Art Sales
For commissions and flat-sale of your creative efforts.
TOPIC | | lore aesthetics |
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[size=1]realised that i had to specify 'written' because I can't do moodboards at [i]all[/i].[/size] would anyone be interested in getting some written aesthetics for your dragon? very [b]Dramatic [/b]and possibly [b]Over the Top[/b] for all your edgy needs. [center][size=3.5][u]Payment[/u][/size] [item=copper muck] [item=grey slime] [emoji=gem size=6] [b](and any other spare familiars or apparel! see below for exact pricing) [/b] [U]SPECIAL NOTN OFFER[/U] [item=strange chest] [b]TWO OF THESE FOR THREE AESTHETICS! [/b][/center] [center][u](1 claimed slot will get you 3 aesthetics maximum!) [/u][/center] [center][size=3.5][u]Slots[/u][/size] 1. myriadofstars 2. Quintillion 3. Tuath [b]Dragon aesthetics:[/b] 10 gems or 4 pieces of slime/muck/apparel/familiars each [b]Clan aesthetics:[/b] 15 gems or 6 pieces of slime/muck/apparel/familiars each (+3g or 1 slime/muck/familiar/apparel if you want it adjusted to fit in a certain chara limit; please specify this in your order! you don't have to worry about this if what I've written happens to already fit) Other methods of payment are also fine! Just ping me and ask ;) ----- also, i may occasionally do some commentary to explain why i chose to write some stuff, especially if I reference some media outside FR (so far it's just been Shakespeare and poems). (one more thing! this is not strictly necessary but very appreciated: if your dragon is a fandragon/based on some off-site thing, some context or at least info in the dragon's bio would really help in my writing of the aesthetic!)
realised that i had to specify 'written' because I can't do moodboards at all.

would anyone be interested in getting some written aesthetics for your dragon? very Dramatic and possibly Over the Top for all your edgy needs.

Payment




(and any other spare familiars or apparel! see below for exact pricing)


SPECIAL NOTN OFFER

TWO OF THESE FOR THREE AESTHETICS!

(1 claimed slot will get you 3 aesthetics maximum!)
Slots
1. myriadofstars
2. Quintillion
3. Tuath

Dragon aesthetics: 10 gems or 4 pieces of slime/muck/apparel/familiars each

Clan aesthetics: 15 gems or 6 pieces of slime/muck/apparel/familiars each
(+3g or 1 slime/muck/familiar/apparel if you want it adjusted to fit in a certain chara limit; please specify this in your order! you don't have to worry about this if what I've written happens to already fit)

Other methods of payment are also fine! Just ping me and ask ;)



also, i may occasionally do some commentary to explain why i chose to write some stuff, especially if I reference some media outside FR (so far it's just been Shakespeare and poems).

