Raffles & Giveaways

@dividedAnimus

Took me a while to figure it out myself, but here you go!

First, you pick a dragon. Then you go to their page and click "generate code". You copy the BBCode.

Here's the code for one of mine, plus a couple of spaces:

[ url=http://flightrising.com/ main.php?dragon=20072135]
[ img] http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/200722/20072135_350.png[ /img]
[/url]

What you have to do is make this image tiny. See that 350 I underlined? Change it to avatars

[ url=http://flightrising.com/ main.php?dragon=20072135]
[ img] http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/200722/20072135_350.png[ /img]
[/url]

Like this!

Now you see that _350 right by the end? I bolded it. You delete it completely!

[ url=http://flightrising.com/ main.php?dragon=20072135]
[ img] http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/200722/20072135.png[ /img]
[/url]

Now your pic should be tiny! If you wanna put them side by side, use columns!

@Teeka ((sorry if it's a bit long. I couldn't get it to work, but anything bolded is meant to be in Wingdings and not understandable by other dragons. [s]because i wrote a certain goopy nerd into this story[/s])) [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/247317/24731640.png?mtime=V9XhqgACXHk.png[/img] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/86724/8672313.png?mtime=V1NcEwAB1CQ.png[/img] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/174867/17486654.png?mtime=V1rhQwACUGU.png[/img] [indent]A coppery Nocturne bounced along on the ground all the way up to the two waiting [/indent]Plague dragons. She was followed by two others; a Plague Fae and a Shadow Imperial, both taking their time and following at a good interval behind her. The Noc waved with a wing as she approached the hosts of the event. [indent]“Hi there!” she called as she closed the distance between them. Up close she smelled [/indent]of smoke and her scales looked singed. Or was that just her crackle? It was hard to tell. Her bright red eyes nearly glowed compared to the soot that covered her face. She smiled wide as she greeted the two dragons. “My name is Bunny! I’ve been wanting to revisit my birth Flight for a while now, just to see if I miss anything about it. I don’t really remember it all that much. Anyway these two nerds wanted to come to explore, so I brought them along too!” She gestured to the dragons following her, who had finally caught up to her. [indent]“[b]I'm not a nerd.[/b]” the Imperial said something with an amused expression. He[/indent] spoke quietly enough that Bunny didn’t hear him, but the Fae did and she visibly shuddered in the air next to him. [indent]“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said flicking her crests downward slightly in [/indent]displeasure. [indent]“Guys, please,” Bunny sounded a bit exasperated. She quickly regained her happy[/indent] mood however when she remembered she was in the middle of introductions. “Anywho, this is Iuka,” she gestured to the Fae in the white lab coat and surgical mask. Iuka turned her head a bit to better see the two dragons. “Don’t mind the eye, she doesn’t like it when you ask about it.” [indent]“I don’t mind at all actually.” Iuka stared directly at their hosts as if daring them to ask[/indent] about the bloody bandage on the right side of her face. “What I do mind is you putting words in my mouth.” She sounded almost threatening with her monotone. [indent]Bunny let out a nervous laugh before quickly moving on, “Ahaaand this is Gast-um,[/indent] Doctor W.D. Gaster.” She waved a talon to the dark Imperial. He might have looked more intimidating, if he wasn’t wearing a turtleneck under his dark lad coat. What a dork. [indent]The Imp, Gaster, cleared his throat, “There is really no need to be formal Bunny.” He[/indent] smiled at the Snapper and Tundra. “You may just call me Gaster. Forgive me if my Draconic is not very good, I am still working on it.” He spoke with a hard-to-place accent, but was otherwise completely understandable. [indent]“Dude, you’re fine. You honestly speak it better than most dragons I know,” Bunny[/indent] couldn’t help turning to comment on his last statement. [indent]“I suppose you want us to share why we chose to come here,” Iuka prompted the[/indent] young Noc. [indent]“Oh yeah! I already said my bit so I’ll just let you guys chat for a while. I’m gonna [/indent]explore!” Bunny zipped away leaving no room for protest from her two companions. [indent]“Energetic, that one,” Gaster said as he stared after her. He turned back to their hosts after[/indent] a moment. “Well, if it’s a story you want I am sure we can provide. We are both scientists you see, and Plague happens to be an interesting territory that is important to both our areas of research.” [indent]“Yes,” Iuka continued flatly, “Plague is my birth Flight as well, and I know I can gain[/indent] valuable knowledge by coming back here. I am particularly interested in studying the life here. Plague-land organisms are some of the hardiest I’ve come across, and genetics start getting very interesting closer to the Wyrmwound. I also hope to study some of the unique strains of disease that originate from here. They could prove to be a good subject for new research. Now if you don’t mind, I must be going.” She turned her head to the Imperial, “I don’t really care what happens to her, so you keep an eye on our idiot clanmate.” Iuka flew off in a different direction than the one Bunny had gone, leaving Gaster alone. [indent]“My apologies for her behavior,” he said, trying to cover up the awkwardness of her [/indent]sudden exit, “I’ve learned that she is not really one for many words or social interaction.” He paused for a bit, thinking about what he was going to say. “I suppose to explain my purpose here I will have to tell you some things Iuka left out. Iuka has…experimented on other dragons before. Not out of any sort of malice, just purely a desire for knowledge,” he added quickly. “We have gotten her to stop, but the dragons she studied need some help recovering. We have two Mirrors in particular who aren’t doing well. Now, my area of study is more along the lines of the properties of space and the magic of this world, not medicine, but I am hoping to find some remedies for Plague-borne illnesses while I’m here.” [indent]He stopped his story to shift his weight and glance around a little bit. He seemed [/indent]suddenly self-conscious of how alone he was. “Sorry if that was a lot to take in,” he really apologized a lot, “Since I arrived here I’ve taken it upon myself to help whoever I can in my Clan, and that’s what I am here to do. I really should go and make sure Bunny does not get into trouble now.” He spread his wings as he prepared to take off. “Thank you for listening. Perhaps when we are done with our tasks we can come back and tell you a better story. Plenty of [i]interesting[/i] things happen in our clan that I’m sure you would find entertaining.” Gaster smiled at the Tundra and Snapper and then flew off into the wastelands. “[b]Goodbye![/b]”

