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they/them/theirs
@Schingiuire This is Seashore's lore, sorry it's quite a bit longer than 250 words but I had fun! Also I made an outfit for him
[center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47561600]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/475617/47561600_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[outfit=660291][/center]
Seashore Aqua started his journey leaving his home to explore other clans, with only a Cerith shell on a necklace to remember home, which was his first mistake. But instead Seashore joined a clan in which gambling is a strong part of the culture, so much so that it was essential for him to engage in rounds of cards or games of coin or bone tossing to fit in.
This is where his second mistake happens, Seashore starts winning more and more at these games, making a name for himself. Before long he is approached by a darkly dressed dragon who tells him of a hidden tavern where there are higher-stakes games taking place.
Seashore decides that he could use the money and excitement, so he ends up at the mysterious tavern the next night. The games at all of the tables where complex card games that he had never played. Fearing he would lose all his newly earned coins, he wandered up to the barmaid and asked if there were any other games he could bet on. She gave him a strange look, asking if he were sure, Seashore looked back at the tables filled with cards he knew nothing about and nodded.
The barmaid motioned for him to follow her through a door off to the side and down a long dimly lit hallway to another door which Seashore was ushered through and it closed behind him, this was third and final mistake. Inside, amongst dozens of raucous dragons, was a caged in ring with two fighters standing opposite each other. One was a large muscly snapper with an eye missing and a newly stitched face wound and the other was a thin gangly fae, both were gnashing their teeth and had their claws drawn.
At a signal both dragons leaped at each other, clawing, biting and hitting, the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones could be just heard over the excited crowd. Seashore stood staring in shock, not able to move. The fight carries on with the larger snapper having an obvious advantage, within moments he had the fae’s neck in his large jaws, panting and looking around at the audience.
Seashore finally turned to run, a sickening crunch and yells of triumph could be heard as he took off out of the tavern, not stopping till he reached the docks. He was shaking with terror and shock as he scrambled onto the nearest ship where Sombre was loading the last of her shipment. Seashore dumped all of his won coin at her feet, begging her for safe passage away from there.
Clutching his shell necklace, he vowed never to gamble again and instead to find something calm to do with the rest of his life. Maybe like beach combing...
@Schingiuire This is Seashore's lore, sorry it's quite a bit longer than 250 words but I had fun! Also I made an outfit for him
Seashore Aqua started his journey leaving his home to explore other clans, with only a Cerith shell on a necklace to remember home, which was his first mistake. But instead Seashore joined a clan in which gambling is a strong part of the culture, so much so that it was essential for him to engage in rounds of cards or games of coin or bone tossing to fit in.
This is where his second mistake happens, Seashore starts winning more and more at these games, making a name for himself. Before long he is approached by a darkly dressed dragon who tells him of a hidden tavern where there are higher-stakes games taking place.
Seashore decides that he could use the money and excitement, so he ends up at the mysterious tavern the next night. The games at all of the tables where complex card games that he had never played. Fearing he would lose all his newly earned coins, he wandered up to the barmaid and asked if there were any other games he could bet on. She gave him a strange look, asking if he were sure, Seashore looked back at the tables filled with cards he knew nothing about and nodded.
The barmaid motioned for him to follow her through a door off to the side and down a long dimly lit hallway to another door which Seashore was ushered through and it closed behind him, this was third and final mistake. Inside, amongst dozens of raucous dragons, was a caged in ring with two fighters standing opposite each other. One was a large muscly snapper with an eye missing and a newly stitched face wound and the other was a thin gangly fae, both were gnashing their teeth and had their claws drawn.
At a signal both dragons leaped at each other, clawing, biting and hitting, the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones could be just heard over the excited crowd. Seashore stood staring in shock, not able to move. The fight carries on with the larger snapper having an obvious advantage, within moments he had the fae’s neck in his large jaws, panting and looking around at the audience.
Seashore finally turned to run, a sickening crunch and yells of triumph could be heard as he took off out of the tavern, not stopping till he reached the docks. He was shaking with terror and shock as he scrambled onto the nearest ship where Sombre was loading the last of her shipment. Seashore dumped all of his won coin at her feet, begging her for safe passage away from there.
Clutching his shell necklace, he vowed never to gamble again and instead to find something calm to do with the rest of his life. Maybe like beach combing...
