Creative Corner
Share your own art and stories, or ask for critique.
TOPIC | [Personal] HL's Clan Index
THE CLAN OF KEYS
"From storms to sickness to sparks to seed, the wind knows everything it carries."

Table of Contents
  • ...

Note: This is a massive WIP. Please don't delete! I'm working on a few other things right now but I'll return to it.
THE CLAN OF KEYS
"From storms to sickness to sparks to seed, the wind knows everything it carries."

Table of Contents
  • ...

Note: This is a massive WIP. Please don't delete! I'm working on a few other things right now but I'll return to it.
db0a404ed3d9.png
[center][b]CLAN PROFILE[/b] [font=arial narrow]Alliances, Culture & Keepers, Exports, & Locations[/font] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_2395398]Table of Contents[/url] | [b][url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162092]Clan Profile[/url][/b] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162102]History[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162114]Legends[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162118]Subspecies[/url] [quote name="Theme"][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baWb0KYTxWk]Final Fantasy VIII - Blue Fields (Lullaby) feat. BitSymphony[/url][/quote][/center] [b]Alliances[/b] [LIST][*]TBC...[/LIST] [b]Culture[/b] [LIST][*]To live unnamed is considered a high honor, as it proves one's commitment to secrecy and one's unknowability. An unknown name has latent, brimming power. [*]Expecting parents carry their eggs in satchels. When born, the hatchlings blow on reeds to communicate over the roar of the wind. [*]Though their leaders cannot sing, they revere music as the greatest source of mystery and wisdom. Many meditate with handmade instruments such as bamboo flutes.[/LIST] [b]Keepers[/b] To the clan's Keepers, the unknown is sacred. Some words gain power when they are spoken; others, only when they are read. It is the responsibility of a Keeper to gauge and honor this difference as they best see fit, which has led to some disagreements within the clan. A Keeper's journey begins when they are gifted with an unmarked key. If they discover what this key unlocks (their secret) their title becomes official. A kept secret can be a door, a chest, or even something as simple as a fishing spot. Though bestowed with much festivity, the key is truly only intended as a badge and, curiously, a goad. [b]Exports[/b] Though young and elusive, the clan has proven itself ascendant as a general consulting service. In these uncertain times, more and more farmers especially look to them for news of the shifting seasons, but their knowledge is coveted by high-ranking diplomats as well as simple merchants. [b]Locations[/b] The Keys are vagabonds, following their god's songs across the Plateau and beyond. They gather at the Cloudsong monthly to trade but also visit some terrestrial shrines and friendly settlements. [LIST][*][b]Blackglass Outpost[/b] Also affectionately referred to by the locals as the "Glitgrits." [*][b]Goldew Bayou[/b] [*][b]Grief[/b] The main aquifer far below the surface of Dragonhome, so named for the Earthshaker's swallowed tears. [*][b]The Longtails[/b] The [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=342794&tab=dragon&did=38677959]Goddess of Hard Harvests[/url] patrols these acres of abandoned farmland at the edge of the Windswept Plateau, along with an entourage of [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=342794&tab=dragon&did=45832450]fanatic headhunters[/url]. [*][b]Shrillbriar[/b] Legends speak of [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=dragon&id=342794&did=43067802]a gardener[/url] whose element opposed their passions; of a heartbreak so profound they vowed to create a sanctuary of eternal spring that would never again betray them. Shrillbriar, so named for the shrieking of its stalks, is a place of copper camellias and rusting roses. [*][b]Sunday's Sweets[/b][/LIST]
CLAN PROFILE
Alliances, Culture & Keepers, Exports, & Locations

Table of Contents | Clan Profile | History | Legends | Subspecies


Alliances
  • TBC...

Culture
  • To live unnamed is considered a high honor, as it proves one's commitment to secrecy and one's unknowability. An unknown name has latent, brimming power.
  • Expecting parents carry their eggs in satchels. When born, the hatchlings blow on reeds to communicate over the roar of the wind.
  • Though their leaders cannot sing, they revere music as the greatest source of mystery and wisdom. Many meditate with handmade instruments such as bamboo flutes.

Keepers

To the clan's Keepers, the unknown is sacred. Some words gain power when they are spoken; others, only when they are read. It is the responsibility of a Keeper to gauge and honor this difference as they best see fit, which has led to some disagreements within the clan.

