[center][font=cambria][size=7][size=5]F O R C E D C O M A[/size][/size][/font][/center]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Trade. Written for [url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=332420]forcedcoma[/url].
Consists of: Lair lore, worldbuilding, diary style.
Topic: Pre-travel work[/size][/font][/center]
[quote][font=Courier New]Log CTRT021, entry 000000.[/font]
----------------------------------------
[font=Courier New]
Many quills have touched upon the earth domain: How the weather is dry, the land vast, the communities welcoming. Countless voices have painted the hustle of markets, rumbling through the Colonnades, traced the shape of gems birthed from the Terraclae, and sketched the terrible history of the Cairnstone.
Seldomly however, have I seen artist hands bring life to those who build on broken stone. The reason being the seeming mundanity of the region. All too often, we forget the many tribes who fight their battles with the inhospitable steppe and its hidden rapids.
Hence, this is a record of those who live on the shattered plains. It is a work, not written as a historian, but a traveler, for too much magic escapes those who seek with their quill. Or so they say:
Dragons of hidden knows,
Fear most a wandering hand,
sharp eye, or probing nose,
but not healers of long-lost lands,
who do not turn an ear,
and so they know secrets, dear.
Now, I will not dally further, on we-
[/font]
----------------------------------------
[right][font=Courier New]Recovered on 21/10/12, 07:38 FRT[/font][/right][/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Topic: general earth domain characteristics
[quote][font=Courier New]Log CTRT023, entry 004645.[/font]
----------------------------------------
[font=Courier New]
No book has ever expressed the darned truth of travel through these cursed plains.
In contrast to the domain of thunder, there are hardly storms to keep the itch of dust out of manes and feathers, no sweet relief from the unending sun but a shadowed crevasse once in a dozen of leagues. Any wise traveler dares not to enter such a shelter with a careless heart, for they are certainly taken by manticores, beastclans, and native flights.
Unlike what the stories will have you believe, not many here are keen on sharing, especially with strangers. The land is scarce and wild, with unyielding stone under a thin layer of dusty earth. The sole trees on these plateaus are hunchbacked bushes, and the only other vegetation-type seem to be a stony lichen, or parched grasses.
In contrast to the drought higher up, the narrow canyons hold almost too much water. Hazardous rapids have worn deep horizontal scores out of the walls and dug their way far into the bedrock, blunting sharp edges and leaving broad slips of fertile, but water-repellant clay.
Many dragons are therefore canyon dwellers who have etched their lair into the steep walls. In previous jaunts, I have described the shops, shrines, and even graves that are chisled into the banks, closed to the elements by a remarkably resilient facade of stone-cob or clay brick.
Amongst the canyon inhabitants, there are a large number of potters and fishers, with a significant flock of farmers, who keep their strange succulents on narrow terraces. Most of these look like long, standing planters, and contain a mix of clay sediment with looser sand or stones from the higher grounds.
The plains itself mostly hold nomadic clans, who tend to raise goats and other hoofed livestock. Nomads and canyon folk are likely to distrust each other due to their different cultures, which originate from their distinct lifestyles.
Although both groups show a very long term thinking and community-based mindset, those on the high grounds naturally cope better with unknown risks and are even known to enjoy the existence of vague rules and outcomes.
Further on, the canyon dwellers tend to pay more attention to masculine concepts such as honor and will receive more social benefits for heroic and competitive feats. They are also known to care more for material rewards. This is in contrast to the more cooperation and welfare-oriented individuals on the steppe. This can likely be attributed to the quick wear of tangible possessions and the lack of permanent domain when traveling over the higher plateaus. However, many clans still cite common ancestors as the cause of the cultural divides, which link groups to shared locations.
Nomads also have a more horizontal hierarchy, meaning that, outside of the leader-follower ranks in the clan, one pays little to no attention to standing. This tends to annoy the average canyon inhabitant who have more complicated social structures that might vary widely between different regions. These dragons are ironically referred to as "stuck up" by the nomads, whose spend their life traveling the steppe above them.
[/font]
----------------------------------------
[right][font=Courier New]Recovered on 21/09/12, 20:09 FRT[/font][/right][/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Religion
[quote][font=Courier New]Log CTRT023, entry 037564.[/font]
----------------------------------------
[font=Courier New]
It is funny isn't it, how everyone here seems to be wary of their western neighbors. The Saffron have a unanimous distrust for the barbarian Mika clans, while the Mika, who have only shown me exceptional ettiquette, harbor a strong dislike for the pebble thieves. As you have guessed, the Pebblers have turned out to be wary but fair folk, who rather give than take.
Despite this, it is true that the land gets poorer the further West you travel. Flights are increasingly superstitious, as a variety of beliefs gives them means to explain their worries away and keep their strength and hopes for tomorrow.
There is power in this. Take the deities, whose existence is built on worship, then consider the inexplicable spirit world, to which the exalted dissapear.
The very fabric of Sorneith churns just like we have written and are taught to belief. If just enough dragons hold faith, they will be able to create miracles, but also terrible disasters.
Such are the remote corners of the shattered plains, where too few roam to hold still the frame of reality.
[/font]
----------------------------------------
[right][font=Courier New]Recovered on 21/12/04, 23:41 FRT[/font][/right][/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Topic: The Clan of Deep Slumber (Trouble of thinking of a good name)
[quote][font=Courier New]Log CTRT025, entry 135000.[/font]
----------------------------------------
[font=Courier New]
Just a fortnight ago, I've come into contact with the clan of Deep Slumber, which is how the eastern neighbors have come to call their lair. They are a quiet bunch, if not too quiet at times. Welcoming too, for I've been guided around their tunnels, canyon porches and galleries, and have seen a sizable part of their lair.
It is on these occasions that my harsh judgment on the earth tribes proves wrong. Although many clans still keep me outside of their borders for fear of robbers, witches, and even ghosts, ([i]Ghosts![/i]) others have proven to be perfectly reasonable when presented with the proper courtesies.
Anyways, this lair is built in a cluster of the narrower canyons, the chasms just about wide enough to fly through. If one bellows a welcome near their grounds, it's likely that a friendly messenger will come your way. An escort, to prevent unpleasant things.
The den is entered through a wide, stone walkbridge, broad enough for two or three merchant carts to ride side by side. It is a beautiful marble thing, which I will certainly sketch once I leave.
But instead of leading the weary traveler to the other end of the plateau, it slopes down ever so slightly, into a dark, echoing tunnel. The gaping entryway is guarded by a mistwatcher's statue, breathing out a most imperceptible breeze, which will ruffle feathers ever so slightly.
The ominous path empties into many sprawling, spacious caverns, where the sun filters through colored glass in bright pillars of dusty light. It pools on the shimmering stone like liquid amber, astonishingly beautiful. It is therefore no surprise that the room has many benches, for potential merchants or spectators to rest on.
Further on, the path dips steeply, narrowing to hazardous, uneven stone stairs that lead to branching, underground caverns. If the traveler takes time to observe the fossil-dotted stone, the learned may observe that these walks have been flooded in ancient times.
The galleries there are dim and lit by arcane gems, or strange luminous moss. It is quite dark before the claustrophobic walls make place for almost blindingly bright, balcony-like hallways.
These narrow paths have low but sturdy rails and are flanked by thin, glass sliding doors that lead to many spacious grotto. The caves serve as commune living space and connect the pillar-like houses that span the wall of the canyon.
