I love your writing!! If you could do something for him I would be really happy ^ ^
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she/her fr +4 english portuguese wishlist |
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Creative Corner
Share your own art and stories, or ask for critique.
TOPIC | free —> dragon lore!
I love your writing!! If you could do something for him I would be really happy ^ ^
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/62313738][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/623138/62313738_350.png[/img][/url]
This is really cool of you! Perhaps this gal may catch your eye:
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/50996217][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/509963/50996217_350.png[/img][/url]
I have no ideas for her, but she is part of a group that roams around Sornieth and [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/lair/453761/1677674/2]these are her friends[/url]. As long as she isn’t an ex-conman, vampire or detective (as I already have several dragons like that), I’ll probably be good with any ideas you have.
This is really cool of you! Perhaps this gal may catch your eye:
I have no ideas for her, but she is part of a group that roams around Sornieth and these are her friends. As long as she isn’t an ex-conman, vampire or detective (as I already have several dragons like that), I’ll probably be good with any ideas you have.
I have no ideas for her, but she is part of a group that roams around Sornieth and these are her friends. As long as she isn’t an ex-conman, vampire or detective (as I already have several dragons like that), I’ll probably be good with any ideas you have.
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- they/them - +8 FR time - Feel free to talk/ping! - Old UN: LemonySnaket |
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@Alexstrasza
Would you be willing to write lore for a warcraft character? I would be happy to pay you as well!
Would you be willing to write lore for a warcraft character? I would be happy to pay you as well!
@Alexstrasza
Would you be willing to write lore for a warcraft character? I would be happy to pay you as well!
Would you be willing to write lore for a warcraft character? I would be happy to pay you as well!
@Alexstrasza Hi! If you like, I would really love some lore for my boy Gnostrum. I have nothin for him except a lot of my dragons work at a library in Terraclae- if that does anything for you! [Also his name is gnosis + nostrum....]
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/71817854][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/718179/71817854_350.png[/img][/url]
Thanks and no pressure, I love reading your lore!!
@Alexstrasza Hi! If you like, I would really love some lore for my boy Gnostrum. I have nothin for him except a lot of my dragons work at a library in Terraclae- if that does anything for you! [Also his name is gnosis + nostrum....]
Thanks and no pressure, I love reading your lore!!
Thanks and no pressure, I love reading your lore!!
@Wolfkai I'd looove to write lore for a Warcraft character, I'd arguably do even better with that since I've spent so long with the lore. Feel free to DM me!
@Wolfkai I'd looove to write lore for a Warcraft character, I'd arguably do even better with that since I've spent so long with the lore. Feel free to DM me!
How does it feel? Do you remember?
The first time, you said it was like you were outside yourself.
Like time itself had bent its knee, waiting for you to decide.
The first time, you said it was like you were outside yourself.
Like time itself had bent its knee, waiting for you to decide.
High over the Gladeveins, where the plains meet the reeds and the reeds meet the water, a sea of long-dead trees blankets the marshy earth. The trees, rough-hewn by wind and rain and long since petrified, are mired in the wispy threads of ley energy that drift out from the sanctum to the west. The magic in the wood is twisted and ancient, both of the earth and completely alien - a layover, no doubt, from a time before dragons stirred the seas and moved the mountains. The dragons of the Viridian Labyrinth would see these trees as a thing of some importance were they not irrevocably dead. They instead stand undisturbed in the shadow of the great tree, disinterested as the Gladekeeper’s adherents are in the lifeless reaches of their verdant wood; all the better for the outlanders.
At the heart of the lifeless forest is a small, still lake of sickly turquoise, and at its center stands a single tree. Its wear is deliberate, manufactured, sculpted meticulously into the wood with spear and claw. The barkless structure twists dozens of meters up into the sky, its grasping branches casting long, diffuse shadows over the water below. Massive, lifeless vines slither up out of uncertain depths and wind around the structure, coiling around the stony thorns that jut out of its walls. The taste of the air is acrid with the essence of putrefaction; neither animals nor plants dare make their homes in this dead mire, save for the hardiest of ferns and insects - and Opheodra.
She sees the pursuits of the Gladekeeper’s followers as frivolous vanity projects - affronts to nature that value beauty over function - and wears her distaste for the Nature flight on her sleeve. While she would never dream of letting herself get dragged into cyclical ideological battles, she has criticisms for the Gladekeeper in spades, and works to curb the spread of verdure into the ancient marshland.
The ancient tree - “Bramblespire”, the druid calls it - is more luxuriant than any world tree could ever hope to be. Hand-carved passages twist deep into the ancient oak, all opening beneath its jagged, leafless canopy; the passages empty into a domed chamber at the base of the structure, and this chamber is where the eerie spiral makes her home. Black banners have been hammered into the aged wood, and into their surfaces have been stitched the innumerable elytra of viridescent beetles. Where there aren’t drapes there are frames, all different shapes and sizes, all showcasing the pressed bodies of insects and arachnids.
The torches lining the openings of the passages are few and far between, leaving the center of the room incredibly dim, but that is probably for the best - otherworldly things scuttle around audibly in the darkness, the sounds of their little footfalls and chirping wings compounding into a deafening drone-song. Long mushrooms grow up out of the floor and down from the ceiling like living stalactites, their soft bodies shifting and breathing. The scent of rot is pungent enough here to turn the strongest stomachs, but the decay is true, uncorrupted, pure. Opheodra would have it no other way, for she reviles the Plaguebringer as much as she does the Gladekeeper for her affront to life.
