@Zombard
why thank you. It's one of the longer ones I've written, possibly the longest. I'm quite proud regardless of it wins. I wasn't really feeling like making a character from scrtach so I took from just about everything of his real history on the site I could find.
@Zombard
why thank you. It's one of the longer ones I've written, possibly the longest. I'm quite proud regardless of it wins. I wasn't really feeling like making a character from scrtach so I took from just about everything of his real history on the site I could find.
[center]
[size=7][color=#FF5500]Samhain[/color][/size]
[i][color=#FF6841]King of Hallow's Eve[/color][/i]
[img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/2a96703f325bc4633ee6479021a38d0c/tumblr_oddm2qDhq81u6i8k5o1_400.gif[/img]
[columns][img]http://imgur.com/gtH9QgI.gif[/img][nextcol]
Once per year, during quite the horrific night, the King of Hallow's Eve crawls out of his lair. With 364 days of preparation, he has the best treats and the scariest tricks for all hatchlings in Sornieth. The King is a proud individual, who loves to celebrate this most special night. He makes the candy he hands out, he writes the songs he sings, he sews the costume he wears. He is an inspiration to all. Over the ages, many dragons have joined him in his celebration. They walk in parades, they conjure massive tricks and they hand out candy to each and everyone sharing the holiday spirit.
But the King of Hallow's Eve is more than just a ghoul. He has many talents. When he leaves his lair, the last leaves fall from the trees. The last flowers start to wilt. Slowly, the ground starts freezing over. And when he leaves for his lair, snow slowly starts falling from the sky. His night marks the final hours of autumn. As soon as he enters his home once more, winter has begun.
But the end of autumn has to be celebrated! With costumes! With candy! With tricks and treats! The dragons celebrate their harvest and the King celebrates with them. Celebration is his favourite thing to do.
And when everything is said and done, when the King is back in his lair of terrors and treats, everything starts over again. The King of Hallow's Eve starts preparing for next year.
Once per year, during quite the horrific night, the King of Hallow's Eve crawls out of his lair. With 364 days of preparation, he has the best treats and the scariest tricks for all hatchlings in Sornieth. The King is a proud individual, who loves to celebrate this most special night. He makes the candy he hands out, he writes the songs he sings, he sews the costume he wears. He is an inspiration to all. Over the ages, many dragons have joined him in his celebration. They walk in parades, they conjure massive tricks and they hand out candy to each and everyone sharing the holiday spirit.
But the King of Hallow's Eve is more than just a ghoul. He has many talents. When he leaves his lair, the last leaves fall from the trees. The last flowers start to wilt. Slowly, the ground starts freezing over. And when he leaves for his lair, snow slowly starts falling from the sky. His night marks the final hours of autumn. As soon as he enters his home once more, winter has begun.
But the end of autumn has to be celebrated! With costumes! With candy! With tricks and treats! The dragons celebrate their harvest and the King celebrates with them. Celebration is his favourite thing to do.
And when everything is said and done, when the King is back in his lair of terrors and treats, everything starts over again. The King of Hallow's Eve starts preparing for next year.
redoing this soon
@aberdakitty my lore entry! Based it around being a Halloween bab :)
I'm crud at naming dragons but I think a particularly good name for Steelmane would be Solus, or maybe NightForger
dang it I think the format got messed up
[img]http://i.imgur.com/8AZwdTF.png[/img][color=#EEEEEE]______________[/color][font=Book Antiqua][size=4][size=7][color=#6b2412]NAME GOES HERE[/color][/size][color=#EEEEEE]______________[/color][img]http://i.imgur.com/8AZwdTF.png[/img]
[center][size=4][color=#6b2412][font=Book Antiqua]Role goes here[/font][/size][/color][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/630k9ze.png[/img][/center]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/1sEmKxK.png[/img][img]http://i.imgur.com/n0XPbrS.png[/img][img]http://i.imgur.com/ZHLkCYn.png[/img][/center]
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[columns]
[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/PHcgGq9.png[/img][/center]
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[font=Book Antiqua][color=#6b2412][size=5]?
