Creative Corner

[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/6BIYuVl.png[/img] [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/68502488][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/685025/68502488_350.png[/img][/url] [img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/766440c793fa125f981646a34dda2c53/tumblr_oovzecQeiL1t34p6fo1_500.png[/img] [img]https://64.media.tumblr.com/8958511ef5b451c888d66bda3d26487c/tumblr_nj9kyb0AiI1r28672o2_640.png[/img][/center] Thick cypress trees jut up out of the water, their shade a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Spanish moss dangles in curtains from their branches. The air is heavy with a cloying, clinging humidity. It perpetuates the warmth despite the setting sun. The waters below are thick and murky. They lie still, save for ripples here and there which hint of aquatic life beneath the brackish surface. A frog hops among the swamp lilies; cat tails sway and rattle. Floating logs drift aimlessly - save for one, which moves with purpose. Reptilian eyes blink as the camouflaged gator swims by. The hum and buzz of insects is everywhere. As the sun dips lower, a few early-rising bats swoop, diving into swarms of bugs for a meal. Frog song carries across the swampwater. Twinkling lights swirl and dance, mesmerizing; the fireflies have awakened. The gentle glow of the fireflies illuminates a shack. It's a rickety old thing, a ramshackle construction that rises from the swamp on stilts. The deck extending from its porch is battered and weathered. There's a little boat tethered there, a pirogue. It looks just as old and worn as the deck. In fact, the entire shack looks in need of repairs. The wood is stripped and warping, the door jam hangs crooked, and some shingles are missing. But there's a warm light in the windows. Smoke curls from the chimney. A homey rocking chair sways gently on the porch. And a delectable smell wafts through the air... The inside of the shack is as unpolished as the exterior. Rough wooden floors creak with every movement. Missing panels of glass let the sounds of the swamp in. A few fireflies crawl on the walls, blinking dots of light. The warm glow of the fire is the only other light source, and dark shadows lurk in the corners of the room. A Skydancer stands in front of the fire, her hair long and unkempt. She hums to herself as she stirs a bubbling cauldron. Her alto voice is off-key. Within the pot bubbles a thick gumbo. Shrimp, okra, onion, Andouille sausage, rice...all simmering in a thick tomato stock. The dragon lifts a wooden spoon to her mouth and tastes - then adds several generous dashes of cayenne. Dried peppers, garlic, and herbs hang from the rafters near the fireplace. They cast long shadows, which dance and move as the flames sway. The firelight is caught on reflective surfaces around the shack. The panes of the windows; an old metal looking glass; and [i]countless[/i] glass bottles. They line the shelves, cover the table, are arrayed across every windowsill. Some of the bottles are filled with viscous liquids; in others, the glass is too frosted to see through. The rest hold a variety of disturbing shapes, some of which [i]move[/i] in the firelight. The flames reflect on another surface as well- Eyes. Dozens, [i]hundreds[/i] of eyes. An army of frogs sits in the shack. Crowded so thickly on the floor that they might be a carpet; sitting between or behind bottles; scores of them perch upon the rafters. Their eyes glow in the firelight. Waiting. Watching. From the darkest corner comes a groan. The Skydancer's humming stops. She turns, her shadow looming large on the wall. A terrifying mask obscures her face - is it carved of driftwood, or of bone? An enormous red-tailed boa coils around her arm, tongue darting out to taste the air. The frogs fall back as she approaches the corner, tangled hair dragging behind her. Their eyes watch hungrily as she crouches. There lies a Guardian, bound and gagged. She stirs and groans again, wincing in pain from the lump on her head. "Awake already, mon cher?" The Skydancer's voice is as rich as pecan pie. She tenderly removes the gag, patting the other dragon's cheek. "Lemme getcha somethin' for that headache." She reaches for a nearby bottle. The liquid within looks like the swampwater outside - dark and murky. The Guardian's eyes are dazed, unfocused. "What happened? How did I get here?" "Shush now, don't you fret. I'll have you right as rain in no time." The Skydancer lifts the bottle to the Guardian's lips. "Drink up, mon cher." The Guardian's eyes widen - but it is too late. The concoction coats her tongue. A chorus of blinks ripples around the room as the frogs watch, rapt. The Skydancer stands and returns to her cauldron. The gumbo bubbles within. She hums, off-key, as she tastes it. Perfect. And from the shadows hops a new frog. Another for her collection.