(one more thing! this is not strictly necessary but very appreciated: if your dragon is a fandragon/based on some off-site thing, some context or at least info in the dragon's bio would really help in my writing of the aesthetic!)
tumblr_o8jld6tRHZ1tv56zio6_250.png __
>> hatchery
>> lore aesthetics shop
[size=1]im dyin' scoob[/size] here are the commissions I've completed so far: [size=3.5][u]Clans[/u][/size] [quote=Otherworld][font=centaur]A sense of the broken and the whole, the fractured and the healed. To whom do you pledge your loyalty to when reality crumbles around your ears? To old incense, dusty altars, ancient gods, or to volatile prayers, tricky lies, new deities? Priests stand alongside non-believers, fighting with and for spirits and demons and all manner of eldritch beings and otherworldly creatures. If there is comfort to be had from this chaos it is this: rules still exist in this divine madness; for those who seek refuge, bleeding and broken and battle-worn, they [i]will [/i]keep you [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/1#post_35417772]safe[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=The Syndicate][font=centaur]The only rule: [i]no questions[/i]. It's hard to bury bodies beneath the permafrost. Somewhere, a machine hums its quiet song in a dark alcove as the caw of a crow is heard in the distance. Chess pieces in disarray, a blade dripping with a liquid much darker than blood, a secret told behind closed doors. Hollow masks shutter the windows to the soul; the wind whispers secrets no one dares say aloud. The only truth here is that we are all full of [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/3#post_35429983]lies[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=The Starlight Clan][font=centaur][i]We are made of stardust, you and I.[/i] A warm bowl of soup and a comfortable nest awaits the weary, yet a hushed warning rings out true: even as the clan struggles to find its footing, there is a storm howling its battle cry on the horizon. Windchimes tinkle softly over a lair awash with light from the ever-glowing crystals of the Arcanist's domain; there is uncertainty, but there is hope, too. If there is disaster in our future, we shall face it [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/4#post_35466596]together[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Clan Avnokodro][font=centaur]All are welcome. The inviting surface of a lake betrays its depth; dragons stand among gods and extraterrestrials, among dragons who are not quite draconic in appearance-- too many eyes and too many [i]teeth[/i]-- and among outcasts and outlaws. [i]We are from the great beyond.[/i] Dark ooze drips from many gaping maws as a force threatens to devour everything they've ever known, yet to the battle-worn and even star-crossed, it is a challenge they are willing to face. A friend's warm greeting, a lover's gentle embrace. Home may be light years away, but it is also [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/4#post_35470832]here[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=The Melohn, Followers of the Arenji][font=centaur]Save your prayers and your breath, these deities do not deserve you. It's never predestination or kismet-- free will triumphs over fate, [i]always[/i]. A snake basks in the heat of the wasteland sun, cool scales iridescent over red sand; overhead, a cloud heaves its wisp of a self across the horizon. Give thanks where you should and respect those worthy of it. There is no higher power, no divine authority. When you strip the elements and the deities away, all you will find in the ashes is [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35492289]me[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=The League of Valor][font=centaur]There is potential to be found within every dragon, of course, and to bring it out is in itself, an act of beauty. An artifact, ancient in its origin, hums with untold power and whispers in a language never meant to be spoken aloud-- you meddle with that which you do not understand. Where the sunlight illuminates, the lair itself and its inhabitants seems to shine, but some of us know how to hide from the damning truth and the blinding light. When judgement comes, you will understand: nothing is as it seems. Prove your worth. Earn your place. [i]Or [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35492647]else[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Clan Guardianite][font=times new roman][i]Listen[/i]. Can you hear it? Sometimes it is the tumultuous sea that the howling winds sweep over, and sometimes it is the empty caves themselves that issue forth the dreadful noise. The dragons here welcome you with open arms-- there is weariness in their eyes, but kindness as well-- and give you shelter willingly. No one starves. Old ruins and ancient buildings stand among shiny towers and newly-constructed temples. One may find peace here, if that is what they truly [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/11#post_36103545]seek[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Cultists][font=times new roman]Hunger and fear and rage. And through it cuts the rot: beloved, festering pestilence and its shifting undertow of madness. Are you as willing to die for a beloved friend as you are to kill them? Rotting bone chimes and velvet-lined caskets, glittering jewellery and putrid flesh--out in the wild domain of the Plaguebringer, Blessed is Her Name, they are one and the same. Forget loyalty, devotion, faith; only prove that you can survive. There will never be a stronger [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_38033303]prayer[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=crown][font=times new roman]Glass and crystal held together by sheer will. Gilded doors and vast libraries. A spire that pierces the heavens. And within the walls that thrum with sheer power lie tenets, beliefs, [i]gods[/i]. Power, purity, destruction, fear, and retribution--an entire pantheon's worth and more. I ask you this: have you seen a more beautiful shrine? A grander testament to strength? A bluer sky? Around the temple, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45694501]away[/url]. [/font][/quote] [size=3.5][u]Dragons[/u][/size] [quote=Valour][font=centaur]A scent in the air, faint tracks in the dirt. Cold detachment, bloody claws, lost faith. And yet, beneath the scars, the armour, the scowl, there is grief and remorse and burning [i]fury[/i]. Death comes, even to the strongest of warriors, even to her own sister. A resolve as unyielding as steel; sharp claws and sharper teeth. She will burn no offerings and pray to no deity, not till the killer lies dead at her [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/1#post_35417000]feet[/url]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Tasmira][font=centaur]False gods, wine thicker than blood, a frantic prayer to a deity who neither cares nor [i]exists[/i]. Only cowards stoop to subtlety. The damned will die in the gutters like the rest of us. Old bloodstains on dusty cloth and a scatter of bone shards across a marble slab. She's been playing this game long before you knew its name. There is nothing [i]holy [/i]and nothing [i]sacred [/i]about death for its own [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/2#post_35419362]sake[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Rose][font=centaur]Poisoned wine, slit throats, shallow graves. No action is without purpose. The soft hush of feathers brushing against scale and fur. Sleeping powder concealed in a hollow jewel embedded in a ring, a honey-sweet smile in the gloom, a letter describing mistruths and dark secrets. A single rose petal flutters to the floor and comes to rest in a bed of thorns; if this empire is to crumble, it will be by [i]her [/i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/2#post_35419362]hand[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Gabriel][font=centaur]Listen. He's always watching. Eye in the sky, ear to the ground. A porcelain cup filled with warm tea, the starched, stiff collar of a black suit, the peaceful quiet of a waiting room as a blizzard howls and shrieks outside. Claws tap a soft beat on polished mahogany. Brazenness boils beneath the patient lid of a watched pot; careful, careful. [i]Sometimes, the problems fix [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/3#post_35429983]themselves[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Johan][font=centaur]Perfection personified. Glacial eyes peer from beneath a mask of marble; the only thing warm about him is the jewelry, and even that is freezing to the touch. The unforgiving ice, the unrelenting cold. Dexterous claws flit over organised files. It's only a job, there's nothing personal about it. Waste not, want not; slit throats and shallow graves. [i]It's only a [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/3#post_35429983]job[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Fahrenheit][font=centaur]Do what you must. The rule of threes: muses, treasures, winters, furies. The student surpasses the master, but only at his behest. A rack of clean test tubes, a polished marble surface, the sharp snap of new elastic. [i]This may hurt a little[/i]. One can only remain objective for so long; if you must, you may love, but lavish your attention upon the subject of your adoration and do so [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/3#post_35429983]sparingly[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=FourtySeven][font=centaur]It's over. The song is sung, the play performed, the revelries ended. Nothing but the husk of an old world. No life but the twisted shadows of dragonkind and their warped remains. The rustle of torn curtains against a dusty windowsill, the light tread of a dragon keen to avoid waking the dead, a once-busy temple now empty and abandoned. One should not waste their tears on an era long past. As they always will, tides shall change once [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/3#post_35429983]more[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Kekepani][font=centaur]Remember, phoenixes rise from [i]ash[/i]. Fiery eyes flare with the strength of a thousand volcanoes-- consider yourself fortunate if you never have that terrible gaze turned upon you. Old gods, new gods, what does it matter? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; whatever the case, she'll get up, spit out the blood in her mouth, and go down in a [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/3#post_35444096]blaze[/url][/i]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Volans][font=centaur]'Forever' holds little meaning; at least, to [i]her[/i]. Eyes that have seen the ends of time and space and back, claws that have touched the corners of the world, wings that have borne constellations, [i]stars[/i]-- she breathes the rhythm of the universe, weaves her garments from the very fabric of reality, drinks deep from a well of infinite knowledge. The vastness of space can make one feel very, very small [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/4#post_35457733]indeed[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Ulixes][font=centaur]The scent of blood hangs, thick and cloying, in the air. It's the thrill of the hunt, it's the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Bloodstained fabric, new scars, fresh tracks. When he stops, it's because his lungs are near-bursting and he's dizzy from the exertion; until then, he'll keep going. Until then, he won't falter, won't hesitate, won't [i]break[/i], not till he returns, a fresh brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder and a bloody grin on his [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/4#post_35457733]face[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Efterar][font=centaur]Rotting flesh, bones gnawed by teeth, charms and trinkets long since drained of magic. [i]You would look lovely stuffed and mounted on my wall.[/i] Dying may be a natural process, but no one said it had to be [i]permanent[/i]. The smell of fresh linen and myrrh wafts in the breeze; in the distance, someone sings a litany and prays to a deity who neither listens nor cares. [i]Death, be not [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/4#post_35466510]proud[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Oak][font=centaur]Ashes to ash-- [i]wait, that's not right.[/i] Sunlight filters through the foliage and casts dancing shadows upon the earth; a bird trills its sweet song as a fox noses its way through the undergrowth. All of this is his, all of this is the forest's. The rustle of wind-brushed leaves, the solid trunk of a thousand year old redwood, the surly step of a creature more earth and tree than [i]dragon[/i]. When death comes, the underbrush will lay claim to the body. Dust to [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/4#post_35466510]dust[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Teleri][font=centaur]Death is rank on her tongue and in her nose; she is born, raised, [i]killed[/i] in a Plague clan-- only to be brought back to life once more. The stench of rotting flesh, the clatter of bone against bone, the stains of old battles and lost war. An amulet hums its rotten song in a locked and forgotten chest.[i] Your very existence defies the tenets that your deity so dearly upholds[/i]. Mercy is still understood, even without a heart, and she will dare and defy till she breathes her last breath once [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35492395]more[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Thaloyss][font=centaur]Sight impedes-- the worthy have little use for a sense that so easily deceives as it reveals. A serpent watches silently in the gathering dusk, its eyes highly intelligent and of a glittering garnet-red. A miasma, bitter and heavy, hangs about its head-- you won't notice till it strikes and you won't feel a thing until your heart stops beating. [i]It pays to toy with [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35492395]death[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Hazel][font=centaur]Unshakable, irrepressible will hides behind a veneer of shyness and insecurity. Light filters through stained glass and alights, dancing red-orange-gold upon white marble. Giving up was never an option, even as a dark, viscous goop clawed its way up her throat and warned of an infection that would never leave. She'd choke, sometimes, and hesitate on her journey, but her claws would pick up the pace and she would keep going. No matter the cost. No matter the [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35492395]pain[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Nalance][font=centaur]History is not kind to old gods. Elemental deities now rule this pitiful earth-- no place has this world for a weary wolf-god. He wanders with heavy paws, waiting for prayers in a language that died eons ago; far away, a mournful howl pierces the inky veil of the night. The moon shines mercilessly down and showers all in bright silver. The earth is hard, unyielding. And still, he walks [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35492395]on[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Yadyra][font=centaur]Blood pulses, hot and heavy, through veins which once carried molten gold; you'll believe in saints and sinners when you've seen him in his full glory. He knows compassion and kindness, yet it is righteous fury with which he is most familiar. Light bathes a jewel-encrusted goblet in the gold of a thousand suns, glinting off a war-stained blade. Red as rubies, red as blood. [i]There is nothing so dangerous and so terrifying as a creature shunned from Heaven's [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35566967]light[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Aries][font=centaur]You [i]think [/i]you know pain, that is, until your soul-- the very [i]essence [/i]of your being-- is hacked into two by your own brother's hand. Fickle creatures the deities are, as ever-changing and unpredictable as the sky. Gentle claws stitch the ragged edges of a gaping wound together as a chiding tongue clucks softly in sympathy. [i]There and back again.