Basement

Dragon Name
pronouns ◇ gender (optional)
Clan Name

Description

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Hello, I'm PMing you because you're dorming dragons for me! Thank you for your support of Arcane.

Tomorrow is the first day of the battle, and when I'll first be available to take my dragons. (I will be available throughout the entire week.) Send whenever your space allows for returns; the sooner the better, but I understand if it is impossible to send my dragons back out all at once. I prefer that my dragons be sent via 1t PAs, but if this not viable then CRs are perfectly fine.

It is okay if dragons can't be returned tomorrow! Dragons can be sent throughout the entire week, just please send before DAY, MM/DD/YYYY. I am unlikely to accept dragons on MM/DD and beyond.

If you need to contact me for any reason, you may PM me back. Good luck!

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Quiet skittering. Silence. A scritch-scratch here, a rustling there.

The rat - if it is a rat - scoots the last of her gifts into place, scans her meticulous handiwork with all twenty eyes, and scampers back into the shadows.

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Picture the scene: you're at a show held inside of an abandoned warehouse. The inside is cramped, dusty, but the audience doesn't care - let the cities keep their symphony halls.

(Here on the Wiretangle Walk, Goldensparc and Tempest Spire sit always in view but never in reach, and these days you'd love nothing more than to take a hammer to their pristine towers.)

It's dark save for some mining lamps strung above the wooden pallets that serve as a stage. You wonder if that stage will finally crack apart this time, with the way the Snapper in the back is thumping their tail and feet against it. Or maybe it'll be the Bogsneak drummer; their array of barrels clangs thunderously under each knock of their mallet. You're sure that the Spiral left of center would join the destruction were they not playing a guitar. Sparks fly where their prosthetic claws pluck the steel strings.

The Aberration singer chants a furious duet. "CROSS THE LINE," howls the left head. "I'LL BEAT YOU BLIND", spits the right. The crowd chants along with them, left side to right side, as two Banescale tilt a massive pipe back & forth overhead. The nuts & bolts inside it slide to the rhythm, faster and faster until -

- it all just stops. The Spiral draws a cello bow across the strings of their guitar, swirling, droning, rising. A Nocturne who had hidden near the ceiling until now swoops down and booms:

"GEEEEET BAAAAACK TO WOOOOORK!"

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