Each house has a small shrine sitting at the front door, from which I gathered that these are religious dragons. They even have a temple, one that has forbidden grounds that I'm determined to explore some day.
Nearby chasms with similar caves are accessible through more winding hallways or stairs, which are often bolted to walls.
The solid rock between the grotto's is ridden with steaming pipes that carry running water and hot air. It's an astonishingly thorough plumbing system, which seems to need no maintenance, powered by the ferocious water that runs through the rock below.
As contemplated earlier, these dragons are one of the rare welcoming clans. Like all other flights residing on these plains, these folk have strange traditions. On arrival, they'd laid out a feast, where they insisted on me eat. There is a curious local myth involved in that, as dragons who do not take food usually disappear from their realm within a moon, and dragons who have eaten will have vowed to [spoiler]stay forever[/spoiler], Something I've regarded with the proper skepticism.
[/font]
----------------------------------------
[right][font=Courier New]Recovered on 21/12/23, 13:12 FRT[/font][/right][/quote]
F O R C E D C O M A
Trade. Written for forcedcoma.
Consists of: Lair lore, worldbuilding, diary style.
Topic: Pre-travel work
Quote:
Log CTRT021, entry 000000.
Many quills have touched upon the earth domain: How the weather is dry, the land vast, the communities welcoming. Countless voices have painted the hustle of markets, rumbling through the Colonnades, traced the shape of gems birthed from the Terraclae, and sketched the terrible history of the Cairnstone.
Seldomly however, have I seen artist hands bring life to those who build on broken stone. The reason being the seeming mundanity of the region. All too often, we forget the many tribes who fight their battles with the inhospitable steppe and its hidden rapids.
Hence, this is a record of those who live on the shattered plains. It is a work, not written as a historian, but a traveler, for too much magic escapes those who seek with their quill. Or so they say:
Dragons of hidden knows,
Fear most a wandering hand,
sharp eye, or probing nose,
but not healers of long-lost lands,
who do not turn an ear,
and so they know secrets, dear.
Now, I will not dally further, on we-
Recovered on 21/10/12, 07:38 FRT
Topic: general earth domain characteristics
Quote:
Log CTRT023, entry 004645.
No book has ever expressed the darned truth of travel through these cursed plains.
In contrast to the domain of thunder, there are hardly storms to keep the itch of dust out of manes and feathers, no sweet relief from the unending sun but a shadowed crevasse once in a dozen of leagues. Any wise traveler dares not to enter such a shelter with a careless heart, for they are certainly taken by manticores, beastclans, and native flights.
Unlike what the stories will have you believe, not many here are keen on sharing, especially with strangers. The land is scarce and wild, with unyielding stone under a thin layer of dusty earth. The sole trees on these plateaus are hunchbacked bushes, and the only other vegetation-type seem to be a stony lichen, or parched grasses.
In contrast to the drought higher up, the narrow canyons hold almost too much water. Hazardous rapids have worn deep horizontal scores out of the walls and dug their way far into the bedrock, blunting sharp edges and leaving broad slips of fertile, but water-repellant clay.
Many dragons are therefore canyon dwellers who have etched their lair into the steep walls. In previous jaunts, I have described the shops, shrines, and even graves that are chisled into the banks, closed to the elements by a remarkably resilient facade of stone-cob or clay brick.
Amongst the canyon inhabitants, there are a large number of potters and fishers, with a significant flock of farmers, who keep their strange succulents on narrow terraces. Most of these look like long, standing planters, and contain a mix of clay sediment with looser sand or stones from the higher grounds.
The plains itself mostly hold nomadic clans, who tend to raise goats and other hoofed livestock. Nomads and canyon folk are likely to distrust each other due to their different cultures, which originate from their distinct lifestyles.
Although both groups show a very long term thinking and community-based mindset, those on the high grounds naturally cope better with unknown risks and are even known to enjoy the existence of vague rules and outcomes.
Further on, the canyon dwellers tend to pay more attention to masculine concepts such as honor and will receive more social benefits for heroic and competitive feats. They are also known to care more for material rewards. This is in contrast to the more cooperation and welfare-oriented individuals on the steppe. This can likely be attributed to the quick wear of tangible possessions and the lack of permanent domain when traveling over the higher plateaus. However, many clans still cite common ancestors as the cause of the cultural divides, which link groups to shared locations.
Nomads also have a more horizontal hierarchy, meaning that, outside of the leader-follower ranks in the clan, one pays little to no attention to standing. This tends to annoy the average canyon inhabitant who have more complicated social structures that might vary widely between different regions. These dragons are ironically referred to as "stuck up" by the nomads, whose spend their life traveling the steppe above them.
Recovered on 21/09/12, 20:09 FRT
Topic: Religion
Quote:
Log CTRT023, entry 037564.
It is funny isn't it, how everyone here seems to be wary of their western neighbors. The Saffron have a unanimous distrust for the barbarian Mika clans, while the Mika, who have only shown me exceptional ettiquette, harbor a strong dislike for the pebble thieves. As you have guessed, the Pebblers have turned out to be wary but fair folk, who rather give than take.
Despite this, it is true that the land gets poorer the further West you travel. Flights are increasingly superstitious, as a variety of beliefs gives them means to explain their worries away and keep their strength and hopes for tomorrow.
There is power in this. Take the deities, whose existence is built on worship, then consider the inexplicable spirit world, to which the exalted dissapear.
The very fabric of Sorneith churns just like we have written and are taught to belief. If just enough dragons hold faith, they will be able to create miracles, but also terrible disasters.
Such are the remote corners of the shattered plains, where too few roam to hold still the frame of reality.
Recovered on 21/12/04, 23:41 FRT
Topic: The Clan of Deep Slumber (Trouble of thinking of a good name)
Quote:
Log CTRT025, entry 135000.
Just a fortnight ago, I've come into contact with the clan of Deep Slumber, which is how the eastern neighbors have come to call their lair. They are a quiet bunch, if not too quiet at times. Welcoming too, for I've been guided around their tunnels, canyon porches and galleries, and have seen a sizable part of their lair.
It is on these occasions that my harsh judgment on the earth tribes proves wrong. Although many clans still keep me outside of their borders for fear of robbers, witches, and even ghosts, (Ghosts!) others have proven to be perfectly reasonable when presented with the proper courtesies.
Anyways, this lair is built in a cluster of the narrower canyons, the chasms just about wide enough to fly through. If one bellows a welcome near their grounds, it's likely that a friendly messenger will come your way. An escort, to prevent unpleasant things.
The den is entered through a wide, stone walkbridge, broad enough for two or three merchant carts to ride side by side. It is a beautiful marble thing, which I will certainly sketch once I leave.
But instead of leading the weary traveler to the other end of the plateau, it slopes down ever so slightly, into a dark, echoing tunnel. The gaping entryway is guarded by a mistwatcher's statue, breathing out a most imperceptible breeze, which will ruffle feathers ever so slightly.
The ominous path empties into many sprawling, spacious caverns, where the sun filters through colored glass in bright pillars of dusty light. It pools on the shimmering stone like liquid amber, astonishingly beautiful. It is therefore no surprise that the room has many benches, for potential merchants or spectators to rest on.
