@SilverBelle Send them to a reciever please!
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♦ Hatchery ♦ Progen Lineage ♦ Fodder Rescue ♦ Sell me dragons |
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Art Sales
For commissions and flat-sale of your creative efforts.
TOPIC | Plague Foddart:Scrimshaw Scrawls 1/12-18
@SilverBelle Send them to a reciever please!
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@thatwhatthing
Username: MerlinMausi
ID: 378257
Dragon:[url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=50441973]
[img]https://flightrising.com/rendern/350/504420/50441973_350.png[/img]
[/url]
Gene(s) (primary and tertiary only): Jaguar Glimmer
Eyes: Swirl
Addon(s) (optional): Wind banner
Addon(s) Style (optional):
Price: 30lvls
Notes (optional): /
@thatwhatthing
Username: MerlinMausi
ID: 378257
Dragon:
Gene(s) (primary and tertiary only): Jaguar Glimmer
Eyes: Swirl
Addon(s) (optional): Wind banner
Addon(s) Style (optional):
Price: 30lvls
Notes (optional): /
Username: MerlinMausi
ID: 378257
Dragon:
Gene(s) (primary and tertiary only): Jaguar Glimmer
Eyes: Swirl
Addon(s) (optional): Wind banner
Addon(s) Style (optional):
Price: 30lvls
Notes (optional): /
@RubieKanary Here's the bio for Tasha! Please let me know if there's anything you would like changed :3
Feathered wings fluttered gently as the skydancer stared at the twisted scrap, heaps of ruined metal all that remained of her once proud army. She felt no regret, no bitterness, only disappointment. Her former clan had sealed their own fate when they had banished her, claiming that those iron soldiers and steel wall would doom them all. Giving one last sigh, Tasha spread her wings, departing from the place she had once called home.
Whatever they needed to sleep at night, she supposed. Perhaps they would one day come to regret sending away the one who had sought only to protect them, but that was not her concern anymore. All she knew was that she needed to get as far away from here as possible.
From a very young age, Tasha showed promise as a metalworker, sculpting cold steel and iron like potter's clay, creating intricate designs that impressed many. Dragons would bring forth materials for her to craft, if only to have a chance to watch her work. Her artistry was renown throughout the clan, but as time shifted, the skydancer changed.
Originally she made small, pretty trinkets, little metallic creatures that skittered and sang, but after the deaths of her parents and the occasional loss of life the clan experienced itself, Tasha's golems grew larger, more intimidating. At first, her clan lauded her as a hero, no longer fearing the beasts that came at night, the enemies that might try and rise against them. They were safe, protected; after all, who would attack a clan protected by soldiers wrought from unfeeling, unrelenting steel?
Tasha took their words to heart, and from her hands more of her golems were birthed. But now, instead of grateful words and smiles from her clanmates, they instead regarded the horrendous monsters of metal with frightened glances. Their leader, it seemed, had grown mad with her power, her intentions changing from the desire to protect to something deeper, darker. Maybe even cruel.
Her intentions may have been good at first, desiring only to keep her clanmates safe by protecting them from the dangers and cruelties the world outside posed, and to Tasha, that was still what she was doing. She was right. And so Tasha paid no attention to the whispered skepticisms; if they could not see that everything she did was from a desire to protect them all, that was their own problem.
“It was awful. There weren't any of them left. They didn't even do anything, that metal monster just slaughtered them.”
News began to rapidly spread through the clan as word was received that Tasha's behemoths had begun killing indiscriminately and without a single shred of mercy. A new word began to be used amongst the dragons of the clan.
Murderer.
They crashed on the once lauded army like waves on the shore, battering, destroying, rending metal with tooth and claw until nothing remained but the smoking scraps before they turned to Tasha herself, braying for her immediate banishment. With little choice, the skydancer fled, turning away from her home and taking to the sky.
She cared little for the direction in which she headed. In fact, she cared little for anything at the moment. For now, their fate was their own, she was washed of it. For now, the only fate she need concern herself with was her own.