[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/67721948][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/677220/67721948_350.png[/img][/url][/center] An old teddy bear, made out of gingham and corduroy. Meticulous stippling in sturdy thread forms whorls and patterns across her body. The years have worn her cloth thin in places, and faded the colours. Time has made her softer than ever before. New patches have been added as needed. The colours don't match, but that just makes her more unique. Her stuffing has been replaced countless times. But beneath it all beats a tender and loving heart, which pours endless affection into the young hatchlings of the clan. Gingersnap is a perpetual favourite at tea parties. Any time one is hosted, she is given the seat of honour. The lumpy, plump Snapper sits there happily as hatchlings raise plastic or wooden cups to her face. She loves to be decked out in flowers, or dressed in homemade dresses sewn from cloth scraps. Her favourite part of all is when the hatchlings sneak her extra cookies. Sometimes she's dressed as a pirate, or a fierce beastclan member. She loves to play pretend with the hatchlings. They captain ships together, sailing across the oceans in search of treasure - or rescue damsels in distress from towers - or maraud through towns, looting and pillaging. She attends school with the hatchlings, sitting at a special tiny desk made just for her. She watches proudly as they learn their letters, and listens patiently as they fumble words while reading to her. And at night, Gingersnap provides a soft pillow and endless cuddles. Sometimes hatchlings lay their heads on her; other times they hold her tight throughout the night. She's there for every tear, every whispered secret, every nighttime giggle as a hatchling stays up past their bedtime. She's their best friend - and they are hers <3

[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/66391743][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/663918/66391743_350.png[/img][/url] [i]They look down on green as if evil Claim it's the colour of greed Of money, ambition, and envy To temptation it always will lead But green is much more than financial It's hope for a bounty of wealth Not just monetary or riches But also in matters of health Green is the colour of nature Felt as the world takes a breath Of life and all things which grow As spring succeeds winter's death Green is a promise of renewal Something you feel deep inside It offers a change if you want it A turning now of the tide And ambition is not always evil It can be a most worthy goal The desire to be more than you are now To pull yourself up from the hole Green is the colour of harmony Of making things right in your life Of setting things straight which are crooked Of conquering internal strife They look down on green as if evil And focus on negative things But really, green stands for change And all of the hope that it brings[/i]

[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/68109927][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/681100/68109927_350.png[/img][/url] [img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/816758587036139586/845060422909427722/Cupcake_test2.png[/img][/center] Cupcakes. That was what Geranium loved more than anything else in the world: Cupcakes. Rich, perfectly moist cake, still warm from the oven. Buttery-sweet frosting swirled in delicious and delicate patterns. Heaven. Cupcakes had been her favourite food for as long as she could remember. Each bite was pure, sugary bliss. She could eat half a dozen in a sitting, [i]easily[/i] - which was especially impressive given how small of a dragon she was. There was no way her little Veilspun belly should have been able to fit that much in it - but for cupcakes, Geranium somehow found a way. Just eating them wasn't enough for her, though. No, Geranium had one goal in life: [s]To eat as many cupcakes as possible[/s] To be a cupcake baker. Unfortunately, she struggled to find an apprenticeship. Most bakeries in Sornieth made baked goods sized to the larger dragon breeds - which meant the average cupcake was about half a Geranium in size. Bakers looked at the little Veilspun and wondered how she could ever lift a measuring cup - let alone mix the batter! Shop after shop politely turned her away. She rarely got an interview - and never a callback. But Geranium remained undaunted. Her spirit was as vibrant as the colours of her hide. She [i]knew[/i] what she was meant to do - and she refused to give up. She was going to be the best cupcake baker EVER. Since no bakery would hire her, Geranium decided on the obvious solution: She opened her own bakery. Did she have any experience? No. Could she afford to hire help? No. Did she have the first clue what she was doing? No. But by golly, she was going to do it! Tiny arms strained and wings beat furiously as she carried her ingredients to the counter. Eggs, flour, sugar, vanilla, milk...she arranged each carefully. It took all of her effort to lift the final necessary piece: a cookbook FULL of cupcake recipes. It was her prized possession. Geranium had spent countless nights poring over its recipes for different batters and frostings, drooling all the while. One day, she planned to make them all. Muffin tins? Check. Measuring spoons? Check. Whisk? Check. Mixing bowl? HEAVY, but check! Geranium panted heavily, already sweating from the exertion. But this was IT. This was her MOMENT. [i]She could do this.