Creative Corner

This will work just like the Draw the Dragon Above You! thread, but instead of drawing the dragon, you write lore for them! Try to claim your post so we don’t skip anybody! An easy way to do that is to simply type, 'claim', and edit it after you post it. With each post, give us an image link to your dragon's bio (found by clicking Generate Code in the dragon's profile), and a small description of the dragon, any themes you’d like, etc. When you are done writing lore for the dragon above you, remember to ping them when you add it to your post! All writing styles and levels of experience are allowed, but it’s no fun to receive three sentences from the person below you! You can write anything from a simple bio for the dragon, or a full story. It’s up to you! [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=40944358] [img]http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=1&body=35&bodygene=8&breed=3&element=10&gender=1&tert=31&tertgene=18&winggene=21&wings=35&auth=d611e1ebee6da904b8d2231ebb88654db19da31f&dummyext=prev.png[/img] [/url] I’ll start this off with my dragon, Druid. I don’t have much for her as far as lore goes, only that she’s a fierce mirror from the Shrieking Wilds. Her Capsule is poison.

Claim! @Aphelion16 Deep inside the Shrieking Wilds, a Mirror surges through the greenery, perfectly at home in the jungly place. Her goal today? Feed the clan. A simple task, especially for a fierce hunter such as herself. Druid weaved her lithe body through the trees, viper-like pattern catching the sparse sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy. The air was alive with creature calls and rustling leaves. All of the scents and sounds would be overwhelming to a hunter of lesser skill. Druid quickened her pace, heartbeat beginning to pick up. The thrill of the hunt was taking over. Something to the right of the Mirror tickled her senses and she slowed to a halt. Nosing her way through the underbrush she came upon a break between the branches. What she saw made her mouth water. A well-fed hare sat grazing in the grass, oblivious to the larger predator looming close to it. The poison is her belly sloshed as she crouched and prepared to lunge. A hiss from the hunter is last sound the prey hears. [i]She strikes.[/i] ----- I'll throw this boy here for the next person [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=27798064] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/277981/27798064_350.png[/img] [/url]

Claimed! @nabal [quote]The youngest are chittering tonight. They're always clingy, swirling about him and exchanging laughter faster than he can read, in the way that only the youthful can: he understands enough for the most part, especially when they intend for him to. Tonight, he feels the undercurrent of curiosity, shaken with more questions than excitement. They're not hungry—Obliti knows that much, because he's currently engaged in the task of cleaning up their last meal. For all the delicacy a fairy's touch possesses, the smallest are graceless still, learning how to learn while they are still gangly; because of that, this task falls to him, along with countless others. He could never begrudge them, these tiny siblings of his, but as he buries the husks of memories that they've supped of, his ears swivel about towards their whisperings. So occupied are they, it takes several moments for them to follow after Obliti begins to move on, which is odd, but not completely out of the ordinary: they are prone to swarming him always, but their excitement gets the best of them at times. Obliti does not question it, and this is a mistake. The forest had stirred some hours earlier with the entry of a newcomer, and hitherto, they have walked unencumbered through the dark oak trees. The youngest all swirl, following a circular path around his dark head before breaking in formation, glee turning the sounds to chimes as the whole group of them travels through the forest with the ease of parting water. No furze is disturbed from their passing, no twig broken or leaf upturned; the forest swells only around what is new or unwelcome, and that is why these mortal fools will never escape the notice of the ancient Fair Folk within. He and the youngest find the entrance of the stranger, first: the woods are irritated around it, and with the respect afforded to the great trees, Obliti pulls magic back into the space, smoothing out the bushes that do not quite sit right. There is not as much broken underfoot as he would have expected from a larger being, which means that their guest floats, or is at the very least, quite small. No matter the radius that suffered from the arrival: even mortals particularly powerful in magic cannot compare to guise and cunning of him and his. Once more, he does not question it; instead, he affectionately places his cheek against a branch to accept the thanks of the wood before he moves on once more. Following the path of now-calming displacement, the chittering around him grows, their conversation passing easily and without hindrance of any kind. He wants to remind them that they just ate, but even so, they still need entertainment. Obliti intends to see how close they might steal to this newcomer— —Who is not visible at the end of the trail. The youngest [i]shriek[/i] at this, some with delight, others as tantrum; nonetheless, the clump of them disperse to search, an entirely new game afoot. Obliti pauses, his starlit claws more insistently pressing against the ground as he tries to uncover signs of the stranger's existence with his immaterial senses. All at once, something entirely unfamiliar swamps him, but it does not excite the same kind of energy from him that it does his siblings. No— His intent flows out from him like a shaken length of silk: his siblings scatter, forsaking the game of hiding in favor of the survival that running would give them. In the same moment, the stars are lost, as the stranger swallows the sky and surrounds him. There are teeth in the depths of this strange form, so yellowed as to appear orange and sickly in this forest of greens and fae of blues, and there is no pattern to their size or shape: [i]nothing[/i] makes sense, in fact, and Obliti— (Is that really his name?) —finds that the teeth (is that what they're called?) are pulling at him, snaking through space, hooking into the folds of his scarf, the tears in his wings, the strands of his hair, the belt of the sword— And [i]that[/i] is what awakens him: his body twists, and he releases the sword from its scabbard, directing the blade to slash first through the lengths that have begun to curl around them, and then into the space from whence they came. The scream that reverberates is one that not even his ears can fully make out, but the teeth all crumble to stardust, and the sky and the forest return. The soil soaks up the remains, and he knows the wood will render what's left to be nondangerous to both itself and his. Obliti (and that is his name after all) returns the blade to its scabbard, and begins the arduous trek of gathering his siblings back to him. They're rightfully shaken, but as is the manner of children, they quickly forget. They badger him over being hungry again, and he knows this time that it's time to feed, but he still does not let them off on their own. He's glad for distracting them, but he won't lose sight so easily of the fact that there may yet walk worse creatures in these woods than them.[/quote] I loved the idea of Obliti being a fairy knight; the youngest/siblings he refers to, of course, are the pixies that swarm around him. Old fairy tales usually involve a lot of the "leading people astray" themes that Obliti's other stories showcase, so I decided to stick with the old kind of fairy tales and not shy away from the horror aspect of Fair Folk in the old dark woods. Hope you like it! ~ Below is one of my progens. While I don't consider her to be a malevolent figure, she does have a lot of superstition around her, and she [i]is[/i] a witch, so stories of all types abound. Be whimsical, go wild! [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=44825600] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/448257/44825600_350.png[/img] [/url] Edit: And thank you NuclearFudge for the lovely story! <3