Not Found
Seashore Aqua started his journey leaving his home to explore other clans, with only a Cerith shell on a necklace to remember home, which was his first mistake. But instead Seashore joined a clan in which gambling is a strong part of the culture, so much so that it was essential for him to engage in rounds of cards or games of coin or bone tossing to fit in.
This is where his second mistake happens, Seashore starts winning more and more at these games, making a name for himself. Before long he is approached by a darkly dressed dragon who tells him of a hidden tavern where there are higher-stakes games taking place.
Seashore decides that he could use the money and excitement, so he ends up at the mysterious tavern the next night. The games at all of the tables where complex card games that he had never played. Fearing he would lose all his newly earned coins, he wandered up to the barmaid and asked if there were any other games he could bet on. She gave him a strange look, asking if he were sure, Seashore looked back at the tables filled with cards he knew nothing about and nodded.
The barmaid motioned for him to follow her through a door off to the side and down a long dimly lit hallway to another door which Seashore was ushered through and it closed behind him, this was third and final mistake. Inside, amongst dozens of raucous dragons, was a caged in ring with two fighters standing opposite each other. One was a large muscly snapper with an eye missing and a newly stitched face wound and the other was a thin gangly fae, both were gnashing their teeth and had their claws drawn.
At a signal both dragons leaped at each other, clawing, biting and hitting, the sound of tearing flesh and breaking bones could be just heard over the excited crowd. Seashore stood staring in shock, not able to move. The fight carries on with the larger snapper having an obvious advantage, within moments he had the fae’s neck in his large jaws, panting and looking around at the audience.
Seashore finally turned to run, a sickening crunch and yells of triumph could be heard as he took off out of the tavern, not stopping till he reached the docks. He was shaking with terror and shock as he scrambled onto the nearest ship where Sombre was loading the last of her shipment. Seashore dumped all of his won coin at her feet, begging her for safe passage away from there.
Clutching his shell necklace, he vowed never to gamble again and instead to find something calm to do with the rest of his life. Maybe like beach combing...
@Schingiuire My clan is mostly scholars, so I've decided she's an archaeologist!
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=46269242]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/462693/46269242_350.png[/img]
[/url]
Copper made a delicate gesture with her claws, and a small orb of light flared in her grasp, reflecting golden off her faceted eyes. Her head fins lifted in the fae equivalent of a smile – [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=12128709]Taeven[/url] thought it was at her, probably, though it was always difficult to tell exactly where Copper was looking.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent the light bobbing forward through the air to light the narrow stone corridor ahead. The walls were natural stone, rough and unworked, and wholly unimpressive as far as Taeven could see, up to a bend in the tunnel where it twisted out of sight. She tilted her head in question.
“What exactly am I meant to be looking at?” Taeven asked, and watched as Copper’s fins rapidly fluttered open and closed in silent laughter.
“Come with me,” she said, and darted ahead down the tunnel, following the light she had cast, forcing Taeven to follow her for fear of losing her in the branching cave system.
Though Taeven had always had a head for patterns, Copper moved so quickly and without pause that before long Taeven found herself thoroughly disoriented, certain she’d never find her way out if left to her own devices. Once or twice, she led them through narrow gaps any larger dragon wouldn’t have managed to squeeze through. And abruptly, without warning, Copper came to a halt; Taeven slammed into her back, and then both reeled for a moment, flapping wildly to stay airborne, but Copper didn’t seem fazed. She was too busy looking at the cave around them, and after a moment, Taeven followed her gaze.
The narrow twisting tunnels had opened up into an airy cavern of pale, nearly white stone, illuminated by Copper’s magical light almost as brightly as if it were daylight. The first thing Taeven’s eyes were drawn to was the stalagmite in the center of the room, so large it nearly reached the ceiling, carved with the symbols of each flight in an echo of a more ancient Pillar. Curled around its base was the skeleton of a dragon, massive, coated in delicate growths of crystal after so long here beneath the earth – a guardian, she thought, from the shape of the skull. And on every wall, every surface, were paintings in rusty red: dragons and beastfolk and beasts either extinct or wholly fantastical, geometric patterns, an entire wall covered in the clawprints of variously sized dragons…
Taeven drew in a breath and fluttered toward that wall. Some of the clawprints were larger than her entire body – she glanced back to the dead guardian and wondered if their mark was among these here. Others… Taeven lifted her own claw and held it over one tiny three-fingered mark, hovering just above the cave wall so as not to damage the ancient paint. It fit exactly, as if she herself had dipped her claw in paint, held it against the smooth stone. She could almost feel the dragon who had made it, as if they were hovering just over her shoulder, watching her. A shiver ran down her spine, her fins rippling involuntarily with its passage.