@Teeka Ooh this looks interesting, I might give it a go! :D Dragon: [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/261862/26186137_350.png[/img] Zephyr touched down lightly on the Scarred Wastelands, his muzzle curling in disgust upon his entrance. His pale green gaze flickered over the barren ridges, where startlingly bright streaks of red lay scattered throughout the land. Globules of lava pulsated in random areas, sizzling and smelling of rot. Zephyr couldn’t help but grimace at the sight. [i]How revolting.[/i] For a dragon that was made of the wind and embellished elaborately, this was a sorry sight. Bones protruded from the dust, revealing decaying carcasses that were crawling with maggots. Animals, [i]and dragons[/i], he realized with clarity, lay motionless in places; the sight was not uncommon. The wind shifted, Zephyr almost retched. It reeked of virus and sickness and death and rot, a disgusting aroma that revealed only decay and nothing alive. [i]How does anyone live here?[/i] Zephyr padded forward in cautious paces, his tail lashing behind him as he almost tripped over a half-buried body. He could see the sharp bones that formed a circle within the center of the Wastelands. And with it, he saw dragons. Most of them were half-dead, wobbling precariously in the air with jutting ribs and froth spilling from the side of their jaws. However, Zephyr could also see strong, well-fed dragons that were battle ready, wings moving powerfully. [i]I see… the weak here are left for dead, the strong rise to the top. [/i] [i]No wonder the Plague flight has such power.[/i] Zephyr whipped around, extending his wings for his disperse. [i]I am surely doomed if one of them were to see me.[/i] Before he left the Wastelands behind, something caught his eye. He couldn’t help but smile as he rose through the air, beating his wings and soaring higher. [i]It had been a flower.[/i] Even the Plague flight held some form of beauty, no matter how small.

Four days.

It only took four days.