[/i] Gods can be forgotten, but we are not so easily [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35566967]killed[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Scourge][font=centaur]The stench of a rotting carcass fills the air, already thick with the stench of blood and bile. He reeks of it. [i]Death[/i]. Twisted bone protrudes from an impossible body-- the limbs are disproportionate, the tail whip-like, the teeth too sharp and far, far too numerous for a head of that size. And the [i]eyes[/i]! It is a gaze that strikes one with horror. [i]O' Mother, why have you forsaken [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35566967]me[/url]?[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Nameless][font=centaur]He sees everything-- past, present, future, all laid out before him like a tapestry that stretches into infinity. Sudden chills, indescribable terror, a feeling that something is distinctly [i]wrong[/i] yet never quite being able to place a claw on it. He watches, listens, and heeds the council of the creatures that dig their claws into flesh and fur. Everything unfurls as it should. Always. [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/5#post_35566967]Forever[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Tidus][font=centaur]Not once does he, swaddled in the cradle of wealth and privilege, allow himself to grow complacent and ignorant. Bloody uprisings, vicious rebellions, burning empires. He watches as his birthplace is razed to the ground, and all he does is [i]smile[/i]. There is knowledge to be gained from this experience. Horrible, gaping maws dark as the Shade itself extend to the heavens as if they could shred the Sun with razor-sharp teeth. [i]Be careful, child.[/i] One should not meddle with that which they do not [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/6#post_35586726]understand[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Creation][font=centaur]Loyalty is a blade forged in hardship and cooled by love. Emerald-green eyes meet garnet-red ones; what is the fury of deities compared to your lover's tender gaze? Two sides, same coin. A thought plants its roots and weaves itself through the mind, as persistent and stubborn as a sickness. Trust the ache in your chest and the longing in your heart, and remember that the monsters we create are of our own device. [i]In sickness and in [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/6#post_35586726]health[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Destruction][font=centaur]Survival is blood on your teeth and bile in your throat. The pain is unbearable at times and the stench never leaves-- wounds that never heal eventually begin to [i]decay[/i]-- yet against all odds she manages to find companionship. A sapling pushes its way up through rust-red dirt and flourishes-- she will not die a [i]runt[/i]. If the Wasteland can find harmony with the Labyrinth, perhaps there is hope for the both of them. [i]Till death do us [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/6#post_35586726]part[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Ayla][font=centaur]Slender fingers lift a goblet to her lips; she drinks full and deep of a liquid that is more vinegar than wine. Gold and black mottles the vision and a certain holy ringing-- from swords or from bells it is impossible to tell-- fills the ears. She is older, [i]wiser[/i]. Polished blades and towering ivory towers and holy blood spilled across pristine marble tiles. [i]If the path I walk will bring me the honour I deserve, I myself will carve it from my own heart and no one [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35631836]else's[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Azxa][font=centaur]One would be a fool to believe in a creature so fickle as [i]death[/i]. If you mean to gain, you must first give something up; it is fortunate, perhaps, that most of the clan are very much expendable. Old charms, cracked amulets, dusty potion bottles. Even the best, the brightest, the [i]cruellest [/i] of necromancers cannot escape death. When her frail and ancient form succumbs at last and exhales one final time, her bones will not be laid to rest in a grave. [i]Why play the game when I hold all the [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35631836]cards[/url]?[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Sargonnas][font=centaur]Blind fury, righteous anger. He lives and fights and dies in the spirit of every warrior that falls on the battlefield; they whisper his name as they breathe their last and scream it, too, as they make one final charge, invoking a god who listens and gives freely. Innocents die in war, as do blood-soaked saints and corrupt priests. Even as he stands, holy and untouchable, well above the writhing, suffering masses, and wonders why his own heart must betray him so, the truth of it is undeniable: even the gods have rules they must obey, and after all, why fight and bleed and die for a cause you do not [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35631836]love[/url][/i]?[/font][/quote] [quote=Thanatos][font=centaur]Steely honour and blind trust is never a good combination. Blood-soaked bandages, a small pot of healing balm, and a face that is more scar tissue than scales. Zeal, desperation, and resentment rings hollow in a chest scarred with the ravages of war where anger should be, but a heart, still forgiving and still beating, wards it off. Keep trust close and betrayal closer, for till your allies abandon you, you will never understand true [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35634016]fear[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Styx][font=centaur]She will find it. She [i]has [/i]to. Too long has this puzzled her: where is the line between life and death? Where does our first life end and the other begin? The obsessions fuels experiments, horrific in the eyes of the world and yet necessary in hers. A rack of polished surgical instruments twinkle sharply under the harsh lights. She will cut the truth [i]out[/i], and it doesn't have to be from a corpse. No one says, [i]enough[/i], no one says, [i]stop[/i], and that is mostly because no one is left to do [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35634016]so[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Sclerosis][font=centaur]One can be a little [i]too[/i] acquainted with pain, so know this, then, that she has had a lifetime of it and she has had [i]enough[/i]. Taunting jabs, sharp jibes; sticks and stones, you understand, but the cruelty doesn't just stop at [i]words[/i]. The sunrise in the Wasteland is always blood-red, like the sky torn and bleeding and wide-open, vulnerable, split against stone before the world's gaze. There may be fear and confusion and desperation, but fortunately, there is always [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35634016]hope[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Morbus][font=centaur]One can only control so [i]much[/i]. Rage, red as blood, red as roses, fills the vision of a dragon so tormented by himself that he's long since forgotten what it is like to [i]feel[/i]-- there is no anger and no fear, only disgust. It is worse, somehow. The sun sets quickly in the Wasteland, and purples mix with golds and reds, a bright bruise across the quieting sky. There may be rage and resentment and bitterness, but mercifully, there will always be [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35634016]love[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Maledictus][font=centaur][i]Careful, little one. The gods are not kind to those who waste their lives on vengeance. [/i]He remembers the smiles, the laughter, the kindness, and he remembers the blood, the chaos, the screams. It fills his dreams, haunts his waking moments. A broken sword lies shattered on a polished stone altar and incense burns from an old copper bowl. [i]Icewarden, hear my prayer.[/i] The quest will consume him, there is little doubt. Yet when he stands and meets the red-gold sunset of the imperial who slaughtered his family, even the deities themselves will watch and [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35634016]wait[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Apollo][font=centaur]You [i]think [/i]you know pain, that is, until you realise that the blood on your claws is that of your own brother's and you know that from this point onward, you will be made to never forget it. Where there once was anger, there is now guilt and gratitude; even [i]gods [/i]must yield. Pale scars stretch across broad shoulders and warm fingers brush against bruised ribs. Gods do not die easily, but that does not mean that we cannot be [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35668202]imprisoned[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Gingko][font=centaur]In another life, water filled her lungs and she drowned, alone and nameless in a raging sea. But in [i]this [/i]one, someone pulls her from the sea and fills her heart with life and love and wonder instead. A storm will yield to nothing and no one; she is as unrelenting as the tempest itself. Cautious claws touch the scar tissue on her face and she shudders a sigh in response. For every breath, every cry, every beat of her wings, she remembers who she has [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/7#post_35721417]become[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Grissom][font=centaur]Ash-grey clouds blot out the sun as a storm looms in the horizon. Steady claws grip the ships wheel as a voice, loud as thunder, barks orders at scurrying dragons. He can almost [i]taste[/i] the tempest; ozone burns lightning-sharp on the tip of his tongue and the magic in his veins crackle and surge with anticipation. The cold shock of seaspray, the whip-crack of sails as they snap open, the howl of the dreadful wind-- and as the storm approaches, he lifts his head and roars a [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/8#post_35729572]welcome[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Hawthorn][font=centaur]Death, he knows, is as soft as a lover's embrace and dark as a wolf's mouth; life, on the other hand, tastes bitter and ozone-sharp and [i]hurts[/i]. Once [i]bitten[/i]-- he's never been able to quite get the image of white silk on scales the colour of fresh cream out of his head. Roses have thorns, remember; it was just his luck that he fell for the blossom whose thorns cut deepest of all. Gentle claws set a mug of hot cocoa down and patient blue eyes peer kindly out from behind round lenses. Love, it seems, is the prerogative of [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/9#post_35837203]fools[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Damao][font=centaur]A blizzard howls its mournful song outside as a fire crackles in a hearth and a lover's soft lips kiss the mouth of a dragon unused to affection. [i]It won't last[/i], she remembers thinking, even as her claws trace patterns on her lover's bare wings and her heart aches for some semblance of love. The ice is harsh, unyielding, unkind; she forces herself to become unfeeling so that the pain will go away, and [i]yet[/i]. What was meant to numb only cuts deeper, only hurts [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/9#post_35864623]more[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Mordecai][font=centaur]Quick claws flit over a register as a keen eye tracks dates, numbers, records. A stray coin, separated from the safety of the hoard, glints in the setting sun before being snatched up and returned to its rightful place. She has to get it right, she [i]has[/i] to-- dragons count on her to keep track, and where would they be if she made a mistake in her calculations? What of the foodstores, the waterskins? So she works, sniffing reproachfully when someone brings in their records late, but all the same having only their best interests at [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/11#post_35931469]heart[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Ebb][font=centaur]She shines at first glance, all bright eyes and reflective scales. A heavenly spotlight bathes a stage in blinding white as the opening notes to a familiar song begins. A claw bedecked with rings taps the beat out, a chin tilts up to reveal a necklace glittering and encrusted with jewels. Something swells like a river within her-- pride, confidence, who knows-- and, as her expectant audience falls silent, she opens her mouth and [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/11#post_35931469]sings[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Solarblade][font=times new roman]Rustling pages, fresh parchment, and a cup of hot tea on a cold, rainy morning. There is so much she doesn't know, so much to be catalogued and recorded, and even as she recovers from one trip around Sorineth, she is planning another; maybe to the Labyrinth, this time, or even the [i]Wasteland[/i]-- she pauses, the tip of her quill hovering over the parchment. The universe holds its breath. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Back to [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/11#post_36103612]work[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Mythblade][font=times new roman]A fresh batch of fireworks, a crate full of volatile substances, and a lit match. Her patience is the short fuse to her dynamite eagerness and enthusiasm (tinged, of course, by the innocence of youth). One cannot blame her curiosity. Still, even as her steady claws and watchful eye offer [i]some [/i]reassurance, less can be said for her temper. The innocence of youth is a fickle, wonderful thing. The match flickers to life, illuminating a wide, satisfied smile. Time to find [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/11#post_36103612]out[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Shikan][font=times new roman]You won't know what's she's thinking, not till she tells you herself in that knife-sharp rasp of a voice. Some dragons only [i]look [/i]powerful, she, on the other hand, reeks of it. An old sword lies somewhere in her treasure trove of trophies, among the bones and the trinkets, and it is stained with blood and rust. It is a relic, a reminder of her first kill-- and unfortunately, not her last. At least you can tell when she is furious; oh, even the deities must tremble to imagine her [i][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/11#post_36103612]wrath[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Unnamed][font=times new roman][i]Two Lightning dragons walk into a wasteland.[/i] This is how she knows she isn't meant to be alive: the ever-present, sharp, metallic tang of blood in her mouth, the constant clicks and whirs of her jaw when she opens it to speak, and the ache of her new limbs that she must grow accustomed to. Hope fuels her, childish wonder sustains her. She gives the one thing she has never properly received but has always held true in her heart. [i]One seeks love. The other [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/12#post_36485300]seeks[/url]...[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Mamba][font=times new roman][i]Two Lightning dragons walk into a wasteland.[/i] She shouldn't be able to feel-- like the unyielding, hard metal that is her body, her wings, her face-- and [i]yet[/i]. We are not the monsters others make of us. Lightning tears the sky apart in bright forked as thunder roars and winds howl. She does not flinch at the sight, not till a claw (so very warm and so very [i]small[/i]) slips into hers and a high voice calls her name. She can't help it, then. [i]One seeks redemption. The other [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/12#post_36485300]seeks[/url]...[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Sylvan][font=times new roman]Strength is power, cunning, and trust. Pry back brittle bone, brusque manner, toughened scales, and unyielding gaze; push past the rot and the infected flesh; peel away the mask of a zealot and the will of the Plaguebringer to find... a vessel. A willing one, at that. Sharp claws curl around the skull of a another--a cradle, nurturing. How is one to describe an avatar of destruction, especially one capable of [i][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_38033303]love[/url][/i]?