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TOPIC | I guess this is an example thread now
*bursts forth from hiatus* I'm aliiiiiive! I've finished editing, so this is the final bio!
@ArceusLord
As always, tell me if you want anything changed!
[quote][center]Every few centuries, the Lightweaver, great deity of the Sunbeam Ruins, deigns to alight from her shrine and take wing across her territory. As she surveys her subjects from above, her brilliant eye meets the gazes of exactly 3 dragons who happen to look up at the perfect time. These special mortals, hatchling or elder, are granted a divine power known as the Sight of the Light: An all-seeing eye, to tell truth from lie.
Celtic was one of these few. Barely out of the egg, the young Guardian’s first memory was of a light in the sky, so blinding that he had to look away, but couldn’t. It was in that instant that the little hatchling received the blessing of the Lightweaver.
The details of the world lit up to him; every living creature seemed to acquire an inner glow, some brighter than others. As the other new-borns squirmed in the hatchery, Celtic saw that their silhouettes were far brighter than most of their parents’; in fact, that one Snapper over there seemed to be coated with some sort of fine dust. Unbeknownst to the blessed Guardian, this Snapper would go on to seize power in this clan by spreading lies about its current leaders. But he wouldn’t stay long enough to see it.
Celtic’s mother and grandmother, his only living relatives, looked upon him with distaste as he told them of his findings. He would point out dragons and say they were ‘dusty’ or ‘glowing’, and though he never saw any patterns in his observations, his elders did. They saw that the ‘dust’ followed closely after dragons who tended to hold dark intentions; the glow came from younger, or truthful individuals.
Yet instead of trying to understand it, his guardians turned immediately to fear. They thought he must have been cursed by the Shade; what other being would ever think up such unnatural power? They thought they could suppress his Sight by downplaying it: Scolding him every time he mentioned dust, or telling their fellow clanmates that he was delusional. Faced with cynicism, Celtic grew cold and bitter, and hid his visions from the ones he should have trusted the most.
His coming-of-age was met with little fanfare. Living with this constant social friction drove him away from kin and clan. He had no friends to bid farewell to, so as soon as his wings could carry him aloft, he left his birth clan and set off into the unknown.
Celtic crossed into the Tangled Wood: The elemental opposite of his birth flight. As he wandered, strange trees seemed to move just out of his vision, their claw-like branches curled downwards, as though reaching for him. It was here that he met a band of half-feral Mirrors, barely able to snarl a full sentence between growls and hisses. The first thing he noticed was their utter lack of dust. They had the faint glow of a dragon hardened by life, yet entirely sincere. They made no secret of their hunger, or their lust to hunt and kill their fellow dragons. And in a twisted sort of way, encouraged by sour memories of his old clan, he came to respect them for it.
Communicating by talon waves and running motions, Celtic indicated his desire to join them. The pack accepted him without hesitation, seeing in him a powerful ally.
Celtic took the Mirrors’ ways as his own, donning a wolf-skin scarf and cobbling armour from the remains of his fallen enemies. He led the pack as they swarmed smaller clans, pillaging and killing wherever they went. But unbeknownst to his savage friends, the Guardian had been hiding the dragons who lit up the brightest to him, releasing them into the night like vermin from a den. What became of them, he never stopped to wonder.
Until he met SwordSinger.
The little Ridgeback was barely fledged at the time, yet she beat back every Mirror who tried to approach her. It was the full moon, and her eyes glowed an unnatural black as she rampaged. The pack hissed of Shade-touched demons and retreated, but their callous words triggered terrible flashbacks in Celtic’s mind. Hadn’t he, too, been called Shade-touched? Perhaps she was in the same situation as he? He took pity on the Ridgeback and followed her in secret, approaching only at sunrise, when her eyes faded to a more normal gold.
Somehow, the two struck up a conversation. The dragon was wary at first, but Celtic, encouraged by her almost-blinding glow, persisted. It turned out this Ridgeback, SwordSinger, had been heir to a band of thieves; they had scattered some weeks ago, leaving her lost and alone. By questioning further, Celtic realised her kin exactly resembled the group of dragons he’d slaughtered a few days ago.
Horror and grief gnawed at him for the first time in years. He’d never regretted any of his kills before, so why did he feel frozen inside now? Something in SwordSinger had awakened his empathy: A part of him he assumed was long gone.
He did not tell her the truth. That was a hurdle for another day.
Instead, he adopted the little Ridgeback as his own offspring. The Mirrors, he knew, would never accept her. So while he ran with the pack, SwordSinger trailed them from behind, always staying out of sight. At night, he crept out to meet her: To share food, supplies, and stories of his latest raids. And every full moon, at her request, he tied her to a tree with vines, so that in her dark-eyed rage, she couldn’t wander off and slaughter innocent lives.
Perhaps SwordSinger had softened his heart somewhat; perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate. Either way, another dragon was quick to enter Celtic’s life.
It should have been a normal raid: A tiny clan against the ruthless Mirrors. But this time was different. This time, the pack took a prisoner.
This dragon was a tiny Fae: A curious pink and grey creature barely the size of Celtic’s arm, who in a terrified stammer identified herself as Antares. The Mirrors found endless amusement in tying a rope around her body and swatting at her every time she tried to fly away. To them, this cowering, weak dragon was little more than a toy, whose continued existence depended on entertaining her captors. But something finally snapped in Celtic, watching them torment her. He didn’t know exactly what. She had a moderate glow, implying a life of some deceit. There was nothing special about her appearance. Faint memories of the Guardian’s search resurfaced as he pondered. Could it be that Antares was his charge? Whatever it was, this was the last straw of his life with the Mirrors.
He planned his escape in less than a day: Told SwordSinger to meet him close to the border, packed his few possessions, and claimed a greater share than usual of the evening kill. As soon as the Mirrors had drifted off, he cut Antares free and they fled into the night.
They reunited with SwordSinger and crossed into the Lightweaver’s territory. A chilling mix of dread and nostalgia crept up Celtic’s spine: This was it. He could never return to the Tangled Wood; the Mirrors would attack him on sight. Doubt settled in his mind and clouded his Sight, but he forced himself to blink it away. He was responsible for two other lives now: SwordSinger’s and Antares’. He had to be strong, certain, decisive…for them.
Their first order of business: Find a new home. He led his little group across the Ruins, but every clan turned away when they saw the scarred, muscled Guardian approaching. Not even the loner dragons would speak to them…well, all except for one.
An ancient Imperial, mane greying and wings drooping, carrying a Light Tome slung over one shoulder by a leather belt. He had the look of a wanderer, weary of the world and its pointless politics. His eyes were alight with an inner fire: A sun-bright golden that seared through flesh and bone itself.