Taeven swiveled her head to look back at Copper. The other fae had been watching her intently, but now she raised her head fins, beaming. Though she spoke in the usual fae monotone, there was something different about her voice when she spoke now, softer and somehow reverent, as if she were in a tomb, or a temple.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
[center]~*~[/center]
Copper had found a pleasantly warm spot on a flat-topped boulder where she could work, her wings spread to catch the heat of the sun as it sank toward the horizon. From this vantage, she had a clear view of most of the ruin, the shattered pillars and ruined boulevards – not quite as good as an aerial view, but enough to help her recollection as she sketched a map of the dead city in the journal laid out in front of her.
Absorbed in her work, she didn’t hear anyone approaching until a shadow fell over her journal. She swiveled her head calmly, and blinked in mild surprise when she saw an unfamiliar skydancer standing over her, a scroll case held in his claws. “You’re Copper?” he asked.
Her head fins rose, and she flexed her wings slightly to display her colors. “My parents were not terribly creative in their naming choices, I’m afraid. Yes, I am Copper.”
The skydancer handed her the scroll case – it was tiny in his claws, sized for a fae, and she tilted her head slightly in curiosity. “Who sent this?”
“An old friend of yours, I’m told. Didn’t catch her name – I’m just the courier.”
Copper opened the case and carefully pulled the scroll out. Her charcoal-stained fingers smudged the parchment, but she paid little mind to that, simply making sure to keep her claws away from the text itself. It read, in delicate slanting letters:
[i]Copper,
I seem to have come into an unexpected inheritance – that great unsorted hoard I grew up in is now, apparently, mine to sort through. It’s a daunting task, but one that, I believe, may appeal to you. I’ve discovered some artifacts I could use your help in identifying...[/i]
@Schingiuire My clan is mostly scholars, so I've decided she's an archaeologist!
Copper made a delicate gesture with her claws, and a small orb of light flared in her grasp, reflecting golden off her faceted eyes. Her head fins lifted in the fae equivalent of a smile – Taeven thought it was at her, probably, though it was always difficult to tell exactly where Copper was looking.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent the light bobbing forward through the air to light the narrow stone corridor ahead. The walls were natural stone, rough and unworked, and wholly unimpressive as far as Taeven could see, up to a bend in the tunnel where it twisted out of sight. She tilted her head in question.
“What exactly am I meant to be looking at?” Taeven asked, and watched as Copper’s fins rapidly fluttered open and closed in silent laughter.
“Come with me,” she said, and darted ahead down the tunnel, following the light she had cast, forcing Taeven to follow her for fear of losing her in the branching cave system.
Though Taeven had always had a head for patterns, Copper moved so quickly and without pause that before long Taeven found herself thoroughly disoriented, certain she’d never find her way out if left to her own devices. Once or twice, she led them through narrow gaps any larger dragon wouldn’t have managed to squeeze through. And abruptly, without warning, Copper came to a halt; Taeven slammed into her back, and then both reeled for a moment, flapping wildly to stay airborne, but Copper didn’t seem fazed. She was too busy looking at the cave around them, and after a moment, Taeven followed her gaze.
The narrow twisting tunnels had opened up into an airy cavern of pale, nearly white stone, illuminated by Copper’s magical light almost as brightly as if it were daylight. The first thing Taeven’s eyes were drawn to was the stalagmite in the center of the room, so large it nearly reached the ceiling, carved with the symbols of each flight in an echo of a more ancient Pillar. Curled around its base was the skeleton of a dragon, massive, coated in delicate growths of crystal after so long here beneath the earth – a guardian, she thought, from the shape of the skull. And on every wall, every surface, were paintings in rusty red: dragons and beastfolk and beasts either extinct or wholly fantastical, geometric patterns, an entire wall covered in the clawprints of variously sized dragons…
Taeven drew in a breath and fluttered toward that wall. Some of the clawprints were larger than her entire body – she glanced back to the dead guardian and wondered if their mark was among these here. Others… Taeven lifted her own claw and held it over one tiny three-fingered mark, hovering just above the cave wall so as not to damage the ancient paint. It fit exactly, as if she herself had dipped her claw in paint, held it against the smooth stone. She could almost feel the dragon who had made it, as if they were hovering just over her shoulder, watching her. A shiver ran down her spine, her fins rippling involuntarily with its passage.
