Art Sales

Ahaha ohhh I’m a big fan of this story!! And delivered on my birthday to boot n_n

The way Cyril speaks about her faith and how you describe her wings is just stunning. Using her gift as a blade is also a great addition! It would certainly be of note to Ribacci since veilspun are usually not trained like that outside of the brotherhood but I can see how she would adapt to using them. This has made me wonder how Ribacci feels about the combat training in the shadow settlement regarding swarm magic and maneuvers… I bet he hates it xD

Another point that I really liked is how barovia doesnt care about being blind during the day, she knew that she could squeeze the little lady in her hand like that rat emoji regardless. It adds a lot to how little credit she gives them.

Lovely stuff as always!! Thank you for the awesome read to start off my day

@Skadiv happy borth!! :D

thank you!! I managed to scatter aran into another double and have absolutely no idea of how to weave this into his settlement dynamics. would you be interested in giving it a go? [b]Username[/b]: Skadiv [b]Link to Dragon[/b]: [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/64131993][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/641320/64131993_350.png[/img][/url] [b]Link to clan lore, if any[/b]: scattered [b]Dragon's pronouns[/b]: he/him [b]Dragon's personality[/b]: warm, nurturing, soft father type dragon (or used to be before this change) [b]Include familiar? If yes, which?[/b] n/a [b]Relations to other dragons[/b]: matriarch's mate [b]Idea for story? Any scene you'd like? If yes, explain[/b]: maybe he went off on a quest to figure out the colour hiccups with barathrum and stuff happened? i understand that different breeds have varying temperaments so maybe his personality changed to an extent? why does he dress up now when he was so used to the ancient's allergy to clothes? ill leave it up to you! [b]Other information[/b]: n/a

@Skadiv order accepted! send payment whenever

Username: pikafan1343445
Link to Dragon: https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/87478488 , https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/87552236

Link to clan lore, if any: Sorta have some? It's mostly WIPs and notes but it's in here
They are pretty advanced in technology due to another company who works alongside them inventing, Meaning you can use more modern things if you'd like.

Dragon's pronouns: Both He/Him

Dragon's personality: Medic (Real name Ludwig): Insane doctor, Sadistic, Curious and always has unconventional medical techniques. Always up to no good. The main support on a battlefield, Though has some weapons for self defense when needed.

Engineer (Real name Dell): Soft spoken southerner, Genius, As the name implies, An engineer who creates things mainly for combat and support on a battlefield. Still insane just like Medic, Just more subtle and hidden.

Relations to other dragons: Great minds think alike. Medic and Engi are good pals for their shared interest in Science. Despite their different methods, And occasional dispute.

Idea for story? Any scene you'd like? If yes, explain:
Red Medic + Engineer sneaking out to the BLU base to tinker with their respawn machine, They've never gotten to see the inner machinery and have been curious about it for a while.
They were the only ones who agreed to do this together as the rest of the team thinks it's a bad idea.
They end up stealing the Australium from the core for experimentation on new inventions and techniques. eventually having to make a getaway as they get caught red handed. Barely escaping the nine angry mercenaries, Both still (mostly) intact and loot still in hand.


Other information: If you include combat, They both have their own set of weapons from the game I can share! Feel free to ask any questions.
Feel free to make changes if it makes things work better. I love action and seeing very silly interactions and dialogue tho, It fits tf2. :D

Since I am paying in art, Send me a character/dragon you want drawn full body! (Prob + an extra headshot since writing takes a lot of effort and time.)

@pikafan1343445 order accepted! i'll sent details on the art in a bit :> sdlfksd no need for an extra headshot, art-ing also takes time and effort!! a fullbody will be fantastic :O

and i may have questions later, when i actually begin writing this piece, but whose point of view do you want the story written from, medic or engineer?

Either is good, I think Medic would be nice tho since I've read a few fics from his POV and it's usually intresting!