[/i] She pulled her long hair back, and bound it in a messy bun. It was time to bake CUPCAKES. All through the night she worked. Measuring cups almost as large as the Veilspun herself heaped sugar into the bowl. She carefully sifted flour and poured vanilla. Wings vibrating as quick as a hummingbird's, she flew in circles around the bowl, dragging the whisk to and fro. She tasted the batter - and tasted it again. Perfect. Decorative paper wrappers lined the trays. For a moment the exhausted Veilspun was tempted to curl up in one for a nap. It was the perfect size for a bed... But there was no time to rest. There were [i]cupcakes[/i] to be made. She doled out batter and slid the trays into the oven. The main task complete, she got to work whisking powdered sugar, butter, and vanilla into a thick and creamy frosting. Soon the most heavenly smell began to fill the kitchen. Geranium's stomach rumbled. It took all of her willpower to let the cupcakes cool when she pulled them out of the oven. The smell was DIVINE. At last they were cool enough to frost. She was generous with the frosting, giving each cupcake a hefty dollop. She used her long, thin tail to smooth the thick mixture over the surface. And then it was time for the finishing touch. The pièce de résistance: Candied petals, plucked from her own branches. Perfectly pink, crystallized with sugar, and so fine that they melted in your mouth- (She knew. She had taste tested them [i]thoroughly[/i].) Geranium practically vibrated with excitement. The cupcakes looked SO GOOD!! Perfectly decorated, beautifully presented... She ate every last one. And they. were. DELICIOUS!!! One day she would open her bakery fully, and bake cupcakes for other dragons. But for right now? The cupcakes were for [i]her[/i]. Full and satisfied, Geranium curled up beside the still-warm oven. A smudge of flour decorated her cheek. There was frosting on her nose. The kitchen was a mess. Her belly was distended. But her heart was as full of joy as her stomach was of cupcakes. And as she drifted off into a well-earned sleep, she smiled. She couldn't wait to try a new flavour tomorrow. [center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/816758587036139586/845059020297469952/Cupcake_test.png[/img]

[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/69477319][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/694774/69477319_350.png[/img][/url] [img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/c30eglm2azyapri/watertop.png[/img][/center] [center][i]Driftwood, washed up on the shore.[/i][/center] The sand stretched all along the coast, a long stretch of beach just for her. She walked there every day. In sunshine and blue skies, in rain and in stormclouds, she walked the shore. Today it was sunny. The sun beat down overhead, a pleasant warmth to counter the cool breeze off the sea. The fine sand felt good beneath her talons. Gentle waves lapped against the shore. [center][i]A sanddollar, partially buried in the sand.[/i][/center] Other days the waves were far more wild - crashing against the beach with thunderous power. On those days she kept a safe distance away from the water...but a close eye on what it left behind. [center][i]Kelp and seaweed, washed up in a tangled mess.[/i][/center] Each day she put on the small basket slung over her hip. It wasn't large - just enough to hold a handful of trinkets. Today it was already mostly full. On other days the findings were more scarce...but she always found something to carry home. Once she had returned to her lair with a single perfect pebble; on another day, she had found a vein of coarse, cloudy glass - the living art formed by lightning striking the sand. [center][i]A dried starfish, carried ashore by the waves.[/i][/center] Every day she walked the shore. Every day, she found something new. Her basket full, the Fae turned and began to trudge back home. Her clawed footprints stretched for miles along the sand. She listened to the cries of the gulls overhead, to the murmur of the waves lapping against the sand. Up a steep hill she climbed, away from the coastline. Now sparse shrubs and plants began to shoot up through the sand. The view of the ocean was breathtaking from here; a masterpiece painted just for her. She paused for a moment, her attention caught by a delicate white flower. Tender talons plucked it and raised it to her ridged nose. [center][i]The first bloom of spring, dainty and perfect.[/i][/center] And then she was home. The cave opened up before her into a cozy little nook. She lit candles and lanterns, allowing their warm light to fill her abode. The flames were reflected off of glimmering, glittering treasures, placed with love in every alcove and cranny. [center][i]Broken glass. Pearls. Sparkling shells. Shark teeth. Pristine scales.[/i][/center] The dragon hummed happily to herself as she pulled her new treasures from her basket. She took her time with each one, poring over it, admiring the natural beauty of each piece. She took the greatest joy in that which others overlooked. [center][i]A crown woven of kelp and decorated with coral. Platters and bowls carved from driftwood. Dried reeds and flowers, still fragrant. A polished brass mirror, the edges a little tarnished. Shells of all shapes and sizes, decorating every wall. Starfish in every colour of the rainbow.[/i][/center] The Fae looked around her lair, beaming. Every day she walked the shore. Every day, she found something new. Every day, she made her home more beautiful. [center][img]https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/s/6ibsi0ojsdsg0pd/waterbottom.png[/img]

