Creative Corner

[b]Dagiel's kick-off (April 22)[/b] @Valtrue [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=76108247][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/761083/76108247.png[/img][/url][/center] [size=2]He didn't know what happened exactly, but Dagiel put a stop to this mess that day. It's been too much time already. Ever since he lost his Pearl, the dragon collapsed on every level. He lost all self-esteem, all courage, all strength. He stopped caring for himself, for others, for everything and anything. That day, he snapped. He told himself that it couldn't last any longer: absolutely no way, no. He was not okay. He needed an escape from this sad routine. He woke up, stared at the ceiling for a long while, and suddenly walked outside. He cleaned his long-neglected opalized teeth and got dressed- nicely. Packed his bag and gave a long look at his messy den. He couldn't do this anymore. He needed fresh air. He said farewell to Wispwillow Grove- he'd probably be back at some point, but who knows when. For now, he needed to grab this impulse and make use of it.

[b]June 2022 - Triweekly Writing Prompts! (Jun 16)[/b] [quote=June 16 / 2022][center][size=4]"You're not... lonely here?" "Oh, no. I have many friends. One of them is behind you right now, in fact."[/center][/quote] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=61718382][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/617184/61718382.png[/img][/url] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=61723762][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/617238/61723762.png[/img][/url][/center] [size=2]The sinister man chuckled as Cense turned around a bit abruptly. Green smokes twirled at the dragons' feet, with an eerie glow. There was nothing. Nothing the Banescale could see, or make sense of, at least. "Who is your friend ?..." The Guardian walked around the younger one calmly, inspecting their surrounding. He brought Cense to a corner of the forest, which was his "happy place" - his heaven to rest, think, and meditate. The dark pines stood up tall like towers above the ground, and the air was fresh, had a sharpness to it. The many thorned ivies of the Tangled Wood were thick and bushy there, and a few minutes of walk deeper in would bring them to the darkest part of Foxfire Bramble. "Who is my friend, you ask ?" The green smoke twirled some more. "Have you ever had some chitchat with a soul, Cense ?" The Banescale shook his head slowly, now looking at the green smoke in a... Very different way. "You're friend with... Souls, Napoleon ?" The Guardian grinned and nodded with energy, almost with pride. "Broken souls. They're fun buddies! Well, fun isn't the exact right word." The young dragon looked at Napoleon's eyes. Fun buddies ?... Broken souls ?... This wasn't fun or even scary... Just sad. The Alchemist's eyes were filled with cracking thunder and strength. Storms were brewing in his iris, yet he remained kind-hearted, despite all his flaws and macabre tendencies. "Do you really have that many friends, Napoleon ?..." The bigger man shrugged. "Yeah ? I might be the watchdog of these wretched shreds of identities, but I do the small talk along with the work. They have many stories to tell." The Banescale paused. "Do you tell them your stories as well ?" "I do. Only the fun one though. I wouldn't want to be a bore." The Guardian sat on the ground and closed his eyes, breathing slowly in the foggy air of the forest. "... You sound lonelier than you think when you say that." Added Cense in a very soft, very low voice. Napoleon opened his eyes quickly, turned around, and stared at the other. The pumpkin boy had good senses. He didn't answer, closing his eyes again and enjoying the comforting stillness of the deep wood. He started humming a lullaby for his friends - or maybe mostly for himself.

