i'm going to be so real with you all: i've bitten off way more than i can chew wrt gems on gening a new project i've begun, and so i need to make a bit more money! (while this will be pwyw, i do expect it to be reasonable compensation for my time, and likely won't respond to super low bids!! i accept fr currency/apparel/umas, as well as usd.)
each individual piece will probably be capped out at max 500 words, though i'd be willing to go longer if you're willing to pay a more significant amount/offer something on my wishlist/etc!! (seen on cameron)
here's an snippet of writing taken from one of my poems (about lot's wife and orpheus):
[quote][i]i was worried i would lose her either way,[/i] he answers. if he had reached out a hand, he could have caught the threshold of the light of day in it. he had sung the whole walk out, but he had faltered then, to hear the birdsong. [i]if i was - i wanted to at least see her one last time[/i].
she had danced in a way that made even his voice falter, and her smile had been as clever and biting as a woodman’s axe. she knew the most beautiful places to see the stars, and he had laid next to her as she spoke about the stories of them and the meaning of each tree that surrounded them, and thought her wiser than any philosopher of athens who thought his words great.
he lowers himself to the ground, in this space scattered with sand and gnarly roots both.
she cannot join him, her legs trapping her in the shape of a pillar forever, the veins of salt already creeping up to her chest. neither of them need to speak it to know she will pass soon. she wonders if she will ever see her neighbors again, in whatever comes next.
[i]i think i will follow you,[/i] he whispers, eyes hollow. [i]i have sung my way into the underworld once before. it will be easier this time.[/i] his voice is a rasp, like a viper’s hiss in the weeds. he has worn his hands and throat bloody both, and his lyre sits forgotten at his feet.
there is a song that lingers here, in this impossible crossroads. but it is not the boy with a voice that could reach the heart of death, nor a song that makes the trees turn in his wake to listen.
she sings with a simple voice, like clay and rough cloth. it has never been raised to move mountains - she has sung her daughters to sleep with it, when they cried out at night, and raised it quietly for psalms, and hummed to herself in her weaving. there are songs in sodom that will never be sung again. she fills the air with them, now - from her sister’s wedding, from the children playing in the street, even the drinking songs you could hear out of your window long after the sun had left the sky.
she sings until her lungs fill with salt. until her body mixes with the sand.
there is a bloody lyre resting where her feet once stood, its crossbar pointing towards gomorrah.[/quote]
and here's an example of some of my lore writing, in this case taken from chyth's (439th tab) bio (my dragons are based on my star wars ocs. however, i promise i can write about other things lmao):
[quote]
later, when the stars are harsh in the desert sky, cham sits by him. close enough to say [i]allies[/i], far enough to rule out the word [i]camaraderie[/i]. chyth doesn’t say anything to him for a long second. looks at the stars, instead.
they’re never this [i]bright[/i] on kamino. on coruscant. on many of the other planets the 439th has set boot on.
cham had checked on his own people first. chyth understands; he’d done the same.
‘ we do something similar, you know, captain, ‘ cham says, finally. the pyre is down to glowing embers, now, wafting smoke and memories into the air. ‘ [i]mi’sou[/i]. the family and friends remember the dead, and we burn their bodies. ‘ the twi’lek man is staring at the pyre. remembering, perhaps, all those they weren’t able to give their own funerals. pyres would draw too many unwanted mechanical eyes. ‘ you two were close. ‘ it was not a question.
chyth runs his fingertips over the desert-chipped brown paint on his bracer. flexes his wrist; feels the resistance it runs into. the way his brother’s hands worked differently than his own. ‘ yes. we always knew this was . . . ‘ [i]inevitable[/i] seems too harsh. ‘ that we might not see each other again. ‘ from the moment they stepped onto those gunships off kamino, they knew their lives were forfeit to the republic. they had been prepared for this outcome.
that doesn’t make the hole in his chest feel any less raw.
syndulla nods. his eyes are sharp and searching as they find chyth again. ‘ tell me, captain. what are you fighting for? ‘
[i]ryloth will not be occupied[/i], orn free taa had promised. chyth understands the 439th’s presence here, even just to help rebuild, threatens that promise. better if you can understand [i]why[/i] your ally is your ally. if they become your enemy, so be it. better to understand that, too.
he considers his answer for a long moment. ‘ [i]dan vatak tla dei favna.[/i] ‘ you fight for your home. ‘ so do we. ‘
syndulla’s eyes are hard. skeptical. chyth doesn’t blame him for that, either. ‘ the republic? ‘
that certainly is the question.[/quote]
i'm subscribed to the thread/no need to ping, but i don't mind if you do!
