Creative Corner
Share your own art and stories, or ask for critique.
TOPIC | Give me a dragon, I'll give you [HIATUS]
@silversilver
[img]http://flightrising.com/dgen/preview/dragon?age=1&body=10&bodygene=18&breed=5&element=8&eyetype=0&gender=1&tert=139&tertgene=10&winggene=24&wings=26&auth=0c65bf062a74ed6746cee0fba5ae82419b0a85e3&dummyext=prev.png[/img]
@FluffySnake
For Alric:
The old wound, the new scars, the red sky in the morning, the coastal warning. The thrown gauntlet and boots encrusted with sand. A wreath of ash and cherry wood, dim hallways, the guttural fire before the dungeon steps. The lance, the bloody bandages, the eyes that grin and the mouth that doesn’t. A grim mood, a war-mood, exposed teeth, punctured wings. The overhead moon, cleft in two, and a clever mind disposed for a bad time.
[emoji=crescent moon 2]
@FluffySnake
For Alric:
The old wound, the new scars, the red sky in the morning, the coastal warning. The thrown gauntlet and boots encrusted with sand. A wreath of ash and cherry wood, dim hallways, the guttural fire before the dungeon steps. The lance, the bloody bandages, the eyes that grin and the mouth that doesn’t. A grim mood, a war-mood, exposed teeth, punctured wings. The overhead moon, cleft in two, and a clever mind disposed for a bad time.
For Alric:
The old wound, the new scars, the red sky in the morning, the coastal warning. The thrown gauntlet and boots encrusted with sand. A wreath of ash and cherry wood, dim hallways, the guttural fire before the dungeon steps. The lance, the bloody bandages, the eyes that grin and the mouth that doesn’t. A grim mood, a war-mood, exposed teeth, punctured wings. The overhead moon, cleft in two, and a clever mind disposed for a bad time.
@Woolygods
For Advena:
The crowded cafe and heads bent together, shared smiles, ink smeared into the fingertips. Ash and feathers, crisp linen, a mind on the move and a claw on the pulse. Polished wire glasses, old friends, raspberry and cocoa. Early to rise, to get up and grind, a chronicle of the crashing sun. Breath and balance, closed books, whispers past the wall. A coat with many hidden pockets. Sitting alone in a crowd, waiting for your next story to rustle on by.
[emoji=old parchment]
@Woolygods
For Advena:
The crowded cafe and heads bent together, shared smiles, ink smeared into the fingertips. Ash and feathers, crisp linen, a mind on the move and a claw on the pulse. Polished wire glasses, old friends, raspberry and cocoa. Early to rise, to get up and grind, a chronicle of the crashing sun. Breath and balance, closed books, whispers past the wall. A coat with many hidden pockets. Sitting alone in a crowd, waiting for your next story to rustle on by.
For Advena:
The crowded cafe and heads bent together, shared smiles, ink smeared into the fingertips. Ash and feathers, crisp linen, a mind on the move and a claw on the pulse. Polished wire glasses, old friends, raspberry and cocoa. Early to rise, to get up and grind, a chronicle of the crashing sun. Breath and balance, closed books, whispers past the wall. A coat with many hidden pockets. Sitting alone in a crowd, waiting for your next story to rustle on by.
@SilverSilver
I'm curious if you have anything for Azula here. She has her theme song in her bio if you want any inspiration.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=37349068]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/373491/37349068_350.png[/img]
[/url]
@SilverSilver
I'm curious if you have anything for Azula here. She has her theme song in her bio if you want any inspiration.
I'm curious if you have anything for Azula here. She has her theme song in her bio if you want any inspiration.
@SoftBones
For CONSCIOUSNESS:
Crush and release. Claw back, dive in, rinse and repeat. The old record and the broken monitors, the buried time capsule re-found. Dal segno. The great glaring desert eye, bleached bones, the murmurs of the crowd fading to the buzz on the edges of your mind. Lattices and ladders. Rinse, repeat, rinse. Willingly submerge. A rift of metal and a portal of glass. Step carefully onto the broken isthmus, shatter, disperse, [i]scream[/i].
[emoji=gear]
@SoftBones
For CONSCIOUSNESS:
Crush and release. Claw back, dive in, rinse and repeat. The old record and the broken monitors, the buried time capsule re-found. Dal segno. The great glaring desert eye, bleached bones, the murmurs of the crowd fading to the buzz on the edges of your mind. Lattices and ladders. Rinse, repeat, rinse. Willingly submerge. A rift of metal and a portal of glass. Step carefully onto the broken isthmus, shatter, disperse, scream.
For CONSCIOUSNESS:
Crush and release. Claw back, dive in, rinse and repeat. The old record and the broken monitors, the buried time capsule re-found. Dal segno. The great glaring desert eye, bleached bones, the murmurs of the crowd fading to the buzz on the edges of your mind. Lattices and ladders. Rinse, repeat, rinse. Willingly submerge. A rift of metal and a portal of glass. Step carefully onto the broken isthmus, shatter, disperse, scream.
@YamabukiOgon
For Marmeladov:
Warm midsummer mornings, the banquet breakfast laid out before us. Clear skies and good winds, the long flight, the ache of overworked muscles. Goggles and thick knitted scarves, burlap bags filled with letters. Dried jerky; citrus and ginger. Old friends around the table, the casual dice game, the long haul. Books of constellations and poems never spoken, only written. The clasped hands and the map crisply stretched in your two hands, ready for anything.
[emoji=puzzle piece]
@YamabukiOgon
For Marmeladov:
Warm midsummer mornings, the banquet breakfast laid out before us. Clear skies and good winds, the long flight, the ache of overworked muscles. Goggles and thick knitted scarves, burlap bags filled with letters. Dried jerky; citrus and ginger. Old friends around the table, the casual dice game, the long haul. Books of constellations and poems never spoken, only written. The clasped hands and the map crisply stretched in your two hands, ready for anything.