A Keeper's journey begins when they are gifted with an unmarked key. If they discover what this key unlocks (their secret) their title becomes official. A kept secret can be a door, a chest, or even something as simple as a fishing spot. Though bestowed with much festivity, the key is truly only intended as a badge and, curiously, a goad.

Exports

Though young and elusive, the clan has proven itself ascendant as a general consulting service. In these uncertain times, more and more farmers especially look to them for news of the shifting seasons, but their knowledge is coveted by high-ranking diplomats as well as simple merchants.

Locations

The Keys are vagabonds, following their god's songs across the Plateau and beyond. They gather at the Cloudsong monthly to trade but also visit some terrestrial shrines and friendly settlements.
  • Blackglass Outpost
    Also affectionately referred to by the locals as the "Glitgrits."
  • Goldew Bayou
  • Grief
    The main aquifer far below the surface of Dragonhome, so named for the Earthshaker's swallowed tears.
  • The Longtails
    The Goddess of Hard Harvests patrols these acres of abandoned farmland at the edge of the Windswept Plateau, along with an entourage of fanatic headhunters.
  • Shrillbriar
    Legends speak of a gardener whose element opposed their passions; of a heartbreak so profound they vowed to create a sanctuary of eternal spring that would never again betray them. Shrillbriar, so named for the shrieking of its stalks, is a place of copper camellias and rusting roses.
  • Sunday's Sweets
db0a404ed3d9.png
[center][b]HISTORY[/b] [font=arial narrow]Cast of Characters, Books 1-8[/font] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_2395398]Table of Contents[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162092]Clan Profile[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162102][b]History[/b][/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162114]Legends[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162118]Subspecies[/url][/center] [b]Cast of Characters[/b] TBC... [b]Book One[/b] [Char and Morg establish the clan] [b]Book Two[/b] [Griega moves against the clan] [b]Book Three[/b] [Sontag moves against the clan] [b]Book Four[/b] [The Woodweld spurned] [b]Book Five[/b] [Relocation to Fire and coup d'etat; Gall is the new ruler] [b]Book Six: The Song of Shrillbriar[/b] Few drakes may boast of a death more deserving of their deeds than Piotr Shrillbriar. One of the Woodweld's b/stards, he dreamed of inheriting his mother's forests but was forbidden such simple sweetness both by blood and by element. What trees could tolerate the dual assault of his presence eventually died, and where once was green now sway eerie monuments to Piotr's grief: marvelous kinetic sculptures whose tender mimicry is belied by their sharp songs. Indeed, wasn't there always something not quite right about you? so it seemed his choir accused. Unwilling to bear their shambling semblance, Piotr abandoned his garden to revenge himself upon his absent mother. An alliance with her quarry, the Clan of Keys, seemed expedient. The sure-footed savagery of their acting rulers, however, inspired his resentment to a seething righteousness with which he pursued all unjudged Beasts and other "half-living" vestiges of the Shade. Indeed, there is something remarkable about him, his devotees observed--without questioning the parallels between their lord and their enemies. What could be nobler than routing the Shade from Sornieth? And what more sweet than nobility? In time, even Piotr forgot the innocent pleasures of his past for the adoration and absolute loyalty with which his soldiers beheld him. None dared to interrupt the spell that united them in glorious bondage, but still some whispered: "Mock-son." [i]("You hunt your death in hunting me, for I have pledged myself to one estimably greater. You will never be free of this curse while the King of Keys yet lives, and before you touched him I would kill you. As my master lives and suffers, so he suffers.")[/i] "Beast-born." [i]("The Woodweld? It is far more fitting you inherit the title I was bidden in cruelty.")[/i] "Aye, his blood is bright-- I'm sure it glitters finer than Strange Dust! What do I care as long as the war succeeds!" As flint is struck again and again before it catches, so these repeated accusations ignited the branching agonies of his heart. And so one night, the Sphinx began to sing; and so one night, Piotr heeded her miseries as he would his own. In the Blacksands Annex, he met the Queen of Beasts and bore his soul to be branded by her; to accept the truth of their shared stigma and so abandon his crooked cause. But she spoke in teeth above his surrender, and when his blood bore her bones the cry of the Woodweld went up; for despite her loyalties, despite her history, despite everything between them, still she and Piotr shared blood--still it sizzled and reduced to naught but a foul vapor on the Blacksands. Jin's body was rent as it became its bladed truth: a thousand flying knives braided with blistering mock-flesh, every one singing silver for the Sphinx. Jin's grief could be neither stalled, nor influenced, nor even wielded by her old master's pleading. The eyes of the Sphinx sickled strangely into twin eclipses, and the night plunged past its membrane into the unknowable nucleus of its essence, taking with it both combatants to meet their fate elsewhere. So ended Piotr Shrillbriar, Son of the Woodweld, whose noble heart was nevertheless judged askew and its balance restored. [item=Nocturnal Dust] [b]Book Seven[/b] [Exodus] [b]Book Eight[/b] [Morg moves against the King]
HISTORY
Cast of Characters, Books 1-8