Taeven swiveled her head to look back at Copper. The other fae had been watching her intently, but now she raised her head fins, beaming. Though she spoke in the usual fae monotone, there was something different about her voice when she spoke now, softer and somehow reverent, as if she were in a tomb, or a temple.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
Absorbed in her work, she didn’t hear anyone approaching until a shadow fell over her journal. She swiveled her head calmly, and blinked in mild surprise when she saw an unfamiliar skydancer standing over her, a scroll case held in his claws. “You’re Copper?” he asked.
Her head fins rose, and she flexed her wings slightly to display her colors. “My parents were not terribly creative in their naming choices, I’m afraid. Yes, I am Copper.”
The skydancer handed her the scroll case – it was tiny in his claws, sized for a fae, and she tilted her head slightly in curiosity. “Who sent this?”
“An old friend of yours, I’m told. Didn’t catch her name – I’m just the courier.”
Copper opened the case and carefully pulled the scroll out. Her charcoal-stained fingers smudged the parchment, but she paid little mind to that, simply making sure to keep her claws away from the text itself. It read, in delicate slanting letters:
Copper,
I seem to have come into an unexpected inheritance – that great unsorted hoard I grew up in is now, apparently, mine to sort through. It’s a daunting task, but one that, I believe, may appeal to you. I’ve discovered some artifacts I could use your help in identifying...
Copper made a delicate gesture with her claws, and a small orb of light flared in her grasp, reflecting golden off her faceted eyes. Her head fins lifted in the fae equivalent of a smile – Taeven thought it was at her, probably, though it was always difficult to tell exactly where Copper was looking.
With a flick of her wrist, she sent the light bobbing forward through the air to light the narrow stone corridor ahead. The walls were natural stone, rough and unworked, and wholly unimpressive as far as Taeven could see, up to a bend in the tunnel where it twisted out of sight. She tilted her head in question.
“What exactly am I meant to be looking at?” Taeven asked, and watched as Copper’s fins rapidly fluttered open and closed in silent laughter.
“Come with me,” she said, and darted ahead down the tunnel, following the light she had cast, forcing Taeven to follow her for fear of losing her in the branching cave system.
Though Taeven had always had a head for patterns, Copper moved so quickly and without pause that before long Taeven found herself thoroughly disoriented, certain she’d never find her way out if left to her own devices. Once or twice, she led them through narrow gaps any larger dragon wouldn’t have managed to squeeze through. And abruptly, without warning, Copper came to a halt; Taeven slammed into her back, and then both reeled for a moment, flapping wildly to stay airborne, but Copper didn’t seem fazed. She was too busy looking at the cave around them, and after a moment, Taeven followed her gaze.
The narrow twisting tunnels had opened up into an airy cavern of pale, nearly white stone, illuminated by Copper’s magical light almost as brightly as if it were daylight. The first thing Taeven’s eyes were drawn to was the stalagmite in the center of the room, so large it nearly reached the ceiling, carved with the symbols of each flight in an echo of a more ancient Pillar. Curled around its base was the skeleton of a dragon, massive, coated in delicate growths of crystal after so long here beneath the earth – a guardian, she thought, from the shape of the skull. And on every wall, every surface, were paintings in rusty red: dragons and beastfolk and beasts either extinct or wholly fantastical, geometric patterns, an entire wall covered in the clawprints of variously sized dragons…
Taeven drew in a breath and fluttered toward that wall. Some of the clawprints were larger than her entire body – she glanced back to the dead guardian and wondered if their mark was among these here. Others… Taeven lifted her own claw and held it over one tiny three-fingered mark, hovering just above the cave wall so as not to damage the ancient paint. It fit exactly, as if she herself had dipped her claw in paint, held it against the smooth stone. She could almost feel the dragon who had made it, as if they were hovering just over her shoulder, watching her. A shiver ran down her spine, her fins rippling involuntarily with its passage.
Taeven swiveled her head to look back at Copper. The other fae had been watching her intently, but now she raised her head fins, beaming. Though she spoke in the usual fae monotone, there was something different about her voice when she spoke now, softer and somehow reverent, as if she were in a tomb, or a temple.