When Gavin announced she was traveling to Riot of Rot for the celebration of the Plague Flight, many of the clan were apprehensive. Plague was considered the most vile, the most unpredictable, and the most untrustworthy of flights, and no one wanted to send their Matriarch over to their care. But Gavin dismissed these concerns. She was adamant that the preconceptions dragons hold toward certain breed or flights were entirely unwarranted, and in the end only damaging to all of Sornieth. She wanted to go as a token of goodwill, to prevent future problems. Calore of course supported her. Her warrior-consort was fond of his homeland, and didn't understand the stigma.

So she prepared. Gathering a representative from the flight to help make the trip successful, bringing money and chests so her whole delegation could partake in the festivities. They were all excited, and traveled with an air of expectation. Soon enough they crossed over into plague territory.

The Scarred Wasteland was exciting and new for the younger dragons, and a curiosity even for the older ones. Gavin herself enjoyed sightseeing during their travels, often camping in spots which provided the best views for seeing as much of the expanse as she could.

It started on the second day of travel with a light cough. She coughed once. It didn't alarm Calore, who was the only witness, because he assumed Gavin had been sick before. He didn't know. She didn't tell.

The day after, she was visibly pale. Her pace lagged and where before she was indisputably the strongest dragon in the clan, she had to hand some belongings to her guards and consorts before she could move on. Everyone had their bad days. No suspicions were aroused. Gavin kept her knowledge to herself once again. Rikki, her faithful companion, couldn't survive in the waters of the Plague Domain and had to stay behind. Surely had she gone with them, she could have given warning. She could have seen the signs in the sweat Gavin ignored, the barest tremor when she moved her right claw.

At the end of the second day, her foot slipped on a branch, and the great Guardian crashed to the slippery ground. Her clanmates swarmed her, Zusu tying himself in knots with anxiety as her daughter asked her questions and calmly assessed her condition. The medical tent was raised and Nausicaa remained sequestered with their leader long after dawn the following day.

Midway through the third day, her breathing was so labored that the hatchlings and their guardians could hear the pained wheezing from the other end of camp. Near sunset, Nausicaa began allowing individual dragons in to speak with their leader for short bits of time. Those allowed to enter the tent emerged shaken. They told stories of the rot, the smell, the wheezing, the cough. The stink permeating the whole tent of struggle and fear. Members from the lair made it out to their camp, and Tanis and Cherubim and Lavinia and all her children gathered in their own subset of camp. They refused to talk to other members of the clan, and the confusion was almost more painful than the knowledge the others held. The earliest members who joined stayed in the tent overnight. Odile and Valyria prepared papers and plans with haste and secrecy, a vain attempt to prevent panic.

Calore refused to leave her side. He made no fuss, said no words, and got in no ones way. He simply sat with her through the ordeal as Nausicaa mixed medications and applied poultices.

The late evening of the fourth day, she drew her last breath. The air was heavy with expectation, the room packed with frightened wyrms. It rattled in, her sweat slicked clammy side heaved once, twice. The room held its breath. The medic fussed and hurried and refused to stop, not a moment. Calore didn't move, not an inch. And Gavin was gone.

Four days.

It only took four days.

