Art Sales

@PunchingSolas, thank you! I've sent a one-way CR trade I believe! Just notify me if it didn't get through bc sometimes internet connection gets choppy. Thank you too!

@PunchingSolas (didnt know if i should ping you or not- sorry if youre subscribed)

Dragon: »here«
Character creation: I have character made ||I have a general theme || Please make one up
How many words: 500w ; 30kt
Other Specifications: I'd prefer for her not to be evil- she doesn't have to be kind or have a heart of gold, but I'd like for her to be a good, decent person at the end of the day.
O, and she is wearing her full/final outfit if you want to take inspiration from it.

Also, should I link to your userpage or to this thread when crediting? thank you!

[center] [img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/vtojky74yf4px2i/ok.png[/img] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=24323717] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/243238/24323717_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][Font=Lucida Console][size=5]Cinnamon[/size][/font][/center] [size=2] He was given a name to reflect his mother’s passions. He had an infectious laugh. Clothes that smelled of the warm spices his mother would use when she baked, and eyes that shone like gems with a boyish charm that was difficult to dislike. He was a man of cold hands and a heart that burned with life, his mother comparing him to the very flames that nursed her cooking, with a laugh she would say to him that he ‘burned without burning’. A spiteless fire. He was determined not to be his father. He didn’t understand, nor could he truly ever, what his father had hidden under layers of strange ramblings and distant stares. But Cinnamon saw what it did to his mother, and saw how that distance could break a heart where words did not need to be spoken. Cinnamon would not be like that. And in the times where his father would soften, would chatter and giggle and roll his eyes and tell fantastical stories, Cinnamon would recoil, unable to pull apart the two personalities offered to him, and the fire would start to seep into the lingering resentment that he kept tucked away. Cinnamon had often accompanied his mother, running around as she delivered letters, eyes wide and grimacing as he shifted her movements to avoid the unseen posts that had escaped her vision, dancing circles around her as he clung to his hat, excited. His mother had wished she could tug him back, as if he were a child again. Cinnamon’s attention was easily diverted, and he laughed, playing with the local children, stealing playful glances at the young women, who giggled and shooed him off as he laughed, his mother chiding him on her way to the next home. But it was, of course, home, in which he bestowed his passions upon the privacy of his room. Brushes dipped into paint, spreading colour upon the canvas and marvelling at the intricacy of his designs. Paint was a luxury he knew they could not afford. And so, he smiled, mixing leftover spices with water, watching as the powders turned the liquid to the faintest hues, escaping the world for a better one living inside of his fingertips, only fading back into reality upon hearing the sweet calls of his mother urging him to come and eat. “Take your hat off at the table, Cinnamon.” She frowned, though without malice. Cinnamon had blinked curiously, pulling at the rim of his hat before tugging it off, revealing a mess of fluffy, unkempt hair. “What’ve we got? Whatever it is, smells like I’ll be happy.” He laughed, nose wrinkling and lips curling. He did not wait for a response, humming out a melody as his hands tapped the rickety, wooden table. “Goodness, will you sit still? Honestly, you’ll be in bed before you can even eat!” She laughed. “You’re just like your father, sometimes. All chattering and dancing.” Cinnamon had stilled, gaze downcast as he took in the detail of the old wooden tabletop. He had uttered a laugh, but it wasn’t the same, as she placed dinner in front of him and ruffled soft hair. “Thanks. Love you.” Cinnamon smiled. “I love you too, dear. Eat up!” She cooed, insisting, wasting no time in starting on her own plate. He did not want to confront the idea that he could ever be as similar to his father as he was. [center]@Cacogen[/center] [center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/fgdn0eg85s3xj8k/oki.png[/img][/center] --- Here we are! Thanks again, I hope this is alright!

@Zif

Hi there! A link to this thread would be great if possible!! As soon as you send the payment over I'll get right on it! And don't worry about pings or anything, I am subscribed but I don't mind if you ping me as well!

aaaaah, this is so adorabubble! thank you so much i'm in love!! i'd love to come back once i get more dragons. thank you!!

@PunchingSolas

Dragon (link): Sol
Character creation? I have a general theme

I have a basic thing for her - she's a retired adventurer/explorer (who also knows how to fight) who used to travel around every region. However one day she was found seriously hurt near Zira's clan (our clan) and she was taken there to cure her. Sol doesn't remember what happened despite her good memory and since her wounds were severe she decided to stay. Now she's one who protects younger dragons and works as storyteller in the clan as part of the entertainment dragons!