[/font][/quote] [quote=Peony][font=times new roman]Strength is sacrifice, devotion, and trust. A tiny, diminutive frame hides the willpower of a seasoned warrior, and bright, flinty eyes speak of power (and madness) unheard of. Not even a mask of bone can hide it. Step into her shoes, why don't you? Devotion like wildfire: consuming and devouring and feasting. And after, bearing the scars with pride. Why simply declare your love when you can [i]show [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_38033303]it[/url][/i]?[/font][/quote] [quote=Gangrene][font=times new roman][i]To die—to sleep, no more[/i]. Creation and recreation, and the blurriness between. What happens if we toe the line? A spark in a blank gaze, a desperate ache for continuity, a good meal not wasted. Shake it off, it's just a scratch. One can claim to understand fate and fortune, but you will never know her: standing unflinching at the end of all things and at the new beginning. [i]'Tis a consummation devoutly to be [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_38033303]wish'd[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Erebos][font=times new roman]Bitter wine, incense offerings, and shallow graves. The only difference between a real god and a false one is belief--and even that is a threshold easily crossed. A light flits among the trees, a lantern carried by a lost traveller on the edge of exhaustion; his are not the only pair of eyes watching. It is one thing to embrace the solemn night, it is another thing entirely to[i] become [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_45693446]it[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Thresh][font=times new roman]Second chances and praise like honey. Every inch of him glittering and glimmering in the dusk, a pretty beacon for wandering spirits and weary souls. It's a strange thing; the light of the lantern does nothing to chase the darkness away. Sweet incense and blood like wine. And the [i]screams[/i]... There is a fate worse than death, and his careful words and sweet smile will usher you right into [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_45693446]it[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Shelby][font=times new roman] Almost as harsh and as loving as the roiling sea. She has never minced her words for a soul and she isn't planning to start now. Waves that heave to the height of the Behemoth, lightning that turns the sky a blinding white, winds wild enough to tear the sails off a seventy-four-gun galleon; the sudden, deafening quiet after the storm. All of it contained in a wiry body and eyes like polished [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/16#post_45693524]flint[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Cirilla][font=times new roman]A warmth that comforts at first but soon grows stifling and unbearable. Have you looked into her eyes? Have you turned your gaze to the sun? Have you tried to bear the weight of the sky? Hers is a strength unimaginable, beyond the comprehension of empires, worlds, universes. More concept than dragon; a well of destruction or creation [i]in potentia[/i]. Raw belief, a prayer taken form. How is one to capture life in a few sweet [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45694501]words[/url]?[/font][/quote] [quote=Unnamed][font=times new roman]Black roses on red silk. Or is it red roses on black silk? A row of eyes line the sleek curve of a wing, opening and closing in a way that is too calculated to describe as [i]blinking[/i]. Madness personified. Chaos in the flesh. Terror too overwhelming to face. Pray all you want; only one deity will hear you. You think you know despair, wrath, dread. Till you turn your gaze upon that terrible visage, you can never claim to know the face of [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45694501]fear[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Ophelia][font=times new roman]Rue and fennel and columbines bleed from her eyes-- purple and yellow blossoms like tears trail down scales the colour of rich earth. And through it cuts a pain like lovesickness, or madness, or desperation. Who's to say? Not even corruption can touch a dead maiden, and when the river lays her to rest, she will close her eyes and let it carry her away. There is a strength in defeat, a triumph of sorts. [i]Retribution will follow in the [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45708235]wake[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Melvara][font=times new roman]The only thing wilder and more deadly than the sea is the monster that dwells in its depths. Whenever a moon blots out the sun, she emerges like a [i]storm[/i]-- vast, unending, destructive in its entirety. Feared and worshipped by those who live their lives afraid of one thing only. The wrath of an ancient, eldritch power. Teeth, spines, and tentacles that could cradle the heavens. Twisted beyond belief. Warped beyond [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45708235]recognition[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Ouro][font=times new roman]The perfect sphere, the world on its axis, the snake that swallows its own tail. And here he stands: at the end and the beginning of all things. Hourglasses, coin tosses, and prophecies whispered in the dark. What of fate and free will? They are not in the business of such things. Pray to the other deities if you must--so long as the sun and moons keep to their boundaries and traditions are passed on, they are content in the [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45708235]waiting[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Nozomi][font=times new roman]Strong, calloused hands and the faint smell of hyacinths. [i]Royalty[/i]--did you know? Do you think their parents hate what they have birthed? Better an emperor than whatever lives in that skin and walks in those claws. Rough linen, rose petals, and a beam of light that shines like a prayer. If a path like that is so easily forsaken, don't you think it would have been accomplished? [i]They want to be better. They do not know [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45709085]how[/url].[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Vorkosigan][font=times new roman][i]As above.[/i] Where to begin? How to describe? Why even try? Perhaps we will begin with absences: not a dragon, not a deity, not even mortal. Somewhere between--or all three. A harsh, discordant sound from a violin, candles extinguished in the flesh of their own wax, fresh scar tissue on ancient skin. Not really chaos but not really order, either; too close to incomprehensible but not too far from understanding. Both and between. Within and without. [i]So [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45709085]below[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Lowkey][font=times new roman]Known for light fingers, easy smiles, and a penchant for taking on one too many names. And much worse, of course--if the world has birthed an innocent god, a soul has yet to see it. Patron saint of grifters and thieves, tricksters who think themselves invincible. The white lie, the false confidence, the long con. A trickster god is only as good as their word--which is to say, if she's made you a promise, you'd best check your [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/17#post_45709085]pockets[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Amadeus][font=times new roman]He was there when it began, when the Wyrmwound was naught but a pile of rotting flesh and the wasteland still remembered the taste of rain. A rotting tree consumed by fungi: brown and green and orange, a microcosm of the world entire. Bulbous eyes, fresh scar tissue, congealed blood. What was and is and will be--he does not mourn the past. He will be there when it all [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45716022]ends[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Dalli][font=times new roman]What separates the sweetest dream from the most terrifying nightmare? [i]The dreamer[/i], of course. Pillows of soft down, silk bedsheets, a warm glass of milk. It's raining outside--what could be water or blood or wine patters against the window, tapping an uneven lullaby. He can explain his choice of comrades as easily as a dream can explain its logic. The only mercy afforded is a mere reassurance: it will be quick. It will not be [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45716022]painless[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Xocolatl][font=times new roman]Bitter grounds, ceramic mugs, faint conversations. The soft cotton of an apron and the taut line beneath it--an undercurrent of tension like a tightly wound spring. Steam fogging up a pair of glasses and sleepless nights scraping arsenic from the coffee grinder. And yet... better this than a slit throat and a shallow grave, better this than a lifetime on the run. Little pleasures. He'll take what he can [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45716832]get[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Maple][font=times new roman]Eyes like red roses and a smile, sweet and sharp and deceptively innocent. She will make polite, boring conversation, nod and laugh as she should, and slip away, already forgotten. Crossed fingers and the distant whistle of a train. A child's bones in a three-foot grave, a field of flowers, and a suitcase that is always packed--has never been opened, in fact. She's been here for years; what's another decade [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45716832]more[/url]?[/font][/quote] [quote=Rhea][font=times new roman]Steady claws grip a needle that is more rust than iron, forcing it through a rotting square of patterned silk. There used to be-- bolts of fabric, rolls upon rolls of thread, a shop filled with the latest fashions. The feeling of something crawling up your spine, burrowing beneath the skin, wrapping its claws around your mind. She clutches the dusty remains and sinks to the floor, weeping and not quite understanding [i][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45716832]why[/url][/i].[/font][/quote] [quote=Yzma][font=times new roman]A will of iron and unwavering claws, governed solely by utter, unflinching loyalty. She may be older than most of the clan--old scars, a stiff back--but she can move twice as fast as the best of them. There are many lessons a bodyguard can learn, and the most important one is this: emotional attachment is weakness. If you truly want to protect someone you care for, you should never love [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717044]them[/url]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Song][font=times new roman]Shadows drip like blood from outstretched wings, curling around a frail silhouette and supplementing strength to trembling claws. Speak in whispers, if you must. Court the moon and the stars with sweet words and somber melodies. Remember only this: sing long enough into the abyss, and it may answer back. Not every power is a [i][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717044]blessing[/url][/i]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Alwen][font=times new roman]Eyes like rhodonite and a manner befitting the sweetest Nature dragon. Have you seen the face of mercy? It must look remarkably like hers. That's a lot of innocence to squeeze into a a soul--a generous helping of compassion, gratitude and a whole lot of love. Birdsong, rich earth, and the smell of a flourishing garden at sunrise. Weeds seep through the cracks in the cobblestones. Life despite the odds... this she knows this [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717058]intimately[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=James][font=times new roman]Fur and hair dusting the ground, swept in a careful pile. An easy smile, bright eyes, and a willingness to give and give and [i]give[/i]. A love eternal and unspoken. He holds lively conversations with those who need it and shares comfortable silences with those who don't. A small claw slips into a calloused one, eager questions chasing their own tails. Second chances don't come easily. He's not letting go of this [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717058]one[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Cael][font=times new roman]Not his face. Not his eyes. There is a choice to be made but not his place to make it. Unanswered prayers, dull armour, and fruitless appeals to a being more damned than holy. Do you know what it is like to only be worth your obedience? Somedays, he wakes with the taste of blood in his mouth and his vision tinted sepia. He takes what little freedom he can get; you cannot fault him for taking these small [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717058]mercies[/url]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Rosewood][font=times new roman]She knows the touch--warm claws cradling her face, the firm press of her mate's chest against her, soft wings enfolding them both. Earnest prayers to any listening deity, sleepless nights in a cold bed, a hollow ache in one's chest. The strangeness she felt at the reunion... that can't be right. It's him, it has to be. One part of her knows the truth--the other refuses to believe it.[/font][/quote] [quote=Calliope][font=times new roman]A voice that can shatter glass as easily as it can heal ceramic. Eyes that can cut ice with a glance. Every inch of her is sharp angles and cream-and-gold scales. She is confident and rightfully so; if you think that her beauty and her talent are the only things remarkable about her, you'd best think again. It is a shield, no more. Her true worth lies deeper, cuts closer to her [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717092]heart[/url]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Winter][font=times new roman]A frost so cold it [i]burns[/i]. You may think her frigid and cold, incapable of emotion, but she too was a dragon a long, long time ago. No dragon born of the ice ever forgets. A castle of snow and ice, bright and distant and eternal. A bed that is more glacier than down. And the cold devouring her limbs, her chest, her face. One mercy: it does not lay claim to her heart. Hers froze over a long time ago, and it was not of another's [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717092]doing[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Nott][font=times new roman]Neon lights illuminating empty cities. Truths and lies tangled up in knots. A prayer like a song, bright and beautiful and clear as the peal of a bell. Eyes so pink they are almost red--a nice bow on top of the mystery, wrapped and neat. They will guide you through the labyrinth if that is what you want; though be careful what promises you make. Their kind is plentiful, but there is no one quite like [i][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/18#post_45717093]them[/url][/i]. [/font][/quote] [quote=Ambre][font=times new roman]Fragrant incense, dried herbs, clean bandages. [i]First, do no[/i]... hmm. We can do better than that. A trade of secrets and favours; wounds are bandaged in exchange for a whisper on the wind. Two weeks later, a city official who'd petitioned to expand the city into the forest is removed from the picture. Bespectacled green eyes observe a ritual held by the lower ranks. A claw lifts--[i]let's try that again, shall [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/20#post_45723832]we[/url]?[/i][/font][/quote] [quote=Altair][font=times new roman]The delicate clink of murky bottles jostling against each other; the rustle of a plumage so red it is almost brown; the hushed whispers of a deal conducted in the shadows. [i]Fair is fair[/i]. Eyes like candles, bright and burning, and a voice like mulberry wine. Pay attention, won't you? He traded his soul away a long time ago. Be careful what you bargain [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/20#post_45723832]for[/url].[/font][/quote] [quote=Celozon][font=times new roman]Curiosity like wildfire and a willpower to boot. Not to mention a power near-untamable... a recipe for disaster, and he's both the chef and the dish. Deft claws, pink eyes like beacons, and a miasma of a potent magic. And beneath the boasting--though justified--a certain, quiet softness. But you didn't hear that from him. [i]Feelings? How archaic.[/i] He turns up his nose, coddled by pride. [i]I've got better things to [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/art/2530934/20#post_45723832]do[/url]. [/i][/font][/quote]
im dyin' scoob