Nature is far out of balance, Opheodra thinks, and it has been for time immemorial; the world has been built on the backs of eleven dragons whose selfish goals have been successfully overshadowed by shows of power and proclamations of divinity. The spiral stews resentfully in her dead tree fortress, her only source of comfort the legions of insects that bend to her beck and call. If anyone has ever shown the world true love, it is the bugs, so selfless they are in their communal pursuits. She has always seen herself as just like them - feeble, many-eyed, never taken seriously by those who see themselves as mightier - and they have always afforded her a great deal of comfort and loyalty.
She can only give them her loyalty and love and return, and the honesty of a true caretaker - when her time comes to blacken the sky, after all, her many million adherents will put their lives on the line to see the deed done. She would be cruel to deny them her affection - no better than a god.
At the heart of the lifeless forest is a small, still lake of sickly turquoise, and at its center stands a single tree. Its wear is deliberate, manufactured, sculpted meticulously into the wood with spear and claw. The barkless structure twists dozens of meters up into the sky, its grasping branches casting long, diffuse shadows over the water below. Massive, lifeless vines slither up out of uncertain depths and wind around the structure, coiling around the stony thorns that jut out of its walls. The taste of the air is acrid with the essence of putrefaction; neither animals nor plants dare make their homes in this dead mire, save for the hardiest of ferns and insects - and Opheodra.
She sees the pursuits of the Gladekeeper’s followers as frivolous vanity projects - affronts to nature that value beauty over function - and wears her distaste for the Nature flight on her sleeve. While she would never dream of letting herself get dragged into cyclical ideological battles, she has criticisms for the Gladekeeper in spades, and works to curb the spread of verdure into the ancient marshland.
The ancient tree - “Bramblespire”, the druid calls it - is more luxuriant than any world tree could ever hope to be. Hand-carved passages twist deep into the ancient oak, all opening beneath its jagged, leafless canopy; the passages empty into a domed chamber at the base of the structure, and this chamber is where the eerie spiral makes her home. Black banners have been hammered into the aged wood, and into their surfaces have been stitched the innumerable elytra of viridescent beetles. Where there aren’t drapes there are frames, all different shapes and sizes, all showcasing the pressed bodies of insects and arachnids.
The torches lining the openings of the passages are few and far between, leaving the center of the room incredibly dim, but that is probably for the best - otherworldly things scuttle around audibly in the darkness, the sounds of their little footfalls and chirping wings compounding into a deafening drone-song. Long mushrooms grow up out of the floor and down from the ceiling like living stalactites, their soft bodies shifting and breathing. The scent of rot is pungent enough here to turn the strongest stomachs, but the decay is true, uncorrupted, pure. Opheodra would have it no other way, for she reviles the Plaguebringer as much as she does the Gladekeeper for her affront to life.
Nature is far out of balance, Opheodra thinks, and it has been for time immemorial; the world has been built on the backs of eleven dragons whose selfish goals have been successfully overshadowed by shows of power and proclamations of divinity. The spiral stews resentfully in her dead tree fortress, her only source of comfort the legions of insects that bend to her beck and call. If anyone has ever shown the world true love, it is the bugs, so selfless they are in their communal pursuits. She has always seen herself as just like them - feeble, many-eyed, never taken seriously by those who see themselves as mightier - and they have always afforded her a great deal of comfort and loyalty.
She can only give them her loyalty and love and return, and the honesty of a true caretaker - when her time comes to blacken the sky, after all, her many million adherents will put their lives on the line to see the deed done. She would be cruel to deny them her affection - no better than a god.
@worldless BUG GOD
Hey buddy! I named your dragon and gave her some deranged eco-trauma.
High over the Gladeveins, where the plains meet the reeds and the reeds meet the water, a sea of long-dead trees blankets the marshy earth. The trees, rough-hewn by wind and rain and long since petrified, are mired in the wispy threads of ley energy that drift out from the sanctum to the west. The magic in the wood is twisted and ancient, both of the earth and completely alien - a layover, no doubt, from a time before dragons stirred the seas and moved the mountains. The dragons of the Viridian Labyrinth would see these trees as a thing of some importance were they not irrevocably dead. They instead stand undisturbed in the shadow of the great tree, disinterested as the Gladekeeper’s adherents are in the lifeless reaches of their verdant wood; all the better for the outlanders.
At the heart of the lifeless forest is a small, still lake of sickly turquoise, and at its center stands a single tree. Its wear is deliberate, manufactured, sculpted meticulously into the wood with spear and claw. The barkless structure twists dozens of meters up into the sky, its grasping branches casting long, diffuse shadows over the water below. Massive, lifeless vines slither up out of uncertain depths and wind around the structure, coiling around the stony thorns that jut out of its walls. The taste of the air is acrid with the essence of putrefaction; neither animals nor plants dare make their homes in this dead mire, save for the hardiest of ferns and insects - and Opheodra.
She sees the pursuits of the Gladekeeper’s followers as frivolous vanity projects - affronts to nature that value beauty over function - and wears her distaste for the Nature flight on her sleeve. While she would never dream of letting herself get dragged into cyclical ideological battles, she has criticisms for the Gladekeeper in spades, and works to curb the spread of verdure into the ancient marshland.