"Cool quote under portrait comes here"
? [/color][/size][/font][/center]
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[color=#EEEEEE]_________________________[/color]
[nextcol]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/YO6u0Sw.png[/img]
[columns]
[center][font=Book Antiqua][size=4][size=5][color=#6b2412]B I O G R A P H Y[/color][/size][/center]
[center][url=Link of the music goes here][size=3][font=Book Antiqua][u]Main Theme:[/u] Theme of the dragon, links to a music, insert title here.[/font][/size][/url][/center]
[font=Book Antiqua][size=3.5]
[color=#EEEEEE]______[/color] [color=#6b2412]
Every year, the Riot of Rot descends on Sornieth. When the frosty wind blows the last of the leaves from the bony trees, when clouds begin to blanket the skies, when not even the moon can illuminate the night, this is the time of fear.
Every year, hatchlings disguise themselves. They cover themselves in branches and leaves, hiding themselves from the beastclans and, by extension, the Shade. They make themselves large and fearsome, as terrifying as the hydras roaming the volcanic vents and as silent as the cloaked specters haunting the Ghostlight Ruins.
Each year, a new identity.
Few fully-grown dragons still follow this tradition. An adult can easily take down a patrol of centaurs or longnecks. They know that as long as the Shade is not present, they are safe.
Steelmane is an exception.
Long before he chipped his way out of his egg, the Shade had left its mark on him. It knew where he was; it knew what he did. From the very moment he hatched, the Shade saw through his eyes. Every step he took, he was watched.
His clan knew from the start that he was not safe. He was a danger to the clan, whether he could help it, or not. They sealed him in a cave, far from the clan, where the Shade could only see darkness, shadows, and cold stone.
It was in this cave that Steelmane learned his ways. With his own flame, he learned to separate ore from stone. His talons learned to work the metal into art, as practical as they were beautiful. Iron shackles that burned white-hot if a prisoner struggled. Earrings that whispered ancient melodies in the ears of the wearer. For behind the eyes of an ice dragon burned the soul of a flame dragon, and beneath the feathers of and imperial beat the heart of a snapper. Every day, all year, he worked. Except for one week, late in the year.
On the evening of all hallow's, the heavy boulder is rolled aside. The blacksmith emerges, dusted in soot and laden with the results of his work. His years of forgework have polished his scales to a metallic sheen, his body etched with silver runes.
This is the week where Steelmane can live fully, on one condition.
To hide from the Shade, he is scatterscrolled. He goes unrecognized for a week, before he is once again seized by the Shade and is sealed away in his forge for another year.
Each year, a new identity..[/color]
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[right][img]http://i.imgur.com/SdVLihY.png[/img][/right]
[/columns]
@aberdakitty my lore entry! Based it around being a Halloween bab :)
I'm crud at naming dragons but I think a particularly good name for Steelmane would be Solus, or maybe NightForger
dang it I think the format got messed up ______________NAME GOES HERE______________
______
Every year, the Riot of Rot descends on Sornieth. When the frosty wind blows the last of the leaves from the bony trees, when clouds begin to blanket the skies, when not even the moon can illuminate the night, this is the time of fear.
Every year, hatchlings disguise themselves. They cover themselves in branches and leaves, hiding themselves from the beastclans and, by extension, the Shade. They make themselves large and fearsome, as terrifying as the hydras roaming the volcanic vents and as silent as the cloaked specters haunting the Ghostlight Ruins.
Each year, a new identity.
Few fully-grown dragons still follow this tradition. An adult can easily take down a patrol of centaurs or longnecks. They know that as long as the Shade is not present, they are safe.
Steelmane is an exception.
Long before he chipped his way out of his egg, the Shade had left its mark on him. It knew where he was; it knew what he did. From the very moment he hatched, the Shade saw through his eyes. Every step he took, he was watched.
