. That’s when he noticed it. Something wasn’t right on his map. Blue sat up, confused. The Windswept Plateau looked all wrong. A forest of clouded hills and bamboo had inserted itself right in the middle of the Zephyr Steppes, altering the form of the very continent. How had he not noticed before? But, no. This new area was completely free of markings. No lines were drawn through it. No areas circled. It was as if he’d completely skipped over it, starting and stopping his drawings on either side of this clouded forest. The storyteller’s words hit him, floating back across a lifetime. [i]“When you’ve displaced your map and lost your compass, then you’ll know you’ve lost your way enough to find it.” [/i] Blue dove for his bag, frantically digging out his compass. It sat stubbornly at the bottom, where he’d shoved it in frustration. It took entirely too long to get out. When he finally flipped open the scarred casing, Blue could only stare in wonder. The needle spun frantically, as if unable to find north. Lost. For the first time, Blue looked out at the landscape below him. Really looked. What he’d taken for the Zephyr Steppes was...not. A clouded bamboo forest stretched out in every direction, disappearing into distance and haze. A strong but somehow gentle breeze ruffled his mane. The Crosswinds.

@Adventure could I be added to a pinglist or something pls? this is very good!

@howtoquityou Uh yeah, sure, I guess I can make a pinglist. Thanks for the interest in my lame fantasies :)

@adventure lol It is very far from lame! at least you're posting yours, mine are still stuck inside my head xD

@Adventure I'd also love to be added to the Pinglist! This is really interesting