here are the commissions I've completed so far:

Clans
Otherworld wrote:
A sense of the broken and the whole, the fractured and the healed. To whom do you pledge your loyalty to when reality crumbles around your ears? To old incense, dusty altars, ancient gods, or to volatile prayers, tricky lies, new deities? Priests stand alongside non-believers, fighting with and for spirits and demons and all manner of eldritch beings and otherworldly creatures. If there is comfort to be had from this chaos it is this: rules still exist in this divine madness; for those who seek refuge, bleeding and broken and battle-worn, they will keep you safe.
The Syndicate wrote:
The only rule: no questions. It's hard to bury bodies beneath the permafrost. Somewhere, a machine hums its quiet song in a dark alcove as the caw of a crow is heard in the distance. Chess pieces in disarray, a blade dripping with a liquid much darker than blood, a secret told behind closed doors. Hollow masks shutter the windows to the soul; the wind whispers secrets no one dares say aloud. The only truth here is that we are all full of lies.
The Starlight Clan wrote:
We are made of stardust, you and I. A warm bowl of soup and a comfortable nest awaits the weary, yet a hushed warning rings out true: even as the clan struggles to find its footing, there is a storm howling its battle cry on the horizon. Windchimes tinkle softly over a lair awash with light from the ever-glowing crystals of the Arcanist's domain; there is uncertainty, but there is hope, too. If there is disaster in our future, we shall face it together.
Clan Avnokodro wrote:
All are welcome. The inviting surface of a lake betrays its depth; dragons stand among gods and extraterrestrials, among dragons who are not quite draconic in appearance-- too many eyes and too many teeth-- and among outcasts and outlaws. We are from the great beyond. Dark ooze drips from many gaping maws as a force threatens to devour everything they've ever known, yet to the battle-worn and even star-crossed, it is a challenge they are willing to face. A friend's warm greeting, a lover's gentle embrace. Home may be light years away, but it is also here.
The Melohn, Followers of the Arenji wrote:
Save your prayers and your breath, these deities do not deserve you. It's never predestination or kismet-- free will triumphs over fate, always. A snake basks in the heat of the wasteland sun, cool scales iridescent over red sand; overhead, a cloud heaves its wisp of a self across the horizon. Give thanks where you should and respect those worthy of it. There is no higher power, no divine authority. When you strip the elements and the deities away, all you will find in the ashes is me.
The League of Valor wrote:
There is potential to be found within every dragon, of course, and to bring it out is in itself, an act of beauty. An artifact, ancient in its origin, hums with untold power and whispers in a language never meant to be spoken aloud-- you meddle with that which you do not understand. Where the sunlight illuminates, the lair itself and its inhabitants seems to shine, but some of us know how to hide from the damning truth and the blinding light. When judgement comes, you will understand: nothing is as it seems. Prove your worth. Earn your place. Or else.
Clan Guardianite wrote:
Listen. Can you hear it? Sometimes it is the tumultuous sea that the howling winds sweep over, and sometimes it is the empty caves themselves that issue forth the dreadful noise. The dragons here welcome you with open arms-- there is weariness in their eyes, but kindness as well-- and give you shelter willingly. No one starves. Old ruins and ancient buildings stand among shiny towers and newly-constructed temples. One may find peace here, if that is what they truly seek.
Cultists wrote:
Hunger and fear and rage. And through it cuts the rot: beloved, festering pestilence and its shifting undertow of madness. Are you as willing to die for a beloved friend as you are to kill them? Rotting bone chimes and velvet-lined caskets, glittering jewellery and putrid flesh--out in the wild domain of the Plaguebringer, Blessed is Her Name, they are one and the same. Forget loyalty, devotion, faith; only prove that you can survive. There will never be a stronger prayer.
crown wrote:
Glass and crystal held together by sheer will. Gilded doors and vast libraries. A spire that pierces the heavens. And within the walls that thrum with sheer power lie tenets, beliefs, gods. Power, purity, destruction, fear, and retribution--an entire pantheon's worth and more. I ask you this: have you seen a more beautiful shrine? A grander testament to strength? A bluer sky? Around the temple, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.