[b]April 2023 - Wyrmwound Writer's Guild prompt (Apr 16)[/b] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=65130247][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/651303/65130247.png[/img][/url] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=56423539][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/564236/56423539.png[/img][/url][/center] [size=2]Tapki was sticking close to Kylantha. She didn't mind wandering through eerie places, history-charged locations, and dark corners of Sornieth. However, it had always felt better doing so with company. The feeling of someone standing next to her, holding her hand, or looking at her had always been plenty comforting. Kylantha pushed aside some vines, making way for the little duo and allowing entrance to a low cave, an old nave of sorts. [b]Before them sat the remnants of a story that would no longer be told, with carved stone and greenery entangled together in a silent defiance.[/b] The Skydancer chirped peppily - she was usually much more extra than this, but learned that her small protégée felt more comfortable in... relative calmness. It was quite fascinating, in fact, that such a quiet child lived with such boisterous adults. Napoleon wasn't too bad, to be honest: He was quite the poised man, but definitely not someone you'd give a child to. Too macabre. Too questionable. Possibly too evil (but not sure). On the other hand, it definitely wasn't "questionable" whether Enjorren was a good or a bad person to tend to a kid. He was absolutely terrible. Not a good person in the slightest. Always looking for a fight, for blood to shed and dirty money to make. Yet, they seemed to provide exactly what little Tapki needed. She traveled the most dangerous and obscure spots of Sornieth with an unclassy hitman and a morbid and borderline psychopathic alchemist. And when Kylantha was added to the mix, it became even more tumultuous !! It was loud, athletic, extra, theatrical, it was spontaneous, thrilling and never-boring, showstopping and uproarious. The young girl unexpectedly seemed to thrive in this chaotic and tight-bound little clique. And when things were deemed getting too harsh or rowdy for her, that Nap' and Enj' couldn't take her along... She was put under the watch of Kyle. The archaeologist brought the Fae along in her shorter expeditions, teaching her history and archaeology, to dress in an impactful way, to find allies and mostly: to see her own worth and to let it shine bright. The Skydancer approached the ruins they both uncovered. [i]"Do you like the atmosphere here, darling ?"[/i] Tapki nodded affirmatively. Yes or no questions were a good place to start a conversation with the little one. She wasn't very verbal, but they all liked to know what she thought of their shenanigans! [i]"See, this looks like an altar. It's very central, and the architecture here is typical for important places... Political or religious. Or both."[/i] Kylantha explained her methods, reasoning, and hypothesis to her young pupil. Her student seemed interested, inspecting the remnants she told her about. The old stony place was a silent place. The faint rustle of the greeneries which reclaimed the place was one of the only noises to be heard. Kylantha's steps were echoing in the nave. [i]"... And we can't know for sure what happened here. See, we can make argumented guesses, and study it rigorously to get to the most plausible conclusion. But the full picture? Unless traveling in time, we can't access it. Isn't it fascinating ?!"[/i] Kyle's voice faded away slowly. Tapki starred at the altar. [font=century][i]"People were standing here. You could see. You could know."[/i][/font] She shook her head. She didn't know how old was the soul haunting her. [font=century][i]"You could see. You could know."[/i][/font] She looked away from the altar, bringing her focus back to Kylantha. Little Fae trotted closer to the researcher and grabbed her hand. The Skydancer stopped her rambling, looking at the girl with a peppy smile. [i]"Yes ?"[/i] [i]"Do you know how old is this place ?"[/i] Her voice was just a whisper. A soft, tiny voice. A voice that wasn't used often. A great contrast from Kylantha's powerful set of lungs. [i]"Oh!! Excellent question, Tapki!! Let's see, I'll show you how I find pieces of information to answer that, princess!!"[/i] Pedagogical queen. She brought her pupil to a different spot of the nave to tell her about the architecture, inferences from the flora, the style, and the design of some remnants. Tapki focused on her words, letting the haunting voice fade away. [font=century][i]"I saw. I knew. I knew."[/i][/font] [font=century][color=dimgray][i]"I saw."[/i][/color][/font] [font=century][color=gray][i]"People were standing here. You could see. You could know."[/i][/color][/font] [font=century][color=silver][i]"People were standing here."[/i][/color][/font]

