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cantrip - What an adorable boy you have there! I love stories like that, and agree that he is quite stunning. Crystal CAN be a hard gene, and you've done so well. Thank you for sharing!
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JaeJenkinz - What a precious boy with precious art. The old, fatherly (or even grumpy) uncle-figure is one of my favorite sorts. That's the guy that should make appearances in the lore blurbs of other dragons, especially the higher ups, and then his bio should be something like, "This is the guy you keep hearing about." or something. Very sweet boy, thank you for sharing!
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bogfriend - Very earthy colored tundras are some of my favorites for the boys. I really like Teba's lore, and just think the idea of tundra hustling in an unknown stranger and chatting friendly with him like an old friend is the dearest. He could have. a tiny, homeless fae wander into his den and then decide to curl up in a corner and stay the rest of his life that way or something. Just too sweet!
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disillusionist - Oh. Wow. You have a real eye for geneing and dressing dragons. That's a serious talent there. If.... I may...?
"It was an accident, I'm sorry!"
"By the Great Forger, Rufus, it's always...just..an..apologetic accident..." The elder coatl's voice slowed until he was pronouncing each syllable like an individual word. All about the teen's feet were tiny, cobbled figurines scuttling about trying to... Well, it looked like they were trying to clean Rufus' nails of clay and soot.
"I-I-I know---" the tundra sniffed. It was true. Tundras were walking fire hazards, and when they weren't especially talented at being swift and anticipating their fellows' and masters' needs and orders, they tended to make a mess of things. Rufus had the double indignity of being called spiral-addled. Too hyperactive for his own good most of the time, too eager to try things, and too likely to accidentally create a new vent than to scuttle around them with any success.
Too likely to create a new vent. Moving, cobbled parts.
"I found a new clay spot, well, I swear I didn't dig that hole, it just sort of opened, and the little cousins broke their dollies, and then some fell on my foot, and I sneezed, and blew fire everywhere, and now they won't stop moving. They promised they would when my foot was cleaned, like the job would be done..I mean, of course they didn't speak, that's not...not possible...like them moving...uhm. You do see them moving, don't you?"
"Rufus of Runk and MultiScorched, I believe you're double blessed. Perhaps we should find you the right mentor."
"Uhm, I'm sorry." Rufus mumbled, immediately interpreting the words as another failure on his part.
Little of the frightened and uncertain tundra remained now. Being correctly placed under the right masters turned him in a sure creator. He never second guessed his senses now, and though he rarely liked to venture far from his creating, he had a soft spot every time he saw an awkward little one.
There was a reason Rufus' den buzzed about with scraps of pottery no good to add to a real golem, but with too much life to fade away. It was a tiny army with one goal just like his first: wordlessly explain to the faltering ones that there was purpose to every life. One just had to find the right place.
(I mean, half asleep, frozen, and running out of battery, but there's a quickie sketch if you want to snatch some shadow of an idea from it.)
Thanks again everyone!