Further on, the path dips steeply, narrowing to hazardous, uneven stone stairs that lead to branching, underground caverns. If the traveler takes time to observe the fossil-dotted stone, the learned may observe that these walks have been flooded in ancient times.
The galleries there are dim and lit by arcane gems, or strange luminous moss. It is quite dark before the claustrophobic walls make place for almost blindingly bright, balcony-like hallways.
These narrow paths have low but sturdy rails and are flanked by thin, glass sliding doors that lead to many spacious grotto. The caves serve as commune living space and connect the pillar-like houses that span the wall of the canyon.
Each house has a small shrine sitting at the front door, from which I gathered that these are religious dragons. They even have a temple, one that has forbidden grounds that I'm determined to explore some day.
Nearby chasms with similar caves are accessible through more winding hallways or stairs, which are often bolted to walls.
The solid rock between the grotto's is ridden with steaming pipes that carry running water and hot air. It's an astonishingly thorough plumbing system, which seems to need no maintenance, powered by the ferocious water that runs through the rock below.
As contemplated earlier, these dragons are one of the rare welcoming clans. Like all other flights residing on these plains, these folk have strange traditions. On arrival, they'd laid out a feast, where they insisted on me eat. There is a curious local myth involved in that, as dragons who do not take food usually disappear from their realm within a moon, and dragons who have eaten will have vowed to stay forever, Something I've regarded with the proper skepticism.
Recovered on 21/12/23, 13:12 FRT
|
Some day, there will be art here.
|
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
|
[center][font=cambria][size=7][size=5]I N S I D I O U S L Y[/size][/size][/font][/center]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Freebie. Written for [url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=584318]Insidiously[/url].
Consists of: Snippet, story, single-viewpoint third person.
Topic: Glitchcore/Weirdcore/Dreamcore [/size][/font][/center]
[quote][font=Consolas]Three hours to go until galactic midnight and the party was already in full swing, lights flaring as holographic skins jammed the dancefloor, limbs twitching from illegal downloads or poor net access.
Candy leaned back in his booth and idly popped a nearby bubble. It burst into pixelated confetti, then glitched into a cut-off warning about Not Safe For Server content.
Six billion hubs to join, jobs in his pocket and yet old habits- Some nights he wondered, but today he followed the fun, nano’s buzzing bright cyber pastels into his mind.
Someone strutted by, slid down next of him.
“Hey boy,” she purred. “Fab skin there.”
Her dress lagged, leaving a bright pink trail as she leaned forwards, fingers twisted elegantly around her glass. Around them, the neon landscape spasmed through colors before setting on peach.
Candy blinked at her, feeling last night’s deadline with each pulse of lyrics. He took a slow sip.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
“Oh mister, not so hasty. Just look... Here.”
Her smile was simpering as she tucked in her dress, pulled him close, but then something cold was pressed against his chin. The release clicked between them.
“No. You’re not going to do this, because then- you'll be finished. Why are-”
She smiled, a jagged edge to the coyness.
“You work hard, mister.”
“Which-”
She pushed, driving him back down on the hard seat. Before he could get away, she had him pinned between strong thighs and under steel. The music lagged, then beat into a high pitched skitter.
“Good boy.”[/quote]
I N S I D I O U S L Y
Freebie. Written for Insidiously.
Consists of: Snippet, story, single-viewpoint third person.
Topic: Glitchcore/Weirdcore/Dreamcore
Quote:
Three hours to go until galactic midnight and the party was already in full swing, lights flaring as holographic skins jammed the dancefloor, limbs twitching from illegal downloads or poor net access.
Candy leaned back in his booth and idly popped a nearby bubble. It burst into pixelated confetti, then glitched into a cut-off warning about Not Safe For Server content.
Six billion hubs to join, jobs in his pocket and yet old habits- Some nights he wondered, but today he followed the fun, nano’s buzzing bright cyber pastels into his mind.
Someone strutted by, slid down next of him.
“Hey boy,” she purred. “Fab skin there.”
Her dress lagged, leaving a bright pink trail as she leaned forwards, fingers twisted elegantly around her glass. Around them, the neon landscape spasmed through colors before setting on peach.
Candy blinked at her, feeling last night’s deadline with each pulse of lyrics. He took a slow sip.
“Thanks, but I’m not interested.”
“Oh mister, not so hasty. Just look... Here.”
Her smile was simpering as she tucked in her dress, pulled him close, but then something cold was pressed against his chin. The release clicked between them.
“No. You’re not going to do this, because then- you'll be finished. Why are-”
She smiled, a jagged edge to the coyness.
“You work hard, mister.”
“Which-”
She pushed, driving him back down on the hard seat. Before he could get away, she had him pinned between strong thighs and under steel. The music lagged, then beat into a high pitched skitter.
“Good boy.”
|
|
Some day, there will be art here.
|
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
|
[center][font=cambria][size=7][size=5]F R A M E[/size][/size][/font][/center]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Freebie. Written for [url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=178876]Frame[/url].
Consists of: Short poetry, concepts, freeform.
Topic: Poetry[/size][/font][/center]
[font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Concept for [b]Balurinn[/b]. Based on the change of culture when faced with industrialization and the building/preserving of new traditions.
[quote][center][font=High Tower Text][size=4]Revealing change;
weeping clay, clockwork river.
golden shimmer set on water.
Our mist for taking flight,
is of smoking coal, stirring cities.
Earthy ember rises. Withers
those who climb from ashes,
anew.
Building on old river banks, a ritual.
[/center][/quote]
[font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Concept for [b]Luna[/b]. Based on 'O Fortuna'.
[quote][center][font=High Tower Text][size=4]Turn the wheel
of fated fortune, flawed winter.
Lift the veil on victory, misery
toes through your bounty.
Oh so sweet, from the cup;
Iced cherry flesh, blushing life-
blood on snow, played
victory.
In red, a heated end.
[/center][/quote]
[font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Concept for [b]Nemme[/b]. Based on byzantium, past fortune and nomads.
[quote][center][font=High Tower Text][size=4]Afar, we watch
desert sand through glass.
Hours gone in shadowed runes
scattered by the whim of winds.
Stealing riches, fired gold
waiting for luck to loop,
fate to fold, a story told.
Flow of lands, a travelling hand
guides.
Strikes tears in hearts of men.
[/center][/quote]
[font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Concept for [b]Egoe[/b]. Based on the salt farms, remaining grief, regret and memories.
[quote][center][font=High Tower Text][size=4]Listen closely
to salted land; a blind melody
winding through plains, risen
from pearly shores, this growing factory.
Summer crystals pink in shallow basins.
Stand strong. Bury thy heart deep
down rusted tracks, do not weep.
Oh magpie, raven-wise
taking flight on rusted
hinges.
Lands brittle on echoed strands.
[/center][/quote]
[font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Concept for [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/47014690][b]Zeiren[/b][/url]. Based on the Swans Lake performance and on the 'Swan maiden', but then with her using her charm and feathers to lure unsuspecting new members, like a black widow.
[quote][center][font=High Tower Text][size=4]hidden faces,
feathered facets
weave spider strands,
pluck strings of fate.
Amids the flowers shall we prey.
Fangs of silver, feathers white,
in nightbound swanskin may we fight.
A poison cloak, taking hearts.
"Gather children, stitch these shards
in shadowed nights."
Might
breaks the surface, brings to light.