Feathered wings fluttered gently as the skydancer stared at the twisted scrap, heaps of ruined metal all that remained of her once proud army. She felt no regret, no bitterness, only disappointment. Her former clan had sealed their own fate when they had banished her, claiming that those iron soldiers and steel wall would doom them all. Giving one last sigh, Tasha spread her wings, departing from the place she had once called home.
Whatever they needed to sleep at night, she supposed. Perhaps they would one day come to regret sending away the one who had sought only to protect them, but that was not her concern anymore. All she knew was that she needed to get as far away from here as possible.
From a very young age, Tasha showed promise as a metalworker, sculpting cold steel and iron like potter's clay, creating intricate designs that impressed many. Dragons would bring forth materials for her to craft, if only to have a chance to watch her work. Her artistry was renown throughout the clan, but as time shifted, the skydancer changed.
Originally she made small, pretty trinkets, little metallic creatures that skittered and sang, but after the deaths of her parents and the occasional loss of life the clan experienced itself, Tasha's golems grew larger, more intimidating. At first, her clan lauded her as a hero, no longer fearing the beasts that came at night, the enemies that might try and rise against them. They were safe, protected; after all, who would attack a clan protected by soldiers wrought from unfeeling, unrelenting steel?
Tasha took their words to heart, and from her hands more of her golems were birthed. But now, instead of grateful words and smiles from her clanmates, they instead regarded the horrendous monsters of metal with frightened glances. Their leader, it seemed, had grown mad with her power, her intentions changing from the desire to protect to something deeper, darker. Maybe even cruel.
Her intentions may have been good at first, desiring only to keep her clanmates safe by protecting them from the dangers and cruelties the world outside posed, and to Tasha, that was still what she was doing. She was right. And so Tasha paid no attention to the whispered skepticisms; if they could not see that everything she did was from a desire to protect them all, that was their own problem.
“It was awful. There weren't any of them left. They didn't even do anything, that metal monster just slaughtered them.”
News began to rapidly spread through the clan as word was received that Tasha's behemoths had begun killing indiscriminately and without a single shred of mercy. A new word began to be used amongst the dragons of the clan.
Murderer.
They crashed on the once lauded army like waves on the shore, battering, destroying, rending metal with tooth and claw until nothing remained but the smoking scraps before they turned to Tasha herself, braying for her immediate banishment. With little choice, the skydancer fled, turning away from her home and taking to the sky.
She cared little for the direction in which she headed. In fact, she cared little for anything at the moment. For now, their fate was their own, she was washed of it. For now, the only fate she need concern herself with was her own.
@RubieKanary Here's the bio for Tasha! Please let me know if there's anything you would like changed :3
Feathered wings fluttered gently as the skydancer stared at the twisted scrap, heaps of ruined metal all that remained of her once proud army. She felt no regret, no bitterness, only disappointment. Her former clan had sealed their own fate when they had banished her, claiming that those iron soldiers and steel wall would doom them all. Giving one last sigh, Tasha spread her wings, departing from the place she had once called home.
Whatever they needed to sleep at night, she supposed. Perhaps they would one day come to regret sending away the one who had sought only to protect them, but that was not her concern anymore. All she knew was that she needed to get as far away from here as possible.
From a very young age, Tasha showed promise as a metalworker, sculpting cold steel and iron like potter's clay, creating intricate designs that impressed many. Dragons would bring forth materials for her to craft, if only to have a chance to watch her work. Her artistry was renown throughout the clan, but as time shifted, the skydancer changed.
Originally she made small, pretty trinkets, little metallic creatures that skittered and sang, but after the deaths of her parents and the occasional loss of life the clan experienced itself, Tasha's golems grew larger, more intimidating. At first, her clan lauded her as a hero, no longer fearing the beasts that came at night, the enemies that might try and rise against them. They were safe, protected; after all, who would attack a clan protected by soldiers wrought from unfeeling, unrelenting steel?