Table of Contents | Clan Profile | History | Legends | Subspecies

Cast of Characters

TBC...

Book One
[Char and Morg establish the clan]

Book Two
[Griega moves against the clan]

Book Three
[Sontag moves against the clan]

Book Four
[The Woodweld spurned]

Book Five
[Relocation to Fire and coup d'etat; Gall is the new ruler]

Book Six: The Song of Shrillbriar

Few drakes may boast of a death more deserving of their deeds than Piotr Shrillbriar. One of the Woodweld's b/stards, he dreamed of inheriting his mother's forests but was forbidden such simple sweetness both by blood and by element. What trees could tolerate the dual assault of his presence eventually died, and where once was green now sway eerie monuments to Piotr's grief: marvelous kinetic sculptures whose tender mimicry is belied by their sharp songs.

Indeed, wasn't there always something not quite right about you? so it seemed his choir accused.

Unwilling to bear their shambling semblance, Piotr abandoned his garden to revenge himself upon his absent mother. An alliance with her quarry, the Clan of Keys, seemed expedient. The sure-footed savagery of their acting rulers, however, inspired his resentment to a seething righteousness with which he pursued all unjudged Beasts and other "half-living" vestiges of the Shade.

Indeed, there is something remarkable about him, his devotees observed--without questioning the parallels between their lord and their enemies. What could be nobler than routing the Shade from Sornieth? And what more sweet than nobility? In time, even Piotr forgot the innocent pleasures of his past for the adoration and absolute loyalty with which his soldiers beheld him.

None dared to interrupt the spell that united them in glorious bondage, but still some whispered:

"Mock-son."

("You hunt your death in hunting me, for I have pledged myself to one estimably greater. You will never be free of this curse while the King of Keys yet lives, and before you touched him I would kill you. As my master lives and suffers, so he suffers.")

"Beast-born."

("The Woodweld? It is far more fitting you inherit the title I was bidden in cruelty.")

"Aye, his blood is bright-- I'm sure it glitters finer than Strange Dust! What do I care as long as the war succeeds!"

As flint is struck again and again before it catches, so these repeated accusations ignited the branching agonies of his heart. And so one night, the Sphinx began to sing; and so one night, Piotr heeded her miseries as he would his own. In the Blacksands Annex, he met the Queen of Beasts and bore his soul to be branded by her; to accept the truth of their shared stigma and so abandon his crooked cause.

But she spoke in teeth above his surrender, and when his blood bore her bones the cry of the Woodweld went up; for despite her loyalties, despite her history, despite everything between them, still she and Piotr shared blood--still it sizzled and reduced to naught but a foul vapor on the Blacksands.

Jin's body was rent as it became its bladed truth: a thousand flying knives braided with blistering mock-flesh, every one singing silver for the Sphinx. Jin's grief could be neither stalled, nor influenced, nor even wielded by her old master's pleading. The eyes of the Sphinx sickled strangely into twin eclipses, and the night plunged past its membrane into the unknowable nucleus of its essence, taking with it both combatants to meet their fate elsewhere.

So ended Piotr Shrillbriar, Son of the Woodweld, whose noble heart was nevertheless judged askew and its balance restored.