[quote]@goatherder, for the lovely flowerpot(literally) A tale of undeserved and innocent sorrow. From the rotted nest, she crawled, dragging her pathetically weak body through the filth and grime out of her own nest. She laid on the ground, panting. Her gaze landed upon flowers that somehow survived the plague blossoming all around her. Noted, they weren't the most pretty, but they were plants. Amidst this pondering, the thought struck her that she needed to survive. And so, off she went, growing up much sooner than a hatchling normally would. She wasn't much older when the itching began. It started as just a small scratch. She reached with her back left to get behind right shoulder. the delicious feeling of a satisfied itch followed. [i]Mmmmmm....yes. That felt good[/i]. But there was another, on her left now. She scratched it, and was greatly relieved. However as soon as she did, the other began to itch again. And then another one would join her company. And then another, and then another. What started as a simple back scratch became a fussing, scratching and rolling frenzy. She couldn't stop, no matter how hard she tried. Black skin flaked off in small bits, then larger ones. Her flesh cracked and split. She was terrified, but she couldn't stop. for days, she tore at the cracks with her claws, and shredded them with her teeth. But there was no blood. Just the dusty black flakes...they were scattered all around her feet and fluttered back up into the air as she continued her scratching. Eventually, there was nothing left to scratch. The entirety of her skin had been torn away, revealing her "true self". She was unaware of this. She knew the itching was gone. That was all that mattered. Out of the blue, she noted how thirsty she was. She wandered for a while, growing more and more parched, until all at once, she found a pool. It wasn't very big, But it was more clear than crystal. It was surrounded by a peculiar circle of fresh green grass, that blossomed with pale flowers. She was sure that the grass and blossoms would fade as soon as she entered the vicinity, being as one from the wasteland. However, to her amusement, it did not. Satisfied with what she had discovered, she bent down for her drink. she lapped up two mouthfuls of water, then suddenly, she recoiled from the pool in horror! There, staring back at her from the water, was...well, it was [i]her[/i]. but yet, it wasn't quite [i]her[/i]. the [i]her[/i] in the pool was shattered in several places, revealing the strange sight of what appeared to be the bark of the sycamore tree. Stranger yet, strange moss had sprouted around those cracks, and small pale flowers peppered the surface. As she moved, a dark cloud of spores and pollen filtered into the surrounding air. A strange and putrid smelling blossom emerged from her left shoulder, and its vines had slowly began reaching for elsewhere. It was then when it occurred to her that some had begun to bury themselves in her head. And not a moment too soon, the pain began. A welling, screaming headache began in the places where the vines had dug and spread rapidly, and one by one, all her limbs fell slave to the pussing, oozing plant. she panicked and thrashed, attempting to loosed the vines from her skull. she tore at the flower, to no avail. the vines gripped tighter, and the puss from the blossom burned what was left of her front claws. A final cry escaped her lips before she stopped breathing all together. instead, it absorbed through her veined shell around her flourishing garden. at that moment, she gave up for loss; there was nothing she could do. she prayed desperately to anyone who would listen, but her voice was so small, in a huge well of noise inside her mind. Unbeknownst to her, her call had been answered. Before her life was taken from her, her mind was drug out from her body and caught up elsewhere. An empty shell now wanders the earth to this day, unspoken, shambling, and thoughtless, while her soul escaped to elsewhere. [/quote] to the next, this one. [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=35543222] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/355433/35543222_350.png[/img] [/url] he's a swindler. a trickster. his words are like magic. he draws many to his tent like fireflies to lamp-posts. but he hides one thing under his hat, and hides other things under his mask.