Tasha took their words to heart, and from her hands more of her golems were birthed. But now, instead of grateful words and smiles from her clanmates, they instead regarded the horrendous monsters of metal with frightened glances. Their leader, it seemed, had grown mad with her power, her intentions changing from the desire to protect to something deeper, darker. Maybe even cruel.
Her intentions may have been good at first, desiring only to keep her clanmates safe by protecting them from the dangers and cruelties the world outside posed, and to Tasha, that was still what she was doing. She was right. And so Tasha paid no attention to the whispered skepticisms; if they could not see that everything she did was from a desire to protect them all, that was their own problem.
“It was awful. There weren't any of them left. They didn't even do anything, that metal monster just slaughtered them.”
News began to rapidly spread through the clan as word was received that Tasha's behemoths had begun killing indiscriminately and without a single shred of mercy. A new word began to be used amongst the dragons of the clan.
Murderer.
They crashed on the once lauded army like waves on the shore, battering, destroying, rending metal with tooth and claw until nothing remained but the smoking scraps before they turned to Tasha herself, braying for her immediate banishment. With little choice, the skydancer fled, turning away from her home and taking to the sky.
She cared little for the direction in which she headed. In fact, she cared little for anything at the moment. For now, their fate was their own, she was washed of it. For now, the only fate she need concern herself with was her own.
Feathered wings fluttered gently as the skydancer stared at the twisted scrap, heaps of ruined metal all that remained of her once proud army. She felt no regret, no bitterness, only disappointment. Her former clan had sealed their own fate when they had banished her, claiming that those iron soldiers and steel wall would doom them all. Giving one last sigh, Tasha spread her wings, departing from the place she had once called home.
Whatever they needed to sleep at night, she supposed. Perhaps they would one day come to regret sending away the one who had sought only to protect them, but that was not her concern anymore. All she knew was that she needed to get as far away from here as possible.
From a very young age, Tasha showed promise as a metalworker, sculpting cold steel and iron like potter's clay, creating intricate designs that impressed many. Dragons would bring forth materials for her to craft, if only to have a chance to watch her work. Her artistry was renown throughout the clan, but as time shifted, the skydancer changed.
Originally she made small, pretty trinkets, little metallic creatures that skittered and sang, but after the deaths of her parents and the occasional loss of life the clan experienced itself, Tasha's golems grew larger, more intimidating. At first, her clan lauded her as a hero, no longer fearing the beasts that came at night, the enemies that might try and rise against them. They were safe, protected; after all, who would attack a clan protected by soldiers wrought from unfeeling, unrelenting steel?
Tasha took their words to heart, and from her hands more of her golems were birthed. But now, instead of grateful words and smiles from her clanmates, they instead regarded the horrendous monsters of metal with frightened glances. Their leader, it seemed, had grown mad with her power, her intentions changing from the desire to protect to something deeper, darker. Maybe even cruel.
Her intentions may have been good at first, desiring only to keep her clanmates safe by protecting them from the dangers and cruelties the world outside posed, and to Tasha, that was still what she was doing. She was right. And so Tasha paid no attention to the whispered skepticisms; if they could not see that everything she did was from a desire to protect them all, that was their own problem.
“It was awful. There weren't any of them left. They didn't even do anything, that metal monster just slaughtered them.”
News began to rapidly spread through the clan as word was received that Tasha's behemoths had begun killing indiscriminately and without a single shred of mercy. A new word began to be used amongst the dragons of the clan.
Murderer.
They crashed on the once lauded army like waves on the shore, battering, destroying, rending metal with tooth and claw until nothing remained but the smoking scraps before they turned to Tasha herself, braying for her immediate banishment. With little choice, the skydancer fled, turning away from her home and taking to the sky.