Book Seven
[Exodus]

Book Eight
[Morg moves against the King]
db0a404ed3d9.png
[center][b]LEGENDS[/b] [font=arial narrow]The Blacksands Sphinx, Children of Kjrn, The Loon's Lullaby, & Exotic Tales[/font] [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_2395398]Table of Contents[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162092]Clan Profile[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162102]History[/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162114][b]Legends[/b][/url] | [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2395398#post_32162118]Subspecies[/url][/center] [b]The Blacksands Sphinx[/b] [i]"Surely for any beast, even one as magnificent as the Sphinx, a need can be only creatural; only shallow. If she sings, that is still very generous phrasing. A wolf howls in the night for idle instinct, not craft and certainly not longing."[/i] [b]Children of Kjrn[/b] In the age of magical instability, farmers struggle on the coast of windy country bordering the Cloudscrape Crags. Many have abandoned fields of grain, which survive under the guardianship of a fox spirit. In return for their service, the [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=38677959]Goddess of Hard Harvests[/url] has blessed them with shelter from the long winters. Out of these half-wild fields, sometimes their children emerge into greater Sornieth. [b]The Loon’s Lullaby[/b] On nights when the moon is reluctant to appear, a great loon, glowing white, wanders the Windswept Wetlands in search of an audience. But you must not answer its cries, for the loon sings of an ancient emptiness and longing that is impossible to satisfy. Most drakes know to keep their silence and plug their ears, but pity the unguarded nestlings for whom the loon weaves its [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LD2lFLyjGAY]lullaby[/url]... [b]Exotic Tales[/b] [COLUMNS][center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=55232&tab=dragon&did=32664533][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/326646/32664533.png[/img] Aorta the Loftheart[/url][nextcol][nextcol][nextcol][nextcol][nextcol][nextcol][center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=39151654][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/391517/39151654.png[/img] Oisin the Forgotten King[/url][/center][/COLUMNS]
LEGENDS
The Blacksands Sphinx, Children of Kjrn, The Loon's Lullaby, & Exotic Tales

Table of Contents | Clan Profile | History | Legends | Subspecies

The Blacksands Sphinx

"Surely for any beast, even one as magnificent as the Sphinx, a need can be only creatural; only shallow. If she sings, that is still very generous phrasing. A wolf howls in the night for idle instinct, not craft and certainly not longing."

Children of Kjrn

In the age of magical instability, farmers struggle on the coast of windy country bordering the Cloudscrape Crags. Many have abandoned fields of grain, which survive under the guardianship of a fox spirit. In return for their service, the Goddess of Hard Harvests has blessed them with shelter from the long winters. Out of these half-wild fields, sometimes their children emerge into greater Sornieth.

The Loon’s Lullaby

On nights when the moon is reluctant to appear, a great loon, glowing white, wanders the Windswept Wetlands in search of an audience. But you must not answer its cries, for the loon sings of an ancient emptiness and longing that is impossible to satisfy. Most drakes know to keep their silence and plug their ears, but pity the unguarded nestlings for whom the loon weaves its lullaby...

Exotic Tales

db0a404ed3d9.png
SUBSPECIES
Cacklejacks, The Order of the First Flame, Painted Kites, Poisontasters, & Ringwyrms

Table of Contents | Clan Profile | History | Legends | Subspecies

Cacklejacks

Cacklejacks are a subspecies of four-eyed imperial that roam the Wasteland. By mixing with mirrors, they became smaller and more pack-minded than their progenitors. Many are nearly feral, and their society is largely unknown to us. Their calls are unusual for dragons, ranging from yips, howls, whistles, and bleats. They choose their names upon reaching adulthood, after their favorite sounds or things.

The Order of the First Flame

The Order is an ancient army created to fight for the Flamecaller in the War of the First Four. When a truce was made, the Flamecaller thought it best for her warriors to rest; perhaps in dreams the spirits of the Firstflames would heal, and perhaps they would forget war. Some did not leave the glories of battle quietly. Regardless of their wishes, the goddess breathed her incense of dreams upon them and they swayed out of time...

Most still sleep in the volcanoes of the Wastes, but some have woken in the current age of Dominance and of Bountiful Elements to find Sornieth amuck with mortal dragons. None know of the Order, and modern clans see the dormant Firstflames as rare blessings to be honored - or resources to be exploited, for a Firstflame's body and blood are quite remarkable. Any tool forged in their blood is peerless. Many an opportunistic smith has sought a "Spirit of the Mountain" to enhance their bellows.

The Firstflames are living forges, and each possesses a spirit-tool that reflects their nature. They draw these tools from their throats, like sword swallowers, to do battle, or cook, or play music with - whatever trade suits their bearer's unique experiences and potential. A tool can be anything one might create in a true forge. They can be either Cursed - a tool suited to destruction - or Blessed - one suited to creation. As a Firstflame lives and dreams, their tools evolve and can seem for some to change without reason, for the Firstflames are very sensitive to others' dreams as a side effect of the incense their goddess drugged them with so long ago.