“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
~*~
Copper had found a pleasantly warm spot on a flat-topped boulder where she could work, her wings spread to catch the heat of the sun as it sank toward the horizon. From this vantage, she had a clear view of most of the ruin, the shattered pillars and ruined boulevards – not quite as good as an aerial view, but enough to help her recollection as she sketched a map of the dead city in the journal laid out in front of her.Absorbed in her work, she didn’t hear anyone approaching until a shadow fell over her journal. She swiveled her head calmly, and blinked in mild surprise when she saw an unfamiliar skydancer standing over her, a scroll case held in his claws. “You’re Copper?” he asked.
Her head fins rose, and she flexed her wings slightly to display her colors. “My parents were not terribly creative in their naming choices, I’m afraid. Yes, I am Copper.”
The skydancer handed her the scroll case – it was tiny in his claws, sized for a fae, and she tilted her head slightly in curiosity. “Who sent this?”
“An old friend of yours, I’m told. Didn’t catch her name – I’m just the courier.”
Copper opened the case and carefully pulled the scroll out. Her charcoal-stained fingers smudged the parchment, but she paid little mind to that, simply making sure to keep her claws away from the text itself. It read, in delicate slanting letters:
Copper,
I seem to have come into an unexpected inheritance – that great unsorted hoard I grew up in is now, apparently, mine to sort through. It’s a daunting task, but one that, I believe, may appeal to you. I’ve discovered some artifacts I could use your help in identifying...
Birdie | 30 | FR+2
Wishlist | Lore Thread
Wishlist | Lore Thread
@Schingiuire
For Clover
Clover sat at his desk, quill placed to the side and inkpot empty. He smiled as he looked down at the stack of paper he had written on, before he bound it together and added it into the shelves to the side which contained everything he had ever written, even things from his days working at the Writer's Hatchery. He sat back into the pile of cushions he had been sitting on as he began to reminisce of the times he had spent in the company of other authors and young hatchlings.
One of his fondest memories, although a little foggy by now, was of sharing his first piece with another dragon working at the hatchery. He regretted a little that he had forgotten the name of that dragon. What he would never forget was how shy and anxious he had felt as he handed over the piece of paper covered in messy scrawl, a time before he had perfected his handwriting.
He also remembered that the older dragon had smiled and kindly read over his work before correcting small grammatical errors, and commenting on how he could improve. That one moment urged him to continue writing, continue creating and weaving fantastical stories.
Clover was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his name called in a heavy accent instantly recognisable as belonging to LemonLord.
"Clover, you've been writing all day in that little room of yours. Come outside for once. Take a break, be inspired by something outside." The golden mess of hair and ivory poked his head through the doorway, his own journal in hand.
"If you're going to keep writing, at least do it outside where you can get some sunlight before the sun goes dark."
Clover chucked and stood, sliding his quill into a small bag at his side along with a fresh pot of ink and a clean book.
"The sun doesn't darken, it only moves to the other side of the world."
"I know that, but your language is hard. I don't know how to translate it."
"I'll just have to teach you all again, wont I?"
For Clover
Clover sat at his desk, quill placed to the side and inkpot empty. He smiled as he looked down at the stack of paper he had written on, before he bound it together and added it into the shelves to the side which contained everything he had ever written, even things from his days working at the Writer's Hatchery. He sat back into the pile of cushions he had been sitting on as he began to reminisce of the times he had spent in the company of other authors and young hatchlings.
One of his fondest memories, although a little foggy by now, was of sharing his first piece with another dragon working at the hatchery. He regretted a little that he had forgotten the name of that dragon. What he would never forget was how shy and anxious he had felt as he handed over the piece of paper covered in messy scrawl, a time before he had perfected his handwriting.
He also remembered that the older dragon had smiled and kindly read over his work before correcting small grammatical errors, and commenting on how he could improve. That one moment urged him to continue writing, continue creating and weaving fantastical stories.
Clover was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his name called in a heavy accent instantly recognisable as belonging to LemonLord.
"Clover, you've been writing all day in that little room of yours. Come outside for once. Take a break, be inspired by something outside." The golden mess of hair and ivory poked his head through the doorway, his own journal in hand.
"If you're going to keep writing, at least do it outside where you can get some sunlight before the sun goes dark."
Clover chucked and stood, sliding his quill into a small bag at his side along with a fresh pot of ink and a clean book.
"The sun doesn't darken, it only moves to the other side of the world."
"I know that, but your language is hard. I don't know how to translate it."
"I'll just have to teach you all again, wont I?"