She cared little for the direction in which she headed. In fact, she cared little for anything at the moment. For now, their fate was their own, she was washed of it. For now, the only fate she need concern herself with was her own.
|
| A |
FAQs Buying Maroon Tert G1s Tarot Shop Wishlist Clan Lore | AAAAAAAAAAA |
|
@tigressRising Here's the bio for Bora! Please let me know if there are any changes you'd like me to make or if there's anything I should fix! :)
Scratch, scratch. The egg trembled, shook, the scratching sound growing louder as the dragonling within grew more desperate in their attempt to break through the shell. Cracks spidered their way over the surface, growing wider and wider before...
With a sharp crack, the hatchling tumbled forth, damp and seemingly surprised by her surroundings. Eyes stared up, wide in wonder as she regarded her parents for the first time. Her soft, lovely parents that quickly cleaned and warmed her, gathering her close and smiling down at their little bundle of joy.
“Hello, sweet Bora. Rest easy, Momma and Papa are here.”
Bora's egg had been discovered by the pair of tundras half-buried in a bank of snow. At first, they didn't think it would hatch at all, but the egg was...different. The shell was thicker than any they had seen, and it gave off a slight warmth that made them decide to tend to it and see if it might hatch after all. Carefully they guarded the egg like it was their own, and when it began to shows signs of hatching, they were overjoyed.
The dragon that tumbled out of the shell was unlike any they had seen before. She was covered in thick fur like a tundra, but her wings were small and stunted, horns oddly shaped, and claws far too long. Perhaps this was a consequence of her egg being left in the frigid snow? Whatever the cause, they didn't care. Bora was their child, and they raised her with love and care with the rest of their family.
She learned how to live in the cold, how to forage for things to eat during times of scarcity, but it always seemed like something was missing. Like she was meant to be doing something else.
It wasn't until Bora was grown that word began to spread through Sornieth about the reemergence of the gaolers. In the end it was a trader that recognized her as one, and Bora felt the need to seek out more of her kind. After all, she wanted to know, to learn all she could about who and what she was.
Saying goodbye to her parents and family was bittersweet, and Bora promised to come back and visit when she was able, but she departed nonetheless, ready to seek out the answers to the thousand questions whirling around in her brain like a maelstrom.
Bora plodded across the plains, sun shining bright overhead. Her travels had taken her far but she still had a ways to go. Sometimes she missed her family; it was a simpler life there, and it seemed as if the more she learned about her gaoler heritage, the more it conflicted with her upbringing. She no longer needed to spend days on end in the warmer months grazing without stopping. When she rested, she was no longer obligated to burrow a lair. Instead, Bora could find somewhere simple to lay her head without needing to cover the space in branches or other useless clutter. It was confusing, but oddly liberating.
Still, she was happy out here like this, eager to venture forth and sate her curiosity further.
Scratch, scratch. The egg trembled, shook, the scratching sound growing louder as the dragonling within grew more desperate in their attempt to break through the shell. Cracks spidered their way over the surface, growing wider and wider before...
With a sharp crack, the hatchling tumbled forth, damp and seemingly surprised by her surroundings. Eyes stared up, wide in wonder as she regarded her parents for the first time. Her soft, lovely parents that quickly cleaned and warmed her, gathering her close and smiling down at their little bundle of joy.
“Hello, sweet Bora. Rest easy, Momma and Papa are here.”
Bora's egg had been discovered by the pair of tundras half-buried in a bank of snow. At first, they didn't think it would hatch at all, but the egg was...different. The shell was thicker than any they had seen, and it gave off a slight warmth that made them decide to tend to it and see if it might hatch after all. Carefully they guarded the egg like it was their own, and when it began to shows signs of hatching, they were overjoyed.
The dragon that tumbled out of the shell was unlike any they had seen before. She was covered in thick fur like a tundra, but her wings were small and stunted, horns oddly shaped, and claws far too long. Perhaps this was a consequence of her egg being left in the frigid snow? Whatever the cause, they didn't care. Bora was their child, and they raised her with love and care with the rest of their family.