The ancient tree - “Bramblespire”, the druid calls it - is more luxuriant than any world tree could ever hope to be. Hand-carved passages twist deep into the ancient oak, all opening beneath its jagged, leafless canopy; the passages empty into a domed chamber at the base of the structure, and this chamber is where the eerie spiral makes her home. Black banners have been hammered into the aged wood, and into their surfaces have been stitched the innumerable elytra of viridescent beetles. Where there aren’t drapes there are frames, all different shapes and sizes, all showcasing the pressed bodies of insects and arachnids.
The torches lining the openings of the passages are few and far between, leaving the center of the room incredibly dim, but that is probably for the best - otherworldly things scuttle around audibly in the darkness, the sounds of their little footfalls and chirping wings compounding into a deafening drone-song. Long mushrooms grow up out of the floor and down from the ceiling like living stalactites, their soft bodies shifting and breathing. The scent of rot is pungent enough here to turn the strongest stomachs, but the decay is true, uncorrupted, pure. Opheodra would have it no other way, for she reviles the Plaguebringer as much as she does the Gladekeeper for her affront to life.
Nature is far out of balance, Opheodra thinks, and it has been for time immemorial; the world has been built on the backs of eleven dragons whose selfish goals have been successfully overshadowed by shows of power and proclamations of divinity. The spiral stews resentfully in her dead tree fortress, her only source of comfort the legions of insects that bend to her beck and call. If anyone has ever shown the world true love, it is the bugs, so selfless they are in their communal pursuits. She has always seen herself as just like them - feeble, many-eyed, never taken seriously by those who see themselves as mightier - and they have always afforded her a great deal of comfort and loyalty.
She can only give them her loyalty and love and return, and the honesty of a true caretaker - when her time comes to blacken the sky, after all, her many million adherents will put their lives on the line to see the deed done. She would be cruel to deny them her affection - no better than a god.
At the heart of the lifeless forest is a small, still lake of sickly turquoise, and at its center stands a single tree. Its wear is deliberate, manufactured, sculpted meticulously into the wood with spear and claw. The barkless structure twists dozens of meters up into the sky, its grasping branches casting long, diffuse shadows over the water below. Massive, lifeless vines slither up out of uncertain depths and wind around the structure, coiling around the stony thorns that jut out of its walls. The taste of the air is acrid with the essence of putrefaction; neither animals nor plants dare make their homes in this dead mire, save for the hardiest of ferns and insects - and Opheodra.
She sees the pursuits of the Gladekeeper’s followers as frivolous vanity projects - affronts to nature that value beauty over function - and wears her distaste for the Nature flight on her sleeve. While she would never dream of letting herself get dragged into cyclical ideological battles, she has criticisms for the Gladekeeper in spades, and works to curb the spread of verdure into the ancient marshland.
The ancient tree - “Bramblespire”, the druid calls it - is more luxuriant than any world tree could ever hope to be. Hand-carved passages twist deep into the ancient oak, all opening beneath its jagged, leafless canopy; the passages empty into a domed chamber at the base of the structure, and this chamber is where the eerie spiral makes her home. Black banners have been hammered into the aged wood, and into their surfaces have been stitched the innumerable elytra of viridescent beetles. Where there aren’t drapes there are frames, all different shapes and sizes, all showcasing the pressed bodies of insects and arachnids.
The torches lining the openings of the passages are few and far between, leaving the center of the room incredibly dim, but that is probably for the best - otherworldly things scuttle around audibly in the darkness, the sounds of their little footfalls and chirping wings compounding into a deafening drone-song. Long mushrooms grow up out of the floor and down from the ceiling like living stalactites, their soft bodies shifting and breathing. The scent of rot is pungent enough here to turn the strongest stomachs, but the decay is true, uncorrupted, pure. Opheodra would have it no other way, for she reviles the Plaguebringer as much as she does the Gladekeeper for her affront to life.
Nature is far out of balance, Opheodra thinks, and it has been for time immemorial; the world has been built on the backs of eleven dragons whose selfish goals have been successfully overshadowed by shows of power and proclamations of divinity. The spiral stews resentfully in her dead tree fortress, her only source of comfort the legions of insects that bend to her beck and call. If anyone has ever shown the world true love, it is the bugs, so selfless they are in their communal pursuits. She has always seen herself as just like them - feeble, many-eyed, never taken seriously by those who see themselves as mightier - and they have always afforded her a great deal of comfort and loyalty.
She can only give them her loyalty and love and return, and the honesty of a true caretaker - when her time comes to blacken the sky, after all, her many million adherents will put their lives on the line to see the deed done. She would be cruel to deny them her affection - no better than a god.
@worldless BUG GOD
Hey buddy! I named your dragon and gave her some deranged eco-trauma.
How does it feel? Do you remember?
The first time, you said it was like you were outside yourself.
Like time itself had bent its knee, waiting for you to decide.
The first time, you said it was like you were outside yourself.
Like time itself had bent its knee, waiting for you to decide.
I've this dragon that I'm having a bit of trouble with!
[url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/59918042][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/rendern/350/599181/59918042_350.png[/img][/url]
All I've really got down is that he's a cocky and sharp-witted freelance mercenary/bounty hunter
He's also quite good at his job! Brags sometimes
not exactly sure on what interests he has, tho
I've this dragon that I'm having a bit of trouble with!