Painted Kites

Painted Kites are a subspecies of leucistic coatls that practice brood parasitism, much like the common cuckoo. They are somewhat nobler, however, motivated by a wish to study other cultures in situ. Their eggs are also notoriously and badly camouflaged, scrawled with cheerful patterns in a misguided attempt to appeal to likely surrogates. Nevertheless, the surviving hatchlings decorate themselves with similar designs.

Once brilliantly colored, their ancestors strayed too far from the Flameforger in search of knowledge and paled nearly to extinction. Through artificial and alternative means, they found warmth and research opportunities in the Arcane, Light, and Lightning Flights. A small community has also established itself on the coast between Wind and Fire territory, caught eternally between their wanderlust and their history.

Ringwyrms

Ringwyrms are the descendants of heretic-scholars from the Light Flight who sought to tame Shade energy. Each believed the world's truths might be clarified through this communion, but the roles of researcher and subject became blurred. Whatever fate ultimately befell them has been lost, stricken from history. Many thought it best the Scholars remain buried with the knowledge they wished to unearth, both for Sornieth and for the outcast remnants of their line...

For more information, visit the hub.
SUBSPECIES
Cacklejacks, The Order of the First Flame, Painted Kites, Poisontasters, & Ringwyrms

Table of Contents | Clan Profile | History | Legends | Subspecies

Cacklejacks

Cacklejacks are a subspecies of four-eyed imperial that roam the Wasteland. By mixing with mirrors, they became smaller and more pack-minded than their progenitors. Many are nearly feral, and their society is largely unknown to us. Their calls are unusual for dragons, ranging from yips, howls, whistles, and bleats. They choose their names upon reaching adulthood, after their favorite sounds or things.

The Order of the First Flame

The Order is an ancient army created to fight for the Flamecaller in the War of the First Four. When a truce was made, the Flamecaller thought it best for her warriors to rest; perhaps in dreams the spirits of the Firstflames would heal, and perhaps they would forget war. Some did not leave the glories of battle quietly. Regardless of their wishes, the goddess breathed her incense of dreams upon them and they swayed out of time...

Most still sleep in the volcanoes of the Wastes, but some have woken in the current age of Dominance and of Bountiful Elements to find Sornieth amuck with mortal dragons. None know of the Order, and modern clans see the dormant Firstflames as rare blessings to be honored - or resources to be exploited, for a Firstflame's body and blood are quite remarkable. Any tool forged in their blood is peerless. Many an opportunistic smith has sought a "Spirit of the Mountain" to enhance their bellows.

The Firstflames are living forges, and each possesses a spirit-tool that reflects their nature. They draw these tools from their throats, like sword swallowers, to do battle, or cook, or play music with - whatever trade suits their bearer's unique experiences and potential. A tool can be anything one might create in a true forge. They can be either Cursed - a tool suited to destruction - or Blessed - one suited to creation. As a Firstflame lives and dreams, their tools evolve and can seem for some to change without reason, for the Firstflames are very sensitive to others' dreams as a side effect of the incense their goddess drugged them with so long ago.

Painted Kites

Painted Kites are a subspecies of leucistic coatls that practice brood parasitism, much like the common cuckoo. They are somewhat nobler, however, motivated by a wish to study other cultures in situ. Their eggs are also notoriously and badly camouflaged, scrawled with cheerful patterns in a misguided attempt to appeal to likely surrogates. Nevertheless, the surviving hatchlings decorate themselves with similar designs.

Once brilliantly colored, their ancestors strayed too far from the Flameforger in search of knowledge and paled nearly to extinction. Through artificial and alternative means, they found warmth and research opportunities in the Arcane, Light, and Lightning Flights. A small community has also established itself on the coast between Wind and Fire territory, caught eternally between their wanderlust and their history.

Ringwyrms

Ringwyrms are the descendants of heretic-scholars from the Light Flight who sought to tame Shade energy. Each believed the world's truths might be clarified through this communion, but the roles of researcher and subject became blurred. Whatever fate ultimately befell them has been lost, stricken from history. Many thought it best the Scholars remain buried with the knowledge they wished to unearth, both for Sornieth and for the outcast remnants of their line...

For more information, visit the hub.
db0a404ed3d9.png
This is a buffer post for future material.
This is a buffer post for future material.
db0a404ed3d9.png