His clan knew from the start that he was not safe. He was a danger to the clan, whether he could help it, or not. They sealed him in a cave, far from the clan, where the Shade could only see darkness, shadows, and cold stone.
It was in this cave that Steelmane learned his ways. With his own flame, he learned to separate ore from stone. His talons learned to work the metal into art, as practical as they were beautiful. Iron shackles that burned white-hot if a prisoner struggled. Earrings that whispered ancient melodies in the ears of the wearer. For behind the eyes of an ice dragon burned the soul of a flame dragon, and beneath the feathers of and imperial beat the heart of a snapper. Every day, all year, he worked. Except for one week, late in the year.
On the evening of all hallow's, the heavy boulder is rolled aside. The blacksmith emerges, dusted in soot and laden with the results of his work. His years of forgework have polished his scales to a metallic sheen, his body etched with silver runes.
This is the week where Steelmane can live fully, on one condition.
To hide from the Shade, he is scatterscrolled. He goes unrecognized for a week, before he is once again seized by the Shade and is sealed away in his forge for another year.
Each year, a new identity..
I dunno if I'll be able to enter. My computer may be in throes of death. So I've not been able to finish lore or get my layout
My lore entry~
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[center][color=#d49f29][font=Old English Text MT][size=7][b]Nelchaenen[/b][/size][/font][/color][/center]
[br]
[font=Goudy Old Style][size=5][i]In the dead of night, the blacksmith’s forge glows like an open mouth; on the occasional Hallow’s Eve, one can even imagine it cackling….[/i][/size][/font]
[br]
[center][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/f48d4427337475c93793b461c3397afc/tumblr_inline_o23f1raLV11r3lvtf_500.png[/img][/center]
[br]
[columns][img]http://i951.photobucket.com/albums/ad355/Liirarwen/firebannerv2_zpsjgidtgrr.png[/img][nextcol]One cloudy eve, a hatchling stumbled from the remnants of his shell and looked to the sky, light only just peeking through the clouds. The clouds were his only solace that night; he peered to the sky in hopes of seeing slivers of light as the wind slithered through the trees. Off in the distance, a wendigo howled. Maybe the shapes of the clouds that night inspired him. Maybe it was the cool light of the moon that drove the young hatchling to seek the warm light of the forge. Maybe it was just the chill that he never wanted to feel again.
When he woke the next day, it was to the warm embrace of a clan. Surprisingly, the Ice dragon who loved Fire took quickly to a clan that lived alongside the waves. It was the steam, really. The flash of steam when fire hit the water was exhilarating-- so imagine his excitement when he found out that one of the processes of blacksmithing was plunging a red-hot blade into a cool pit.
Before the Water clan came to realize that this was Nelchaenen’s profession-- his calling-- they were concerned. The threat of fire on a ship-- or near the harbor-- is the greatest threat, despite the expanse of blue surrounding them. When a blacksmith visited the clan, though, allowing the little pyromaniac to fully engage in interest and learning, the clan knew Nelchaenen had found his purpose.
And so Nelchaenen became the resident blacksmith.
Even as Nelchaenen forged weapon after weapon, crafted set after set of beautiful armor, he never forgot his roots. Each night-- if only for a second-- he would glance out of the forge and grin, knowing he was the light of the night.
Each year when the wendigo howled on the night of his birth, and the wind blew fiercer than ever, Nelchaenen, warm in his forge, had the confidence to howl and cackle back.[nextcol][img]http://i951.photobucket.com/albums/ad355/Liirarwen/firebannerv1_zpsbvwcwmel.png[/img][/columns]
[br]
[center][img]http://68.media.tumblr.com/f48d4427337475c93793b461c3397afc/tumblr_inline_o23f1raLV11r3lvtf_500.png[/img][/center]
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[br]
[size=2][i]credit to Liirarwen for the flight banners and MsBarrows for the dividers.[/i][/size]
[br]
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[br]
Notes: Nelchaenen (Nell-kay-nin) is the Elvish word for "31st"; the name is a nod to the dragon's birthdate (October 31st). Alternate variations: Nelkaenin, Nelchaenin, Nelkaenen.