[quote]@NuclearFudge forgive me, i tried ;v; Perhaps there is a certain truth to the Spiral's words, a passing Fae thinks as she approaches him. He speaks with a silver tongue, and the lantern on his tail sways like a hypnotist's pendulum. Is he dangerous? Perhaps. Is it worth the risk, approaching his tent? Absolutely, it is. He leads the smaller dragon in by the light on his tail. The tent is large, made of thick black and white canvas and lit by dancing flames, ones that the Fae would swear were simple will o' the wisps were there not barely visible lanterns encasing them. It's rather empty. There is a small table between them. Grinning, the Spiral turns to his guest. "Sit," he commands, and the smaller dragon does so almost immediately. Something unnerves the Fae, though. His guest cannot help but obey. Is it charm? That look in his eyes? The Eleven forbid, is it the lantern that this Fae has become so enraptured with? And what is he planning? * * * It's nothing more than a simple con, a quick coin to be swiped on the road while he can. Hartsfield continues to sway his tail - That Fae, she seems to like it - as he scrapes a claw against the table in front of him. (If it counts as a table, considering that it's barely anything more than rotting scraps.) Fortunes. Yes. Fortunes, that works. He procures a set of cards from beneath his wing. (Not the hat, don't ever stick them beneath the hat. She shouldn't have to see [i]that[/i] tonight.) Placing them upon the table, he begins to work his magic. Hartsfield truly has this individual entranced. By the time he's out, she won't realize he had even been here. Gazing into her eyes, he reveals the face of one card. "Oh, this will not do." He chuckles, not breaking eye contact with the Fae. "No, it definitely won't. Misfortune..." His guest doesn't react. He turns over another card. "...Pride..." [i]That's it. Make her believe something else is going on.[/i] His claws reach for a satchel slung across the Fae's shoulder. The Fae blinks. * * * In an instant, the Fae realizes that her gut instinct had been correct, that this Spiral is nothing more than trouble. She scrambles to her feet, only stopped when the larger dragon whips his tail towards her, knocking her to the ground. There's that lantern on his tail again. His words come out like silk. "Where are you going? Do stay. I haven't finished yet." There's a sort of pleasant tingling when his words hit her ears. His claw hooks onto her satchel again. It's a rash decision. In that moment, the Fae rakes his face with her razor-sharp claws. * * * She didn't even bother to take her satchel with her. Of course. She broke through the mask, after all. Hartsfield chuckles as he rummages through the small package, wondering what sort of valuables [i]any[/i] visitor to the mountains might be carrying. "Food, food, food..." Nothing. A pity, this one is. Perhaps what she had will sell for a bit. Otherwise... Then his claws hit something. Not a mere stash of gold. Solid gems. It's not much, far from it, but Hartsfield will take what he can get. She may not have been worth so much effort, but it's certainly better than nothing. Rubbing the area she scratched, Hartsfield thinks to her reaction. Nothing more or less than unabashed terror at what she had found. A rock-solid surface, harder than any scales, perhaps more akin to bone than anything else. And he's well aware that's not the worst. She should have stayed a bit longer, he thinks as he runs his claws through the snow before pocketing the satchel and returning to his tent.[/quote] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=40840398] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/408404/40840398_350.png[/img] [/url] This is Ginger, he needs some lore. He's hard of hearing, and assists the clan in diplomatic affairs. He also seems to possess shadow magic that's a bit too much for his body to handle...

@lucianbelle, i love this. this is beautiful! thank you so much for this! its interesting that you made him seem like a smuggler, and the way you portrayed it was fantastic. your use of words was really enriching to the tale.



(skip meh)

@lucianbelle claiming!
He seems like an interesting character ;) I'll do my best to write creative lore for him (even though I am too lazy can't seem to do it for my own)

http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&id=371413&tab=dragon&did=39722557

Couldn't get the image to work, but here's one of my gals! She's really pretty, and I kind of see her as a magician.
But If you think of a profession that suits her, go for it! I'll appreciate anything