@Skadiv [b]Aran[/b]: [quote=A burr beneath skin] Aran woke to his mate gnashing her teeth by his ear. “That’s it,” she snarled, and Aran was shoved, rolled away from her as she pushed upright. He flailed off-balance, nearly falling out of the nest, groggy and disoriented by the sudden wake-up. “Wh? Biela?” The Matron’s voice thrummed in the room like a distant crack of thunder, her cold displeasure apparent. “Inform me what is happening to you,” she said, not to Aran. In the dark den, he saw her silhouette spread out its wings, then draw them in tight against her body. Shadow rushed to comply. Aran rubbed his eye, his brain too tired to piece together what had upset her, and his claws scratched oddly against his . . . lack of fur. Why was he, hard, and slick to the touch, colder even than the smoothness of his antlers— His head moved too quick, too free. Aran all but twisted it off his shoulders, trying to feel for— They were gone. His antlers, they weren’t—he grabbed for them, and his claws grasped nothing. “Biela,” he said, voice strained, his breath becoming a pant as he tried not to panic. “Biela, what’s wrong?” She was too deep in her communion to reply. Aran scrambled backwards out of the nest. His hindleg slipped, crashing him down onto his back, and his wings flared out in delayed response—[i]way[/i] too wide. As big as [i]he[/i] was—Aran somehow got to his feet and staggered across the den to their shuttered window. He dragged the heavy curtains aside and pressed his nose up close to the glass, peering at the faint reflection the starlight offered him. He stared, jaw agape. After a minute, Biela joined him, her solemn figure appearing in the glass panel beside—his. His face. Aran reached out an unsteady claw, grazing the window. Better than touching his own hide, glinting dully in the night, no longer long fur mussed by sleep but sleek and shining even without sunlight. He feared to see himself in anything other than this haunting visage. Biela’s tail flicked against his, and he automatically coiled his around hers. He was stunned by the ease, the naturalness of the motion, how lightly it moved without thick muscle and heavy coat weighing it down, how right it felt to wrap and grip. He clung to her tightly. “How?” he whispered. “The Grove laughed,” she said, returned to her flat calm. “Some mischief at play. Not its own. It simply permitted it.” That was of no real help. Aran slumped to the floor, overwhelmed. Biela sat next to him. “Can you . . . can you undo it?” he whispered, his voice squeaking out at a higher pitch than he’d ever had, even as a hatchling. His mate hummed. “We will try,” she said at last. And they did. For four moons thereafter. ~ Aran lay atop a low bed of seat-shrooms, a fungi selected for their sturdy yet pliable caps, allowing for comfortable seating, his head resting atop his forefeet as he watched the caravan unload their wares from packs and barrels. The clan wandered amongst the wagons, in some ways organizing the chaos, in other places adding to it. Laughter and excited chatter filled the clearing, not too different from the shrill cries of a hatchling den, though few adult dragons would admit to that. Hatchlings. Aran’s feather crests. He rubbed a hindfoot against his side, the bandaged scratch from a careless tiny claw still aching dully. It hadn’t even been the kid’s fault, not really, they’d just tried climbing Aran like they always did during playtime. It was [i]Aran[/i], Aran who had changed, with no heavy fur to protect him, just these posh, useless feathers— He took a deep breath, focusing his mind back on the present. He lowered his hindfoot, though the claws snagged briefly on his robe, sparking a flash of irritation. No one had ever told him how bothersome clothing was, how stiff and unwieldy. It stuck to places it shouldn’t, pulled archly against his stride, and don’t get him started on the choking sensation a collar gave around the [i]neck[/i]. A stray wind caught and tugged on his robe, flaring it around his shoulders and hindquarters, and he hurriedly pulled the fabric closer about him. Wretched or not, Aran felt naked without, something, to cover his body. He’d once chuckled at the notion of nudity, and modesty, how some dragons got embarrassed to wear nothing. Now he was just cold, all the time. So cold. How did anyone get by without fur? “You there!” The call drew Aran’s head up, pulling him out of his quag of self-pity. He looked out across the clearing, frowning as he failed to find its originator, and a tiny set of claws tugged at his robe. The sensation reminded him so starkly of a hatchling he half-rose, a rebuke for slipping out of the lair unaccompanied on his tongue, when he registered the fae merchant standing before him, a diminutive wagon just behind them. “Woah there, pal!” the fae cried, crests folding and twisting in alarm. “Don’t step on me, now!” “My sincere apologies, friend,” he said, lying back down so they were at a similar height. He forced a chuckle, remembering too late how he hated the sound; nothing remained of his deep chest rumble, his laughter now chiming like an array of small bells. “Just startled me from woolgathering, is all.” “Wool? Why waste time gathering that, pah!” The fae turned and busied themself fiddling with their wagon, until jumping back with an expectant, “Hurrah!” The vehicle burst apart, akin to a firecracker in noise if not light and heat, with shelves swinging open in a multi-tiered wardrobe. Gold link chains and sharply cut gems glittered obscenely in the midday gloom, making Aran squint. “Wear riches, instead!” The fae puffed out their chest proudly. “Fresh off the anvil of a master silversmith in the Flamecaller’s Great Furnace itself! These dazzling pieces—” “Fresh?” Aran asked, skeptical. He reached a claw out to the nearest ornament, a bracelet maybe, he’d never bothered learning all their names, close enough to feel for any heat coming off it. The