She learned how to live in the cold, how to forage for things to eat during times of scarcity, but it always seemed like something was missing. Like she was meant to be doing something else.
It wasn't until Bora was grown that word began to spread through Sornieth about the reemergence of the gaolers. In the end it was a trader that recognized her as one, and Bora felt the need to seek out more of her kind. After all, she wanted to know, to learn all she could about who and what she was.
Saying goodbye to her parents and family was bittersweet, and Bora promised to come back and visit when she was able, but she departed nonetheless, ready to seek out the answers to the thousand questions whirling around in her brain like a maelstrom.
Bora plodded across the plains, sun shining bright overhead. Her travels had taken her far but she still had a ways to go. Sometimes she missed her family; it was a simpler life there, and it seemed as if the more she learned about her gaoler heritage, the more it conflicted with her upbringing. She no longer needed to spend days on end in the warmer months grazing without stopping. When she rested, she was no longer obligated to burrow a lair. Instead, Bora could find somewhere simple to lay her head without needing to cover the space in branches or other useless clutter. It was confusing, but oddly liberating.
Still, she was happy out here like this, eager to venture forth and sate her curiosity further.
@tigressRising Here's the bio for Bora! Please let me know if there are any changes you'd like me to make or if there's anything I should fix! :)
Scratch, scratch. The egg trembled, shook, the scratching sound growing louder as the dragonling within grew more desperate in their attempt to break through the shell. Cracks spidered their way over the surface, growing wider and wider before...
With a sharp crack, the hatchling tumbled forth, damp and seemingly surprised by her surroundings. Eyes stared up, wide in wonder as she regarded her parents for the first time. Her soft, lovely parents that quickly cleaned and warmed her, gathering her close and smiling down at their little bundle of joy.
“Hello, sweet Bora. Rest easy, Momma and Papa are here.”
Bora's egg had been discovered by the pair of tundras half-buried in a bank of snow. At first, they didn't think it would hatch at all, but the egg was...different. The shell was thicker than any they had seen, and it gave off a slight warmth that made them decide to tend to it and see if it might hatch after all. Carefully they guarded the egg like it was their own, and when it began to shows signs of hatching, they were overjoyed.
The dragon that tumbled out of the shell was unlike any they had seen before. She was covered in thick fur like a tundra, but her wings were small and stunted, horns oddly shaped, and claws far too long. Perhaps this was a consequence of her egg being left in the frigid snow? Whatever the cause, they didn't care. Bora was their child, and they raised her with love and care with the rest of their family.
She learned how to live in the cold, how to forage for things to eat during times of scarcity, but it always seemed like something was missing. Like she was meant to be doing something else.
It wasn't until Bora was grown that word began to spread through Sornieth about the reemergence of the gaolers. In the end it was a trader that recognized her as one, and Bora felt the need to seek out more of her kind. After all, she wanted to know, to learn all she could about who and what she was.
Saying goodbye to her parents and family was bittersweet, and Bora promised to come back and visit when she was able, but she departed nonetheless, ready to seek out the answers to the thousand questions whirling around in her brain like a maelstrom.
Bora plodded across the plains, sun shining bright overhead. Her travels had taken her far but she still had a ways to go. Sometimes she missed her family; it was a simpler life there, and it seemed as if the more she learned about her gaoler heritage, the more it conflicted with her upbringing. She no longer needed to spend days on end in the warmer months grazing without stopping. When she rested, she was no longer obligated to burrow a lair. Instead, Bora could find somewhere simple to lay her head without needing to cover the space in branches or other useless clutter. It was confusing, but oddly liberating.
Still, she was happy out here like this, eager to venture forth and sate her curiosity further.
Scratch, scratch. The egg trembled, shook, the scratching sound growing louder as the dragonling within grew more desperate in their attempt to break through the shell. Cracks spidered their way over the surface, growing wider and wider before...
With a sharp crack, the hatchling tumbled forth, damp and seemingly surprised by her surroundings. Eyes stared up, wide in wonder as she regarded her parents for the first time. Her soft, lovely parents that quickly cleaned and warmed her, gathering her close and smiling down at their little bundle of joy.