How many words: 200w (somewhere between 200-300 should be good I think) / 10-12kT?
Other Specifications: I'm ordering this as some kind of test since I'm curious about your writings - if I like how it fits for their bios I may come back since I have quite some dragons who need something like this - thanks :>

[center] [img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/vtojky74yf4px2i/ok.png[/img] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=28426315] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/284264/28426315_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][Font=Lucida Console][size=5]Emilyn[/size][/font][/center] [size=2] Emilyn was fond of the warm winds. Feeling velvet warmth rippling through the canopy of the forest, fluttering through her hair. If she listened closely, she could hear the playful chattering of pixies, gathering on the thin, bending branches to watch her wander like a spirit through the pathless woodland. “Autumn is so close.” Her voice sung like the birds in the sky, movements slow and delicate as she placed herself down in the clearing, deep within the heart of the woods. She shone in the sunlight, rings of gold upon her body rippled to life as the shifting light danced across the metal. The shush of the leaves and the presence of fairies collecting the dew from the morning. Emilyn could forget herself, here. Thoughts of family, of an empty life left with the shadow of responsibility. She could dream of a world bigger than any she had ever seen. Of sands as black as the night sky and twice as shining, or of oceans lilac and endlessly deep. She felt the wind touch past her, the warm shudder pulling at her heartstrings, as she gazed up at the canopy. The start of autumn was upon her. The slow-falling leaves of change had fluttered by, pale greens and honey whisked away by the gusts trailing through the trees. Emilyn had been fond of change, but her head hung at the thought of the inevitable passing of life within the labyrinth of nature, reaching out a hand to stroke the grass with her palm. “And where will I be, this winter...?” She asked herself, but she could not answer, saddened. She was duty-bound to the forest. Duty-bound to collect time within its grounds. A blessing and a curse, but she was its sole protector. In a land in which destruction is brought upon the world, she could not refuse her duty without guilt. Still, as she sat, fingers plucking at the large wood-handled fan, admiring its ancient pattern and peeling it open further, she allowed herself to daydream. A reverie filled with dancing and laughter, a beating city heart and the rushing waters smothered her senses. And she would laugh. She would stand and start to dance, feeling the deep blue wraps unwind as she lost herself to her thoughts. The pixies would giggle and flutter, excited to join, as they collected petals to throw upon her, watching them catch in her wrap, twirling alongside her. And as she settled back onto the forest floor, she had gasped, hearing the rustle of footprints, darting off to hide. Her body lifted into the trees as she waited to gauge the nature of the traveller. She would not allow this forest to be destroyed. Her fan had been gripped in tight fingers, eyes narrow. “I thought I heard someone laugh.” Said the traveller, with his hands on the reins of his horse. He had left, perplexed. “Well, I was warned.” And Emilyn was reminded. A reputation known to the men and women of nearby villages. To beware the forest creature. An evil beast. In the retreating silence left behind by the traveller, she had swung down from the branches. She should not care for a reputation, for the fear in which people passed her forest. But she had been grateful, that the forest had allowed her to forget her loneliness, among it all. [center]@Zif[/center] [center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/fgdn0eg85s3xj8k/oki.png[/img][/center] --- There we are! Hope you like it!

@Hikumi

Hi there! I'm happy to start work as soon as I've gotten the payment! I'm excited to work with her!

[center] [img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/vtojky74yf4px2i/ok.png[/img] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=35328904] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/353290/35328904_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][Font=Lucida Console][size=5]Sol[/size][/font][/center] [size=2] She would weave together stories as if they were silk threads, crafting into them all of the mesmerising theatrics and fantastical vocabulary she could muster. The awe-stricken eyes of the children around her would be glued with eager anticipation. Sol breathed life into her tales. With a rush, she was up, acting out fights against creatures five times her size, as the children giggled, pleased to engage in her epics. And she loved them. A cluster of children to protect and adore, and she was glad it was different to when she was first introduced to the clan. They feared her. Wary and unnerved by her presence, there had been whispers of worry and wide-eyed nervousness. But she was given time, and precious moments of company, she had begun to thrive. Feeling the wind tilt her hat backwards, she had corrected it and returned to her stories. Her necklace clinked as she shifted, arms outstretched as she mimicked the roar of a bear, the children around her gasping with surprise, soon melting into excited giggles, curious to know more. She would stop, to point out a scar, as if her very skin told the same story, glowing with pride at each and every one. To her, they were not wounds, but memories, carved and proof of her victory. Sol didn’t travel as she once did. Her head declined to recall the circumstances of the injury that had brought her to the clan. But as the children darted off to play, to reenact her stories, she would stand, and hobble, bearing the injuries she could not remember, and her heart would long to fly once more, to bring back many more stories to tell. [center]@Hikumi[/center] [center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/fgdn0eg85s3xj8k/oki.png[/img][/center] --- Here you go! I hope this is to your liking!

@Cacogen

You're very welcome! I'm really glad you liked it!