[b]July 2023 -[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/3103746/1#post_54734673] "The Roamers Clique" lore thread[/url][/b] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=66295418][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/662955/66295418.png[/img][/url] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=29918121][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/299182/29918121.png[/img][/url][/center] [color=transparent]hey[/color] [center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/hvstzzd0/Divider-213x50-3.png[/img][/center] [center][size=2]Thavael regained consciousness in a cold sweat. His skull was buzzing as if filled with a hundred wasps. After a few never-ending seconds, he finally managed to breathe again and gasped for air in the night. He couldn't move, he couldn't get up. His breathing rushed into chaos again as he felt the panic kicking up once more. What happened? Why was he lying on the ground? Was he injured? Why was he so numb? Where was Ash? What was the battle raging around him? He heard someone struggling to breathe, not far from him. He tried getting up again, trying to ignore the heavy pressure on his chest. He had to move, he had to get up on his feet. He had to get to safety. He had to bring as many people as possible to safety. The panting near didn't stop, but he was paralyzed in the middle of a raging war. He could hear the dragon next to him gasping for air, starting to sob quietly. As if they were fighting to stay silent. Only a whisper in the night, barely noticeable... Wait. How was he even hearing such a soft noise in this screeching hell? The screams faded away. The roaring thunder of the battlefield slowed down to nothingness. He labourously managed to move his neck, to stare at the shadow pushing against his chest, and used his last forces and growing lucidity to snap out of his nightmare. [img]https://i.postimg.cc/3JLw3G78/Divider-640x50.png[/img] [/center] [center][size=2]Mokketoï opened her eyes, but she couldn't see anything. Not even a heat signature. She was buried in the dark, in the smell of death and decay. She couldn't move, she couldn't squirm her way out. She felt her body being crushed under something, under someone. She was surrounded by corpses. She couldn't breathe, even though she was gasping for air desperately. Her lungs wouldn't fill. She was dying. She tried to hold her tears, she felt herself slowly slipping out of consciousness, trying to stay silent in the blasting clamor of a thousand warriors skinning each other. She was being consumed. She was being devoured by the clamor and the lifeless darkness. She was- [i]"It's a nightmare Mokketoï, I'm here, wake up. Please."[/i] The numbness or her limbs disappeared, and she felt someone's hand squeezing her clawed fingers. The pressure faded. Her eyes saw again. She took a painful breath, as if she finally reached the air after a long dive underwater. She flopped against Thavael's chest as he pulled her out of her paralysis. For a few seconds, she stayed in his arms and let the fire calm down and settle inside her stomach. When she finally regained her lucidity, she pushed him away and looked up at him anxiously. [i]"The same as yesterday?"[/i] He nodded nervously. It's been the third day they both went through this nightmare. No one else in the group did. [center][img]https://i.postimg.cc/rmSmTYy3/Divider-213x50-2.png[/img][/center]

[font=cambria][b]January 2024 - Wyrmwound Writer's Guild prompt[/b] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=88405326][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/884054/88405326.png[/img][/url][/center] [center][font=cambria][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4nH2-sZGu4]Music; Mathieu Ogier "La mort du père" for "Ne pas finir comme Roméo et Juliette"[/url][/center] [font=cambria][b][i]« Secrets are meant to be swallowed down, buried so deep as to never see the light of any star. And yet, through whispers wedged between the bookshelves, they become the loudest words of all. » [/i][/b] The Wildclaw softly struck his drums, giving a new depth to the melody coming from the music box he set earlier. It had a soft a serene feeling, but the increasing tapping of his instrument added something mysterious, and a sense of anticipation for what was to come. [i]« Today, I’m going to tell you a story of secrets, burried and drown deep under the mud of the marshland. Secrets hidden in such a dark, damp little hole, that you could either forget they exist or take them in pity for what uncomfort they’re stuck in. »[/i] The storyteller paced around in his corner of the street, looking at his public right in the eyes as he spoke with his soft and deep voice. His expressions under his mask were making the show all the more captivating. He struck his drum again, this time followed by a suspenseful silence. [i]« Have you ever wandered through the marshlands around the city ? If you ever stepped into the peat bogs, looking for a specific medicinal plant, or maybe trying to find the nest of a murkbottom gull… Then I’m sure this story will resonate all the more with you. You might even feel the ickyness of the slimy moss under your paws. »[/i] [i]« Indeed ! The land where secrets are burried is rarely a comfortable hike. You see, secrets, they are quite the shy and reclusive creatures… And for the shiest and most reclusive of them, the bottom of a drawer is not enough to feel safe. »[/i] The music started rolling again, softly, curiously. It felt like exploring a very slightly eerie place, or pacing through a well known street while it was empty. [i]« Secrets, the very very shy and reclusive kind, they need a very, very deep and dark place to feel safe. Moreover, even though they usually are quite the peaceful creatures, they can get very dangerous when they are anxious or stressed. Too much light shone upon it, and your sweetest, most gentle secret might just jump at your throat and dig its teeth in there. You have to careful. Or so a man once told me. »[/i] [i]« He was a man, who told me that he had a very, very shy and reclusive secret. In fact, a secret so reclusive, so skittish, he had to bury it feets and feets down the swamp. One layer of peat would not make it safe, no no no. Two layers ? Maybe ? »[/i] The rythm accelerated a tiny bit, and the storyteller stopped, looking theatrically lost in his thoughts. [i]« So the man with a secret, he burried it four, maybe even five layers of peat under the swamp. It was for sure the deepest, darkest and dampest hole of the marshland. His secret was the extra skittish kind, so he had to be careful. »[/i] [i]« No one would ever go so far into the marshland for something they don’t even know exist, or sleep down there. »[/i] He paced around again, looking for approbation in his public’s eyes. [i]« Truth to be told, the marshlands around here are not the best places to wander and randomly dig holes, hopping to find something or anything.  