i'm going to be so real with you all: i've bitten off way more than i can chew wrt gems on gening a new project i've begun, and so i need to make a bit more money! (while this will be pwyw, i do expect it to be reasonable compensation for my time, and likely won't respond to super low bids!! i accept fr currency/apparel/umas, as well as usd.)
each individual piece will probably be capped out at max 500 words, though i'd be willing to go longer if you're willing to pay a more significant amount/offer something on my wishlist/etc!! (seen on cameron)
here's an snippet of writing taken from one of my poems (about lot's wife and orpheus):
Quote:
i was worried i would lose her either way, he answers. if he had reached out a hand, he could have caught the threshold of the light of day in it. he had sung the whole walk out, but he had faltered then, to hear the birdsong. if i was - i wanted to at least see her one last time.
she had danced in a way that made even his voice falter, and her smile had been as clever and biting as a woodman’s axe. she knew the most beautiful places to see the stars, and he had laid next to her as she spoke about the stories of them and the meaning of each tree that surrounded them, and thought her wiser than any philosopher of athens who thought his words great.
he lowers himself to the ground, in this space scattered with sand and gnarly roots both.
she cannot join him, her legs trapping her in the shape of a pillar forever, the veins of salt already creeping up to her chest. neither of them need to speak it to know she will pass soon. she wonders if she will ever see her neighbors again, in whatever comes next.
i think i will follow you, he whispers, eyes hollow. i have sung my way into the underworld once before. it will be easier this time. his voice is a rasp, like a viper’s hiss in the weeds. he has worn his hands and throat bloody both, and his lyre sits forgotten at his feet.
there is a song that lingers here, in this impossible crossroads. but it is not the boy with a voice that could reach the heart of death, nor a song that makes the trees turn in his wake to listen.
she sings with a simple voice, like clay and rough cloth. it has never been raised to move mountains - she has sung her daughters to sleep with it, when they cried out at night, and raised it quietly for psalms, and hummed to herself in her weaving. there are songs in sodom that will never be sung again. she fills the air with them, now - from her sister’s wedding, from the children playing in the street, even the drinking songs you could hear out of your window long after the sun had left the sky.
she sings until her lungs fill with salt. until her body mixes with the sand.
there is a bloody lyre resting where her feet once stood, its crossbar pointing towards gomorrah.
and here's an example of some of my lore writing, in this case taken from chyth's (439th tab) bio (my dragons are based on my star wars ocs. however, i promise i can write about other things lmao):
Quote:
later, when the stars are harsh in the desert sky, cham sits by him. close enough to say allies, far enough to rule out the word camaraderie. chyth doesn’t say anything to him for a long second. looks at the stars, instead.
they’re never this bright on kamino. on coruscant. on many of the other planets the 439th has set boot on.
cham had checked on his own people first. chyth understands; he’d done the same.
‘ we do something similar, you know, captain, ‘ cham says, finally. the pyre is down to glowing embers, now, wafting smoke and memories into the air. ‘ mi’sou. the family and friends remember the dead, and we burn their bodies. ‘ the twi’lek man is staring at the pyre. remembering, perhaps, all those they weren’t able to give their own funerals. pyres would draw too many unwanted mechanical eyes. ‘ you two were close. ‘ it was not a question.
chyth runs his fingertips over the desert-chipped brown paint on his bracer. flexes his wrist; feels the resistance it runs into. the way his brother’s hands worked differently than his own. ‘ yes. we always knew this was . . . ‘ inevitable seems too harsh. ‘ that we might not see each other again. ‘ from the moment they stepped onto those gunships off kamino, they knew their lives were forfeit to the republic. they had been prepared for this outcome.
that doesn’t make the hole in his chest feel any less raw.
syndulla nods. his eyes are sharp and searching as they find chyth again. ‘ tell me, captain. what are you fighting for? ‘
ryloth will not be occupied, orn free taa had promised. chyth understands the 439th’s presence here, even just to help rebuild, threatens that promise. better if you can understand why your ally is your ally. if they become your enemy, so be it. better to understand that, too.
he considers his answer for a long moment. ‘ dan vatak tla dei favna. ‘ you fight for your home. ‘ so do we. ‘
syndulla’s eyes are hard. skeptical. chyth doesn’t blame him for that, either. ‘ the republic? ‘
that certainly is the question.
i'm subscribed to the thread/no need to ping, but i don't mind if you do!
hello! i could offer [item=aerborne halo] (170g) + [item=conflagrant halo] (250g) for something for [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/90679728]this dragon[/url]? they have a few tentative lore notes in their bio but i certainly wouldn't mind you taking liberties with them / coming up with new details as you'd see fit - thank you for your consideration!
