Help Me Dress My Ice Clan's Leader!
Iridescentruby's Clan
Darkness Exists to Make Light Truly Count
Clan Info
8/6/19
There's no one out here.
Yes, at this point, you think you can say that much with a fair degree of certainty. You've spent days treking along the far reaches of this diety-forsaken Snowsquall Tundra, and yet, you've encountered exactly nothing you set out to find. Nothing at all, really, except for the looming shadows of towering pines and the metal bite of frigid air. Even the moon is alone; just a half-lidded silver eye, peeking out from a starless obsidian sky.
Another chilling gale whistles through the woods. You sigh. You're tired. Your feet are soaked from plodding through slush. Your wingtips have gone numb, courtesy of winds rather like the last. Oh, how you would love to be snug inside your lair, dry and warm beside a crackling hearth, watching golden light dance across the cavern walls-
You jolt, stop. There's something sharp- claws, claws pressed to your throat- an entire dragon coils around your neck like a noose. They're small- a Fae, then- but their scales are painfully rough, and those claws are like daggers. For a long moment, you're frozen, you don't dare move a muscle- then you realize you haven't been breathing, and you're swallowing lungfuls of air, so much and so fast that you could give the Windsinger a run for his treasure. You're alone, you remember. If those claws pierce your skin, no one will hear you scream-
A Skydancer rises from the shadows of the pines, drawing your attention. Her gilded armor gleams like a sun in the night. Beneath it, flame-orange and smoke-brown plumage is ruffled, and lean muscle is drawn taut, like a manticore stalking towards prey. Bright eyes blaze with harsh ferocity, blue comets boring into you, and, suddenly, you aren't sure which of these dragons poses more of a threat.
"Why are you here?" she demands.
And if breathing was hard, well, forming coherent sentences around the pressure on your throat and the fear in your heart is a nearly herculean task. You fumble for words, stuttering and backtracking, and only when the claws dig just a bit deeper do you pause, collect your breath and your thoughts, and say: The Clan of the Whiteout. They're why you're here, you admit aloud. You're just looking for them.
The Skydancer's eyes don't leave yours, but she doesn't reply, either. The Fae twined around you is equally silent, equally still. Too still. It occurs to you, suddenly: maybe they are afraid.
"Congratulations," says the Skydancer dryly. "You found us."
She prowls closer, ever closer. The metal plates of her armor clang against eachother with every step. She's tall, taller than you, and she archs her neck to keep those fierce eyes locked on yours. When she speaks again, her voice is devoid of pleasantries and snark, devoid of anything except for the low, growling undercurrent of a threat.
"Now, who, exactly, are you?"
Yes, at this point, you think you can say that much with a fair degree of certainty. You've spent days treking along the far reaches of this diety-forsaken Snowsquall Tundra, and yet, you've encountered exactly nothing you set out to find. Nothing at all, really, except for the looming shadows of towering pines and the metal bite of frigid air. Even the moon is alone; just a half-lidded silver eye, peeking out from a starless obsidian sky.
Another chilling gale whistles through the woods. You sigh. You're tired. Your feet are soaked from plodding through slush. Your wingtips have gone numb, courtesy of winds rather like the last. Oh, how you would love to be snug inside your lair, dry and warm beside a crackling hearth, watching golden light dance across the cavern walls-
You jolt, stop. There's something sharp- claws, claws pressed to your throat- an entire dragon coils around your neck like a noose. They're small- a Fae, then- but their scales are painfully rough, and those claws are like daggers. For a long moment, you're frozen, you don't dare move a muscle- then you realize you haven't been breathing, and you're swallowing lungfuls of air, so much and so fast that you could give the Windsinger a run for his treasure. You're alone, you remember. If those claws pierce your skin, no one will hear you scream-
A Skydancer rises from the shadows of the pines, drawing your attention. Her gilded armor gleams like a sun in the night. Beneath it, flame-orange and smoke-brown plumage is ruffled, and lean muscle is drawn taut, like a manticore stalking towards prey. Bright eyes blaze with harsh ferocity, blue comets boring into you, and, suddenly, you aren't sure which of these dragons poses more of a threat.
"Why are you here?" she demands.
And if breathing was hard, well, forming coherent sentences around the pressure on your throat and the fear in your heart is a nearly herculean task. You fumble for words, stuttering and backtracking, and only when the claws dig just a bit deeper do you pause, collect your breath and your thoughts, and say: The Clan of the Whiteout. They're why you're here, you admit aloud. You're just looking for them.
The Skydancer's eyes don't leave yours, but she doesn't reply, either. The Fae twined around you is equally silent, equally still. Too still. It occurs to you, suddenly: maybe they are afraid.
"Congratulations," says the Skydancer dryly. "You found us."
She prowls closer, ever closer. The metal plates of her armor clang against eachother with every step. She's tall, taller than you, and she archs her neck to keep those fierce eyes locked on yours. When she speaks again, her voice is devoid of pleasantries and snark, devoid of anything except for the low, growling undercurrent of a threat.
"Now, who, exactly, are you?"
Hi there! I'm IridescentRuby (Or Ruby, or Iri, or literally whatever you want to call me- I'm not super picky!) and what you see above is a brief glimpse into the story of my clan: the Clan of the Whiteout. Every dragon has a bit of lore, though I haven't quite gotten around to writing most of it.
Anyway, here's a bit about me! ^_^
Fun Facts:
• She/Her pronouns
• +3 hours FR time
• Zodiac: Cancer
• MBTI: INFP
• Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff
• I'm a bit shy, but not unfriendly, so feel free to say hi!!
Media I'm Into Right Now:
• Steven Universe
• Fruits Basket
• Pokemon
• Spiderverse
• ... Warriors (Once it sucks you in, you can't leave)
• And probably more?
~Wishlist~
Secondary Gene: Breakup (Gaoler) (1)
Primary Gene: Iridescent (1)
Secondary Gene: Shimmer (1)
Breed Change: Tundra (1)
Dusk Rogue Hood (1)
Marigold Lei (1)
Unearthly Onyx Grasp (1)
Gold Filigree Banner (1)
Ruby Starsilk Circlet (1)
Recent Comments
Oasis was on the front page!
Brightsky was on the front page! Simply beautiful!
AAAAA YOUR LORE PREVIEW GAVE ME CHILLS
wow i love Orion imma steal
Lotus and Ovid have produced four eggs. I'll make sure to incubate them daily so that they'll be ready by your bday ❤️
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