[/center][/quote]
[font=cambria][size=4]Topic: Concept for [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/38605974][b]Vesper[/b][/url]. Based on king of darkness and disturbing deer stories- vibes.
[quote][center][font=High Tower Text][size=4]Prince in dusk
with faerie lights on faded trails,
they flutter quiet. Grasping eyes
reach, accompanied
for waking minds. Tuck behind
a gentle dying, nevermore.
Where it lands, halls empty hail
whispers.
Moored spirits, a hunting party.
[/center][/quote]
F R A M E
Freebie. Written for Frame.
Consists of: Short poetry, concepts, freeform.
Topic: Poetry
Topic: Concept for Balurinn. Based on the change of culture when faced with industrialization and the building/preserving of new traditions.
Quote:
Revealing change;
weeping clay, clockwork river.
golden shimmer set on water.
Our mist for taking flight,
is of smoking coal, stirring cities.
Earthy ember rises. Withers
those who climb from ashes,
anew.
Building on old river banks, a ritual.
Topic: Concept for Luna. Based on 'O Fortuna'.
Quote:
Turn the wheel
of fated fortune, flawed winter.
Lift the veil on victory, misery
toes through your bounty.
Oh so sweet, from the cup;
Iced cherry flesh, blushing life-
blood on snow, played
victory.
In red, a heated end.
Topic: Concept for Nemme. Based on byzantium, past fortune and nomads.
Quote:
Afar, we watch
desert sand through glass.
Hours gone in shadowed runes
scattered by the whim of winds.
Stealing riches, fired gold
waiting for luck to loop,
fate to fold, a story told.
Flow of lands, a travelling hand
guides.
Strikes tears in hearts of men.
Topic: Concept for Egoe. Based on the salt farms, remaining grief, regret and memories.
Quote:
Listen closely
to salted land; a blind melody
winding through plains, risen
from pearly shores, this growing factory.
Summer crystals pink in shallow basins.
Stand strong. Bury thy heart deep
down rusted tracks, do not weep.
Oh magpie, raven-wise
taking flight on rusted
hinges.
Lands brittle on echoed strands.
Topic: Concept for Zeiren. Based on the Swans Lake performance and on the 'Swan maiden', but then with her using her charm and feathers to lure unsuspecting new members, like a black widow.
Quote:
hidden faces,
feathered facets
weave spider strands,
pluck strings of fate.
Amids the flowers shall we prey.
Fangs of silver, feathers white,
in nightbound swanskin may we fight.
A poison cloak, taking hearts.
"Gather children, stitch these shards
in shadowed nights."
Might
breaks the surface, brings to light.
Topic: Concept for Vesper. Based on king of darkness and disturbing deer stories- vibes.
Quote:
Prince in dusk
with faerie lights on faded trails,
they flutter quiet. Grasping eyes
reach, accompanied
for waking minds. Tuck behind
a gentle dying, nevermore.
Where it lands, halls empty hail
whispers.
Moored spirits, a hunting party.
|
|
Some day, there will be art here.
|
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
|
[center][font=cambria][size=7][size=5]T A N I J A[/size][/size][/font][/center]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Trade. Written for [url=https://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=166226]Tanija[/url].
Consists of: Medium bio, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Llareleith [/size][/font][/center]
[quote]
[font=Cursive][size=4]
[b]Likes:[/b] Plums in spiced honey, well-maintained equipment, battle (Which is different than a brawl or fight, since it implies more skill and rational reasons.)
[b]Dislikes:[/b] Brawls, shirking of responsibilities, wet feet.
[b]Personality and daily life:[/b]
Llareleith is a reserved but willful dragon with a rational outlook on life. With his grounded integrity and blunt honesty, he's a crucial cornerstone of "The Pit".
At his core, this aberration is a dedicated dragon, who spends many hours tirelessly training others. What is often overlooked however, is the way he structures his training and tests, builds them around the individulals, allowing them to fit seamlessly into the hierarchy of his home. Not many note the way he makes sure arrivals can stand on their own amongst comerades, often by refusing personal bonds with the trainies. He imposes himself, a wall of jagged glass, between them and victory, success, love, driving his students to shoulder their work together, to seek aid from others in the pit.
In this way, his cutting remarks separates him as a lone wolf, but despite his gruff distance, he feels deeply and will spend much time and energy trying to figure out why they wronged others and how to better himself. Llareleith might not value emotion as a descision making tool, but he acknowledges their impact. Since he's frequently taken off-guard by them, he values stabile and sustainable relationships most and will refuse to form fleeting friendships.
His personal barriers are the result of a harsh youth as an outcast, one he seldomly talks about. What matters is that it scarred him deeply, causing him to keep others at a distance with his quiet and menacing appearance and brutal or threatening actions. Despite this, the abberation does not hate or feel much ill will. His fangs and claws might aim outwards, but his anger mostly turns inwards, where it eats slowly through the iron around his heart. Langlaise is aware of this and often talks him out of his own mind-mazes.
Most dragons admire his battle prowless and his efficient way of resolving conflict of the physical kind. In battle, both his heads move together, as if of one mind and he ensures others to think of both as one being. However, Tamela had once noted how his right head tends to bob unconsciously to music, while he likes to touch his left snout while thinking. Besides, the right head is allways the first to note danger, while the left engages first in conversations. They take turns while eating, and Llareleith maintains they are one and the same.
Despite his own difficulties, Llareleith is a dedicated provider, who brings clarity wherever he goes. Others often refer to him as the 'Dad' of the ragtag clan, and he can be counted on to discretely check in on he new arrivals. Next to this, he's often found training or inspecting the defences and equipment, followed by prompt visits to other clan members for maintenance. He keeps himself busy until late in the evenings and sometimes even shoulders other dragon's responsibilities.
Don't be mistaken: Llareleith does take care of himself, but he tends to do so in a squeezed-in and spartan way. Flood keeps him from the worst of things by insisting on his company for meals and mead, a duty that stems from sympathy and guilt, since he used to mistake this easy agreement for capability in the past.
[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Consists of: Short bio, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Ejnar [/size][/font][/center]
[quote]
[font=Cursive][size=4]
Likes: dates (the food), broken in shoes, sustainable solutions.
Ejnar is warm like the desert winds, unassuming like the sand viper, and as lethal and swift as both when the situation requires it. Like many who grew up in the eastern wastelands, he's quiet and hostile amongst stragers, while he flourishes in the company of friends; openhearted, openminded and quick to laugh.
As a free spirit, he holds a positive outlook on life. If he desires your notice, he easily stands out with his sharp accent and woven garb. He may easily be the buzz of the brew at any time, but he strives to form complex relationships that are just as rich and vibrant as his mind. Even more than a jolly time, this imperial desires to salvage his homeland, to cure the soilbound curse, which struck the region down together with the rampant famine.
Ejnar is a focussed dragon, with a measured but infectious enthusiasm. Despite being known for his creative insight and keen work, he has enough self-knowledge to let loose and enjoy himself on occasion. Since he has a strong sense of justice, a bleeding heart and is well travelled, he tends to stick around at each destination, sharing his knowledge and putting in labor to fix local problems to pay for his stay. During those visits, he sets clear boundaries. When those are crossed he tends to confront the culprit openly to settle matters fairly.