Dragons
Valour wrote:
A scent in the air, faint tracks in the dirt. Cold detachment, bloody claws, lost faith. And yet, beneath the scars, the armour, the scowl, there is grief and remorse and burning fury. Death comes, even to the strongest of warriors, even to her own sister. A resolve as unyielding as steel; sharp claws and sharper teeth. She will burn no offerings and pray to no deity, not till the killer lies dead at her feet.
Tasmira wrote:
False gods, wine thicker than blood, a frantic prayer to a deity who neither cares nor exists. Only cowards stoop to subtlety. The damned will die in the gutters like the rest of us. Old bloodstains on dusty cloth and a scatter of bone shards across a marble slab. She's been playing this game long before you knew its name. There is nothing holy and nothing sacred about death for its own sake.
Rose wrote:
Poisoned wine, slit throats, shallow graves. No action is without purpose. The soft hush of feathers brushing against scale and fur. Sleeping powder concealed in a hollow jewel embedded in a ring, a honey-sweet smile in the gloom, a letter describing mistruths and dark secrets. A single rose petal flutters to the floor and comes to rest in a bed of thorns; if this empire is to crumble, it will be by her hand.
Gabriel wrote:
Listen. He's always watching. Eye in the sky, ear to the ground. A porcelain cup filled with warm tea, the starched, stiff collar of a black suit, the peaceful quiet of a waiting room as a blizzard howls and shrieks outside. Claws tap a soft beat on polished mahogany. Brazenness boils beneath the patient lid of a watched pot; careful, careful. Sometimes, the problems fix themselves.
Johan wrote:
Perfection personified. Glacial eyes peer from beneath a mask of marble; the only thing warm about him is the jewelry, and even that is freezing to the touch. The unforgiving ice, the unrelenting cold. Dexterous claws flit over organised files. It's only a job, there's nothing personal about it. Waste not, want not; slit throats and shallow graves. It's only a job.
Fahrenheit wrote:
Do what you must. The rule of threes: muses, treasures, winters, furies. The student surpasses the master, but only at his behest. A rack of clean test tubes, a polished marble surface, the sharp snap of new elastic. This may hurt a little. One can only remain objective for so long; if you must, you may love, but lavish your attention upon the subject of your adoration and do so sparingly.
FourtySeven wrote:
It's over. The song is sung, the play performed, the revelries ended. Nothing but the husk of an old world. No life but the twisted shadows of dragonkind and their warped remains. The rustle of torn curtains against a dusty windowsill, the light tread of a dragon keen to avoid waking the dead, a once-busy temple now empty and abandoned. One should not waste their tears on an era long past. As they always will, tides shall change once more.
Kekepani wrote:
Remember, phoenixes rise from ash. Fiery eyes flare with the strength of a thousand volcanoes-- consider yourself fortunate if you never have that terrible gaze turned upon you. Old gods, new gods, what does it matter? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; whatever the case, she'll get up, spit out the blood in her mouth, and go down in a blaze.
Volans wrote:
'Forever' holds little meaning; at least, to her. Eyes that have seen the ends of time and space and back, claws that have touched the corners of the world, wings that have borne constellations, stars-- she breathes the rhythm of the universe, weaves her garments from the very fabric of reality, drinks deep from a well of infinite knowledge. The vastness of space can make one feel very, very small indeed.
Ulixes wrote:
The scent of blood hangs, thick and cloying, in the air. It's the thrill of the hunt, it's the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Bloodstained fabric, new scars, fresh tracks. When he stops, it's because his lungs are near-bursting and he's dizzy from the exertion; until then, he'll keep going. Until then, he won't falter, won't hesitate, won't break, not till he returns, a fresh brace of rabbits slung over his shoulder and a bloody grin on his face.
Efterar wrote:
Rotting flesh, bones gnawed by teeth, charms and trinkets long since drained of magic. You would look lovely stuffed and mounted on my wall. Dying may be a natural process, but no one said it had to be permanent. The smell of fresh linen and myrrh wafts in the breeze; in the distance, someone sings a litany and prays to a deity who neither listens nor cares. Death, be not proud.
Oak wrote:
Ashes to ash-- wait, that's not right. Sunlight filters through the foliage and casts dancing shadows upon the earth; a bird trills its sweet song as a fox noses its way through the undergrowth. All of this is his, all of this is the forest's. The rustle of wind-brushed leaves, the solid trunk of a thousand year old redwood, the surly step of a creature more earth and tree than dragon. When death comes, the underbrush will lay claim to the body. Dust to dust.
Teleri wrote:
Death is rank on her tongue and in her nose; she is born, raised, killed in a Plague clan-- only to be brought back to life once more. The stench of rotting flesh, the clatter of bone against bone, the stains of old battles and lost war. An amulet hums its rotten song in a locked and forgotten chest. Your very existence defies the tenets that your deity so dearly upholds. Mercy is still understood, even without a heart, and she will dare and defy till she breathes her last breath once more.
Thaloyss wrote:
Sight impedes-- the worthy have little use for a sense that so easily deceives as it reveals. A serpent watches silently in the gathering dusk, its eyes highly intelligent and of a glittering garnet-red. A miasma, bitter and heavy, hangs about its head-- you won't notice till it strikes and you won't feel a thing until your heart stops beating. It pays to toy with death.
Hazel wrote:
Unshakable, irrepressible will hides behind a veneer of shyness and insecurity. Light filters through stained glass and alights, dancing red-orange-gold upon white marble. Giving up was never an option, even as a dark, viscous goop clawed its way up her throat and warned of an infection that would never leave. She'd choke, sometimes, and hesitate on her journey, but her claws would pick up the pace and she would keep going. No matter the cost. No matter the pain.
Nalance wrote:
History is not kind to old gods. Elemental deities now rule this pitiful earth-- no place has this world for a weary wolf-god. He wanders with heavy paws, waiting for prayers in a language that died eons ago; far away, a mournful howl pierces the inky veil of the night. The moon shines mercilessly down and showers all in bright silver. The earth is hard, unyielding. And still, he walks on.
Yadyra wrote:
Blood pulses, hot and heavy, through veins which once carried molten gold; you'll believe in saints and sinners when you've seen him in his full glory. He knows compassion and kindness, yet it is righteous fury with which he is most familiar. Light bathes a jewel-encrusted goblet in the gold of a thousand suns, glinting off a war-stained blade. Red as rubies, red as blood. There is nothing so dangerous and so terrifying as a creature shunned from Heaven's light.
Aries wrote:
You think you know pain, that is, until your soul-- the very essence of your being-- is hacked into two by your own brother's hand. Fickle creatures the deities are, as ever-changing and unpredictable as the sky. Gentle claws stitch the ragged edges of a gaping wound together as a chiding tongue clucks softly in sympathy. There and back again. Gods can be forgotten, but we are not so easily killed.
Scourge wrote:
The stench of a rotting carcass fills the air, already thick with the stench of blood and bile. He reeks of it. Death. Twisted bone protrudes from an impossible body-- the limbs are disproportionate, the tail whip-like, the teeth too sharp and far, far too numerous for a head of that size. And the eyes! It is a gaze that strikes one with horror. O' Mother, why have you forsaken me?
Nameless wrote:
He sees everything-- past, present, future, all laid out before him like a tapestry that stretches into infinity. Sudden chills, indescribable terror, a feeling that something is distinctly wrong yet never quite being able to place a claw on it. He watches, listens, and heeds the council of the creatures that dig their claws into flesh and fur. Everything unfurls as it should. Always. Forever.
Tidus wrote:
Not once does he, swaddled in the cradle of wealth and privilege, allow himself to grow complacent and ignorant. Bloody uprisings, vicious rebellions, burning empires. He watches as his birthplace is razed to the ground, and all he does is smile. There is knowledge to be gained from this experience. Horrible, gaping maws dark as the Shade itself extend to the heavens as if they could shred the Sun with razor-sharp teeth. Be careful, child. One should not meddle with that which they do not understand.
Creation wrote:
Loyalty is a blade forged in hardship and cooled by love. Emerald-green eyes meet garnet-red ones; what is the fury of deities compared to your lover's tender gaze? Two sides, same coin. A thought plants its roots and weaves itself through the mind, as persistent and stubborn as a sickness. Trust the ache in your chest and the longing in your heart, and remember that the monsters we create are of our own device. In sickness and in health.
Destruction wrote:
Survival is blood on your teeth and bile in your throat. The pain is unbearable at times and the stench never leaves-- wounds that never heal eventually begin to decay-- yet against all odds she manages to find companionship. A sapling pushes its way up through rust-red dirt and flourishes-- she will not die a runt. If the Wasteland can find harmony with the Labyrinth, perhaps there is hope for the both of them. Till death do us part.
Ayla wrote:
Slender fingers lift a goblet to her lips; she drinks full and deep of a liquid that is more vinegar than wine. Gold and black mottles the vision and a certain holy ringing-- from swords or from bells it is impossible to tell-- fills the ears. She is older, wiser. Polished blades and towering ivory towers and holy blood spilled across pristine marble tiles. If the path I walk will bring me the honour I deserve, I myself will carve it from my own heart and no one else's.
Azxa wrote:
One would be a fool to believe in a creature so fickle as death. If you mean to gain, you must first give something up; it is fortunate, perhaps, that most of the clan are very much expendable. Old charms, cracked amulets, dusty potion bottles. Even the best, the brightest, the cruellest of necromancers cannot escape death. When her frail and ancient form succumbs at last and exhales one final time, her bones will not be laid to rest in a grave. Why play the game when I hold all the cards?
Sargonnas wrote:
Blind fury, righteous anger. He lives and fights and dies in the spirit of every warrior that falls on the battlefield; they whisper his name as they breathe their last and scream it, too, as they make one final charge, invoking a god who listens and gives freely. Innocents die in war, as do blood-soaked saints and corrupt priests. Even as he stands, holy and untouchable, well above the writhing, suffering masses, and wonders why his own heart must betray him so, the truth of it is undeniable: even the gods have rules they must obey, and after all, why fight and bleed and die for a cause you do not love?
Thanatos wrote:
Steely honour and blind trust is never a good combination. Blood-soaked bandages, a small pot of healing balm, and a face that is more scar tissue than scales. Zeal, desperation, and resentment rings hollow in a chest scarred with the ravages of war where anger should be, but a heart, still forgiving and still beating, wards it off. Keep trust close and betrayal closer, for till your allies abandon you, you will never understand true fear.
Styx wrote:
She will find it. She has to. Too long has this puzzled her: where is the line between life and death? Where does our first life end and the other begin? The obsessions fuels experiments, horrific in the eyes of the world and yet necessary in hers. A rack of polished surgical instruments twinkle sharply under the harsh lights. She will cut the truth out, and it doesn't have to be from a corpse. No one says, enough, no one says, stop, and that is mostly because no one is left to do so.
Sclerosis wrote:
One can be a little too acquainted with pain, so know this, then, that she has had a lifetime of it and she has had enough. Taunting jabs, sharp jibes; sticks and stones, you understand, but the cruelty doesn't just stop at words. The sunrise in the Wasteland is always blood-red, like the sky torn and bleeding and wide-open, vulnerable, split against stone before the world's gaze. There may be fear and confusion and desperation, but fortunately, there is always hope.
Morbus wrote:
One can only control so much. Rage, red as blood, red as roses, fills the vision of a dragon so tormented by himself that he's long since forgotten what it is like to feel-- there is no anger and no fear, only disgust. It is worse, somehow. The sun sets quickly in the Wasteland, and purples mix with golds and reds, a bright bruise across the quieting sky. There may be rage and resentment and bitterness, but mercifully, there will always be love.
Maledictus wrote:
Careful, little one. The gods are not kind to those who waste their lives on vengeance. He remembers the smiles, the laughter, the kindness, and he remembers the blood, the chaos, the screams. It fills his dreams, haunts his waking moments. A broken sword lies shattered on a polished stone altar and incense burns from an old copper bowl. Icewarden, hear my prayer. The quest will consume him, there is little doubt. Yet when he stands and meets the red-gold sunset of the imperial who slaughtered his family, even the deities themselves will watch and wait.
Apollo wrote:
You think you know pain, that is, until you realise that the blood on your claws is that of your own brother's and you know that from this point onward, you will be made to never forget it. Where there once was anger, there is now guilt and gratitude; even gods must yield. Pale scars stretch across broad shoulders and warm fingers brush against bruised ribs. Gods do not die easily, but that does not mean that we cannot be imprisoned.
Gingko wrote:
In another life, water filled her lungs and she drowned, alone and nameless in a raging sea. But in this one, someone pulls her from the sea and fills her heart with life and love and wonder instead. A storm will yield to nothing and no one; she is as unrelenting as the tempest itself. Cautious claws touch the scar tissue on her face and she shudders a sigh in response. For every breath, every cry, every beat of her wings, she remembers who she has become.
Grissom wrote:
Ash-grey clouds blot out the sun as a storm looms in the horizon. Steady claws grip the ships wheel as a voice, loud as thunder, barks orders at scurrying dragons. He can almost taste the tempest; ozone burns lightning-sharp on the tip of his tongue and the magic in his veins crackle and surge with anticipation. The cold shock of seaspray, the whip-crack of sails as they snap open, the howl of the dreadful wind-- and as the storm approaches, he lifts his head and roars a welcome.
Hawthorn wrote:
Death, he knows, is as soft as a lover's embrace and dark as a wolf's mouth; life, on the other hand, tastes bitter and ozone-sharp and hurts. Once bitten-- he's never been able to quite get the image of white silk on scales the colour of fresh cream out of his head. Roses have thorns, remember; it was just his luck that he fell for the blossom whose thorns cut deepest of all. Gentle claws set a mug of hot cocoa down and patient blue eyes peer kindly out from behind round lenses. Love, it seems, is the prerogative of fools.
Damao wrote:
A blizzard howls its mournful song outside as a fire crackles in a hearth and a lover's soft lips kiss the mouth of a dragon unused to affection. It won't last, she remembers thinking, even as her claws trace patterns on her lover's bare wings and her heart aches for some semblance of love. The ice is harsh, unyielding, unkind; she forces herself to become unfeeling so that the pain will go away, and yet. What was meant to numb only cuts deeper, only hurts more.
Mordecai wrote:
Quick claws flit over a register as a keen eye tracks dates, numbers, records. A stray coin, separated from the safety of the hoard, glints in the setting sun before being snatched up and returned to its rightful place. She has to get it right, she has to-- dragons count on her to keep track, and where would they be if she made a mistake in her calculations? What of the foodstores, the waterskins? So she works, sniffing reproachfully when someone brings in their records late, but all the same having only their best interests at heart.