They were the same eyes Celtic had.
The two seemed to realize it almost at the same time: They bore the same blessing; the same curse: The Sight of the Light. Where Celtic had been shunned, the Imperial, [url= http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=view&id=0&tab=dragon&did=7226430]Bricyll[/url], had been celebrated for his gift. Treated as nobility, he was ferried across the Sunbeam Ruins, entertaining clan leaders with his supernatural insights. The constant attention exhausted him, haunted his nightmares, until he just up and left. Now, in his dying hour, fate had brought them together: Bricyll was convinced it was a sign from the Lightweaver herself.
The Imperial sat Celtic down and taught him everything he’d learned. How the most lavish Light clans came to be that way. How to manage the troublemakers, for they would encounter many in their time on Sornieth. When to use force, and more importantly, when not to. The dust was unavoidable; no dragon was perfect, get used to that. Of course, a glowing dragon was probably trustworthy, but sometimes, he just had to ignore the Sight and trust his own draconic judgment. Never judge a dragon by their past: They might just prove you wrong. There were subtleties and exceptions to every rule of leadership, but the general ideas were all written down in his Tome. Bricyll took off his belt and handed it to Celtic: “Use it well.” Those were his last words. “Learn from my mistakes, but never be afraid to break the rules.” With that, the Imperial wandered off into the distance. He was never seen again.
Still, his words echoed in Celtic’s mind. Yes, why should he waste his life seeking the approval of others? He had Antares and SwordSinger, he had the wisdom of a fellow with the Sight, so why not start his own clan? The idea swelled in his heart and morphed into steely resolve. He would forge his own path, his own clan; he would take in fellow outsiders, dragons who didn’t fit anywhere else. The road would be tough, but it was one he was determined to take.
He called it the Deserted Clan: A safe haven for the dragons Sornieth had left behind. With the help of his new family, he cleared out a space in the Sundial Terrace, set up a lair, and put out the call for members. They streamed in like the summer sunrise: Loners and misfits, dragons who’d never had a place to call home. Celtic welcomed them all into his embrace, whether bright or laden with dust. Inevitably, one or two would prove themselves unworthy of his mercy, and need to be cast out. But many more would remain loyal members of the Deserted Clan, the newest rising star in the Sunbeam Ruins.
Leading them: Celtic, a true acolyte of the Lightweaver. Though his road to leadership has been rocky to say the least, he knows he can do it, so long as he has his clan by his side. He would pave the way for others, that they may never suffer the way he did. That is his mission, his promise, and his reason to live. He doesn’t plan to give up on any of them.[/center]
[/quote]
*bursts forth from hiatus* I'm aliiiiiive! I've finished editing, so this is the final bio!
@ArceusLord
As always, tell me if you want anything changed!
@ArceusLord
As always, tell me if you want anything changed!
Quote:
Every few centuries, the Lightweaver, great deity of the Sunbeam Ruins, deigns to alight from her shrine and take wing across her territory. As she surveys her subjects from above, her brilliant eye meets the gazes of exactly 3 dragons who happen to look up at the perfect time. These special mortals, hatchling or elder, are granted a divine power known as the Sight of the Light: An all-seeing eye, to tell truth from lie.
Celtic was one of these few. Barely out of the egg, the young Guardian’s first memory was of a light in the sky, so blinding that he had to look away, but couldn’t. It was in that instant that the little hatchling received the blessing of the Lightweaver.
The details of the world lit up to him; every living creature seemed to acquire an inner glow, some brighter than others. As the other new-borns squirmed in the hatchery, Celtic saw that their silhouettes were far brighter than most of their parents’; in fact, that one Snapper over there seemed to be coated with some sort of fine dust. Unbeknownst to the blessed Guardian, this Snapper would go on to seize power in this clan by spreading lies about its current leaders. But he wouldn’t stay long enough to see it.
Celtic’s mother and grandmother, his only living relatives, looked upon him with distaste as he told them of his findings. He would point out dragons and say they were ‘dusty’ or ‘glowing’, and though he never saw any patterns in his observations, his elders did. They saw that the ‘dust’ followed closely after dragons who tended to hold dark intentions; the glow came from younger, or truthful individuals.
Yet instead of trying to understand it, his guardians turned immediately to fear. They thought he must have been cursed by the Shade; what other being would ever think up such unnatural power? They thought they could suppress his Sight by downplaying it: Scolding him every time he mentioned dust, or telling their fellow clanmates that he was delusional. Faced with cynicism, Celtic grew cold and bitter, and hid his visions from the ones he should have trusted the most.
His coming-of-age was met with little fanfare. Living with this constant social friction drove him away from kin and clan. He had no friends to bid farewell to, so as soon as his wings could carry him aloft, he left his birth clan and set off into the unknown.
Celtic crossed into the Tangled Wood: The elemental opposite of his birth flight. As he wandered, strange trees seemed to move just out of his vision, their claw-like branches curled downwards, as though reaching for him. It was here that he met a band of half-feral Mirrors, barely able to snarl a full sentence between growls and hisses. The first thing he noticed was their utter lack of dust. They had the faint glow of a dragon hardened by life, yet entirely sincere. They made no secret of their hunger, or their lust to hunt and kill their fellow dragons. And in a twisted sort of way, encouraged by sour memories of his old clan, he came to respect them for it.
Communicating by talon waves and running motions, Celtic indicated his desire to join them. The pack accepted him without hesitation, seeing in him a powerful ally.
Celtic took the Mirrors’ ways as his own, donning a wolf-skin scarf and cobbling armour from the remains of his fallen enemies. He led the pack as they swarmed smaller clans, pillaging and killing wherever they went. But unbeknownst to his savage friends, the Guardian had been hiding the dragons who lit up the brightest to him, releasing them into the night like vermin from a den. What became of them, he never stopped to wonder.
Until he met SwordSinger.
The little Ridgeback was barely fledged at the time, yet she beat back every Mirror who tried to approach her. It was the full moon, and her eyes glowed an unnatural black as she rampaged. The pack hissed of Shade-touched demons and retreated, but their callous words triggered terrible flashbacks in Celtic’s mind. Hadn’t he, too, been called Shade-touched? Perhaps she was in the same situation as he? He took pity on the Ridgeback and followed her in secret, approaching only at sunrise, when her eyes faded to a more normal gold.
Somehow, the two struck up a conversation. The dragon was wary at first, but Celtic, encouraged by her almost-blinding glow, persisted. It turned out this Ridgeback, SwordSinger, had been heir to a band of thieves; they had scattered some weeks ago, leaving her lost and alone. By questioning further, Celtic realised her kin exactly resembled the group of dragons he’d slaughtered a few days ago.