[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=22079637] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/220797/22079637_350.png[/img] [/url] The fine sands trickle like rain from between his steel-forged claws. He sets it down; watches as a cloud of dust rises from where his hand now rests. It has been like this, for the past few days of his travelling. Slow and deliberate. Without attention to time, or anything for the matter, except to pierce the walls of his mind with an obligation he has set upon himself. He sniffs the air, but it has since clogged what sharp ability he'd once had, and the stench of mold and rot ceases to sting his finely flared nostrills. This does not bother him. He walks a few more miles, stopping only to glance at the carved gashes across his wings; reading the states and estimating his current position on the barbaric canvas of damaged flesh. He may have originated from a land of shadows, but this wasteland he knows almost as well as the bowels of his heart. The place is an underworld for ghosts; a beacon for monsters. It is they whom thrive here, beneath the flashing ankles of plague-born clans. That is why he is here, because he has come to recognise this truth. The ghastly light, saunched by the curl of acidic mist. The crimson dome, a mirror to the leather-cracked dirt and the pores of bubbling toxic. He waits, but not for long. He can almost hear them coming. He cocks his ears, as if to listen in on their song of moaning and wailing. If only he will look back, but he will not, because he has done so for as long as he has returned, every year, to mourn their deaths. Strange, that he has memorized every aspect of each and every one of them, and yet he has never truly known them--not in life, at least. [i]My children...please. Mother Plague! Mercy![/i] says one. [i]You were always the firefly in the night, Ritheni[/i] says another. [i]Have supper without me, Winol. I can't come home tonight. [/i] Till death, till death, till death. [Center] [] [/center] [i]Morning in the wasteland did not affect the unnerving lack of a sun. He stumbled many times, not at all accustomed to the bumpy terrain. The smell had caused him to heave up his snack. Still, it was a change of scenery, and even then he had noticed an air of firm regality and a masked trace of a raw beauty Plague held at their whim. Despite that, the Mistress' steady trudge has kept him on his toes so the wirld was a blur, and her abrupt stop had made him jump back a few inches. They hid behind a mound of red soil, and he risked a peak to the bustle of dragons ahead. "A raid, ma'am?" He has asked. "A new word to your books, young one. It is called Ambush." He watched in frozen horror as the Mistress leapt above the mound and with her blades flashing; a silver queen in a court of thorned roses. Yes, that is what they are, a deadly contagion with a purity the world had long ceased to admire. Later that day, when the blinding red and the fountains of blood were dampened by the steady flow of the waves, he dared to ask what dragon deserved the death She had bestowed. The Mistress' cackle was as booming as thunder. "Why, because they are a cancer to the deities of course! A poison to the ocean; a beast that must. Be. Silenced." She showed him her sack, the bloody sack with all their faces. At that moment, he knew they had done no wrong.[/i] [Center] [] [/center] A voice is at his ear. He knows it is the hatchling with the bows on her arms. It is a game the dead like to play, drawing lots on whom should twist his gut with regret. Both sides knew it was not his fault. But it was only ever a game, and the dead were restless for a reciever of the blame. He knows her because she sobbed over her lost ribbon. "Mister," she says in the clicking of Coatl. He catches little of her speech, having studied what he could of the strange language. "It was Zyrin's birthday, did you know? Kawtyx said I looked really pretty. I've been waiting for him to tell me that for so long. Did you know? I was going to tell him that he looked handsome. I was, you know?" He tells himself he shouldn't. He does. Then he walks, away from the distorted landscape of abstract secrecy and twisted art and he whispers a hurried goodbye to the faceless clan that could've been something, if only fate weren't so unkind. Till death, till death, till death. Till next year.

@Teeka Here's my entry. Thank you for hosting this!

"Thiiiiiis is not the Tangled Wood anymore." Anden was not a relaxed Fae at the calmest of times, but now his wings were vibrating with anxiety. "That mushroom has a PUSTULE. That's not natural. That's--" He prodded the fungus with the very tip of his claw. The blister on its surface popped with a smell like rotting pickles. "Oh no," Anden moaned, "no no no..."

Morrow could hear her tiny friend perfectly well, but it often served her best to pretend she could not. The Guardian knew just as well as Anden that they'd crossed the border-- she could feel the ground beneath her immense feet shift from soft pine needles to a sticky, uncertain web of reddish membranes-- and if Anden hadn't been there, she might have indulged herself in a shudder. But he was. And so, "Keep up," she said, and walked on.

As they passed beneath a crooked spire of what appeared to be wet bone, the Fae plastered himself to the top of his friend's head and snaked his neck around until he was speaking directly into her ear. "We cannot be in here," he hissed. "Your parents are one of the oldest families in the Viridian Labyrinth--"

"Thanks, Anden, I'd never heard of them before, so that is definitely new information for me."

"-- So your charge is NOT going to be hidden in this... this stinking morass. Your mother's charge is a tree. Your father's charge is a tree. Your brother's charge is--"

"Again, I can assure you I have in fact met my family."

"It's going to be a tree, Morrow. Do you see any trees here? THAT," he snarled, gesturing at an intestine-like tendril that appeared to be digesting something, "is not a tree. We're going to catch some horrible disease just from touching this stuff. If you're tired of searching the Viridian Labyrinth, I've heard they have perfectly good forests in the Sunbeam Ruins. Not GREAT forests, of course. Not like home. But you could find a lovely larch there, or a-- Glademother, Morrow, don't TOUCH anything!"