[br]
Alternate names: Moraband (derived form death, because of 10/31's proximity to day of the dead), Firenze (sounds fire-y), Creo (Leo + Cryo = Creo), Rement/Mentari (derived from translations of blacksmith).
Keep in mind: a bio is slightly wider than a forum post, so the format here looks slightly awkward. It looks much more natural in a dragon's bio.
In the dead of night, the blacksmith’s forge glows like an open mouth; on the occasional Hallow’s Eve, one can even imagine it cackling….
One cloudy eve, a hatchling stumbled from the remnants of his shell and looked to the sky, light only just peeking through the clouds. The clouds were his only solace that night; he peered to the sky in hopes of seeing slivers of light as the wind slithered through the trees. Off in the distance, a wendigo howled. Maybe the shapes of the clouds that night inspired him. Maybe it was the cool light of the moon that drove the young hatchling to seek the warm light of the forge. Maybe it was just the chill that he never wanted to feel again.
When he woke the next day, it was to the warm embrace of a clan. Surprisingly, the Ice dragon who loved Fire took quickly to a clan that lived alongside the waves. It was the steam, really. The flash of steam when fire hit the water was exhilarating-- so imagine his excitement when he found out that one of the processes of blacksmithing was plunging a red-hot blade into a cool pit.
Before the Water clan came to realize that this was Nelchaenen’s profession-- his calling-- they were concerned. The threat of fire on a ship-- or near the harbor-- is the greatest threat, despite the expanse of blue surrounding them. When a blacksmith visited the clan, though, allowing the little pyromaniac to fully engage in interest and learning, the clan knew Nelchaenen had found his purpose.
And so Nelchaenen became the resident blacksmith.
Even as Nelchaenen forged weapon after weapon, crafted set after set of beautiful armor, he never forgot his roots. Each night-- if only for a second-- he would glance out of the forge and grin, knowing he was the light of the night.
Each year when the wendigo howled on the night of his birth, and the wind blew fiercer than ever, Nelchaenen, warm in his forge, had the confidence to howl and cackle back.
credit to Liirarwen for the flight banners and MsBarrows for the dividers.
Notes: Nelchaenen (Nell-kay-nin) is the Elvish word for "31st"; the name is a nod to the dragon's birthdate (October 31st). Alternate variations: Nelkaenin, Nelchaenin, Nelkaenen.
Alternate names: Moraband (derived form death, because of 10/31's proximity to day of the dead), Firenze (sounds fire-y), Creo (Leo + Cryo = Creo), Rement/Mentari (derived from translations of blacksmith).
Keep in mind: a bio is slightly wider than a forum post, so the format here looks slightly awkward. It looks much more natural in a dragon's bio.
I subscribe to all threads I start, no need to ping me
@CelestialPrime
Aber has said a layout is required as well. You can just pick up premade ones here or here. Pop them onto a dragon bio, replace the filler text with your lore and link us to the dragon.
Would be a waste so see your hard work go unused for not doing all the parts. ^^
@CelestialPrime
Aber has said a layout is required as well. You can just pick up premade ones here or here. Pop them onto a dragon bio, replace the filler text with your lore and link us to the dragon.
Would be a waste so see your hard work go unused for not doing all the parts. ^^
I subscribe to all threads I start, no need to ping me
Here are my entries! I chose [b]Aspen[/b] as a prime name because it always brings to mind, for me, memories of spending time in the silence of the woods in the fall, with colored leaves drifting around me, and that's what he reminded me of when I saw him. Thank you for reminding me of that, it's incredibly nostalgic for me. Alternate names that I'd like to enter alongside Aspen include [b]Luke[/b] and[b] Zain[/b] (friends of mine, just because) as well as [b]Aslan[/b] (from Narnia), [b]Flynn[/b], [b]Tare(s)[/b] (after Antares, the star), and [b]Julius[/b].