All I've really got down is that he's a cocky and sharp-witted freelance mercenary/bounty hunter
He's also quite good at his job! Brags sometimes
not exactly sure on what interests he has, tho
All I've really got down is that he's a cocky and sharp-witted freelance mercenary/bounty hunter
He's also quite good at his job! Brags sometimes
not exactly sure on what interests he has, tho
(Eventually A Nice Banner Will Be Here)
| ||| Wishlist | ||| Project WL | ||| Art Dump | ||| Art Shop | ||| +0 FRT ||| |
The night was still and silent. The full moon hung high over the water, casting long bands of pearlescent moonlight over the blue-black sea. The Curse of Fortune chugged lazily through the brackish water, its portside hull throwing shadows several stories tall over the Gladeveins estuary.
The Curse of Fortune was a massive ship. Despite its imposing size and terrifying silhouette, it belonged to neither merchant marine nor pirate; the flags flown beside its leathery masts were stark white, and the standards facing out from the ivory banisters lining the upper deck bore the insignia of the Plaguebringer. A handful of Spirals circled the ship tirelessly from above, all watching the water or barking orders at the score of Mirrors scuttling around the boat. Polished bone and tanned flesh bodged shut holes in the hull and patched over tears in the sails, giving the vessel the look of a floating behemoth coasting dangerously across the midnight sea.
Below deck, about a dozen dragons - mostly crew members, judging by the burgundy scarves tied around their bodies - were scattered across the living quarters. One, a deep gray Wildclaw swathed in black, red and silver, sat on a red floor pillow at a splintered dining table, a massive goblet of cactus wine clasped between his little fingers. A scarlet Nocturne draped in black silks was seated opposite him, her wings folded down over her egg-shaped body like a cloak as she shook a dice cup vigorously in both hands. The Wildclaw watched his companion closely, flaxen eyes unblinking as the smirking sailor cast the die out over the wood.
His eyes took a second to adjust. He craned his neck forward, stooping in his seat to get a better look at the numbers. Six - three. He glanced at the dice he cast moments before, lips curling into an ugly snarl. Before anyone around him could process what was going on, his glass of cactus wine soared halfway across the lower deck and smashed violently against the planks, sending the remainder of his drink trickling down through the floorboards. The gaggle of Mirrors surrounding the pair cheered and hollered in response, their spirits lifted by the sudden chaos.
“Alto,” the Wildclaw’s company said plainly, her short, black claws coming to rap on the table. “Get yourself under control.”
“Me? Take a look at yourself. I chalked the first five rolls up to chance, but this is way too far. You’re clearly cheating.”
The Nocturne stared at him for a moment, shocked speechless, then tossed her angular head back and barked out a laugh. “I’m clearly cheating. Oh, that’s rich.” She stopped abruptly, then leveled her head to get a good look at Alto through squinting red eyes. “Of course I’m cheating, you dullard. My boat, my rules. Now, pay up.”
Alto stared back at her, just as silent in his incredulity as she was moments before. The long, hooked claws on his big toes rapped anxiously at the ground. “I already paid you everything I owe for the trip. Why can’t you bet normally? You know, bet some real dice?"
The Nocturne lay her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up to get a closer look at him. “Why can’t you bet normally? Give me a break, man. No more moralizing on my ship. Why wouldn’t you cheat if you knew I was cheating too? Boring. Now pay up and shut up, unless you want to swim the rest of the way to Mirrorlight - or get dredged up by someone else."
The Wildclaw bared his teeth a little wider, then glanced down at the coin purse fastened at his hip. He exhaled abruptly, nostrils flaring out, and brought both hands down to open it. After a moment, he raised his hands and opened them over the table; a handful of shimmering gems and dumped them unceremoniously beside the captain’s drink. “Whatever - have your money. Fun’s over anyway. You just drained my wallet dry. Might as well find a different chump to leave destitute.”
The captain pouted mockingly, her jagged teeth poking past her lips. “Fun’s over? It doesn’t have to be, but if you’re that torn up over it, I could see about getting you some work. You know, 'work'? The way most dragons get their gems?”
“I know what work is," Alto replied, his eyes narrowing at the captain's cold emphasis. "I work all the time.”
“All the time, huh. ‘Killing guys,’ as you like to call it, isn’t what I would call work.”
“Debatable.”
The Nocturne ignored his half-baked refutation. “Look, man, if you’re this much of a sore loser, I’ll cut you a break. You can keep eating the good meat here - for free, do you hear me? - until we dock at the promenade. Then you can go out on a job for me.”
Alto slouched forward in defeat, his head coming to rest gently on the tabletop. “Ugh..."
“Is that a no?”
“I'm flat broke now, so it’s a yes. Tell me who you need me to kill.”
“Who I need you to kill? I told you how I feel about your main vocation already. There’s not going to be any guy-killing in my name. You’re going to help me repatriate some artifacts to the Wyrmwound.”
Alto melted further into the table. “That sounds pretty boring.”
“Work can be boring, but this isn’t boring. For you it might be, but I would kill to be out there doing this instead of chasing three dozen Mirrors around a boat all day. Besides, this is twice as dangerous as cutting someone to ribbons is for you, and a lot more important, too. I need you to sneak around these stuffy Imperials with your stupid Wildclaw body and recover three tablets for me."