“Hello, sweet Bora. Rest easy, Momma and Papa are here.”
Bora's egg had been discovered by the pair of tundras half-buried in a bank of snow. At first, they didn't think it would hatch at all, but the egg was...different. The shell was thicker than any they had seen, and it gave off a slight warmth that made them decide to tend to it and see if it might hatch after all. Carefully they guarded the egg like it was their own, and when it began to shows signs of hatching, they were overjoyed.
The dragon that tumbled out of the shell was unlike any they had seen before. She was covered in thick fur like a tundra, but her wings were small and stunted, horns oddly shaped, and claws far too long. Perhaps this was a consequence of her egg being left in the frigid snow? Whatever the cause, they didn't care. Bora was their child, and they raised her with love and care with the rest of their family.
She learned how to live in the cold, how to forage for things to eat during times of scarcity, but it always seemed like something was missing. Like she was meant to be doing something else.
It wasn't until Bora was grown that word began to spread through Sornieth about the reemergence of the gaolers. In the end it was a trader that recognized her as one, and Bora felt the need to seek out more of her kind. After all, she wanted to know, to learn all she could about who and what she was.
Saying goodbye to her parents and family was bittersweet, and Bora promised to come back and visit when she was able, but she departed nonetheless, ready to seek out the answers to the thousand questions whirling around in her brain like a maelstrom.
Bora plodded across the plains, sun shining bright overhead. Her travels had taken her far but she still had a ways to go. Sometimes she missed her family; it was a simpler life there, and it seemed as if the more she learned about her gaoler heritage, the more it conflicted with her upbringing. She no longer needed to spend days on end in the warmer months grazing without stopping. When she rested, she was no longer obligated to burrow a lair. Instead, Bora could find somewhere simple to lay her head without needing to cover the space in branches or other useless clutter. It was confusing, but oddly liberating.
Still, she was happy out here like this, eager to venture forth and sate her curiosity further.
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| A |
FAQs Buying Maroon Tert G1s Tarot Shop Wishlist Clan Lore | AAAAAAAAAAA |
|
@PijukVonGacy
Username: Enkil
ID: 252162
Dragon: [url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=48164374]
[img]https://flightrising.com/rendern/350/481644/48164374_350.png[/img]
[/url]
I want a: clean bust/
Pose? Expression? Anything else I need to know about your dragon? The more you tell me, the better!: This is Mandalore. She never removes her "helmet" around others. She's tough, stoic, and unaccepting of any form of weakness. Though she is fond of children.
Price: 200 levels
@PijukVonGacy
Username: Enkil
ID: 252162
Dragon:
I want a: clean bust/
Pose? Expression? Anything else I need to know about your dragon? The more you tell me, the better!: This is Mandalore. She never removes her "helmet" around others. She's tough, stoic, and unaccepting of any form of weakness. Though she is fond of children.
Price: 200 levels
Username: Enkil
ID: 252162
Dragon:
I want a: clean bust/
Pose? Expression? Anything else I need to know about your dragon? The more you tell me, the better!: This is Mandalore. She never removes her "helmet" around others. She's tough, stoic, and unaccepting of any form of weakness. Though she is fond of children.
Price: 200 levels
@mooncakefestival
[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/618100130222178366/666705475848372224/YotR_Plague_Adopt_mooncakefestival_2.png[/img]
[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/618100130222178366/666705503719522304/YotR_Plague_Adopt_mooncakefestival_3.png[/img]
Your rats are done! Added the Arcane Emblem to one since i thought it'd be a cute addition. Let me know if anything needs changing
@mooncakefestival
Your rats are done! Added the Arcane Emblem to one since i thought it'd be a cute addition. Let me know if anything needs changing
Your rats are done! Added the Arcane Emblem to one since i thought it'd be a cute addition. Let me know if anything needs changing