(Switch layouts for my lore if you like it but not the style! I hope this counts as coded.)
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[columns]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/11539/1153804_350.png[/img]
[nextcol]
[size=5][font=Verdana][b]ASPEN[/b][/font][/size]
[size=4][font=cursive]Blacksmith[/font][/size]
[font=sans serif]Mate of [b]INSERT HERE[/b][/font]
[size=2][font=courier]Permanent/Temporary[/font][/size]
[item=Ice Sprite]
(Swap the sprite out for whatever familiar he gets in the future, and change his picture to whatever outfit you'd like for him to wear.)
START
Speckle/Eye Spots/Basic
Sky/Storm/Jade
SCATTERS
Abyss/Wisteria/Carrot
Heather/Bronze/Wine
Smoke/Peacock/Iris
Marigold/Crocodile/Stonewash
Beige/Cerulean/Lemon
Seafoam/Sunshine/Peridot
Auburn/Garnet/Grey
Buttercup/Teal/Vermillion
Cerulean/Spearmint/White
Camo/Ice/Pearl
Purple/Tangerine/Grape
CURRENTLY
Pumpkin/Grapefruit/Beige
[/columns]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/xwT58Yt.png[/img]
[right]
[size=5]Times weren't always this good.[/size]
[/right]
[left]
Before this, before luxury, before things had started going right, there was nothing.
He remembered, oh, he remembered, the freezing nights he spent cast out of his old lair and left to shiver in the bitter cold of the realm of the Icewarden. He remembered the ridicule he faced for being how he was, his only brother long exalted despite their parents' genetics being the only true culprits for his problem. He remembered the taunts flung along with the stones, the blurring of faces as he ran, the salt of the ocean he swam across stinging his eyes before he heaved ashore to run once more, the fleeting stings of heat from molten rock making contact with his scales, the thick beating of his weary heart high in his ears as his limbs finally gave out and he fell, unable to move or think as his lifeless form tumbled down lands unknown to his feet, and from there, he could remember no more.
~
He awoke to aching limbs, whispers, and his tail half submerged in something wet.
Like a whip, his tail came up and away from its original place - he was no hatchling, he knew that a dunking could cause him to lose his tail entirely to the frost, leaving him a crippled dragon. A tail-less Imperial was an imbalanced Imperial, landbound and destined to die.
But...it was warm.
In what should be the Icefields.
Where the closest it got to warm was the burning of severe frostbite.
White eyes snapped open in an instant, meeting blue after curious blue. A harsh sun shone overhead, warming the tired nooks of his body and lighting up an expanse of endless pools filled with glorious seafood, a broader stretch of open water glimmering faintly with sheer promise. His ears perked up, catching waves crashing against countless stretches of shore, the soft [i]fwips[/i] of creatures shifting in their waters, and the faint whispering of a single message.
[i]He is a marked one.[/i]
Turning to look at himself, he reeled in shock. It was as if nature had been set on fire; storm and sky melting into shining palates of burnished metal, flashing brightly in the light of the sun. His belly lay in stripes of bright warmth, a pattern he had never seen before on any dragon he'd encountered, but the most eye-catching alternation lie elsewhere. Scrawled along his flanks were a series of softly-glowing symbols, standing against the shimmering burned orange where there once stood a dull purple.
The rocks he ran into, he thought, those that burned him half to death. There was no other explanation for the shining metal he had become.
[i]He is a marked one[/i], they tittered. [i]He is special[/i].
With no idea what to make of his circumstance and unaware of any safe choice but obedience, he stood shakily, and let the strange blue-eyed dragons lead him onwards, to the unknown, where he hoped to find food, shelter, and a single day without a rock thrown at his head.
What he found was even better.
No, things weren't always this good, he knows. Things were horrendous, unimaginable, cruel to him nearly beyond any measure known to dragonkind. His past was filled with terrors and injustices wrought for reasons he couldn't control, abuse and injury to follow. He had been beaten, taunted, frozen, cast out as a disgrace because of impossible expectations.