As one who lives in the most desperate places, Ejnar is able to hunt in plain sight, but prefers moving silently at night, camouflaged by wings that shimmar in starlight and paws that leave nary a trace on the sand. When tracking prey or bounties over multiple days, he often burrows down in the earth, rumbling to loosten the sand when he slips out.
[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Consists of: Snippet, story, single-view third person.
Topic: Langlaise [/size][/font][/center]
[quote][font=Cursive][size=4]South-West
Sun cut through the foliage of the Old Tree, streaked across wooden scaffolding and taut rope before dappling on ancient cobblestone. Young grass peeked through the path, a gentle touch from their lush lands.
Langlaise stood, watching the young ones line the meadow. Just looking was hard, but she could not bring herself to turn either.
For all these were not her children, she had become their mother. It was she who told the stories, ever the guide in their shared growth, leading the evergreen community in sweet summer. Llareleith coughed besides her, gruff and rough, before his hand settled on her shoulder.
It was heavy, had been since the day they met in the gardens. A gesture of trust from a vagrant outcast, freely given. She hadn't understood it then, had seen the patient before the exiled, and so she thought nothing of it until they came for her too and he had stood in front and taken their anger.
She had left with Llareleith after, traveled the lands in search of something unclaimed, wild and free. Barely out of their hatchling years, they had found the tree and made it their home.
He had fought and she had built and they raised both the woods and the people where they stood. Merchants and wanderers came and went, in need of her hospitality, care and mushroom gardens, which became more than just a shadow-hobby. Many stayed and they grew, gave and created, a team with pride in their duty.
Lately however, they had waned. His days were now filled with hours of diplomacy, while hers were spend largely in silent labs. He missed the quiet elegance of battle, of camp logistics. She longed for her people, for the twinkle in hatchling eyes when faced with something special, new and wonderful.
Now they were leaving. Like a dandelion seed, the core of elders would be gone, the fertile lands bestowed to their children. Their efforts would carry home, spread in the form of medicine, spores strong enough to flourish in the plagued lands, mutating faster than their own labs ever allowed for.
It was necessary, for their lands were crowded and the journey ahead was burdened with dangers that only experienced travelers might understand. She had fought to leave mere days ago, generous and reliable, but now she was quaking under the weight of their goodbyes.
Where would they be without her, holding it all together?
"Come. We must not dally."
She turned, pulling Llareleith's hand from her shoulder, into her own. A look into his eyes reveals his turmoil. She smiled, saddened but kind. They were a team, his fire to light her hearth, a two-toned needle amid their circle of friends, pointing the compass south-west.
Behind, the wind rises.[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Consists of: Lair lore, worldbuilding, snippet.
Topic: Lair lore, Gotham City[/size][/font][/center]
[quote][font=Cursive][size=4]The woods near the Seedscar are thrice cursed, shrouded by the shadow of moonless nights, raised on the festering love of a mother and broken by the twisted children of another, reaching greedily for the heavens. Contagious pockets set the woods aglow, casting deep shadows on the toxic vegetation. These sprout through the leathery ground, churn up the dark clay from below.
All who could, have left. Those remaining have strong bodies, swift magic or quicker minds. Most stragglers have no choice but to stay. This has become where the desperate and mad end their journey, a harsh land where life grows resilient, resourceful and diverse.
Their culture is as much merged as it is rebuild. The civilization here is chaotic, cold, with a majority of tight-knit, individualistic groups, who remain closed-off and hostile to strangers. Walking through this sparse forest leaves one feeling watched, not seen. Disquieting.
At the seedscar, the poor are numerous, forming a stark contrast with the few head-magi who oversee the plague-restoration project. It is a competitive society, who focuses on quick achievement and material gain. Many clans find themselves caught in a mutilating web of alliances, fueled by a fight for territory and power.
Strive has made the inhabitants uncertain about the future, which is why so many of these dragons are searching for stability at all costs. Others have turned to quick pleasure to get through their days. As a result of the accessible hallucinogenic toxins and narcotics in the region, substance abuse is on the rise.
In the mid of it all, The Old Tree is making a stand to change the status quo. Initially targeted for their origin and name, they are now widely accepted in the community. With their mycologic expert, organized equipment and efficient categorization, their small team has been producing medicine to reverse the effect of lethal substances.
Recently the jangling lantern of their night patrol has become a local beacon. Other relief centers now use a low clanking to signal the arrival of medical help.[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Consists of: Medium-length poetry.
xxxxAxxxxB
xxxxAxxxxB
xxxxCxxxxD
xxxxCxxxxD
Topic: Poetry, Angst, Mad Max.[/size][/font][/center]
[quote]“Here, no highway’s lit. Road’s what we make of it.”[/quote]
[quote][center][font=Cursive][size=4]Past living.
Disquieting dread, fleet uncertainty
which lingers ahead, dancing out of reach.
Our drive, abandoned, our dynasty, gone.
All feigned hope shed, we are left alone.
Oasis of greed, corrupted carnage
now fuels my speed, fight, fury, savage.
Release this riot: tear down the tyrant.
No action’s silent with eyes defiant.
Yet broken efforts don’t scratch the surface.
Through shattered deserts I search for purpose,
for a ragged heart, bleeding as I do,
for those torn apart, the people smashed through.
Now, there is no right, as there is none left
here, hear my mad fight for lost crowns, dry nests.
Fear thy final sleep, for I won't go fast.
I will bound and leap to avenge my past.
Run like desert winds. Soar like the harpy.
Bury deep thy sins, I’ll crash your party,
to chase through wasteland and prey below.
Bellow my judgment, Move, murky morass!
Black gold, liquid life. With our past shadowed,
lost mores, snuffed out light, we’ll build our own road.[/center]
[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Consists of: Medium-length poetry.
xI
xxA xxxxxxB
xxI
xxA xxxxxxB
xxxJ
xxC xxxxxxD
xxxxJ
xxC xxxxxxD
xxxxxK
xxE xxxxxxF
xxxxxxK
xxE xxxxxxF
xxxxxxxL
xxG xxxxxxH
xxxxxxxxL
xxG xxxxxxH
Topic: Poetry, Langlaise.[/size][/font][/center]
[quote][center][font=Cursive][size=4]Steady
as bedrock, warm linen under the sun.
Made ready
for her flock, held up strong by her weave spun.
This clear beacon,
guides kind hearts, her veiled forest’s homage.
Here, raised right upon
living art, a duty grown and promised
on dead lands spoken for.
To stand strong, without waver, a canopy
rearing for those lost and torn.
To belong: Within all, a legacy
of fresh sheets under broken eaves.
To order. Mend the sore, smooth the hackles
raised with spores, quiet this tender grief.
Her mortar, heavy with hope. Her battle.[/center]
[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Consists of: Snippet, story, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Lair lore, mushrooms, Langlaise [/size][/font][/center]
[quote][font=Cursive][size=4]It is quiet on the fringes of the seedscar, where the city fades into slums and gutted roads lay empty but for those coming. This is where journeys near their end. For all who are seeking, the city finds twisted answers, hidden shackles amid the leafless timber.
The dying forest is cursed, but so are the nearby plains, for it takes freely and rarely gives, never cedes. What is left is wrangled from its grasp, a daily skirmish away from the restoration team’s rule. Amongst the toxic ferns, haunted woods and vengeful warlords, these lands only scream when misfortune strikes.