@Schingiuire
For Clover
Clover sat at his desk, quill placed to the side and inkpot empty. He smiled as he looked down at the stack of paper he had written on, before he bound it together and added it into the shelves to the side which contained everything he had ever written, even things from his days working at the Writer's Hatchery. He sat back into the pile of cushions he had been sitting on as he began to reminisce of the times he had spent in the company of other authors and young hatchlings.
One of his fondest memories, although a little foggy by now, was of sharing his first piece with another dragon working at the hatchery. He regretted a little that he had forgotten the name of that dragon. What he would never forget was how shy and anxious he had felt as he handed over the piece of paper covered in messy scrawl, a time before he had perfected his handwriting.
He also remembered that the older dragon had smiled and kindly read over his work before correcting small grammatical errors, and commenting on how he could improve. That one moment urged him to continue writing, continue creating and weaving fantastical stories.
Clover was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his name called in a heavy accent instantly recognisable as belonging to LemonLord.
"Clover, you've been writing all day in that little room of yours. Come outside for once. Take a break, be inspired by something outside." The golden mess of hair and ivory poked his head through the doorway, his own journal in hand.
"If you're going to keep writing, at least do it outside where you can get some sunlight before the sun goes dark."
Clover chucked and stood, sliding his quill into a small bag at his side along with a fresh pot of ink and a clean book.
"The sun doesn't darken, it only moves to the other side of the world."
"I know that, but your language is hard. I don't know how to translate it."
"I'll just have to teach you all again, wont I?"
For Clover
Clover sat at his desk, quill placed to the side and inkpot empty. He smiled as he looked down at the stack of paper he had written on, before he bound it together and added it into the shelves to the side which contained everything he had ever written, even things from his days working at the Writer's Hatchery. He sat back into the pile of cushions he had been sitting on as he began to reminisce of the times he had spent in the company of other authors and young hatchlings.
One of his fondest memories, although a little foggy by now, was of sharing his first piece with another dragon working at the hatchery. He regretted a little that he had forgotten the name of that dragon. What he would never forget was how shy and anxious he had felt as he handed over the piece of paper covered in messy scrawl, a time before he had perfected his handwriting.
He also remembered that the older dragon had smiled and kindly read over his work before correcting small grammatical errors, and commenting on how he could improve. That one moment urged him to continue writing, continue creating and weaving fantastical stories.
Clover was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his name called in a heavy accent instantly recognisable as belonging to LemonLord.
"Clover, you've been writing all day in that little room of yours. Come outside for once. Take a break, be inspired by something outside." The golden mess of hair and ivory poked his head through the doorway, his own journal in hand.
"If you're going to keep writing, at least do it outside where you can get some sunlight before the sun goes dark."
Clover chucked and stood, sliding his quill into a small bag at his side along with a fresh pot of ink and a clean book.
"The sun doesn't darken, it only moves to the other side of the world."
"I know that, but your language is hard. I don't know how to translate it."
"I'll just have to teach you all again, wont I?"
@orchardofstone apologies for the crossroads donation mix up. I didn't scroll all the way down. All I saw were the two people to send the dragon to.
@orchardofstone apologies for the crossroads donation mix up. I didn't scroll all the way down. All I saw were the two people to send the dragon to.
@Schingiuire, if there is still time, maybe I can get into the lottery for this one?
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47923382]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/479234/47923382_350.png[/img]
[/url]
All Nest Rentals - 5g/5kt and 40 food pls
@Whuffie
No worries! I take longer to get through donations. ^^'
Thank you for setting it up though!
No worries! I take longer to get through donations. ^^'
Thank you for setting it up though!
@Whuffie
No worries! I take longer to get through donations. ^^'
Thank you for setting it up though!
No worries! I take longer to get through donations. ^^'
Thank you for setting it up though!
@OrchardOfStone I finished Ancestral's lore! ^w^
[url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=46161880]
[img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/461619/46161880_350.png[/img]
[/url]
[i]The wind was harsh today. It threw dragons off-course, sent a chill through them, knocked the leaves off trees. In a specific forest, a specific tree trembled and then... *something* pushed forward, emerging from the bark. The tree’s leaves shook, though not from the wind, and fell as one, folding into a cape closely resembling wings. Ancestral pulled free from his home finally, falling to the ground with a soft ‘oof’.