Alto rolled his eyes. "What's so dangerous about that?"
"If you get caught, they'll probably crush you half to death and launch you into the sea."
"Ugh,” he grunted again. “No, they won't, but the sneaking sounds fun for what it is - good enough for me. Before I agree to anything, though, what're you offering?"
"Ugh," parroted the Nocturne, grinning again. "Five thousand."
"Coins?" For a moment, Alto looked like he was going to be sick.
"Gems."
The look of malaise around the Wildclaw dissolved immediately. He scooted a bit further across the table, his head lifting and resting again to accommodate his adjustments. “Ten thousand percent return on investment, huh? Fine, I’ll go out there and get pushed around a little, if that’s what you’re offering, but we’re going to link up alone in the city to make the exchange, just you and me. I’ll send a courier out your way to arrange the meeting when it’s time. That sound good to you?”
The captain tilted her head back again, this time to mull Alto’s terms over in silence for a moment. Finally, she eased forward again, reaching her clawed hand across the table to shake on it. “Sounds good to me, Alto. Believe you me, tree boy, there’ll be way more glory than money to be won from this, but we can talk about the details later.” She stretched her hand forward a little further, now nearly straining, as though to make a point. “Now, is it a deal?”
Alto eyed her hand carefully, then sighed once more and stood, leaning far over the table to grasp her hand in his.
“It’s a deal.”
@Mistyleaf123 Guess I was in the mood for dialog today. Sorry if there are any verb tense issues - I typically write stuff like this in present tense, but I decided on paste tense today for whatever reason. Hope this is something!
The Curse of Fortune was a massive ship. Despite its imposing size and terrifying silhouette, it belonged to neither merchant marine nor pirate; the flags flown beside its leathery masts were stark white, and the standards facing out from the ivory banisters lining the upper deck bore the insignia of the Plaguebringer. A handful of Spirals circled the ship tirelessly from above, all watching the water or barking orders at the score of Mirrors scuttling around the boat. Polished bone and tanned flesh bodged shut holes in the hull and patched over tears in the sails, giving the vessel the look of a floating behemoth coasting dangerously across the midnight sea.
Below deck, about a dozen dragons - mostly crew members, judging by the burgundy scarves tied around their bodies - were scattered across the living quarters. One, a deep gray Wildclaw swathed in black, red and silver, sat on a red floor pillow at a splintered dining table, a massive goblet of cactus wine clasped between his little fingers. A scarlet Nocturne draped in black silks was seated opposite him, her wings folded down over her egg-shaped body like a cloak as she shook a dice cup vigorously in both hands. The Wildclaw watched his companion closely, flaxen eyes unblinking as the smirking sailor cast the die out over the wood.
His eyes took a second to adjust. He craned his neck forward, stooping in his seat to get a better look at the numbers. Six - three. He glanced at the dice he cast moments before, lips curling into an ugly snarl. Before anyone around him could process what was going on, his glass of cactus wine soared halfway across the lower deck and smashed violently against the planks, sending the remainder of his drink trickling down through the floorboards. The gaggle of Mirrors surrounding the pair cheered and hollered in response, their spirits lifted by the sudden chaos.
“Alto,” the Wildclaw’s company said plainly, her short, black claws coming to rap on the table. “Get yourself under control.”
“Me? Take a look at yourself. I chalked the first five rolls up to chance, but this is way too far. You’re clearly cheating.”
The Nocturne stared at him for a moment, shocked speechless, then tossed her angular head back and barked out a laugh. “I’m clearly cheating. Oh, that’s rich.” She stopped abruptly, then leveled her head to get a good look at Alto through squinting red eyes. “Of course I’m cheating, you dullard. My boat, my rules. Now, pay up.”
Alto stared back at her, just as silent in his incredulity as she was moments before. The long, hooked claws on his big toes rapped anxiously at the ground. “I already paid you everything I owe for the trip. Why can’t you bet normally? You know, bet some real dice?"
The Nocturne lay her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up to get a closer look at him. “Why can’t you bet normally? Give me a break, man. No more moralizing on my ship. Why wouldn’t you cheat if you knew I was cheating too? Boring. Now pay up and shut up, unless you want to swim the rest of the way to Mirrorlight - or get dredged up by someone else."
The Wildclaw bared his teeth a little wider, then glanced down at the coin purse fastened at his hip. He exhaled abruptly, nostrils flaring out, and brought both hands down to open it. After a moment, he raised his hands and opened them over the table; a handful of shimmering gems and dumped them unceremoniously beside the captain’s drink. “Whatever - have your money. Fun’s over anyway. You just drained my wallet dry. Might as well find a different chump to leave destitute.”
The captain pouted mockingly, her jagged teeth poking past her lips. “Fun’s over? It doesn’t have to be, but if you’re that torn up over it, I could see about getting you some work. You know, 'work'? The way most dragons get their gems?”
“I know what work is," Alto replied, his eyes narrowing at the captain's cold emphasis. "I work all the time.”
“All the time, huh. ‘Killing guys,’ as you like to call it, isn’t what I would call work.”
“Debatable.”