Yet here lays neutral ground, lively without terror, yet quiet without oppression. White fungi dot the wood, set sparsely in neat rows. Spread along the edge of the clan grounds, these innocent clusters are a beckon to all who approach. They are albino shiitake, signaling the presence of an expert Mychologist. Her medicine has saved many, and locals take care to avoid her scorn.
Besides, residents are afraid to damage these striking crops, for they are unsure of their purpose. However, friends of the clan should know that the essential, volatile and valuable crops reside near the central grounds to allow for easy access.
There, Langlaise utilize spores to multiply mycelium in sterile environments, on rows of petri dishes in secure incubation chambers. With an expert hand she separates the healthy mycelium, transplanting it into designated labeled substrates. She keeps an eye out for unusual growth, choosing the occasional mutations and stratum to develop new species and cultivate harvest-able fruiting colonies.
Clan Members assist on occasion, hauling her creations onto specified racks. Within days, the packages are fully colonized, allowing her to break them up and distribute them amongst production bricks or bags to fruit. These increase the surface area and make sure the porous material stays in shape.
Most of her crops have their own unique health benefits, as they produce substances excusive to their species. The clan grows a variety of edible and medicinal mushrooms in this manner, using a variable mixture of wood chips, (rice)husks, flour, mulch, hay, straw, litter, manure and even living organisms, such as insects. On occasion, suspicious outsiders whisper of disappearing pets, though this rumor remains hearsay and has been denied be Langlaise herself.
The substrate design is based on the type of mushroom, as Langlaise studies wild strains to determine its preferred step in the decomposition process. She keeps incompatible food-sources and spores separate, growing species in individual chambers, often with regulated climates. Farming in such conditions assures a sizable harvest each day. Crops will mature to full-size in a mere week, for nearly a full year.
Other strands are planted traditionally on seeded logs, aged to allow the mycelium to spread.This method creates the most valuable crops for export. However, Langlaise is better known for her affordable local medicine, as well as her widely used filters: mushrooms which filter toxic waste when fed specific magic frequencies. These keep the clan territory relatively 'clean', whilst preserving the plague ecosystem. It's a symbiotic relationship derived from local Matsutake, which grows on the magic veins of border-brambles.
Once a plentiful crop, they are now endangered due to rising tensions between nature and plague. Since similar brambles grow in the nature domain as well, shadow farms have become entangled in the conflict. Many become afraid to sell and harvest those growths. As the care for thorn-woods declines, the forest has stopped providing for its keepers.
In this way, fungal farming strikes a balance between wild science and careful art.
[/quote]
T A N I J A
Trade. Written for Tanija.
Consists of: Medium bio, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Llareleith
Quote:
Likes: Plums in spiced honey, well-maintained equipment, battle (Which is different than a brawl or fight, since it implies more skill and rational reasons.)
Dislikes: Brawls, shirking of responsibilities, wet feet.
Personality and daily life:
Llareleith is a reserved but willful dragon with a rational outlook on life. With his grounded integrity and blunt honesty, he's a crucial cornerstone of "The Pit".
At his core, this aberration is a dedicated dragon, who spends many hours tirelessly training others. What is often overlooked however, is the way he structures his training and tests, builds them around the individulals, allowing them to fit seamlessly into the hierarchy of his home. Not many note the way he makes sure arrivals can stand on their own amongst comerades, often by refusing personal bonds with the trainies. He imposes himself, a wall of jagged glass, between them and victory, success, love, driving his students to shoulder their work together, to seek aid from others in the pit.
In this way, his cutting remarks separates him as a lone wolf, but despite his gruff distance, he feels deeply and will spend much time and energy trying to figure out why they wronged others and how to better himself. Llareleith might not value emotion as a descision making tool, but he acknowledges their impact. Since he's frequently taken off-guard by them, he values stabile and sustainable relationships most and will refuse to form fleeting friendships.
His personal barriers are the result of a harsh youth as an outcast, one he seldomly talks about. What matters is that it scarred him deeply, causing him to keep others at a distance with his quiet and menacing appearance and brutal or threatening actions. Despite this, the abberation does not hate or feel much ill will. His fangs and claws might aim outwards, but his anger mostly turns inwards, where it eats slowly through the iron around his heart. Langlaise is aware of this and often talks him out of his own mind-mazes.
Most dragons admire his battle prowless and his efficient way of resolving conflict of the physical kind. In battle, both his heads move together, as if of one mind and he ensures others to think of both as one being. However, Tamela had once noted how his right head tends to bob unconsciously to music, while he likes to touch his left snout while thinking. Besides, the right head is allways the first to note danger, while the left engages first in conversations. They take turns while eating, and Llareleith maintains they are one and the same.
Despite his own difficulties, Llareleith is a dedicated provider, who brings clarity wherever he goes. Others often refer to him as the 'Dad' of the ragtag clan, and he can be counted on to discretely check in on he new arrivals. Next to this, he's often found training or inspecting the defences and equipment, followed by prompt visits to other clan members for maintenance. He keeps himself busy until late in the evenings and sometimes even shoulders other dragon's responsibilities.
Don't be mistaken: Llareleith does take care of himself, but he tends to do so in a squeezed-in and spartan way. Flood keeps him from the worst of things by insisting on his company for meals and mead, a duty that stems from sympathy and guilt, since he used to mistake this easy agreement for capability in the past.
Consists of: Short bio, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Ejnar
Quote:
Likes: dates (the food), broken in shoes, sustainable solutions.
Ejnar is warm like the desert winds, unassuming like the sand viper, and as lethal and swift as both when the situation requires it. Like many who grew up in the eastern wastelands, he's quiet and hostile amongst stragers, while he flourishes in the company of friends; openhearted, openminded and quick to laugh.
As a free spirit, he holds a positive outlook on life. If he desires your notice, he easily stands out with his sharp accent and woven garb. He may easily be the buzz of the brew at any time, but he strives to form complex relationships that are just as rich and vibrant as his mind. Even more than a jolly time, this imperial desires to salvage his homeland, to cure the soilbound curse, which struck the region down together with the rampant famine.
Ejnar is a focussed dragon, with a measured but infectious enthusiasm. Despite being known for his creative insight and keen work, he has enough self-knowledge to let loose and enjoy himself on occasion. Since he has a strong sense of justice, a bleeding heart and is well travelled, he tends to stick around at each destination, sharing his knowledge and putting in labor to fix local problems to pay for his stay. During those visits, he sets clear boundaries. When those are crossed he tends to confront the culprit openly to settle matters fairly.
As one who lives in the most desperate places, Ejnar is able to hunt in plain sight, but prefers moving silently at night, camouflaged by wings that shimmar in starlight and paws that leave nary a trace on the sand. When tracking prey or bounties over multiple days, he often burrows down in the earth, rumbling to loosten the sand when he slips out.
Consists of: Snippet, story, single-view third person.
Topic: Langlaise
Quote:
South-West
Sun cut through the foliage of the Old Tree, streaked across wooden scaffolding and taut rope before dappling on ancient cobblestone. Young grass peeked through the path, a gentle touch from their lush lands.
Langlaise stood, watching the young ones line the meadow. Just looking was hard, but she could not bring herself to turn either.
For all these were not her children, she had become their mother. It was she who told the stories, ever the guide in their shared growth, leading the evergreen community in sweet summer. Llareleith coughed besides her, gruff and rough, before his hand settled on her shoulder.