fae chittered crossly, flapping their wings to shoo him off. “They are very delicate crafts! Do not touch without my say-so!” He obediently withdrew his claw, no warmer than he’d been before. They huffed, crests shuttling up and down. “[i]As fresh as you could ever hope for[/i],” they said. “You know how far a trip it is, hm? From the Waste to here? Don’t like what you see, well, go out there and find something better yourself.” They crossed their arms and lifted their snout, considering the matter settled. Aran supposed they must be waiting for him to break and apologize and buy their entire wagon at full price. The old him might have even felt sufficiently guilty. But he found himself too distracted to care. Just how far a trip [i]was[/i] it? The clan had never gone near the Ashfall Waste in their journey from the Plateau to Wispwillow Grove. They’d gone by boat for the most part, almost a straight line across the Sea of a Thousand Currents, avoiding plagued regions and pausing only at Flotsam Town enough days for their ship to stock up on supplies. Aran had never [i]had[/i] an interest in the Waste—the mere thought of visiting made him sweat. “If you don’t like anything, you can just [i]say[/i] so,” the fae sniffed, leaning their meager weight on a shelf to cram the contraption back into its folded form. “Wait! I’m sorry, they’re lovely, but I don’t suppose . . . you could tell me a bit more about this silversmith? The Furnace? What’s it like there?” The fae hesitated. They peered at Aran suspiciously. “I imagine it’s much like your precious Hearth! Lava, lava, and more lava! Whether it’s sitting in a pool or exploding in your face is just personal preference! Might get some actual [i]fire[/i], if you’re lucky!” They began packing up their wagon in earnest, clearly uninterested in Aran anymore. The Hearth, the Hearth—Emberglow Hearth! Aran stood up and stepped over the fae and their wagon, not processing their indignant squawk until he’d strode well past them. [i]Whoops. I should go back and apologize[/i]. Instead, he braved the caravan proper and dove into the crowd, determinedly maneuvering it with his destination firmly in mind. The Matron was at the rearmost end of the wagons, crouched before a gameboard sketched in the dirt with a wizened snapper smoking a pipe across from her. Through half-slitted eyes, the snapper watched the Matron, who stared down at the scatter of game pieces with the intensity of a hawk. Aran didn’t wait for the match to finish but sidled up to his mate, scarcely nodding to the snapper elder before whispering his idea, the thought, a sudden itching urge he could not ignore, into her ear. She held still until he finished, then turned her head to regard him. He stared into her pale green eyes, so like his own—at least those had not changed—yet utterly unreadable. Suddenly she bonked her head against his shoulder. “Go, dear. I had hope not to fail you, but if this is what is necessary.” Her wings lifted in the slightest of shrugs. “Then it must.” As he rarely did, Aran buried his head in her mane, exhaling in relief. Of course she’d understand. Of course she’d send him with her blessing. “I’ll depart now,” he whispered, “so that I may return all the sooner.” She bore it patiently, then twitched, and he stepped back. The snapper eyed him thoughtfully and Aran dipped his head again, properly this time. “Pardon my rudeness.” The snapper cackled so harsh and croaking, the nearest raven shed its feathers in envy, and Aran watched her pipe jolt up and down within her jaws without slipping. “Only gave me time to [i]win[/i].” She decisively shoved a piece forward on the makeshift board and leaned back, puffing smugly away at some pattern Aran could not discern with a glance. The Matron retained her composure, but for a patch of fur that puffed at the base of her tail. Aran winced, and took his leave, so as to not distract Biela during the next round of haggling. He’d pack some belongings, some supplies. Then he’d track that fae down and get a more detailed travel route to the Ashfall Waste. He was going . . . well. In a way, Aran supposed he was going home. [/quote] whagh. i intended to pack this in and get aran's story out in one piece (pensive emoji) i'll settle for sketching out the rest i had in mind. up to you to discard or run with! - aran's transformation was the result of some wind magic/entity being sore about biela's move to shadow and wanting to take a jab at her, but she's too well protected by her her-ness, so it instead went for something close to her but more accessible - the fae merchant probably bought the jewelry off a supplier and hasn't actually been to the ashfall furnace themself lmao - at the hearth, aran talks to metalworkers and inquires about a jewelry piece so he can remember his trip here, and is recommended to get something enchanted so it'll keep him warm when he wears it! lets him stay warm while dressing to his level of comfort, and he feels more at peace in his body :) anything you'd like changed, lemme know!

Wow I did not imagine a reason as coherent as this! I’m also a big fan of how Aran changes in many ways but he’s still himself. I’ll have to comm you for part two once I’m back on my pc ~ also biela’s interaction with the forest is still one of my favourite things, your works are a delight

eee i got distracted but now im back!! id like to comm you for two things friend, the first one would be part 2 of aran's story! and the second one would be one for my newest vampire addition: [b]Username[/b]:Skadiv [b]Link to Dragon[/b]: https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/75016999 [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/75016999][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/750170/75016999_350.png[/img][/url] [b]Link to clan lore, if any[/b]: scattered [b]Dragon's pronouns[/b]: he/him Unsure of where he'd fit in my vampires' circle but they definitely know each other!