[size=5]
Things weren't always this good.
But things can get better.
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[center][i][url=http://pastebin.com/xpLkjXiv]Original BBCode Template[/url] built by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=19016]hisako[/url]. Heavily edited by [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?p=lair&tab=userpage&id=296768]Ellapinky[/url].
Here are my entries! I chose Aspen as a prime name because it always brings to mind, for me, memories of spending time in the silence of the woods in the fall, with colored leaves drifting around me, and that's what he reminded me of when I saw him. Thank you for reminding me of that, it's incredibly nostalgic for me. Alternate names that I'd like to enter alongside Aspen include Luke and Zain (friends of mine, just because) as well as Aslan (from Narnia), Flynn, Tare(s) (after Antares, the star), and Julius.
(Switch layouts for my lore if you like it but not the style! I hope this counts as coded.)
ASPEN Blacksmith Mate of INSERT HERE Permanent/Temporary
Ice Sprite
Familiar
Entourage of the Icewarden. (Crystalline Gala Holiday Familiar 2014.)
0
(Swap the sprite out for whatever familiar he gets in the future, and change his picture to whatever outfit you'd like for him to wear.)
Before this, before luxury, before things had started going right, there was nothing.
He remembered, oh, he remembered, the freezing nights he spent cast out of his old lair and left to shiver in the bitter cold of the realm of the Icewarden. He remembered the ridicule he faced for being how he was, his only brother long exalted despite their parents' genetics being the only true culprits for his problem. He remembered the taunts flung along with the stones, the blurring of faces as he ran, the salt of the ocean he swam across stinging his eyes before he heaved ashore to run once more, the fleeting stings of heat from molten rock making contact with his scales, the thick beating of his weary heart high in his ears as his limbs finally gave out and he fell, unable to move or think as his lifeless form tumbled down lands unknown to his feet, and from there, he could remember no more.
~
He awoke to aching limbs, whispers, and his tail half submerged in something wet.
Like a whip, his tail came up and away from its original place - he was no hatchling, he knew that a dunking could cause him to lose his tail entirely to the frost, leaving him a crippled dragon. A tail-less Imperial was an imbalanced Imperial, landbound and destined to die.
But...it was warm.
In what should be the Icefields.
Where the closest it got to warm was the burning of severe frostbite.
White eyes snapped open in an instant, meeting blue after curious blue. A harsh sun shone overhead, warming the tired nooks of his body and lighting up an expanse of endless pools filled with glorious seafood, a broader stretch of open water glimmering faintly with sheer promise. His ears perked up, catching waves crashing against countless stretches of shore, the soft fwips of creatures shifting in their waters, and the faint whispering of a single message.
He is a marked one.
Turning to look at himself, he reeled in shock. It was as if nature had been set on fire; storm and sky melting into shining palates of burnished metal, flashing brightly in the light of the sun. His belly lay in stripes of bright warmth, a pattern he had never seen before on any dragon he'd encountered, but the most eye-catching alternation lie elsewhere. Scrawled along his flanks were a series of softly-glowing symbols, standing against the shimmering burned orange where there once stood a dull purple.
The rocks he ran into, he thought, those that burned him half to death. There was no other explanation for the shining metal he had become.
He is a marked one, they tittered. He is special.
With no idea what to make of his circumstance and unaware of any safe choice but obedience, he stood shakily, and let the strange blue-eyed dragons lead him onwards, to the unknown, where he hoped to find food, shelter, and a single day without a rock thrown at his head.
What he found was even better.
No, things weren't always this good, he knows. Things were horrendous, unimaginable, cruel to him nearly beyond any measure known to dragonkind. His past was filled with terrors and injustices wrought for reasons he couldn't control, abuse and injury to follow. He had been beaten, taunted, frozen, cast out as a disgrace because of impossible expectations.
Things weren't always this good.