It’s damp, fairly disgusting for the most squeamish among us, the peat is slimy, it doesn’t smell all that great sometimes… It has its fair share of mosquitoes, unsettling fauna, and it’s loaded with Contagion and Rot around here. So maybe not the best place for a romantic date with your beloved, or for a random exploration journey trying to dig holes for fun. »[/i] [i]« So, you’d think the secret was safe down there. Who would ever find it ? Even if someone knew what they were trying to look for, where would they start searching ? In the slimy peat hole, or in the gooey kelp pond ? It’s like looking for a needle in a haysack, except even more unpleasant, perhaps even sickly ! »[/i]  He softly scratched the surface of his drum, making a soft but unexpected noise. The note stretched from his instrument to the street, like a long snake sliding down its branch. It faded as the snake reached the ground, and the pool, and disappeared under the surface of the dark water. [i]« The problem with secrets is, when they are being mentionned, when their very existence and the existence of their deep dark hiding hole is brought to the surface… Even if it doesn’t make many ripples, even if it doesn’t make any noise… It starts becoming brighter, and louder. »[/i] [i]« The man who hid the secret deep into the marshland, told me that he thoughts secrets were like cave geckos. When the gecko senses danger, it starts glowing in the depth of its troglodyte home. And when the secret senses danger, it starts buzzing from the silent depth of its hiding hole. »[/i] The melody accelerated slightly again. More suspense. More tension. [i]« And as the buzzing continues, as more and more people take note of it… The secret gets more nervous, it gets scared and it gets louder. And as the buzzing gets louder and louder…. »[/i] The melody gets faster. Stronger. [i]« As the buzzing gets louder and louder, more people start hearing it, and more people turn their head toward the then silent, now thumping hiding hole. »[/i] Faster. Stronger. [i]« The secret feels these people, and it gets very scared. The secret starts buzzing, and buzzing, and precisely because the noise comes from such an usually silent place, many more people get curious and take a look. »[/i] [i]« And the buzzing gets louder, and louder, and the secret starts shining like a cave gecko. More people come, more people see, more people try to understand. The secret is shy, the secret is scared . The secret buzzes and shines, the noise becomes a clamor, the soft glow becomes blinding light. »[/i] [i]« As the clamor gets mightier, and as the light gets stronger, more people hear and see it and more people fuel the secret’s fear. It’s like a never-ending cycle, a dangerous crescendo. »[/i] The music becomes loud and clear, the storyteller is not making any pause any more. Words flow with no interruption, and beats fasten and become thunder. [i]« The secret became the loudest, brightest thing of the dark and damp marshland. The man who burried it panicked! He reached the scene, he tried to calm the beast ! But nothing is as hard to tame, as a creature thinking it’s going to die. »[/i] [i]« And so the secret awoke ! It screamed and cried. It beamed light so bright under the muddy waters, it boiled so hard under the peat’s layers.  The slimy moss dried, the people joined the clamor. The man could do nothing ! And he screamed as well, he added to the noise. He tried to cover the tumult, but added to the fuss . »[/i] [i]« The secret blared and the marshland burnt. The ground shattered, and the peat melted into trenches of black goo in the chaos. The secret was so scared for its life, it took everyone’s. In its lethal demise, the secret exploded in a maelstrom of screeches. The people drowned, and its only their forever-and-ever-after silence that settled the black mud once again. » [/i] The storyteller stopped. He let the silence settle, like the black mud of the swamp. When everything was still again, he slowly walked toward the music box to silence it. [i]« There is no such thing as avoiding secrets. They are common creatures of our everyday life, and it would be foolish to think we’d never cross them or take them in. But where to foster such a nervous creature ? Shall we put it deep down where most people will never look, but where it will get the most scared when attention is brought ? Shall we make it cosy under our beds or at the back of our drawers, so exposed and whining in fear and anxiety every night, but less likely to lose temper so violently ? Shall we try to tame it so it doesn’t buzz and growl at visitors, but could be so easy to access and trick into biting its owner ? »[/i] He smiled and bowed at his public, putting away his instrument and music box. [i]« I am no beast tamer, and I myself have no answer to provide. However, I hope my little story entertained you. But please, let me know ! Where would you keep a secret ? Are you more scared of the noise it makes, or of the risks it implies to try and hush it ? »[/i]