The Nocturne ignored his half-baked refutation. “Look, man, if you’re this much of a sore loser, I’ll cut you a break. You can keep eating the good meat here - for free, do you hear me? - until we dock at the promenade. Then you can go out on a job for me.”
Alto slouched forward in defeat, his head coming to rest gently on the tabletop. “Ugh..."
“Is that a no?”
“I'm flat broke now, so it’s a yes. Tell me who you need me to kill.”
“Who I need you to kill? I told you how I feel about your main vocation already. There’s not going to be any guy-killing in my name. You’re going to help me repatriate some artifacts to the Wyrmwound.”
Alto melted further into the table. “That sounds pretty boring.”
“Work can be boring, but this isn’t boring. For you it might be, but I would kill to be out there doing this instead of chasing three dozen Mirrors around a boat all day. Besides, this is twice as dangerous as cutting someone to ribbons is for you, and a lot more important, too. I need you to sneak around these stuffy Imperials with your stupid Wildclaw body and recover three tablets for me."
Alto rolled his eyes. "What's so dangerous about that?"
"If you get caught, they'll probably crush you half to death and launch you into the sea."
"Ugh,” he grunted again. “No, they won't, but the sneaking sounds fun for what it is - good enough for me. Before I agree to anything, though, what're you offering?"
"Ugh," parroted the Nocturne, grinning again. "Five thousand."
"Coins?" For a moment, Alto looked like he was going to be sick.
"Gems."
The look of malaise around the Wildclaw dissolved immediately. He scooted a bit further across the table, his head lifting and resting again to accommodate his adjustments. “Ten thousand percent return on investment, huh? Fine, I’ll go out there and get pushed around a little, if that’s what you’re offering, but we’re going to link up alone in the city to make the exchange, just you and me. I’ll send a courier out your way to arrange the meeting when it’s time. That sound good to you?”
The captain tilted her head back again, this time to mull Alto’s terms over in silence for a moment. Finally, she eased forward again, reaching her clawed hand across the table to shake on it. “Sounds good to me, Alto. Believe you me, tree boy, there’ll be way more glory than money to be won from this, but we can talk about the details later.” She stretched her hand forward a little further, now nearly straining, as though to make a point. “Now, is it a deal?”
Alto eyed her hand carefully, then sighed once more and stood, leaning far over the table to grasp her hand in his.
“It’s a deal.”
@Mistyleaf123 Guess I was in the mood for dialog today. Sorry if there are any verb tense issues - I typically write stuff like this in present tense, but I decided on paste tense today for whatever reason. Hope this is something!
The night was still and silent. The full moon hung high over the water, casting long bands of pearlescent moonlight over the blue-black sea. The Curse of Fortune chugged lazily through the brackish water, its portside hull throwing shadows several stories tall over the Gladeveins estuary.
The Curse of Fortune was a massive ship. Despite its imposing size and terrifying silhouette, it belonged to neither merchant marine nor pirate; the flags flown beside its leathery masts were stark white, and the standards facing out from the ivory banisters lining the upper deck bore the insignia of the Plaguebringer. A handful of Spirals circled the ship tirelessly from above, all watching the water or barking orders at the score of Mirrors scuttling around the boat. Polished bone and tanned flesh bodged shut holes in the hull and patched over tears in the sails, giving the vessel the look of a floating behemoth coasting dangerously across the midnight sea.
Below deck, about a dozen dragons - mostly crew members, judging by the burgundy scarves tied around their bodies - were scattered across the living quarters. One, a deep gray Wildclaw swathed in black, red and silver, sat on a red floor pillow at a splintered dining table, a massive goblet of cactus wine clasped between his little fingers. A scarlet Nocturne draped in black silks was seated opposite him, her wings folded down over her egg-shaped body like a cloak as she shook a dice cup vigorously in both hands. The Wildclaw watched his companion closely, flaxen eyes unblinking as the smirking sailor cast the die out over the wood.
His eyes took a second to adjust. He craned his neck forward, stooping in his seat to get a better look at the numbers. Six - three. He glanced at the dice he cast moments before, lips curling into an ugly snarl. Before anyone around him could process what was going on, his glass of cactus wine soared halfway across the lower deck and smashed violently against the planks, sending the remainder of his drink trickling down through the floorboards. The gaggle of Mirrors surrounding the pair cheered and hollered in response, their spirits lifted by the sudden chaos.
“Alto,” the Wildclaw’s company said plainly, her short, black claws coming to rap on the table. “Get yourself under control.”
“Me? Take a look at yourself. I chalked the first five rolls up to chance, but this is way too far. You’re clearly cheating.”
The Nocturne stared at him for a moment, shocked speechless, then tossed her angular head back and barked out a laugh. “I’m clearly cheating. Oh, that’s rich.” She stopped abruptly, then leveled her head to get a good look at Alto through squinting red eyes. “Of course I’m cheating, you dullard. My boat, my rules. Now, pay up.”
Alto stared back at her, just as silent in his incredulity as she was moments before. The long, hooked claws on his big toes rapped anxiously at the ground. “I already paid you everything I owe for the trip. Why can’t you bet normally? You know, bet some real dice?"
The Nocturne lay her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up to get a closer look at him. “Why can’t you bet normally? Give me a break, man. No more moralizing on my ship. Why wouldn’t you cheat if you knew I was cheating too? Boring. Now pay up and shut up, unless you want to swim the rest of the way to Mirrorlight - or get dredged up by someone else."