Ebb wrote:
She shines at first glance, all bright eyes and reflective scales. A heavenly spotlight bathes a stage in blinding white as the opening notes to a familiar song begins. A claw bedecked with rings taps the beat out, a chin tilts up to reveal a necklace glittering and encrusted with jewels. Something swells like a river within her-- pride, confidence, who knows-- and, as her expectant audience falls silent, she opens her mouth and sings.
Solarblade wrote:
Rustling pages, fresh parchment, and a cup of hot tea on a cold, rainy morning. There is so much she doesn't know, so much to be catalogued and recorded, and even as she recovers from one trip around Sorineth, she is planning another; maybe to the Labyrinth, this time, or even the Wasteland-- she pauses, the tip of her quill hovering over the parchment. The universe holds its breath. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. Back to work.
Mythblade wrote:
A fresh batch of fireworks, a crate full of volatile substances, and a lit match. Her patience is the short fuse to her dynamite eagerness and enthusiasm (tinged, of course, by the innocence of youth). One cannot blame her curiosity. Still, even as her steady claws and watchful eye offer some reassurance, less can be said for her temper. The innocence of youth is a fickle, wonderful thing. The match flickers to life, illuminating a wide, satisfied smile. Time to find out.
Shikan wrote:
You won't know what's she's thinking, not till she tells you herself in that knife-sharp rasp of a voice. Some dragons only look powerful, she, on the other hand, reeks of it. An old sword lies somewhere in her treasure trove of trophies, among the bones and the trinkets, and it is stained with blood and rust. It is a relic, a reminder of her first kill-- and unfortunately, not her last. At least you can tell when she is furious; oh, even the deities must tremble to imagine her wrath.
Unnamed wrote:
Two Lightning dragons walk into a wasteland. This is how she knows she isn't meant to be alive: the ever-present, sharp, metallic tang of blood in her mouth, the constant clicks and whirs of her jaw when she opens it to speak, and the ache of her new limbs that she must grow accustomed to. Hope fuels her, childish wonder sustains her. She gives the one thing she has never properly received but has always held true in her heart. One seeks love. The other seeks...
Mamba wrote:
Two Lightning dragons walk into a wasteland. She shouldn't be able to feel-- like the unyielding, hard metal that is her body, her wings, her face-- and yet. We are not the monsters others make of us. Lightning tears the sky apart in bright forked as thunder roars and winds howl. She does not flinch at the sight, not till a claw (so very warm and so very small) slips into hers and a high voice calls her name. She can't help it, then. One seeks redemption. The other seeks...
Sylvan wrote:
Strength is power, cunning, and trust. Pry back brittle bone, brusque manner, toughened scales, and unyielding gaze; push past the rot and the infected flesh; peel away the mask of a zealot and the will of the Plaguebringer to find... a vessel. A willing one, at that. Sharp claws curl around the skull of a another--a cradle, nurturing. How is one to describe an avatar of destruction, especially one capable of love?
Peony wrote:
Strength is sacrifice, devotion, and trust. A tiny, diminutive frame hides the willpower of a seasoned warrior, and bright, flinty eyes speak of power (and madness) unheard of. Not even a mask of bone can hide it. Step into her shoes, why don't you? Devotion like wildfire: consuming and devouring and feasting. And after, bearing the scars with pride. Why simply declare your love when you can show it?
Gangrene wrote:
To die—to sleep, no more. Creation and recreation, and the blurriness between. What happens if we toe the line? A spark in a blank gaze, a desperate ache for continuity, a good meal not wasted. Shake it off, it's just a scratch. One can claim to understand fate and fortune, but you will never know her: standing unflinching at the end of all things and at the new beginning. 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.
Erebos wrote:
Bitter wine, incense offerings, and shallow graves. The only difference between a real god and a false one is belief--and even that is a threshold easily crossed. A light flits among the trees, a lantern carried by a lost traveller on the edge of exhaustion; his are not the only pair of eyes watching. It is one thing to embrace the solemn night, it is another thing entirely to become it.
Thresh wrote:
Second chances and praise like honey. Every inch of him glittering and glimmering in the dusk, a pretty beacon for wandering spirits and weary souls. It's a strange thing; the light of the lantern does nothing to chase the darkness away. Sweet incense and blood like wine. And the screams... There is a fate worse than death, and his careful words and sweet smile will usher you right into it.
Shelby wrote:
Almost as harsh and as loving as the roiling sea. She has never minced her words for a soul and she isn't planning to start now. Waves that heave to the height of the Behemoth, lightning that turns the sky a blinding white, winds wild enough to tear the sails off a seventy-four-gun galleon; the sudden, deafening quiet after the storm. All of it contained in a wiry body and eyes like polished flint.
Cirilla wrote:
A warmth that comforts at first but soon grows stifling and unbearable. Have you looked into her eyes? Have you turned your gaze to the sun? Have you tried to bear the weight of the sky? Hers is a strength unimaginable, beyond the comprehension of empires, worlds, universes. More concept than dragon; a well of destruction or creation in potentia. Raw belief, a prayer taken form. How is one to capture life in a few sweet words?
Unnamed wrote:
Black roses on red silk. Or is it red roses on black silk? A row of eyes line the sleek curve of a wing, opening and closing in a way that is too calculated to describe as blinking. Madness personified. Chaos in the flesh. Terror too overwhelming to face. Pray all you want; only one deity will hear you. You think you know despair, wrath, dread. Till you turn your gaze upon that terrible visage, you can never claim to know the face of fear.
Ophelia wrote:
Rue and fennel and columbines bleed from her eyes-- purple and yellow blossoms like tears trail down scales the colour of rich earth. And through it cuts a pain like lovesickness, or madness, or desperation. Who's to say? Not even corruption can touch a dead maiden, and when the river lays her to rest, she will close her eyes and let it carry her away. There is a strength in defeat, a triumph of sorts. Retribution will follow in the wake.
Melvara wrote:
The only thing wilder and more deadly than the sea is the monster that dwells in its depths. Whenever a moon blots out the sun, she emerges like a storm-- vast, unending, destructive in its entirety. Feared and worshipped by those who live their lives afraid of one thing only. The wrath of an ancient, eldritch power. Teeth, spines, and tentacles that could cradle the heavens. Twisted beyond belief. Warped beyond recognition.
Ouro wrote:
The perfect sphere, the world on its axis, the snake that swallows its own tail. And here he stands: at the end and the beginning of all things. Hourglasses, coin tosses, and prophecies whispered in the dark. What of fate and free will? They are not in the business of such things. Pray to the other deities if you must--so long as the sun and moons keep to their boundaries and traditions are passed on, they are content in the waiting.
Nozomi wrote:
Strong, calloused hands and the faint smell of hyacinths. Royalty--did you know? Do you think their parents hate what they have birthed? Better an emperor than whatever lives in that skin and walks in those claws. Rough linen, rose petals, and a beam of light that shines like a prayer. If a path like that is so easily forsaken, don't you think it would have been accomplished? They want to be better. They do not know how.
Vorkosigan wrote:
As above. Where to begin? How to describe? Why even try? Perhaps we will begin with absences: not a dragon, not a deity, not even mortal. Somewhere between--or all three. A harsh, discordant sound from a violin, candles extinguished in the flesh of their own wax, fresh scar tissue on ancient skin. Not really chaos but not really order, either; too close to incomprehensible but not too far from understanding. Both and between. Within and without. So below.
Lowkey wrote:
Known for light fingers, easy smiles, and a penchant for taking on one too many names. And much worse, of course--if the world has birthed an innocent god, a soul has yet to see it. Patron saint of grifters and thieves, tricksters who think themselves invincible. The white lie, the false confidence, the long con. A trickster god is only as good as their word--which is to say, if she's made you a promise, you'd best check your pockets.
Amadeus wrote:
He was there when it began, when the Wyrmwound was naught but a pile of rotting flesh and the wasteland still remembered the taste of rain. A rotting tree consumed by fungi: brown and green and orange, a microcosm of the world entire. Bulbous eyes, fresh scar tissue, congealed blood. What was and is and will be--he does not mourn the past. He will be there when it all ends.
Dalli wrote:
What separates the sweetest dream from the most terrifying nightmare? The dreamer, of course. Pillows of soft down, silk bedsheets, a warm glass of milk. It's raining outside--what could be water or blood or wine patters against the window, tapping an uneven lullaby. He can explain his choice of comrades as easily as a dream can explain its logic. The only mercy afforded is a mere reassurance: it will be quick. It will not be painless.
Xocolatl wrote:
Bitter grounds, ceramic mugs, faint conversations. The soft cotton of an apron and the taut line beneath it--an undercurrent of tension like a tightly wound spring. Steam fogging up a pair of glasses and sleepless nights scraping arsenic from the coffee grinder. And yet... better this than a slit throat and a shallow grave, better this than a lifetime on the run. Little pleasures. He'll take what he can get.
Maple wrote:
Eyes like red roses and a smile, sweet and sharp and deceptively innocent. She will make polite, boring conversation, nod and laugh as she should, and slip away, already forgotten. Crossed fingers and the distant whistle of a train. A child's bones in a three-foot grave, a field of flowers, and a suitcase that is always packed--has never been opened, in fact. She's been here for years; what's another decade more?
Rhea wrote:
Steady claws grip a needle that is more rust than iron, forcing it through a rotting square of patterned silk. There used to be-- bolts of fabric, rolls upon rolls of thread, a shop filled with the latest fashions. The feeling of something crawling up your spine, burrowing beneath the skin, wrapping its claws around your mind. She clutches the dusty remains and sinks to the floor, weeping and not quite understanding why.
Yzma wrote:
A will of iron and unwavering claws, governed solely by utter, unflinching loyalty. She may be older than most of the clan--old scars, a stiff back--but she can move twice as fast as the best of them. There are many lessons a bodyguard can learn, and the most important one is this: emotional attachment is weakness. If you truly want to protect someone you care for, you should never love them.
Song wrote:
Shadows drip like blood from outstretched wings, curling around a frail silhouette and supplementing strength to trembling claws. Speak in whispers, if you must. Court the moon and the stars with sweet words and somber melodies. Remember only this: sing long enough into the abyss, and it may answer back. Not every power is a blessing.
Alwen wrote:
Eyes like rhodonite and a manner befitting the sweetest Nature dragon. Have you seen the face of mercy? It must look remarkably like hers. That's a lot of innocence to squeeze into a a soul--a generous helping of compassion, gratitude and a whole lot of love. Birdsong, rich earth, and the smell of a flourishing garden at sunrise. Weeds seep through the cracks in the cobblestones. Life despite the odds... this she knows this intimately.
James wrote:
Fur and hair dusting the ground, swept in a careful pile. An easy smile, bright eyes, and a willingness to give and give and give. A love eternal and unspoken. He holds lively conversations with those who need it and shares comfortable silences with those who don't. A small claw slips into a calloused one, eager questions chasing their own tails. Second chances don't come easily. He's not letting go of this one.
Cael wrote:
Not his face. Not his eyes. There is a choice to be made but not his place to make it. Unanswered prayers, dull armour, and fruitless appeals to a being more damned than holy. Do you know what it is like to only be worth your obedience? Somedays, he wakes with the taste of blood in his mouth and his vision tinted sepia. He takes what little freedom he can get; you cannot fault him for taking these small mercies.
Rosewood wrote:
She knows the touch--warm claws cradling her face, the firm press of her mate's chest against her, soft wings enfolding them both. Earnest prayers to any listening deity, sleepless nights in a cold bed, a hollow ache in one's chest. The strangeness she felt at the reunion... that can't be right. It's him, it has to be. One part of her knows the truth--the other refuses to believe it.
Calliope wrote:
A voice that can shatter glass as easily as it can heal ceramic. Eyes that can cut ice with a glance. Every inch of her is sharp angles and cream-and-gold scales. She is confident and rightfully so; if you think that her beauty and her talent are the only things remarkable about her, you'd best think again. It is a shield, no more. Her true worth lies deeper, cuts closer to her heart.
Winter wrote:
A frost so cold it burns. You may think her frigid and cold, incapable of emotion, but she too was a dragon a long, long time ago. No dragon born of the ice ever forgets. A castle of snow and ice, bright and distant and eternal. A bed that is more glacier than down. And the cold devouring her limbs, her chest, her face. One mercy: it does not lay claim to her heart. Hers froze over a long time ago, and it was not of another's doing.
Nott wrote:
Neon lights illuminating empty cities. Truths and lies tangled up in knots. A prayer like a song, bright and beautiful and clear as the peal of a bell. Eyes so pink they are almost red--a nice bow on top of the mystery, wrapped and neat. They will guide you through the labyrinth if that is what you want; though be careful what promises you make. Their kind is plentiful, but there is no one quite like them.
Ambre wrote:
Fragrant incense, dried herbs, clean bandages. First, do no... hmm. We can do better than that. A trade of secrets and favours; wounds are bandaged in exchange for a whisper on the wind. Two weeks later, a city official who'd petitioned to expand the city into the forest is removed from the picture. Bespectacled green eyes observe a ritual held by the lower ranks. A claw lifts--let's try that again, shall we?
Altair wrote:
The delicate clink of murky bottles jostling against each other; the rustle of a plumage so red it is almost brown; the hushed whispers of a deal conducted in the shadows. Fair is fair. Eyes like candles, bright and burning, and a voice like mulberry wine. Pay attention, won't you? He traded his soul away a long time ago. Be careful what you bargain for.
Celozon wrote:
Curiosity like wildfire and a willpower to boot. Not to mention a power near-untamable... a recipe for disaster, and he's both the chef and the dish. Deft claws, pink eyes like beacons, and a miasma of a potent magic. And beneath the boasting--though justified--a certain, quiet softness. But you didn't hear that from him. Feelings? How archaic. He turns up his nose, coddled by pride. I've got better things to do.
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>> hatchery
>> lore aesthetics shop
@shanncrafter i love edgy things and have too many baldwin materials i'm never gonna use.... i'd like to try one!
@shanncrafter i love edgy things and have too many baldwin materials i'm never gonna use.... i'd like to try one!
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@remnio sure!! which dragon(s) would you like me to write for?
@remnio sure!! which dragon(s) would you like me to write for?
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>> hatchery
>> lore aesthetics shop
@shanncrafter could you try this girl? [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=43687511] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/436876/43687511_350.png[/img] [/url]
@shanncrafter could you try this girl?