[center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/60196099][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/601961/60196099_350.png[/img][/url] [item=pollen][item=honeycomb fragment][item=sticky pollen] [i]Nectar, pollen, hive and home Tiny wings on which to roam Soar through sky, fast and free Silly dragon - you're a bee![/i][/center] The Hive was all she'd ever known. The bees of Sornieth were a strange phenomenon. Some were the average size - miniscule flying insects which fit perfectly inside everyday flowers. They were the pollinators of the world. Then there were the Bumbles. This large subspecies of bee had arisen in answer to the enormous flora of the Viridian Labyrinth. The lands surrounding the Gladekeeper and the Behemoth were teeming with gargantuan plantlife. Flowers the size of dragons - trees large enough to hold entire [i]villages[/i] of treehouses- bushes of berries which towered high overhead. The average bee could not hope to ever pollinate such massive plants. But Bumbles? Bumbles could. Enormous insects, Bumbles thrived in the Nature realm. The sound of their wings beating rapidly could be heard as a droning buzz for miles around the Hive. Their bodies were massive - larger than Faes and Veilspuns, though smaller than Guardians and Ridgebacks. Thick black plates of chitin serve Bumbles as a natural armor. Their bodies are covered in coarse yellow fur, to which pollen clings, making pollination an easy task. Bulbous, faceted eyes present a multi-fractaled view of the world. Six sturdy legs end in thick talons, which can be surprisingly delicate when handling eggs or petals. And of course, the Bumbles have a fearsome stinger should they need to defend themselves. Bumbles are also possessed of a fierce intelligence. They quickly learned to communicate with dragons, striking up a mutually-beneficial partnership. The Bumbles help to keep the Nature lands thriving and flourishing. They trade their bountiful honey supplies for dragon-made goods. In return, dragonfolk provide them with plenty of plants to consume, protect their hives from Plague incursions, and act as defense against the equally large Stingers. Sometimes, individuals within the Hive form friendships with dragons. Many Bumbles have left home to see more of Sornieth with a draconic friend. Sometimes they return; others have started hives of their own across the continent. Some young Bumbles have begun to view these journeys as a rite of passage. But only one dragon has ever joined the Hive. No one knew where her egg came from. It was simply there one day, tucked in amongst the Bumble eggs in the larval chamber. It was roughly the same size and shape. No one gave it a second glance. But when it hatched... Out tumbled a tiny Spiral. The Bumbles were shocked. The little spindly noodle was so different from their own larvae. But she was here. She was part of the Hive. She was a Bumble. And so they cared for her. They fed her royal jelly, rich pollen, and nectar. She stayed in the pupal chambers as the other hatchlings entered their cocoons. She did not molt - nor did her thorax ever develop. But when the time came, she chewed her way through the hex-shaped wax egg cell just like the others. She was a Bumble. Her stinger was strange, oddly long. She had thick, gently curving antennae that didn't seem to sense anything. Her eyes were not faceted. Her wings were not transparent, and did not buzz as she flew. But she was black and yellow. Her talons could grip to climb, or be gentle to gather. And she flew very well. She was part of the Hive. And it was the Hive that she served. She left the Hive with the other worker Bumbles every day. She quickly learned how to pollinate, how to bring back pollen to the Hive, how to make honey. She was always tender when tending to the young. She helped to feed the larvae, and would watch proudly as the pupae emerged from their cocoons as full-fledged Bumbles. She taught the new Bumbles everything she knew. She repaired the hive after a storm. She fought off a hostile clan of Stingers beside her sisters. She served her Queen in all that she did. She even helped with trades with the local (and very bewildered) dragonkind. She knew she looked different than the others...but it didn't matter. She was a Bumble. She was part of the Hive. [center][item=pollen][item=honeycomb fragment][item=sticky pollen] [img]https://media2.giphy.com/media/QBYeMohXoVUJBtlfFD/giphy.gif[/img][/center]