The Wildclaw bared his teeth a little wider, then glanced down at the coin purse fastened at his hip. He exhaled abruptly, nostrils flaring out, and brought both hands down to open it. After a moment, he raised his hands and opened them over the table; a handful of shimmering gems and dumped them unceremoniously beside the captain’s drink. “Whatever - have your money. Fun’s over anyway. You just drained my wallet dry. Might as well find a different chump to leave destitute.”
The captain pouted mockingly, her jagged teeth poking past her lips. “Fun’s over? It doesn’t have to be, but if you’re that torn up over it, I could see about getting you some work. You know, 'work'? The way most dragons get their gems?”
“I know what work is," Alto replied, his eyes narrowing at the captain's cold emphasis. "I work all the time.”
“All the time, huh. ‘Killing guys,’ as you like to call it, isn’t what I would call work.”
“Debatable.”
The Nocturne ignored his half-baked refutation. “Look, man, if you’re this much of a sore loser, I’ll cut you a break. You can keep eating the good meat here - for free, do you hear me? - until we dock at the promenade. Then you can go out on a job for me.”
Alto slouched forward in defeat, his head coming to rest gently on the tabletop. “Ugh..."
“Is that a no?”
“I'm flat broke now, so it’s a yes. Tell me who you need me to kill.”
“Who I need you to kill? I told you how I feel about your main vocation already. There’s not going to be any guy-killing in my name. You’re going to help me repatriate some artifacts to the Wyrmwound.”
Alto melted further into the table. “That sounds pretty boring.”
“Work can be boring, but this isn’t boring. For you it might be, but I would kill to be out there doing this instead of chasing three dozen Mirrors around a boat all day. Besides, this is twice as dangerous as cutting someone to ribbons is for you, and a lot more important, too. I need you to sneak around these stuffy Imperials with your stupid Wildclaw body and recover three tablets for me."
Alto rolled his eyes. "What's so dangerous about that?"
"If you get caught, they'll probably crush you half to death and launch you into the sea."
"Ugh,” he grunted again. “No, they won't, but the sneaking sounds fun for what it is - good enough for me. Before I agree to anything, though, what're you offering?"
"Ugh," parroted the Nocturne, grinning again. "Five thousand."
"Coins?" For a moment, Alto looked like he was going to be sick.
"Gems."
The look of malaise around the Wildclaw dissolved immediately. He scooted a bit further across the table, his head lifting and resting again to accommodate his adjustments. “Ten thousand percent return on investment, huh? Fine, I’ll go out there and get pushed around a little, if that’s what you’re offering, but we’re going to link up alone in the city to make the exchange, just you and me. I’ll send a courier out your way to arrange the meeting when it’s time. That sound good to you?”
The captain tilted her head back again, this time to mull Alto’s terms over in silence for a moment. Finally, she eased forward again, reaching her clawed hand across the table to shake on it. “Sounds good to me, Alto. Believe you me, tree boy, there’ll be way more glory than money to be won from this, but we can talk about the details later.” She stretched her hand forward a little further, now nearly straining, as though to make a point. “Now, is it a deal?”
Alto eyed her hand carefully, then sighed once more and stood, leaning far over the table to grasp her hand in his.
“It’s a deal.”
@Mistyleaf123 Guess I was in the mood for dialog today. Sorry if there are any verb tense issues - I typically write stuff like this in present tense, but I decided on paste tense today for whatever reason. Hope this is something!
The Curse of Fortune was a massive ship. Despite its imposing size and terrifying silhouette, it belonged to neither merchant marine nor pirate; the flags flown beside its leathery masts were stark white, and the standards facing out from the ivory banisters lining the upper deck bore the insignia of the Plaguebringer. A handful of Spirals circled the ship tirelessly from above, all watching the water or barking orders at the score of Mirrors scuttling around the boat. Polished bone and tanned flesh bodged shut holes in the hull and patched over tears in the sails, giving the vessel the look of a floating behemoth coasting dangerously across the midnight sea.
Below deck, about a dozen dragons - mostly crew members, judging by the burgundy scarves tied around their bodies - were scattered across the living quarters. One, a deep gray Wildclaw swathed in black, red and silver, sat on a red floor pillow at a splintered dining table, a massive goblet of cactus wine clasped between his little fingers. A scarlet Nocturne draped in black silks was seated opposite him, her wings folded down over her egg-shaped body like a cloak as she shook a dice cup vigorously in both hands. The Wildclaw watched his companion closely, flaxen eyes unblinking as the smirking sailor cast the die out over the wood.
His eyes took a second to adjust. He craned his neck forward, stooping in his seat to get a better look at the numbers. Six - three. He glanced at the dice he cast moments before, lips curling into an ugly snarl. Before anyone around him could process what was going on, his glass of cactus wine soared halfway across the lower deck and smashed violently against the planks, sending the remainder of his drink trickling down through the floorboards. The gaggle of Mirrors surrounding the pair cheered and hollered in response, their spirits lifted by the sudden chaos.
“Alto,” the Wildclaw’s company said plainly, her short, black claws coming to rap on the table. “Get yourself under control.”
“Me? Take a look at yourself. I chalked the first five rolls up to chance, but this is way too far. You’re clearly cheating.”