Encircling the head, this halo of swirling gusts is the magical sign of a powerful individual. (Mistral Jamboree 2019 Holiday Item)
0
(170g) +
Conflagrant Halo
Apparel
Encircling the head, this halo of pure flame is the magical sign of a powerful individual. (Flameforger's Festival 2018 Holiday Item)
0
(250g) for something for this dragon? they have a few tentative lore notes in their bio but i certainly wouldn't mind you taking liberties with them / coming up with new details as you'd see fit - thank you for your consideration!
@hocotate oooh, i'd love to give that a shot! angels used to be a huge interest of mine, so i'm definitely excited to try! i'll pm you once i've finished it, so that you can let me know if there's anything you want to change.
@hocotate oooh, i'd love to give that a shot! angels used to be a huge interest of mine, so i'm definitely excited to try! i'll pm you once i've finished it, so that you can let me know if there's anything you want to change.
lore finished for @hocotate, for their dragon halcyon!
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/90679728][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/906798/90679728.png[/img][/url]
the prompt:
[quote]tentative character notes:
effigy of a fallen angel cursed/enchanted to come to life.
or maybe they were an angel that was turned into statue...then came alive again but basically as a fraction of their former self. hence 'fallen.'
usually solemn but can be a bit manic and unpredictable -- obsessed with the ideal of perfection/beauty/eternity that they strive towards. has a striking, piercing gaze.[/quote]
and the writing piece!!
[quote]there had been worshippers here, once.
slowly, they had dried up, just like their faith, just like the money of the town that surrounded the church, just like the mines in the hills that surrounded the town. even the stained glass windows are boarded up, now, the cames coated in rust, a draft whistling through the crack that split eve’s cheek from her face.
when the moon peers through that crack, like a child breathlessly pressing their eye to a keyhole, it gives them the only halo they’ve worn in years.
( they had been given a better one, once - made of silver, it had taken weeks to make, and the smith’s wife bragged for months that it was one of the most beautiful things that had ever come from this town. the smith had rested an arm around her shoulders, and had always added [i]besides you,[/i] and then later, [i]besides our daughters[/i], and it had always drawn a laugh from the crowd, warm and congratulatory. )
( but that had been years ago, and one of the sons of one of those daughters had long since taken one of the selfsame chisels used in their birth from marble to roughly hew it from their head, the silver sold for food and a one-way ticket away from this town, this church, the stone angel that now bore a crack through one eye where his hand had slipped, running down their cheek like a tear. )
one time, people had used to touch their face, their hands, for luck. they had whispered their prayers to them - and thanked them, in the times when they were answered, new mothers turning their infants to coo curiously in their direction, young men with engagement rings on their hands squeezing one of theirs, full of life and confidence and praying for a happy marriage.
in the moonlight, a spider is creeping along the solemn jut of their carved cheekbones, weaving its home in the curve of their neck. it is the only thing to touch them in months.
years later, it will be contentious as to how the fire started. teenagers, breaking in at night to smoke on the pews, some argue. others, that it was a bid for the small amount of insurance tied to the building - the only thing the church had left to offer this place. still more whisper that it was the only bolt of lightning any of them had seen in months, standing alone with no rain and striking the steeple.
however it started, nobody comes to put it out. dessicated hymns and rotting beams catch easily, and the flames lick down the walls, dance across the empty altar as though to mock the font beside it, which has been bone-dry of holy water for years. shimmering heat sends cracks up their form, splitting the tunic they were carved in, painting their skin ash-dark, igniting the delicate arches of their wings.
in the moment before the roof collapses, the flames kiss their eyes, and it almost seems as though they could be filled with light.
when the children of the old worshippers, adults grown now, walk up the hill to see if anything can be found in the ashes, the angel is gone, without leaving so much as a piece of rubble in the shape of clasped and holy hands.
( one of [i]their[/i] children, though, finds a single feather, in the ruins of the smoke-stained glass. it is black as ash, with a rachis as gold as firelight, and she leaves it where she found it, because, although the fire burned itself to conclusion long ago, when she tries to pick it up, it burns her fingers to the touch. )
( when she falls asleep that night, she hears singing in her dreams. ) [/quote]
lore finished for @hocotate, for their dragon halcyon!
the prompt:
Quote:
tentative character notes:
effigy of a fallen angel cursed/enchanted to come to life.
or maybe they were an angel that was turned into statue...then came alive again but basically as a fraction of their former self. hence 'fallen.'
usually solemn but can be a bit manic and unpredictable -- obsessed with the ideal of perfection/beauty/eternity that they strive towards. has a striking, piercing gaze.
and the writing piece!!
Quote:
there had been worshippers here, once.
slowly, they had dried up, just like their faith, just like the money of the town that surrounded the church, just like the mines in the hills that surrounded the town. even the stained glass windows are boarded up, now, the cames coated in rust, a draft whistling through the crack that split eve’s cheek from her face.
when the moon peers through that crack, like a child breathlessly pressing their eye to a keyhole, it gives them the only halo they’ve worn in years.