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@remnio sure! let me know if you'd like anything changed! :D [quote=Valour][font=centaur]A scent in the air, faint tracks in the dirt. Cold detachment, bloody claws, lost faith. And yet, beneath the scars, the armour, the scowl, there is grief and remorse and burning [i]fury[/i]. Death comes, even to the strongest of warriors, even to her own sister. A resolve as unyielding as steel; sharp claws and sharper teeth. She will burn no offerings and pray to no deity, not till the killer lies dead at her feet. [/font][/quote]
@remnio sure! let me know if you'd like anything changed! :D
Valour wrote:
A scent in the air, faint tracks in the dirt. Cold detachment, bloody claws, lost faith. And yet, beneath the scars, the armour, the scowl, there is grief and remorse and burning fury. Death comes, even to the strongest of warriors, even to her own sister. A resolve as unyielding as steel; sharp claws and sharper teeth. She will burn no offerings and pray to no deity, not till the killer lies dead at her feet.
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>> hatchery
>> lore aesthetics shop
@shanncrafter oOF i love it,,,,, the perfect edgy aesthetic for an edgy dragon,,,,
i'm sending some materials now!
@shanncrafter oOF i love it,,,,, the perfect edgy aesthetic for an edgy dragon,,,,
i'm sending some materials now!
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@remnio ayyy glad you like it and thank you! :D
@remnio ayyy glad you like it and thank you! :D
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>> hatchery
>> lore aesthetics shop
@shanncrafter YoOO dude-- I have WAY TOO MUCH GREY SLIME I CANT I HAVE 12 GREY SLIME HOW MUCH DO YOU NEED I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU-- ((I'd love to get a clan aesthetic! The lore isn't quite put together yet, but it's like this middle world between the earth and the abyss, filled with angels and what other dragons see as "ghosts", even though they're just rips in the fabric of reality. It's basically just this warm, comforting world with cold edges, with harsh rules enforced by the angelic dragons to keep their knowledge safe.)) I've also got [item=enstatite burrower] and [item= wood ear deer] if you want me to pay in those + slime!
@shanncrafter
YoOO dude--
I have WAY TOO MUCH GREY SLIME I CANT
I HAVE 12 GREY SLIME
HOW MUCH DO YOU NEED I WILL GIVE IT TO YOU--

((I'd love to get a clan aesthetic! The lore isn't quite put together yet, but it's like this middle world between the earth and the abyss, filled with angels and what other dragons see as "ghosts", even though they're just rips in the fabric of reality.
It's basically just this warm, comforting world with cold edges, with harsh rules enforced by the angelic dragons to keep their knowledge safe.))
I've also got and if you want me to pay in those + slime!
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@AquaParrot will work.,.,.for sl im e

and yEaH I can definitely do a clan aesthetic for you! I'm heading to bed now tho so I'll get to it when I get up! :) (that is also a very cool clan you've got there btw I'm lovin that concept) thank you!
@AquaParrot will work.,.,.for sl im e

and yEaH I can definitely do a clan aesthetic for you! I'm heading to bed now tho so I'll get to it when I get up! :) (that is also a very cool clan you've got there btw I'm lovin that concept) thank you!
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>> hatchery
>> lore aesthetics shop
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