The Nocturne stared at him for a moment, shocked speechless, then tossed her angular head back and barked out a laugh. “I’m clearly cheating. Oh, that’s rich.” She stopped abruptly, then leveled her head to get a good look at Alto through squinting red eyes. “Of course I’m cheating, you dullard. My boat, my rules. Now, pay up.”
Alto stared back at her, just as silent in his incredulity as she was moments before. The long, hooked claws on his big toes rapped anxiously at the ground. “I already paid you everything I owe for the trip. Why can’t you bet normally? You know, bet some real dice?"
The Nocturne lay her hands flat on the table and pushed herself up to get a closer look at him. “Why can’t you bet normally? Give me a break, man. No more moralizing on my ship. Why wouldn’t you cheat if you knew I was cheating too? Boring. Now pay up and shut up, unless you want to swim the rest of the way to Mirrorlight - or get dredged up by someone else."
The Wildclaw bared his teeth a little wider, then glanced down at the coin purse fastened at his hip. He exhaled abruptly, nostrils flaring out, and brought both hands down to open it. After a moment, he raised his hands and opened them over the table; a handful of shimmering gems and dumped them unceremoniously beside the captain’s drink. “Whatever - have your money. Fun’s over anyway. You just drained my wallet dry. Might as well find a different chump to leave destitute.”
The captain pouted mockingly, her jagged teeth poking past her lips. “Fun’s over? It doesn’t have to be, but if you’re that torn up over it, I could see about getting you some work. You know, 'work'? The way most dragons get their gems?”
“I know what work is," Alto replied, his eyes narrowing at the captain's cold emphasis. "I work all the time.”
“All the time, huh. ‘Killing guys,’ as you like to call it, isn’t what I would call work.”
“Debatable.”
The Nocturne ignored his half-baked refutation. “Look, man, if you’re this much of a sore loser, I’ll cut you a break. You can keep eating the good meat here - for free, do you hear me? - until we dock at the promenade. Then you can go out on a job for me.”
Alto slouched forward in defeat, his head coming to rest gently on the tabletop. “Ugh..."
“Is that a no?”
“I'm flat broke now, so it’s a yes. Tell me who you need me to kill.”
“Who I need you to kill? I told you how I feel about your main vocation already. There’s not going to be any guy-killing in my name. You’re going to help me repatriate some artifacts to the Wyrmwound.”
Alto melted further into the table. “That sounds pretty boring.”
“Work can be boring, but this isn’t boring. For you it might be, but I would kill to be out there doing this instead of chasing three dozen Mirrors around a boat all day. Besides, this is twice as dangerous as cutting someone to ribbons is for you, and a lot more important, too. I need you to sneak around these stuffy Imperials with your stupid Wildclaw body and recover three tablets for me."
Alto rolled his eyes. "What's so dangerous about that?"
"If you get caught, they'll probably crush you half to death and launch you into the sea."
"Ugh,” he grunted again. “No, they won't, but the sneaking sounds fun for what it is - good enough for me. Before I agree to anything, though, what're you offering?"
"Ugh," parroted the Nocturne, grinning again. "Five thousand."
"Coins?" For a moment, Alto looked like he was going to be sick.
"Gems."
The look of malaise around the Wildclaw dissolved immediately. He scooted a bit further across the table, his head lifting and resting again to accommodate his adjustments. “Ten thousand percent return on investment, huh? Fine, I’ll go out there and get pushed around a little, if that’s what you’re offering, but we’re going to link up alone in the city to make the exchange, just you and me. I’ll send a courier out your way to arrange the meeting when it’s time. That sound good to you?”
The captain tilted her head back again, this time to mull Alto’s terms over in silence for a moment. Finally, she eased forward again, reaching her clawed hand across the table to shake on it. “Sounds good to me, Alto. Believe you me, tree boy, there’ll be way more glory than money to be won from this, but we can talk about the details later.” She stretched her hand forward a little further, now nearly straining, as though to make a point. “Now, is it a deal?”
Alto eyed her hand carefully, then sighed once more and stood, leaning far over the table to grasp her hand in his.
“It’s a deal.”
@Mistyleaf123 Guess I was in the mood for dialog today. Sorry if there are any verb tense issues - I typically write stuff like this in present tense, but I decided on paste tense today for whatever reason. Hope this is something!
How does it feel? Do you remember?
The first time, you said it was like you were outside yourself.
Like time itself had bent its knee, waiting for you to decide.
The first time, you said it was like you were outside yourself.
Like time itself had bent its knee, waiting for you to decide.
@Alexstrasza
THANK YOU!!! It's very good <3 (and so long- how xD)
I'll probably alter some parts, but I'll credit you ^^
it was totally "I will write a paragraph or two about one of your dragons" xD
THANK YOU!!! It's very good <3 (and so long- how xD)
I'll probably alter some parts, but I'll credit you ^^
it was totally "I will write a paragraph or two about one of your dragons" xD
@Alexstrasza
THANK YOU!!! It's very good <3 (and so long- how xD)
I'll probably alter some parts, but I'll credit you ^^
it was totally "I will write a paragraph or two about one of your dragons" xD
THANK YOU!!! It's very good <3 (and so long- how xD)
I'll probably alter some parts, but I'll credit you ^^
it was totally "I will write a paragraph or two about one of your dragons" xD
(Eventually A Nice Banner Will Be Here)
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