For Marmeladov:
Warm midsummer mornings, the banquet breakfast laid out before us. Clear skies and good winds, the long flight, the ache of overworked muscles. Goggles and thick knitted scarves, burlap bags filled with letters. Dried jerky; citrus and ginger. Old friends around the table, the casual dice game, the long haul. Books of constellations and poems never spoken, only written. The clasped hands and the map crisply stretched in your two hands, ready for anything.
@OspreysCry
For Orpheus:
The open podium and the grand theater, fresh-made paper and sun filtering through wide windows. Crosswords and riddles, handmade pens, cedar chips and new-baked bread. Smooth words and clever eyes, wrapped too close in our youth and pride. Letters to old lovers and antique globes. Desks piled with maps, meticulous detailed diagrams. The flair, the old fanfare, the tipped hat and the smile of one waiting for anything.
[emoji=scroll]
@OspreysCry
For Orpheus:
The open podium and the grand theater, fresh-made paper and sun filtering through wide windows. Crosswords and riddles, handmade pens, cedar chips and new-baked bread. Smooth words and clever eyes, wrapped too close in our youth and pride. Letters to old lovers and antique globes. Desks piled with maps, meticulous detailed diagrams. The flair, the old fanfare, the tipped hat and the smile of one waiting for anything.
For Orpheus:
The open podium and the grand theater, fresh-made paper and sun filtering through wide windows. Crosswords and riddles, handmade pens, cedar chips and new-baked bread. Smooth words and clever eyes, wrapped too close in our youth and pride. Letters to old lovers and antique globes. Desks piled with maps, meticulous detailed diagrams. The flair, the old fanfare, the tipped hat and the smile of one waiting for anything.
@Scarborough
For Sanctus:
Beloved Icarus. Beheld in candlelight, bathed in radiant flame, the sorrow for the silent, closed eyes, open palms. Names of stars falling from lips, all things upheld, ecstasy and stasis. Honey and citrus and the slow upwards motion of living things. Marble and willow, the empty stage, the abandoned temple waiting for its worshippers. In absentia, we forgot how to breathe, and only when the butterfly’s wings break free do we briefly forget our wounds.
[emoji=yellow gem]
@Scarborough
For Sanctus:
Beloved Icarus. Beheld in candlelight, bathed in radiant flame, the sorrow for the silent, closed eyes, open palms. Names of stars falling from lips, all things upheld, ecstasy and stasis. Honey and citrus and the slow upwards motion of living things. Marble and willow, the empty stage, the abandoned temple waiting for its worshippers. In absentia, we forgot how to breathe, and only when the butterfly’s wings break free do we briefly forget our wounds.
For Sanctus:
Beloved Icarus. Beheld in candlelight, bathed in radiant flame, the sorrow for the silent, closed eyes, open palms. Names of stars falling from lips, all things upheld, ecstasy and stasis. Honey and citrus and the slow upwards motion of living things. Marble and willow, the empty stage, the abandoned temple waiting for its worshippers. In absentia, we forgot how to breathe, and only when the butterfly’s wings break free do we briefly forget our wounds.
@Harmonywish
For Seraphina:
The old flame, the new forge, the whisper of lovers and the last candle burning. Rinse our scars in the morning light, cast our shadows into gilded armor. Cinnamon and lavender, the careful dance of the dying years, quick hands and a faster heart. The mare thundering through the autumn moor, rise and divide, gloves worn with care and age, amulets clasped in the hands of hatchlings. Only in myself do I armor and brace for the impact.
[emoji=maple leaf]
@Harmonywish
For Seraphina:
The old flame, the new forge, the whisper of lovers and the last candle burning. Rinse our scars in the morning light, cast our shadows into gilded armor. Cinnamon and lavender, the careful dance of the dying years, quick hands and a faster heart. The mare thundering through the autumn moor, rise and divide, gloves worn with care and age, amulets clasped in the hands of hatchlings. Only in myself do I armor and brace for the impact.
For Seraphina:
The old flame, the new forge, the whisper of lovers and the last candle burning. Rinse our scars in the morning light, cast our shadows into gilded armor. Cinnamon and lavender, the careful dance of the dying years, quick hands and a faster heart. The mare thundering through the autumn moor, rise and divide, gloves worn with care and age, amulets clasped in the hands of hatchlings. Only in myself do I armor and brace for the impact.
@nabal
The mountains crisp and cold, the eagle’s peak, the frozen waterfall. The eyes of the divine, an orb in an outstretched hand. Sapphire and oak, the rowboat dreamily drifting down the river, heavy cloaks and a well-used staff. Smiles that don’t quite meet the eyes, the lucky roll of the dice, heads turned to the north. The wolves’ cries, the spring stillness, the affection raging in our blood, in all things a breath of what is on the verge of being.
[emoji=wing]
@nabal
The mountains crisp and cold, the eagle’s peak, the frozen waterfall. The eyes of the divine, an orb in an outstretched hand. Sapphire and oak, the rowboat dreamily drifting down the river, heavy cloaks and a well-used staff. Smiles that don’t quite meet the eyes, the lucky roll of the dice, heads turned to the north. The wolves’ cries, the spring stillness, the affection raging in our blood, in all things a breath of what is on the verge of being.
The mountains crisp and cold, the eagle’s peak, the frozen waterfall. The eyes of the divine, an orb in an outstretched hand. Sapphire and oak, the rowboat dreamily drifting down the river, heavy cloaks and a well-used staff. Smiles that don’t quite meet the eyes, the lucky roll of the dice, heads turned to the north. The wolves’ cries, the spring stillness, the affection raging in our blood, in all things a breath of what is on the verge of being.