Horror and grief gnawed at him for the first time in years. He’d never regretted any of his kills before, so why did he feel frozen inside now? Something in SwordSinger had awakened his empathy: A part of him he assumed was long gone.
He did not tell her the truth. That was a hurdle for another day.
Instead, he adopted the little Ridgeback as his own offspring. The Mirrors, he knew, would never accept her. So while he ran with the pack, SwordSinger trailed them from behind, always staying out of sight. At night, he crept out to meet her: To share food, supplies, and stories of his latest raids. And every full moon, at her request, he tied her to a tree with vines, so that in her dark-eyed rage, she couldn’t wander off and slaughter innocent lives.
Perhaps SwordSinger had softened his heart somewhat; perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate. Either way, another dragon was quick to enter Celtic’s life.
It should have been a normal raid: A tiny clan against the ruthless Mirrors. But this time was different. This time, the pack took a prisoner.
This dragon was a tiny Fae: A curious pink and grey creature barely the size of Celtic’s arm, who in a terrified stammer identified herself as Antares. The Mirrors found endless amusement in tying a rope around her body and swatting at her every time she tried to fly away. To them, this cowering, weak dragon was little more than a toy, whose continued existence depended on entertaining her captors. But something finally snapped in Celtic, watching them torment her. He didn’t know exactly what. She had a moderate glow, implying a life of some deceit. There was nothing special about her appearance. Faint memories of the Guardian’s search resurfaced as he pondered. Could it be that Antares was his charge? Whatever it was, this was the last straw of his life with the Mirrors.
He planned his escape in less than a day: Told SwordSinger to meet him close to the border, packed his few possessions, and claimed a greater share than usual of the evening kill. As soon as the Mirrors had drifted off, he cut Antares free and they fled into the night.
They reunited with SwordSinger and crossed into the Lightweaver’s territory. A chilling mix of dread and nostalgia crept up Celtic’s spine: This was it. He could never return to the Tangled Wood; the Mirrors would attack him on sight. Doubt settled in his mind and clouded his Sight, but he forced himself to blink it away. He was responsible for two other lives now: SwordSinger’s and Antares’. He had to be strong, certain, decisive…for them.
Their first order of business: Find a new home. He led his little group across the Ruins, but every clan turned away when they saw the scarred, muscled Guardian approaching. Not even the loner dragons would speak to them…well, all except for one.
An ancient Imperial, mane greying and wings drooping, carrying a Light Tome slung over one shoulder by a leather belt. He had the look of a wanderer, weary of the world and its pointless politics. His eyes were alight with an inner fire: A sun-bright golden that seared through flesh and bone itself.
They were the same eyes Celtic had.
The two seemed to realize it almost at the same time: They bore the same blessing; the same curse: The Sight of the Light. Where Celtic had been shunned, the Imperial, Bricyll, had been celebrated for his gift. Treated as nobility, he was ferried across the Sunbeam Ruins, entertaining clan leaders with his supernatural insights. The constant attention exhausted him, haunted his nightmares, until he just up and left. Now, in his dying hour, fate had brought them together: Bricyll was convinced it was a sign from the Lightweaver herself.
The Imperial sat Celtic down and taught him everything he’d learned. How the most lavish Light clans came to be that way. How to manage the troublemakers, for they would encounter many in their time on Sornieth. When to use force, and more importantly, when not to. The dust was unavoidable; no dragon was perfect, get used to that. Of course, a glowing dragon was probably trustworthy, but sometimes, he just had to ignore the Sight and trust his own draconic judgment. Never judge a dragon by their past: They might just prove you wrong. There were subtleties and exceptions to every rule of leadership, but the general ideas were all written down in his Tome. Bricyll took off his belt and handed it to Celtic: “Use it well.” Those were his last words. “Learn from my mistakes, but never be afraid to break the rules.” With that, the Imperial wandered off into the distance. He was never seen again.
Still, his words echoed in Celtic’s mind. Yes, why should he waste his life seeking the approval of others? He had Antares and SwordSinger, he had the wisdom of a fellow with the Sight, so why not start his own clan? The idea swelled in his heart and morphed into steely resolve. He would forge his own path, his own clan; he would take in fellow outsiders, dragons who didn’t fit anywhere else. The road would be tough, but it was one he was determined to take.
He called it the Deserted Clan: A safe haven for the dragons Sornieth had left behind. With the help of his new family, he cleared out a space in the Sundial Terrace, set up a lair, and put out the call for members. They streamed in like the summer sunrise: Loners and misfits, dragons who’d never had a place to call home. Celtic welcomed them all into his embrace, whether bright or laden with dust. Inevitably, one or two would prove themselves unworthy of his mercy, and need to be cast out. But many more would remain loyal members of the Deserted Clan, the newest rising star in the Sunbeam Ruins.
Leading them: Celtic, a true acolyte of the Lightweaver. Though his road to leadership has been rocky to say the least, he knows he can do it, so long as he has his clan by his side. He would pave the way for others, that they may never suffer the way he did. That is his mission, his promise, and his reason to live. He doesn’t plan to give up on any of them.
Celtic was one of these few. Barely out of the egg, the young Guardian’s first memory was of a light in the sky, so blinding that he had to look away, but couldn’t. It was in that instant that the little hatchling received the blessing of the Lightweaver.
The details of the world lit up to him; every living creature seemed to acquire an inner glow, some brighter than others. As the other new-borns squirmed in the hatchery, Celtic saw that their silhouettes were far brighter than most of their parents’; in fact, that one Snapper over there seemed to be coated with some sort of fine dust. Unbeknownst to the blessed Guardian, this Snapper would go on to seize power in this clan by spreading lies about its current leaders. But he wouldn’t stay long enough to see it.
Celtic’s mother and grandmother, his only living relatives, looked upon him with distaste as he told them of his findings. He would point out dragons and say they were ‘dusty’ or ‘glowing’, and though he never saw any patterns in his observations, his elders did. They saw that the ‘dust’ followed closely after dragons who tended to hold dark intentions; the glow came from younger, or truthful individuals.
Yet instead of trying to understand it, his guardians turned immediately to fear. They thought he must have been cursed by the Shade; what other being would ever think up such unnatural power? They thought they could suppress his Sight by downplaying it: Scolding him every time he mentioned dust, or telling their fellow clanmates that he was delusional. Faced with cynicism, Celtic grew cold and bitter, and hid his visions from the ones he should have trusted the most.
His coming-of-age was met with little fanfare. Living with this constant social friction drove him away from kin and clan. He had no friends to bid farewell to, so as soon as his wings could carry him aloft, he left his birth clan and set off into the unknown.