Ignoring him, the Guardian continued prying away at a sticky web of some kind of connective tissue until it sprang free with a wet snap. Then she pushed forward, sniffing at the air. It smelled... well, it smelled horrible, of course. But there was something not entirely unfamiliar about it. The rich, rotting complexity of organic matter, the earthy smell of decomposition... it smelled like compost. It smelled like home.

Plaguebringer and Gladekeeper were sisters, after all.

"Plug your nose and hang on tight, buddy," she said to Anden, who'd begun groaning quietly to himself. "I think this may be the place I'm looking for."

@Teeka [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=3229604] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/32297/3229604_350.png[/img] [/url] Ananali, though he looks to be from Plague and currently lives under the shade of the Behemoth tree and wings of the Gladekeeper, hails from the territory of the Icewarden. When he was just a hatchling, he knew he was destined to be a doctor and healer. For centuries, Ice dragons have been field medics. Leaving their homeland to help other dragons in battle with the beastclans. He studied long and hard under a famous healer in his original clan that imparted him with great wisdom. His mentor told him "Go, see the world. There is yet medical technique that even the Icewarden does not know." And so he did. He traveled to almost every one of the other territories. He spoke with dragons young and old, and with every shamen and medicine dragon on the continent. All except Plague. He had avoided plague, for what use does a doctor have entering the most festering, unclean part of the country? In his mind, they were the source of his problems. Plague dragons scared him, and he knew the danger of sickness was high there. But he remembered his mentors words and forged ahead, dubious that he would gain anything and already planning to return to the Icewarden. What he found was the most advanced medical science of any Flight. Every single dragon had knowledge of how disease spreads and the best way to prevent it (or encourage it). The head doctors had intimate knowledge of immune systems and the nature of each individual illness. Because the dragons lived in such conditions for centuries, they were in fact far more advanced at treating illness than even the most specialized doctors of other Flights. They knew so much about bacteria and microorganisms that was only theorized to even exist by others. Truly, they understood every aspect of Plague. He studied there for an immeasurable time. For so long he studied, that the fungus of the Wyrmwound grew over his skin and he looked for all the world to hail from the Plaguebringer. When he felt he could get no more knowledge from the doctors in Plague, he left once more to settle in Nature. He now spends his time finding new medicinal plants and using the priceless knowledge he gained from Plague to improve the lives of dragons everywhere. The fungus of the wyrmwound never truly left him and he considers it an honor to wear. To him, plague represents the salvation of dragons from disease. No dragon should have to suffer. Without plague dragons, willing to live in what many consider hell itself, many of these breakthroughs would never have happened. Plague is determination in the face of something all dragon-kind face. Plague is the harnessing and taming of the tiniest organisms on the planet, those that infect every surface in every Flight, unseen.

((I hope this is OK. I really do think of plague as being about the study of disease among other things. The dragons that live there MUST have advanced immune systems or their babies would die to typhoid or something. The plaguebringer's children have to have a way to protect themselves from the rot, which is neither bad nor good just another natural phenomenon. Humans have eliminated diseases like Smallpox and lived in REALLY hostile places with maleria mosquitos and all kinds of crazy stuff just as a middle finger to disease. Feels like Plague flight. INITIALLY I did believe that plague was about the spread of disease which is kinda evil ya know? but I know no flight is evil so the plaguebringer must have some other purpose, like teaching dragons about disease??? idk this is just my impression. not sure what kind of impressions you were looking for.))

She is determined
Step by measured step
Each movement through force of will
Will not fall
Fall into easy breathing
And still body
To stop moving is to stop all
Stop everything
Regardless of the tattered spirit
The aching deep within bones
There is no surrender
No flag, the marrow of her bones
May not be much but
It is hers
There is a living beyond
Thriving
Pushing through that boundary
To the other side
Living despite all odds
From sheer stubborn refusal to give up
Give in
A fierce and fighting life
One that cries I am here
I am here and I will stay


(My entry!)