The dryad pulled himself to his feet, tucking his wings closely into himself. “Windy today,” he commented, just to feel the joy of speech. Despite the weather, he could still feel his little glowing bug friends climbing up his limbs, and directed the commentary to them.
His leafy antennae twitched as he looked up to the tree he emerged from, then down at his claws, then back up at the tree. Painted blue lines covered the tree trunk, which explained the streaks of blue across his body. He tilted his head and mused aloud, “Now, whoever could’ve done that?” A snake- a friend of his, all the animals in the forest were- curled around his arm and he lifted it to eye level in greeting. “And why?”
As if to answer his question, suddenly there was the sound of two dragons approaching. Then animals scattered and Ancestral hauled himself onto a tree branch. He wasn’t as camouflaged as he’d like to be due to the streak of blue, but he supposed it matched.
The two dragons appeared to be arguing. The Wildclaw gripped an axe in his front claws, eyeing the blue-streaked trees with a grin. The Coatl seemed worried, perhaps because of the weather. Ancestral watched the two, narrowing his eyes. The Wildclaw drew back his wings, and Ancestral yelped, loosing his balance on the branch as the axe bit into the tree. And again, and again. He grimaced, sap dripping from his flank instead of blood.
“Hey. What’re you two doing down there?” He made his presence known at last, lifting himself up.
The Wildclaw jumped in surprise, dropping the axe. “Oh, what? I didn’t realize there was a dragon up there!”
“There isn’t.”
The two woodsmen glances at each other nervously. The Coatl spoke up this time. “Uh, you might wanna come down from there? We’re tryin’ to cut down this tree, y’know.”
“Now, why ever would you do that?”
The Wildclaw raised an eyebrow. “For firewood. It’s gettin’ cold. ‘Sides, we gotta clear out space for our clan to make a new lair.”
Ancestral jumped down easily, ignoring the audible gasp of the two. They must’ve noticed his wooden scales. “Well, I don’t know about my kin, but I’d much prefer not getting chopped down.” He glances around at the other trees- a lot of them had the same blue paint. Guidelines on where to cut, probably.
“W-What are you? Some sorta… guardian of the forest?” the WIldclaw stammered.
“A child of the Gladekeeper…” the Coatl muttered.
“Arcanist, really.” He looked up at the sky, then back down. “This forest is imbued with his magic. So, personally, I’d suggest taking your axe and getting out of here.” He picked up the weapon delicately and held it out to the Wildclaw.
They took his advice, grabbing the axe and all but galloping away. Ancestral hummed idly.
The wind was harsh today. It threw dragons off-course, sent a chill through them, knocked the leaves off trees. Ancestral rather liked this weather. It carried the scent of nature so well.[/i]
@OrchardOfStone I finished Ancestral's lore! ^w^
The wind was harsh today. It threw dragons off-course, sent a chill through them, knocked the leaves off trees. In a specific forest, a specific tree trembled and then... *something* pushed forward, emerging from the bark. The tree’s leaves shook, though not from the wind, and fell as one, folding into a cape closely resembling wings. Ancestral pulled free from his home finally, falling to the ground with a soft ‘oof’.
The dryad pulled himself to his feet, tucking his wings closely into himself. “Windy today,” he commented, just to feel the joy of speech. Despite the weather, he could still feel his little glowing bug friends climbing up his limbs, and directed the commentary to them.
His leafy antennae twitched as he looked up to the tree he emerged from, then down at his claws, then back up at the tree. Painted blue lines covered the tree trunk, which explained the streaks of blue across his body. He tilted his head and mused aloud, “Now, whoever could’ve done that?” A snake- a friend of his, all the animals in the forest were- curled around his arm and he lifted it to eye level in greeting. “And why?”
As if to answer his question, suddenly there was the sound of two dragons approaching. Then animals scattered and Ancestral hauled himself onto a tree branch. He wasn’t as camouflaged as he’d like to be due to the streak of blue, but he supposed it matched.
The two dragons appeared to be arguing. The Wildclaw gripped an axe in his front claws, eyeing the blue-streaked trees with a grin. The Coatl seemed worried, perhaps because of the weather. Ancestral watched the two, narrowing his eyes. The Wildclaw drew back his wings, and Ancestral yelped, loosing his balance on the branch as the axe bit into the tree. And again, and again. He grimaced, sap dripping from his flank instead of blood.
“Hey. What’re you two doing down there?” He made his presence known at last, lifting himself up.