Celtic crossed into the Tangled Wood: The elemental opposite of his birth flight. As he wandered, strange trees seemed to move just out of his vision, their claw-like branches curled downwards, as though reaching for him. It was here that he met a band of half-feral Mirrors, barely able to snarl a full sentence between growls and hisses. The first thing he noticed was their utter lack of dust. They had the faint glow of a dragon hardened by life, yet entirely sincere. They made no secret of their hunger, or their lust to hunt and kill their fellow dragons. And in a twisted sort of way, encouraged by sour memories of his old clan, he came to respect them for it.
Communicating by talon waves and running motions, Celtic indicated his desire to join them. The pack accepted him without hesitation, seeing in him a powerful ally.
Celtic took the Mirrors’ ways as his own, donning a wolf-skin scarf and cobbling armour from the remains of his fallen enemies. He led the pack as they swarmed smaller clans, pillaging and killing wherever they went. But unbeknownst to his savage friends, the Guardian had been hiding the dragons who lit up the brightest to him, releasing them into the night like vermin from a den. What became of them, he never stopped to wonder.
Until he met SwordSinger.
The little Ridgeback was barely fledged at the time, yet she beat back every Mirror who tried to approach her. It was the full moon, and her eyes glowed an unnatural black as she rampaged. The pack hissed of Shade-touched demons and retreated, but their callous words triggered terrible flashbacks in Celtic’s mind. Hadn’t he, too, been called Shade-touched? Perhaps she was in the same situation as he? He took pity on the Ridgeback and followed her in secret, approaching only at sunrise, when her eyes faded to a more normal gold.
Somehow, the two struck up a conversation. The dragon was wary at first, but Celtic, encouraged by her almost-blinding glow, persisted. It turned out this Ridgeback, SwordSinger, had been heir to a band of thieves; they had scattered some weeks ago, leaving her lost and alone. By questioning further, Celtic realised her kin exactly resembled the group of dragons he’d slaughtered a few days ago.
Horror and grief gnawed at him for the first time in years. He’d never regretted any of his kills before, so why did he feel frozen inside now? Something in SwordSinger had awakened his empathy: A part of him he assumed was long gone.
He did not tell her the truth. That was a hurdle for another day.
Instead, he adopted the little Ridgeback as his own offspring. The Mirrors, he knew, would never accept her. So while he ran with the pack, SwordSinger trailed them from behind, always staying out of sight. At night, he crept out to meet her: To share food, supplies, and stories of his latest raids. And every full moon, at her request, he tied her to a tree with vines, so that in her dark-eyed rage, she couldn’t wander off and slaughter innocent lives.
Perhaps SwordSinger had softened his heart somewhat; perhaps it was a cruel twist of fate. Either way, another dragon was quick to enter Celtic’s life.
It should have been a normal raid: A tiny clan against the ruthless Mirrors. But this time was different. This time, the pack took a prisoner.
This dragon was a tiny Fae: A curious pink and grey creature barely the size of Celtic’s arm, who in a terrified stammer identified herself as Antares. The Mirrors found endless amusement in tying a rope around her body and swatting at her every time she tried to fly away. To them, this cowering, weak dragon was little more than a toy, whose continued existence depended on entertaining her captors. But something finally snapped in Celtic, watching them torment her. He didn’t know exactly what. She had a moderate glow, implying a life of some deceit. There was nothing special about her appearance. Faint memories of the Guardian’s search resurfaced as he pondered. Could it be that Antares was his charge? Whatever it was, this was the last straw of his life with the Mirrors.
He planned his escape in less than a day: Told SwordSinger to meet him close to the border, packed his few possessions, and claimed a greater share than usual of the evening kill. As soon as the Mirrors had drifted off, he cut Antares free and they fled into the night.
They reunited with SwordSinger and crossed into the Lightweaver’s territory. A chilling mix of dread and nostalgia crept up Celtic’s spine: This was it. He could never return to the Tangled Wood; the Mirrors would attack him on sight. Doubt settled in his mind and clouded his Sight, but he forced himself to blink it away. He was responsible for two other lives now: SwordSinger’s and Antares’. He had to be strong, certain, decisive…for them.
Their first order of business: Find a new home. He led his little group across the Ruins, but every clan turned away when they saw the scarred, muscled Guardian approaching. Not even the loner dragons would speak to them…well, all except for one.
An ancient Imperial, mane greying and wings drooping, carrying a Light Tome slung over one shoulder by a leather belt. He had the look of a wanderer, weary of the world and its pointless politics. His eyes were alight with an inner fire: A sun-bright golden that seared through flesh and bone itself.
They were the same eyes Celtic had.
The two seemed to realize it almost at the same time: They bore the same blessing; the same curse: The Sight of the Light. Where Celtic had been shunned, the Imperial, Bricyll, had been celebrated for his gift. Treated as nobility, he was ferried across the Sunbeam Ruins, entertaining clan leaders with his supernatural insights. The constant attention exhausted him, haunted his nightmares, until he just up and left. Now, in his dying hour, fate had brought them together: Bricyll was convinced it was a sign from the Lightweaver herself.
The Imperial sat Celtic down and taught him everything he’d learned. How the most lavish Light clans came to be that way. How to manage the troublemakers, for they would encounter many in their time on Sornieth. When to use force, and more importantly, when not to. The dust was unavoidable; no dragon was perfect, get used to that. Of course, a glowing dragon was probably trustworthy, but sometimes, he just had to ignore the Sight and trust his own draconic judgment. Never judge a dragon by their past: They might just prove you wrong. There were subtleties and exceptions to every rule of leadership, but the general ideas were all written down in his Tome. Bricyll took off his belt and handed it to Celtic: “Use it well.” Those were his last words. “Learn from my mistakes, but never be afraid to break the rules.” With that, the Imperial wandered off into the distance. He was never seen again.
Still, his words echoed in Celtic’s mind. Yes, why should he waste his life seeking the approval of others? He had Antares and SwordSinger, he had the wisdom of a fellow with the Sight, so why not start his own clan? The idea swelled in his heart and morphed into steely resolve. He would forge his own path, his own clan; he would take in fellow outsiders, dragons who didn’t fit anywhere else. The road would be tough, but it was one he was determined to take.
He called it the Deserted Clan: A safe haven for the dragons Sornieth had left behind. With the help of his new family, he cleared out a space in the Sundial Terrace, set up a lair, and put out the call for members. They streamed in like the summer sunrise: Loners and misfits, dragons who’d never had a place to call home. Celtic welcomed them all into his embrace, whether bright or laden with dust. Inevitably, one or two would prove themselves unworthy of his mercy, and need to be cast out. But many more would remain loyal members of the Deserted Clan, the newest rising star in the Sunbeam Ruins.