It was heavy, had been since the day they met in the gardens. A gesture of trust from a vagrant outcast, freely given. She hadn't understood it then, had seen the patient before the exiled, and so she thought nothing of it until they came for her too and he had stood in front and taken their anger.
She had left with Llareleith after, traveled the lands in search of something unclaimed, wild and free. Barely out of their hatchling years, they had found the tree and made it their home.
He had fought and she had built and they raised both the woods and the people where they stood. Merchants and wanderers came and went, in need of her hospitality, care and mushroom gardens, which became more than just a shadow-hobby. Many stayed and they grew, gave and created, a team with pride in their duty.
Lately however, they had waned. His days were now filled with hours of diplomacy, while hers were spend largely in silent labs. He missed the quiet elegance of battle, of camp logistics. She longed for her people, for the twinkle in hatchling eyes when faced with something special, new and wonderful.
Now they were leaving. Like a dandelion seed, the core of elders would be gone, the fertile lands bestowed to their children. Their efforts would carry home, spread in the form of medicine, spores strong enough to flourish in the plagued lands, mutating faster than their own labs ever allowed for.
It was necessary, for their lands were crowded and the journey ahead was burdened with dangers that only experienced travelers might understand. She had fought to leave mere days ago, generous and reliable, but now she was quaking under the weight of their goodbyes.
Where would they be without her, holding it all together?
"Come. We must not dally."
She turned, pulling Llareleith's hand from her shoulder, into her own. A look into his eyes reveals his turmoil. She smiled, saddened but kind. They were a team, his fire to light her hearth, a two-toned needle amid their circle of friends, pointing the compass south-west.
Behind, the wind rises.
Consists of: Lair lore, worldbuilding, snippet.
Topic: Lair lore, Gotham City
Quote:
The woods near the Seedscar are thrice cursed, shrouded by the shadow of moonless nights, raised on the festering love of a mother and broken by the twisted children of another, reaching greedily for the heavens. Contagious pockets set the woods aglow, casting deep shadows on the toxic vegetation. These sprout through the leathery ground, churn up the dark clay from below.
All who could, have left. Those remaining have strong bodies, swift magic or quicker minds. Most stragglers have no choice but to stay. This has become where the desperate and mad end their journey, a harsh land where life grows resilient, resourceful and diverse.
Their culture is as much merged as it is rebuild. The civilization here is chaotic, cold, with a majority of tight-knit, individualistic groups, who remain closed-off and hostile to strangers. Walking through this sparse forest leaves one feeling watched, not seen. Disquieting.
At the seedscar, the poor are numerous, forming a stark contrast with the few head-magi who oversee the plague-restoration project. It is a competitive society, who focuses on quick achievement and material gain. Many clans find themselves caught in a mutilating web of alliances, fueled by a fight for territory and power.
Strive has made the inhabitants uncertain about the future, which is why so many of these dragons are searching for stability at all costs. Others have turned to quick pleasure to get through their days. As a result of the accessible hallucinogenic toxins and narcotics in the region, substance abuse is on the rise.
In the mid of it all, The Old Tree is making a stand to change the status quo. Initially targeted for their origin and name, they are now widely accepted in the community. With their mycologic expert, organized equipment and efficient categorization, their small team has been producing medicine to reverse the effect of lethal substances.
Recently the jangling lantern of their night patrol has become a local beacon. Other relief centers now use a low clanking to signal the arrival of medical help.
Consists of: Medium-length poetry.
xxxxAxxxxB
xxxxAxxxxB
xxxxCxxxxD
xxxxCxxxxD
Topic: Poetry, Angst, Mad Max.
Quote:
“Here, no highway’s lit. Road’s what we make of it.”
Quote:
Past living.
Disquieting dread, fleet uncertainty
which lingers ahead, dancing out of reach.
Our drive, abandoned, our dynasty, gone.
All feigned hope shed, we are left alone.
Oasis of greed, corrupted carnage
now fuels my speed, fight, fury, savage.
Release this riot: tear down the tyrant.
No action’s silent with eyes defiant.
Yet broken efforts don’t scratch the surface.
Through shattered deserts I search for purpose,
for a ragged heart, bleeding as I do,
for those torn apart, the people smashed through.
Now, there is no right, as there is none left
here, hear my mad fight for lost crowns, dry nests.
Fear thy final sleep, for I won't go fast.
I will bound and leap to avenge my past.
Run like desert winds. Soar like the harpy.
Bury deep thy sins, I’ll crash your party,
to chase through wasteland and prey below.
Bellow my judgment, Move, murky morass!
Black gold, liquid life. With our past shadowed,
lost mores, snuffed out light, we’ll build our own road.
Consists of: Medium-length poetry.
xI
xxA xxxxxxB
xxI
xxA xxxxxxB
xxxJ
xxC xxxxxxD
xxxxJ
xxC xxxxxxD
xxxxxK
xxE xxxxxxF
xxxxxxK
xxE xxxxxxF
xxxxxxxL
xxG xxxxxxH
xxxxxxxxL
xxG xxxxxxH
Topic: Poetry, Langlaise.
Quote:
Steady
as bedrock, warm linen under the sun.
Made ready
for her flock, held up strong by her weave spun.
This clear beacon,
guides kind hearts, her veiled forest’s homage.
Here, raised right upon
living art, a duty grown and promised
on dead lands spoken for.
To stand strong, without waver, a canopy
rearing for those lost and torn.
To belong: Within all, a legacy
of fresh sheets under broken eaves.
To order. Mend the sore, smooth the hackles
raised with spores, quiet this tender grief.
Her mortar, heavy with hope. Her battle.
Consists of: Snippet, story, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Lair lore, mushrooms, Langlaise
Quote:
It is quiet on the fringes of the seedscar, where the city fades into slums and gutted roads lay empty but for those coming. This is where journeys near their end. For all who are seeking, the city finds twisted answers, hidden shackles amid the leafless timber.
The dying forest is cursed, but so are the nearby plains, for it takes freely and rarely gives, never cedes. What is left is wrangled from its grasp, a daily skirmish away from the restoration team’s rule. Amongst the toxic ferns, haunted woods and vengeful warlords, these lands only scream when misfortune strikes.
Yet here lays neutral ground, lively without terror, yet quiet without oppression. White fungi dot the wood, set sparsely in neat rows. Spread along the edge of the clan grounds, these innocent clusters are a beckon to all who approach. They are albino shiitake, signaling the presence of an expert Mychologist. Her medicine has saved many, and locals take care to avoid her scorn.
Besides, residents are afraid to damage these striking crops, for they are unsure of their purpose. However, friends of the clan should know that the essential, volatile and valuable crops reside near the central grounds to allow for easy access.
There, Langlaise utilize spores to multiply mycelium in sterile environments, on rows of petri dishes in secure incubation chambers. With an expert hand she separates the healthy mycelium, transplanting it into designated labeled substrates. She keeps an eye out for unusual growth, choosing the occasional mutations and stratum to develop new species and cultivate harvest-able fruiting colonies.
Clan Members assist on occasion, hauling her creations onto specified racks. Within days, the packages are fully colonized, allowing her to break them up and distribute them amongst production bricks or bags to fruit. These increase the surface area and make sure the porous material stays in shape.