The Wildclaw jumped in surprise, dropping the axe. “Oh, what? I didn’t realize there was a dragon up there!”
“There isn’t.”
The two woodsmen glances at each other nervously. The Coatl spoke up this time. “Uh, you might wanna come down from there? We’re tryin’ to cut down this tree, y’know.”
“Now, why ever would you do that?”
The Wildclaw raised an eyebrow. “For firewood. It’s gettin’ cold. ‘Sides, we gotta clear out space for our clan to make a new lair.”
Ancestral jumped down easily, ignoring the audible gasp of the two. They must’ve noticed his wooden scales. “Well, I don’t know about my kin, but I’d much prefer not getting chopped down.” He glances around at the other trees- a lot of them had the same blue paint. Guidelines on where to cut, probably.
“W-What are you? Some sorta… guardian of the forest?” the WIldclaw stammered.
“A child of the Gladekeeper…” the Coatl muttered.
“Arcanist, really.” He looked up at the sky, then back down. “This forest is imbued with his magic. So, personally, I’d suggest taking your axe and getting out of here.” He picked up the weapon delicately and held it out to the Wildclaw.
They took his advice, grabbing the axe and all but galloping away. Ancestral hummed idly.
The wind was harsh today. It threw dragons off-course, sent a chill through them, knocked the leaves off trees. Ancestral rather liked this weather. It carried the scent of nature so well.
The wind was harsh today. It threw dragons off-course, sent a chill through them, knocked the leaves off trees. In a specific forest, a specific tree trembled and then... *something* pushed forward, emerging from the bark. The tree’s leaves shook, though not from the wind, and fell as one, folding into a cape closely resembling wings. Ancestral pulled free from his home finally, falling to the ground with a soft ‘oof’.
The dryad pulled himself to his feet, tucking his wings closely into himself. “Windy today,” he commented, just to feel the joy of speech. Despite the weather, he could still feel his little glowing bug friends climbing up his limbs, and directed the commentary to them.
His leafy antennae twitched as he looked up to the tree he emerged from, then down at his claws, then back up at the tree. Painted blue lines covered the tree trunk, which explained the streaks of blue across his body. He tilted his head and mused aloud, “Now, whoever could’ve done that?” A snake- a friend of his, all the animals in the forest were- curled around his arm and he lifted it to eye level in greeting. “And why?”
As if to answer his question, suddenly there was the sound of two dragons approaching. Then animals scattered and Ancestral hauled himself onto a tree branch. He wasn’t as camouflaged as he’d like to be due to the streak of blue, but he supposed it matched.
The two dragons appeared to be arguing. The Wildclaw gripped an axe in his front claws, eyeing the blue-streaked trees with a grin. The Coatl seemed worried, perhaps because of the weather. Ancestral watched the two, narrowing his eyes. The Wildclaw drew back his wings, and Ancestral yelped, loosing his balance on the branch as the axe bit into the tree. And again, and again. He grimaced, sap dripping from his flank instead of blood.
“Hey. What’re you two doing down there?” He made his presence known at last, lifting himself up.
The Wildclaw jumped in surprise, dropping the axe. “Oh, what? I didn’t realize there was a dragon up there!”
“There isn’t.”
The two woodsmen glances at each other nervously. The Coatl spoke up this time. “Uh, you might wanna come down from there? We’re tryin’ to cut down this tree, y’know.”
“Now, why ever would you do that?”
The Wildclaw raised an eyebrow. “For firewood. It’s gettin’ cold. ‘Sides, we gotta clear out space for our clan to make a new lair.”
Ancestral jumped down easily, ignoring the audible gasp of the two. They must’ve noticed his wooden scales. “Well, I don’t know about my kin, but I’d much prefer not getting chopped down.” He glances around at the other trees- a lot of them had the same blue paint. Guidelines on where to cut, probably.
“W-What are you? Some sorta… guardian of the forest?” the WIldclaw stammered.
“A child of the Gladekeeper…” the Coatl muttered.
“Arcanist, really.” He looked up at the sky, then back down. “This forest is imbued with his magic. So, personally, I’d suggest taking your axe and getting out of here.” He picked up the weapon delicately and held it out to the Wildclaw.
They took his advice, grabbing the axe and all but galloping away. Ancestral hummed idly.
The wind was harsh today. It threw dragons off-course, sent a chill through them, knocked the leaves off trees. Ancestral rather liked this weather. It carried the scent of nature so well.
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