Leading them: Celtic, a true acolyte of the Lightweaver. Though his road to leadership has been rocky to say the least, he knows he can do it, so long as he has his clan by his side. He would pave the way for others, that they may never suffer the way he did. That is his mission, his promise, and his reason to live. He doesn’t plan to give up on any of them.
@Nyfian
Sorry about the short disappearance, my weekend was kinda hectic. I've finished Lithnathron so far, split into 'About' and 'Current Job' sections. Just tell me if you want any details changed, if I should keep up this style for the other two bios, etc!
Also, this one was a little bit short, so I'm only charging 10kt for this!
Sorry about the short disappearance, my weekend was kinda hectic. I've finished Lithnathron so far, split into 'About' and 'Current Job' sections. Just tell me if you want any details changed, if I should keep up this style for the other two bios, etc!
Also, this one was a little bit short, so I'm only charging 10kt for this!
Quote:
About:
Silence speaks louder than words, as Lithnathron will be quick not to tell you. A quiet and reserved individual, he never makes the first move, and even then it’s hard to goad him into interaction. Instead, he prefers to remain on the fringe of the action. He has a unique gift: He can sense tiny vibrations in the ground, often unnoticed by the average dragon, to ‘feel’ his surroundings.
This Wildclaw was born and raised in the Tangled Wood: The very birthplace of trickery and deceit. Deep in those shadowy forests, strange beings lurked in the darkness, always on the prowl to find and snare some unsuspecting dragon. Living on the edge of survival honed his ability, to the point where he could always tell which paths hid dangerous beasts. Though he’s since moved to the calmer Starwood Strand, Lithnathron retains a sort of skittishness; an unwillingness to take a stranger at face value. As a result, he comes across as brusque and suspicious to those he’s just met. But prove yourself a friend, and he will return the favour.
Current job:
Lithnathron is the favoured of Cloven, the spymaster under the clan leader, Harmonia. With his special talent, he can ‘see’ something happening far out of natural sight, which is especially useful when the target is a dangerous one. His method is safe and reliable, making him perfect for reconnaissance and stealth missions.
Despite constant praise from Harmonia, Lithnathron is not a dragon who dwells on former glory. Instead, he constantly seeks critique (constructive, of course) to improve himself, especially from Cloven. Only Cloven himself knows that Lithnathron is an immensely powerful dragon; maybe even more powerful than his teacher, but his own ambition was a hunger near-impossible to satiate. It seems that every time he sees the Wildclaw, he’s either training, or out cold in his bed. So the Skydancer teaches him all he can, watching as his young apprentice grows into a force to truly be reckoned with...
Silence speaks louder than words, as Lithnathron will be quick not to tell you. A quiet and reserved individual, he never makes the first move, and even then it’s hard to goad him into interaction. Instead, he prefers to remain on the fringe of the action. He has a unique gift: He can sense tiny vibrations in the ground, often unnoticed by the average dragon, to ‘feel’ his surroundings.
This Wildclaw was born and raised in the Tangled Wood: The very birthplace of trickery and deceit. Deep in those shadowy forests, strange beings lurked in the darkness, always on the prowl to find and snare some unsuspecting dragon. Living on the edge of survival honed his ability, to the point where he could always tell which paths hid dangerous beasts. Though he’s since moved to the calmer Starwood Strand, Lithnathron retains a sort of skittishness; an unwillingness to take a stranger at face value. As a result, he comes across as brusque and suspicious to those he’s just met. But prove yourself a friend, and he will return the favour.
Current job:
Lithnathron is the favoured of Cloven, the spymaster under the clan leader, Harmonia. With his special talent, he can ‘see’ something happening far out of natural sight, which is especially useful when the target is a dangerous one. His method is safe and reliable, making him perfect for reconnaissance and stealth missions.
Despite constant praise from Harmonia, Lithnathron is not a dragon who dwells on former glory. Instead, he constantly seeks critique (constructive, of course) to improve himself, especially from Cloven. Only Cloven himself knows that Lithnathron is an immensely powerful dragon; maybe even more powerful than his teacher, but his own ambition was a hunger near-impossible to satiate. It seems that every time he sees the Wildclaw, he’s either training, or out cold in his bed. So the Skydancer teaches him all he can, watching as his young apprentice grows into a force to truly be reckoned with...
@Nyfian
Sorry about the short disappearance, my weekend was kinda hectic. I've finished Lithnathron so far, split into 'About' and 'Current Job' sections. Just tell me if you want any details changed, if I should keep up this style for the other two bios, etc!
Also, this one was a little bit short, so I'm only charging 10kt for this!
Sorry about the short disappearance, my weekend was kinda hectic. I've finished Lithnathron so far, split into 'About' and 'Current Job' sections. Just tell me if you want any details changed, if I should keep up this style for the other two bios, etc!
Also, this one was a little bit short, so I'm only charging 10kt for this!
Quote:
About:
Silence speaks louder than words, as Lithnathron will be quick not to tell you. A quiet and reserved individual, he never makes the first move, and even then it’s hard to goad him into interaction. Instead, he prefers to remain on the fringe of the action. He has a unique gift: He can sense tiny vibrations in the ground, often unnoticed by the average dragon, to ‘feel’ his surroundings.
This Wildclaw was born and raised in the Tangled Wood: The very birthplace of trickery and deceit. Deep in those shadowy forests, strange beings lurked in the darkness, always on the prowl to find and snare some unsuspecting dragon. Living on the edge of survival honed his ability, to the point where he could always tell which paths hid dangerous beasts. Though he’s since moved to the calmer Starwood Strand, Lithnathron retains a sort of skittishness; an unwillingness to take a stranger at face value. As a result, he comes across as brusque and suspicious to those he’s just met. But prove yourself a friend, and he will return the favour.
Current job:
Lithnathron is the favoured of Cloven, the spymaster under the clan leader, Harmonia. With his special talent, he can ‘see’ something happening far out of natural sight, which is especially useful when the target is a dangerous one. His method is safe and reliable, making him perfect for reconnaissance and stealth missions.
Despite constant praise from Harmonia, Lithnathron is not a dragon who dwells on former glory. Instead, he constantly seeks critique (constructive, of course) to improve himself, especially from Cloven. Only Cloven himself knows that Lithnathron is an immensely powerful dragon; maybe even more powerful than his teacher, but his own ambition was a hunger near-impossible to satiate. It seems that every time he sees the Wildclaw, he’s either training, or out cold in his bed. So the Skydancer teaches him all he can, watching as his young apprentice grows into a force to truly be reckoned with...