Most of her crops have their own unique health benefits, as they produce substances excusive to their species. The clan grows a variety of edible and medicinal mushrooms in this manner, using a variable mixture of wood chips, (rice)husks, flour, mulch, hay, straw, litter, manure and even living organisms, such as insects. On occasion, suspicious outsiders whisper of disappearing pets, though this rumor remains hearsay and has been denied be Langlaise herself.
The substrate design is based on the type of mushroom, as Langlaise studies wild strains to determine its preferred step in the decomposition process. She keeps incompatible food-sources and spores separate, growing species in individual chambers, often with regulated climates. Farming in such conditions assures a sizable harvest each day. Crops will mature to full-size in a mere week, for nearly a full year.
Other strands are planted traditionally on seeded logs, aged to allow the mycelium to spread.This method creates the most valuable crops for export. However, Langlaise is better known for her affordable local medicine, as well as her widely used filters: mushrooms which filter toxic waste when fed specific magic frequencies. These keep the clan territory relatively 'clean', whilst preserving the plague ecosystem. It's a symbiotic relationship derived from local Matsutake, which grows on the magic veins of border-brambles.
Once a plentiful crop, they are now endangered due to rising tensions between nature and plague. Since similar brambles grow in the nature domain as well, shadow farms have become entangled in the conflict. Many become afraid to sell and harvest those growths. As the care for thorn-woods declines, the forest has stopped providing for its keepers.
In this way, fungal farming strikes a balance between wild science and careful art.
|
|
Some day, there will be art here.
|
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
|
[center][font=cambria][size=7][size=4]G R A C E S[/size][/size][/font][/center]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Dragon Lore Concept. Written for [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/clan-profile/336441]Graces[/url]' [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/86481548]Ghost[/url].
Consists of: Snippet, story, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Dragon concept. [/size][/font][/center]
[quote name="Islet" date="2023-05-31 16:02:34" ][font=gabriola][size=5]
[b]Ghost[/b]
-----
[indent][font=gabriola][size=5][i]Realm walker, whisper of the waking dream.[/i]
Witching hour befalls and slips away as the night bleeds silence around the fortress. Above, the moon blinks, her gaze streaking cold over the lost.
Gravel crunches sharp under claw and bone, stirring up those who feast on conflict. Many rise. Flashes of liquid charcoal crumble through the skies. Accolades rising and descending upon quenched snow.
Within the walls the specter of love wails, for victory lifts the veil of innocence, brings to ruin the vanquished and settles its weight upon all who remain. Plucked before fruiting, passion sheds its flaming heart and scatters its petals with cloying sweetness.
Alone, a thread of grief wanders, coiling fragrant through empty prayer.
This traveler approaches on weary feet, offering grace and benediction, a bitter mercy before the dawn of tomorrow, an eternal rest cut free. Serenity rests behind the frightening visage of oblivion as he brings swift demise, calling to life ghosts of the future.
[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Dragon Lore Concept. Written for [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/clan-profile/336441]Graces[/url]' [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/52167949]Lucifer[/url].
Consists of: Poem, Rhyme.
Topic: Dragon concept. [/size][/font][/center]
[quote name="Islet" date="2023-05-31 17:49:26" ]
[font=gabriola][size=5][b]Lucifer[/b]
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[indent][font=gabriola][size=5][i]“Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.” [/i]
[i]- John Milton, Paradise Lost[/i]
[indent][font=gabriola][size=5]Echo of the Narcissist
Conflict is my greatest ally, rest a treasured foe.
Forgotten is my truest name, but what the people crow.
Righteous my contempt belies, rage consuming cause.
Chaos, my beloved acclaim, is seared within my laws.
Within me grows a twisted shame, hiding from what's real.
Desperate I chase shallow fame, thus warping my ideals.
Tricked pity is my currency, for guile has made me strong.
Deceiving a diversity allows me to belong.
-Poem by Islet #582838
[/quote]
[center][font=cambria][size=4]Dragon Lore Concept. Written for [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/clan-profile/336441]Graces[/url]' [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/51491327]Raz[/url].
Consists of: Drabble style, Snippet.
Topic: Dragon concept. [/size][/font][/center]
[quote name="Islet" date="2023-05-31 18:07:28" ]
[font=gabriola][size=5][b]Raz[/b]
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[indent][font=gabriola][size=5]Raz is a master of martial arts and a skilled fire mage. In his youth, he was given to and trained by the temple of the great flame-dancers. Although this order has a reputation as justice-pursuing rogues who support the weak, the trinity of leaders will cast out those with differing opinions and bury those who voice objections to their rule. With a passionate, curious and blunt disposition, this hatchling was singled out and exiled before he could master their dance. Alone in the warring states of the fire domain, he begged various material artists for lessons, developing an unique, acrobatic fighting style from their mismatched wisdom. His skill has won him a fair amount of battles, earning him a feared reputation.
[/quote]
G R A C E S
Dragon Lore Concept. Written for Graces' Ghost.
Consists of: Snippet, story, hidden narrator third person.
Topic: Dragon concept.
Islet wrote on 2023-05-31 16:02:34:
Ghost
Realm walker, whisper of the waking dream.
Witching hour befalls and slips away as the night bleeds silence around the fortress. Above, the moon blinks, her gaze streaking cold over the lost.
Gravel crunches sharp under claw and bone, stirring up those who feast on conflict. Many rise. Flashes of liquid charcoal crumble through the skies. Accolades rising and descending upon quenched snow.
Within the walls the specter of love wails, for victory lifts the veil of innocence, brings to ruin the vanquished and settles its weight upon all who remain. Plucked before fruiting, passion sheds its flaming heart and scatters its petals with cloying sweetness.
Alone, a thread of grief wanders, coiling fragrant through empty prayer.
This traveler approaches on weary feet, offering grace and benediction, a bitter mercy before the dawn of tomorrow, an eternal rest cut free. Serenity rests behind the frightening visage of oblivion as he brings swift demise, calling to life ghosts of the future.
Dragon Lore Concept. Written for Graces' Lucifer.
Consists of: Poem, Rhyme.
Topic: Dragon concept.
Islet wrote on 2023-05-31 17:49:26:
Lucifer
“Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.”
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
Echo of the Narcissist
Conflict is my greatest ally, rest a treasured foe.
Forgotten is my truest name, but what the people crow.
Righteous my contempt belies, rage consuming cause.
Chaos, my beloved acclaim, is seared within my laws.
Within me grows a twisted shame, hiding from what's real.
Desperate I chase shallow fame, thus warping my ideals.
Tricked pity is my currency, for guile has made me strong.
Deceiving a diversity allows me to belong.
-Poem by Islet #582838
Dragon Lore Concept. Written for Graces' Raz.
Consists of: Drabble style, Snippet.
Topic: Dragon concept.
Islet wrote on 2023-05-31 18:07:28:
Raz
Raz is a master of martial arts and a skilled fire mage. In his youth, he was given to and trained by the temple of the great flame-dancers. Although this order has a reputation as justice-pursuing rogues who support the weak, the trinity of leaders will cast out those with differing opinions and bury those who voice objections to their rule. With a passionate, curious and blunt disposition, this hatchling was singled out and exiled before he could master their dance. Alone in the warring states of the fire domain, he begged various material artists for lessons, developing an unique, acrobatic fighting style from their mismatched wisdom. His skill has won him a fair amount of battles, earning him a feared reputation.
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Some day, there will be art here.
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