( they had been given a better one, once - made of silver, it had taken weeks to make, and the smith’s wife bragged for months that it was one of the most beautiful things that had ever come from this town. the smith had rested an arm around her shoulders, and had always added besides you, and then later, besides our daughters, and it had always drawn a laugh from the crowd, warm and congratulatory. )
( but that had been years ago, and one of the sons of one of those daughters had long since taken one of the selfsame chisels used in their birth from marble to roughly hew it from their head, the silver sold for food and a one-way ticket away from this town, this church, the stone angel that now bore a crack through one eye where his hand had slipped, running down their cheek like a tear. )
one time, people had used to touch their face, their hands, for luck. they had whispered their prayers to them - and thanked them, in the times when they were answered, new mothers turning their infants to coo curiously in their direction, young men with engagement rings on their hands squeezing one of theirs, full of life and confidence and praying for a happy marriage.
in the moonlight, a spider is creeping along the solemn jut of their carved cheekbones, weaving its home in the curve of their neck. it is the only thing to touch them in months.
years later, it will be contentious as to how the fire started. teenagers, breaking in at night to smoke on the pews, some argue. others, that it was a bid for the small amount of insurance tied to the building - the only thing the church had left to offer this place. still more whisper that it was the only bolt of lightning any of them had seen in months, standing alone with no rain and striking the steeple.
however it started, nobody comes to put it out. dessicated hymns and rotting beams catch easily, and the flames lick down the walls, dance across the empty altar as though to mock the font beside it, which has been bone-dry of holy water for years. shimmering heat sends cracks up their form, splitting the tunic they were carved in, painting their skin ash-dark, igniting the delicate arches of their wings.
in the moment before the roof collapses, the flames kiss their eyes, and it almost seems as though they could be filled with light.
when the children of the old worshippers, adults grown now, walk up the hill to see if anything can be found in the ashes, the angel is gone, without leaving so much as a piece of rubble in the shape of clasped and holy hands.
( one of their children, though, finds a single feather, in the ruins of the smoke-stained glass. it is black as ash, with a rachis as gold as firelight, and she leaves it where she found it, because, although the fire burned itself to conclusion long ago, when she tries to pick it up, it burns her fingers to the touch. )
( when she falls asleep that night, she hears singing in her dreams. )
hello again! i could offer:
[item=Brightshine Raiments] (100g) [item=Trailing Storm] (55g) [item=gilded compass] (60g) [item=fire aura] (65g) [item=Golden Sage Lantern] (20g) [item=lavender carousel saddle] (18g) [item=golden carousel bracelet] (13g) [item=lavender carousel sandal] (14g) [item=primary carousel wing decor] (50g) = 395g total
...for something of either one of these two dragons, if you don't mind choosing? :'D
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=44991811][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/449919/44991811.png[/img][/url][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=89469916][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/avatars/894700/89469916.png[/img][/url]
each do have at least a sentence of a lore idea in their biographies but both of them are even less than what i had for halcyon haha- so again, i totally don't mind you taking liberties with interpreting them/coming up with new details as you'd like!! thank you for your consisderation!
Adepts and acolytes who serve in the upper echelons of the Light flight don these contrasting robes to set them apart from their subordinates. (Brightshine Jubilee Holiday Item 2019)
0
(100g)
Trailing Storm
Apparel
Portable gloom and the ability to give your friends a static shock! (Thundercrack Carnivale 2021 Holiday Item)
0
(55g)
Gilded Compass
Apparel
A conjuration that guides its wearer to the Sundial Terrace. (Brightshine Jubilee 2022 Holiday Item.)
0
(60g)
Fire Aura
Apparel
Burning licks of flame dance around the wearer. (Flameforger's Festival 2022 Holiday Item.)
0
(65g)
Golden Sage Lantern
Apparel
Brilliant gilded lanterns accent the glittering, golden sage!
1600
(20g)
Lavender Carousel Saddle
Apparel
A carousel of dragons is a wild thing!
1500
(18g)
Golden Carousel Bracelet
Apparel
A carousel of dragons is a wild thing!
900
(13g)
Lavender Carousel Sandal
Apparel
A carousel of dragons is a wild thing!
900
(14g)
Primary Carousel Wing Decor
Apparel
A carousel of dragons is a wild thing!
0
(50g) = 395g total
...for something of either one of these two dragons, if you don't mind choosing? :'D
each do have at least a sentence of a lore idea in their biographies but both of them are even less than what i had for halcyon haha- so again, i totally don't mind you taking liberties with interpreting them/coming up with new details as you'd like!! thank you for your consisderation!
@gunmute thank you! my wishlist is on cameron, here:
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/30105802][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/301059/30105802_350.png[/img][/url]