Silence speaks louder than words, as Lithnathron will be quick not to tell you. A quiet and reserved individual, he never makes the first move, and even then it’s hard to goad him into interaction. Instead, he prefers to remain on the fringe of the action. He has a unique gift: He can sense tiny vibrations in the ground, often unnoticed by the average dragon, to ‘feel’ his surroundings.
This Wildclaw was born and raised in the Tangled Wood: The very birthplace of trickery and deceit. Deep in those shadowy forests, strange beings lurked in the darkness, always on the prowl to find and snare some unsuspecting dragon. Living on the edge of survival honed his ability, to the point where he could always tell which paths hid dangerous beasts. Though he’s since moved to the calmer Starwood Strand, Lithnathron retains a sort of skittishness; an unwillingness to take a stranger at face value. As a result, he comes across as brusque and suspicious to those he’s just met. But prove yourself a friend, and he will return the favour.
Current job:
Lithnathron is the favoured of Cloven, the spymaster under the clan leader, Harmonia. With his special talent, he can ‘see’ something happening far out of natural sight, which is especially useful when the target is a dangerous one. His method is safe and reliable, making him perfect for reconnaissance and stealth missions.
Despite constant praise from Harmonia, Lithnathron is not a dragon who dwells on former glory. Instead, he constantly seeks critique (constructive, of course) to improve himself, especially from Cloven. Only Cloven himself knows that Lithnathron is an immensely powerful dragon; maybe even more powerful than his teacher, but his own ambition was a hunger near-impossible to satiate. It seems that every time he sees the Wildclaw, he’s either training, or out cold in his bed. So the Skydancer teaches him all he can, watching as his young apprentice grows into a force to truly be reckoned with...
@Nyfian
I'm reeeaaaalllllyyyyy sorry this is taking so long! My course demands a lot of non-fiction writing, and that kinda burned me out on writing in general for a while. I haven't forgotten about your Coatl boys, though! So far, I have Ehecatzin’s About, History (extra header because it's so darned long), plus a random quote down. I got carried away, don’t judge:
(clipped to reduce page clutter)
The Current Job section should be easy to write, so just another day or two? In the meantime, tell me if you want anything changed!
I'm reeeaaaalllllyyyyy sorry this is taking so long! My course demands a lot of non-fiction writing, and that kinda burned me out on writing in general for a while. I haven't forgotten about your Coatl boys, though! So far, I have Ehecatzin’s About, History (extra header because it's so darned long), plus a random quote down. I got carried away, don’t judge:
(clipped to reduce page clutter)
The Current Job section should be easy to write, so just another day or two? In the meantime, tell me if you want anything changed!
@Nyfian
I'm reeeaaaalllllyyyyy sorry this is taking so long! My course demands a lot of non-fiction writing, and that kinda burned me out on writing in general for a while. I haven't forgotten about your Coatl boys, though! So far, I have Ehecatzin’s About, History (extra header because it's so darned long), plus a random quote down. I got carried away, don’t judge:
(clipped to reduce page clutter)
The Current Job section should be easy to write, so just another day or two? In the meantime, tell me if you want anything changed!
I'm reeeaaaalllllyyyyy sorry this is taking so long! My course demands a lot of non-fiction writing, and that kinda burned me out on writing in general for a while. I haven't forgotten about your Coatl boys, though! So far, I have Ehecatzin’s About, History (extra header because it's so darned long), plus a random quote down. I got carried away, don’t judge:
(clipped to reduce page clutter)
The Current Job section should be easy to write, so just another day or two? In the meantime, tell me if you want anything changed!
@Nyfian
Ack, I finally sat down and finished up Ehecatzin's bio. This is the finished version. Take a look and tell me if anything needs to be changed! For the extra length, I'd like to charge 20kt for this, if that's fine with you.
[quote=A random quote you can fit in wherever]"I’m not saying I’m better than you…because it doesn’t need to be SAID at all.”[/quote]
[quote=The actual bio]About:
Ehecatzin is the scion to centuries of Cloudsong culture and refinement: A member of that select nobility favoured by the Windsinger himself. From the moment he was hatched, he knew no life but luxury: Whatever he wanted, he got; whenever he wanted it, that was the deadline, no exceptions. Why and where and how one might complete these tasks, were questions he did not concern himself with: Those were intricacies for the lowborn to figure out.
He is particularly fond of clothes; only the finest Longneck-woven fabrics from Dragonhome could satisfy his tastes. He never throws any of them away, but neither does he give them out (to the common folk, no less!). If you walk in on him at the right time, you might catch him staring lovingly into his wardrobe, as though each robe were a portrait of an ex-lover, and he was remembering the stories behind each one.
History:
As soon as he’d come of age, Ehecatzin's parents shipped him off to the Wind flight’s best private school: Dominabitur Academy, in a grand castle deep in the Twisting Crescendo. Here he learned Draconian and Coatl-tongue, etiquette and flight cultures, with a smattering of combat training on the side. He hated physical classes, though, and always came up with some excuse to avoid dirtying his beautiful self.
When the time came for his gap year, the Coatl chose a clan-stay in Arcane. Out of all the flights he’d learned about, the Starwood Strand appealed to him the most. Something about those magical floating islands appealed to his own belief that he was literally, 'out of this world’. The Academy set him up with the Starseeker’s clan: Supposedly, they had a secret weapon that might actually take Ehecatzin down a notch. The secret weapon? Harmonia.
The Pearlcatcher didn’t turn away from his arrogance as most dragons did. Instead, she one-upped him with her own witty replies. As they exchanged comebacks and laughed over meals, Ehecatzin started to favour Harmonia over the rest of the clan. He would deliberately seek her out whenever he had questions, spoke to her in a softer, calmer tone, and left little gifts ‘from the deities’ at her door. Turns out, the way to a pretend-god’s heart is beating them at their own game. Someone just as quick-witted as you are, in other words. Although, if you ask Ehecatzin, he'll say that he highly prefers the term ‘worshipper’.
Weeks stretched to months and then to an entire year. Ehecatzin had completed his gap year, and would now return home for his honours year. Most of the Starseekers were secretly glad to see him go. But Harmonia met him just before he set off for home, pressing a letter into his talons and telling him to read it only after his graduation. Ehecatzin looked upon it with curiosity, but tucked it into his bags and flew off. Deities are, after all, above such petty temptations.
That’s what he told himself, of course, the whole way back. But if that was true, why did he feel a curious ache growing in his heart the closer he came to the border?
Honours year was just as busy as the lecturers said it would be. The letter was almost forgotten, pushed aside into the pile in favour of research tomes and dissertation scrolls. Ehecatzin had chosen to major in Interflight Relations, which involved an awful lot of moral dilemmas and quoting from faded old texts. It was a tough year for everyone, but the Coatl pulled through, scoring that sweet, sweet diploma at long last.
After spending 5 years of his life in a flying castle, he was now free to do as he pleased. He could return to his family’s clan, perhaps, but they already had a diplomat (actually, his name sounded an awful lot like the author of one of the scrolls he’d plagiarised…forget he said anything). He could go back to his old, pampered life, and no one would care that he was doing nothing productive at all. Then, as he was packing up his things, a very yellowed, battered letter fell out of the stack and landed at his feet. He picked it up, as the memories came flooding back, and cut it open, just as Harmonia had instructed.
There were just two sentences written smack in the middle of the entire thing. It said, “We’re hiring a flight ambassador. No experience required, just bring a diploma.”
Ehecatzin didn’t even think. He just bid his parents farewell and took off to the Starseeker’s clan.
Current job:
In a role befitting this mortal deity, Ehecatzin serves as the clan’s Wind flight ambassador. He travels between the Starseeker’s clan and their allies in Wind, representing both his clan to their allies, and the allies to his clan. With his extensive knowledge of Wind flight customs, he knows all the social cues and body language that other dragons might not notice; all the better to negotiate with whimsical Wind natives. Considering the long-standing rivalry between Arcane and Wind (the Battles for the Bay being a good example), his family name and trained charisma lend further credibility to his voice.[/quote]
@Nyfian
Ack, I finally sat down and finished up Ehecatzin's bio. This is the finished version. Take a look and tell me if anything needs to be changed! For the extra length, I'd like to charge 20kt for this, if that's fine with you.
Ack, I finally sat down and finished up Ehecatzin's bio. This is the finished version. Take a look and tell me if anything needs to be changed! For the extra length, I'd like to charge 20kt for this, if that's fine with you.
A random quote you can fit in wherever wrote:
"I’m not saying I’m better than you…because it doesn’t need to be SAID at all.”
The actual bio wrote:
About:
Ehecatzin is the scion to centuries of Cloudsong culture and refinement: A member of that select nobility favoured by the Windsinger himself. From the moment he was hatched, he knew no life but luxury: Whatever he wanted, he got; whenever he wanted it, that was the deadline, no exceptions. Why and where and how one might complete these tasks, were questions he did not concern himself with: Those were intricacies for the lowborn to figure out.
He is particularly fond of clothes; only the finest Longneck-woven fabrics from Dragonhome could satisfy his tastes. He never throws any of them away, but neither does he give them out (to the common folk, no less!). If you walk in on him at the right time, you might catch him staring lovingly into his wardrobe, as though each robe were a portrait of an ex-lover, and he was remembering the stories behind each one.
History:
As soon as he’d come of age, Ehecatzin's parents shipped him off to the Wind flight’s best private school: Dominabitur Academy, in a grand castle deep in the Twisting Crescendo. Here he learned Draconian and Coatl-tongue, etiquette and flight cultures, with a smattering of combat training on the side. He hated physical classes, though, and always came up with some excuse to avoid dirtying his beautiful self.
When the time came for his gap year, the Coatl chose a clan-stay in Arcane. Out of all the flights he’d learned about, the Starwood Strand appealed to him the most. Something about those magical floating islands appealed to his own belief that he was literally, 'out of this world’. The Academy set him up with the Starseeker’s clan: Supposedly, they had a secret weapon that might actually take Ehecatzin down a notch. The secret weapon? Harmonia.
The Pearlcatcher didn’t turn away from his arrogance as most dragons did. Instead, she one-upped him with her own witty replies. As they exchanged comebacks and laughed over meals, Ehecatzin started to favour Harmonia over the rest of the clan. He would deliberately seek her out whenever he had questions, spoke to her in a softer, calmer tone, and left little gifts ‘from the deities’ at her door. Turns out, the way to a pretend-god’s heart is beating them at their own game. Someone just as quick-witted as you are, in other words. Although, if you ask Ehecatzin, he'll say that he highly prefers the term ‘worshipper’.
Weeks stretched to months and then to an entire year. Ehecatzin had completed his gap year, and would now return home for his honours year. Most of the Starseekers were secretly glad to see him go. But Harmonia met him just before he set off for home, pressing a letter into his talons and telling him to read it only after his graduation. Ehecatzin looked upon it with curiosity, but tucked it into his bags and flew off. Deities are, after all, above such petty temptations.
That’s what he told himself, of course, the whole way back. But if that was true, why did he feel a curious ache growing in his heart the closer he came to the border?
Honours year was just as busy as the lecturers said it would be. The letter was almost forgotten, pushed aside into the pile in favour of research tomes and dissertation scrolls. Ehecatzin had chosen to major in Interflight Relations, which involved an awful lot of moral dilemmas and quoting from faded old texts. It was a tough year for everyone, but the Coatl pulled through, scoring that sweet, sweet diploma at long last.
After spending 5 years of his life in a flying castle, he was now free to do as he pleased. He could return to his family’s clan, perhaps, but they already had a diplomat (actually, his name sounded an awful lot like the author of one of the scrolls he’d plagiarised…forget he said anything). He could go back to his old, pampered life, and no one would care that he was doing nothing productive at all. Then, as he was packing up his things, a very yellowed, battered letter fell out of the stack and landed at his feet. He picked it up, as the memories came flooding back, and cut it open, just as Harmonia had instructed.
There were just two sentences written smack in the middle of the entire thing. It said, “We’re hiring a flight ambassador. No experience required, just bring a diploma.”
Ehecatzin didn’t even think. He just bid his parents farewell and took off to the Starseeker’s clan.
Current job:
In a role befitting this mortal deity, Ehecatzin serves as the clan’s Wind flight ambassador. He travels between the Starseeker’s clan and their allies in Wind, representing both his clan to their allies, and the allies to his clan. With his extensive knowledge of Wind flight customs, he knows all the social cues and body language that other dragons might not notice; all the better to negotiate with whimsical Wind natives. Considering the long-standing rivalry between Arcane and Wind (the Battles for the Bay being a good example), his family name and trained charisma lend further credibility to his voice.
Ehecatzin is the scion to centuries of Cloudsong culture and refinement: A member of that select nobility favoured by the Windsinger himself. From the moment he was hatched, he knew no life but luxury: Whatever he wanted, he got; whenever he wanted it, that was the deadline, no exceptions. Why and where and how one might complete these tasks, were questions he did not concern himself with: Those were intricacies for the lowborn to figure out.
He is particularly fond of clothes; only the finest Longneck-woven fabrics from Dragonhome could satisfy his tastes. He never throws any of them away, but neither does he give them out (to the common folk, no less!). If you walk in on him at the right time, you might catch him staring lovingly into his wardrobe, as though each robe were a portrait of an ex-lover, and he was remembering the stories behind each one.
History:
As soon as he’d come of age, Ehecatzin's parents shipped him off to the Wind flight’s best private school: Dominabitur Academy, in a grand castle deep in the Twisting Crescendo. Here he learned Draconian and Coatl-tongue, etiquette and flight cultures, with a smattering of combat training on the side. He hated physical classes, though, and always came up with some excuse to avoid dirtying his beautiful self.
When the time came for his gap year, the Coatl chose a clan-stay in Arcane. Out of all the flights he’d learned about, the Starwood Strand appealed to him the most. Something about those magical floating islands appealed to his own belief that he was literally, 'out of this world’. The Academy set him up with the Starseeker’s clan: Supposedly, they had a secret weapon that might actually take Ehecatzin down a notch. The secret weapon? Harmonia.
The Pearlcatcher didn’t turn away from his arrogance as most dragons did. Instead, she one-upped him with her own witty replies. As they exchanged comebacks and laughed over meals, Ehecatzin started to favour Harmonia over the rest of the clan. He would deliberately seek her out whenever he had questions, spoke to her in a softer, calmer tone, and left little gifts ‘from the deities’ at her door. Turns out, the way to a pretend-god’s heart is beating them at their own game. Someone just as quick-witted as you are, in other words. Although, if you ask Ehecatzin, he'll say that he highly prefers the term ‘worshipper’.
Weeks stretched to months and then to an entire year. Ehecatzin had completed his gap year, and would now return home for his honours year. Most of the Starseekers were secretly glad to see him go. But Harmonia met him just before he set off for home, pressing a letter into his talons and telling him to read it only after his graduation. Ehecatzin looked upon it with curiosity, but tucked it into his bags and flew off. Deities are, after all, above such petty temptations.
That’s what he told himself, of course, the whole way back. But if that was true, why did he feel a curious ache growing in his heart the closer he came to the border?
Honours year was just as busy as the lecturers said it would be. The letter was almost forgotten, pushed aside into the pile in favour of research tomes and dissertation scrolls. Ehecatzin had chosen to major in Interflight Relations, which involved an awful lot of moral dilemmas and quoting from faded old texts. It was a tough year for everyone, but the Coatl pulled through, scoring that sweet, sweet diploma at long last.
After spending 5 years of his life in a flying castle, he was now free to do as he pleased. He could return to his family’s clan, perhaps, but they already had a diplomat (actually, his name sounded an awful lot like the author of one of the scrolls he’d plagiarised…forget he said anything). He could go back to his old, pampered life, and no one would care that he was doing nothing productive at all. Then, as he was packing up his things, a very yellowed, battered letter fell out of the stack and landed at his feet. He picked it up, as the memories came flooding back, and cut it open, just as Harmonia had instructed.
There were just two sentences written smack in the middle of the entire thing. It said, “We’re hiring a flight ambassador. No experience required, just bring a diploma.”
Ehecatzin didn’t even think. He just bid his parents farewell and took off to the Starseeker’s clan.
Current job:
In a role befitting this mortal deity, Ehecatzin serves as the clan’s Wind flight ambassador. He travels between the Starseeker’s clan and their allies in Wind, representing both his clan to their allies, and the allies to his clan. With his extensive knowledge of Wind flight customs, he knows all the social cues and body language that other dragons might not notice; all the better to negotiate with whimsical Wind natives. Considering the long-standing rivalry between Arcane and Wind (the Battles for the Bay being a good example), his family name and trained charisma lend further credibility to his voice.
@Ethiera
Black Tulip Corsage level
Notes: My Clan Lives on a Giant floating island shaped like a turtle blessed by the Windsinger so that no being wishing Clan Rush harm may enter. it is led by King Kendall and his mate King Nate.
Preston: Preston never felt right in his birth clan so he came to Clan Rush after hearing tales of the island. Preston keeps a herd of Micro Goats that he uses to make his cheese. Preston is Clan Rush's cheese maker. He makes some of the best cheese in the land. He makes several types and flavors of cheese and is super skilled at his craft. Preston is an easy going dragon who is always willing to lend an ear. He is always willing to try new cheese recipes and unique flavors that no one else would try.
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=25830841]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/258309/25830841_350.png[/img]
[/url]
@Ethiera
Black Tulip Corsage level
Notes: My Clan Lives on a Giant floating island shaped like a turtle blessed by the Windsinger so that no being wishing Clan Rush harm may enter. it is led by King Kendall and his mate King Nate.
Preston: Preston never felt right in his birth clan so he came to Clan Rush after hearing tales of the island. Preston keeps a herd of Micro Goats that he uses to make his cheese. Preston is Clan Rush's cheese maker. He makes some of the best cheese in the land. He makes several types and flavors of cheese and is super skilled at his craft. Preston is an easy going dragon who is always willing to lend an ear. He is always willing to try new cheese recipes and unique flavors that no one else would try.
Black Tulip Corsage level
Notes: My Clan Lives on a Giant floating island shaped like a turtle blessed by the Windsinger so that no being wishing Clan Rush harm may enter. it is led by King Kendall and his mate King Nate.
Preston: Preston never felt right in his birth clan so he came to Clan Rush after hearing tales of the island. Preston keeps a herd of Micro Goats that he uses to make his cheese. Preston is Clan Rush's cheese maker. He makes some of the best cheese in the land. He makes several types and flavors of cheese and is super skilled at his craft. Preston is an easy going dragon who is always willing to lend an ear. He is always willing to try new cheese recipes and unique flavors that no one else would try.
Pronouns: He, Him
Gay
Gay
@Rusher
Hey wait a minute, didn't I do a bio for a Plague RB with that exact name before?
In any case, I'll be busy most of this week so if you want, I can send regular updates via message about my progress?
Hey wait a minute, didn't I do a bio for a Plague RB with that exact name before?
In any case, I'll be busy most of this week so if you want, I can send regular updates via message about my progress?
@Rusher
Hey wait a minute, didn't I do a bio for a Plague RB with that exact name before?
In any case, I'll be busy most of this week so if you want, I can send regular updates via message about my progress?
Hey wait a minute, didn't I do a bio for a Plague RB with that exact name before?
In any case, I'll be busy most of this week so if you want, I can send regular updates via message about my progress?
@Ethiera You did. Sold him a few months back though when I changed my coli team. That's fine. Do you need a link on how cheese is made? I researched that before buying him lol.
@Ethiera You did. Sold him a few months back though when I changed my coli team. That's fine. Do you need a link on how cheese is made? I researched that before buying him lol.
Pronouns: He, Him
Gay
Gay