@LightsKamAction Sounds good. :3
TOPIC | Name Your Price Lore Shop [Closed]
@Frostlightles
Here be the form!
Username | LightsKamAction
Factual Bio Order | Drafted
Character image/link | Acheros
Key Information | He has a rough bio in his TH profile! It's got basically all I have on him ^^
Other | I'm not actually sure if he fits in FR rules so uh, yeah. Even if he does if you feel uncomfortable with his themes just lmk, he is funky.
Here be the form!
Username | LightsKamAction
Factual Bio Order | Drafted
Character image/link | Acheros
Key Information | He has a rough bio in his TH profile! It's got basically all I have on him ^^
Other | I'm not actually sure if he fits in FR rules so uh, yeah. Even if he does if you feel uncomfortable with his themes just lmk, he is funky.
@Frostlightles
Here be the form!
Username | LightsKamAction
Factual Bio Order | Drafted
Character image/link | Acheros
Key Information | He has a rough bio in his TH profile! It's got basically all I have on him ^^
Other | I'm not actually sure if he fits in FR rules so uh, yeah. Even if he does if you feel uncomfortable with his themes just lmk, he is funky.
Here be the form!
Username | LightsKamAction
Factual Bio Order | Drafted
Character image/link | Acheros
Key Information | He has a rough bio in his TH profile! It's got basically all I have on him ^^
Other | I'm not actually sure if he fits in FR rules so uh, yeah. Even if he does if you feel uncomfortable with his themes just lmk, he is funky.
Lights!Kamera!Action! the skeletons in my closet are having a party w/o me FR+15 | Any Prns | ENG/ZH-TW - Art Shop - Adopts/Customs - TH Purge |
@LightsKamAction Order confirmed! These themes aren't something I'm against writing, but to keep others in mind who might not share the same opinions I'll pm you the bio instead of posting it on the forum. :D
@LightsKamAction Order confirmed! These themes aren't something I'm against writing, but to keep others in mind who might not share the same opinions I'll pm you the bio instead of posting it on the forum. :D
@Frostlightles
Mk! Good idea ^^
Mk! Good idea ^^
@Frostlightles
Mk! Good idea ^^
Mk! Good idea ^^
Lights!Kamera!Action! the skeletons in my closet are having a party w/o me FR+15 | Any Prns | ENG/ZH-TW - Art Shop - Adopts/Customs - TH Purge |
@Grow
Here's your little feline up to no good! Let me know if you'd like any changes, edits, or anything else. :D
[quote=Scribbles Makes a Mess]
Ever since she was a kitten, Scribbles was naturally a rather curious cat. She had been the first to open her eyes in her litter, to dare and stumble her way out of her mother’s embrace. She may have gone even further, if not for her mother yanking her up by the scruff of her neck. Returned to her siblings and a minor scolding.
That aspect had yet to leave her. Even now, in a new home with large windows, delicious food, and a wonderful owner. If anything, it grew: the world is such a vast and interesting thing, after all.
That’s what drove her to wake before the sun each morning, long before any birdcall or alarm. Scribbles ran by the timer of her inquisitiveness, settling into her position by the living room window, illuminated by lamplight and not much else. There she sat, watching the town itself wake from its slumber. Cars ambled by, and soon people began to populate the streets. Two dogs yipped on about the edges of their territory, and a squirrel darted past, bringing the dog’s debate to an abrupt halt.
Her perch on the window was only abandoned at her internal call for breakfast. She wasn’t a loud cat, by any means, but food was food. It only took a few bats at her owner's face and a few yowls to wake them, and Scribbles weaved between her owner’s legs as they grumbled and swayed to the kitchen. A bowl of food later, Scribbles supplemented one curiosity for another as her owner rummaged through the cabinets for a cup. Yet another day of wondering what the steaming brown liquid her owner loved to drink so much, thwarted by a hand placed over the rim. Scribbles’ nose squashed against the palm of her owner’s hand, and with an ‘mrpf’ of discontent and a laugh from her owner, settled back onto her perch by the windowsill.
Now the sun had begun to rise, and the town had gone from a bustle to a crowd. Scribbles had to strain her ears to pick out all the noise from the rest, peering out at all the vehicles, pets, and people walking to and fro. She stretched out, lounging precariously on the edge as the bustle outside matched the clatter inside, and the sun reached that perfect spot in the sky. The angle where rays of light shine directly through the window and shine down onto Scribbles fur.
It is also the time when her owner shuffles out the door. Scribbles craned her neck back, listening to her owner mutter and shuffle about. They had much more than Scribbles expected in their hands, fumbling and running behind Scribbles' internal schedule. The scritch under her chin and the whisper goodbye were delayed, and Scribbles flicked her tail in confusion as her owner stumbled out the door with too much to carry and untied shoelaces.
You see, Scribbles wasn’t keen on confusion. It wasn’t a feeling she liked and sought to solve it as quickly as possible.
Her curiosity about the outside turned to within the confines of her home, and Scribbles began her investigation.
It was easy to find what was different, she knew where everything was and whatever she put out of place herself. So it was simple to find a mess she had not herself made.
The table that her owner worked at often was covered in color and a mess. For, you see, Scribbles owner had been busy as of late, and had worked the night away to finish a project rather important to them. But, sleep deprived as they were, had neglected to do a thorough cleanup, and now here was Scribbles, hopping from the chair to the desk, and standing before paint and paper and her owner’s rough drafts of a masterpiece.
Scribbles may be smart, but she is also a cat, and having not seen anything like this before piques her interest and impulsiveness.
Scribbles is also a long-haired, snow-white feline.
She begins her investigation by batting at a blob of red starting to dry on the colorful palette, and thus, disaster.
The red sticks to the tips of the fur on her paw, much to Scribble’s surprise. In retaliation, she swats at the palette, but only manages to draw more than just red onto her fur. Like a brush, her paw soaks up red, saffron, and azure, and Scribbles stumbles backward. Onto a piece of paper, slick with a sheen already applied to highen the colors of oil-based paint.
Scribbles’ paint paw has no traction, and the rest of her paws follow as they scrabble for any sort of traction. It is a battle lost in a flash, and as her paws slip, her body tumbles after, and Scribbles collides with a cup. The solution spills across the desk, murky with blended colors and diluted, a brush tumbles out from it and clatters right next to Scribble’s head as she unintentionally flops into the mess.
She smells like her owner, Scribbles thinks as she digs her claws into the desk to stubble upright. Her fur feels sticky and smells sharp, and her pristine fur is coated in solution and paint.
She looks down at her paws. The paper underneath her is shredded, but in the destroyed piece she can see a streak of red and yellow, blended together and swiping frantically with shards of blue.
This time, strategically, purposefully, she dips a new paw into the soaking-wet palette. Her fur soaks up emerald and charcoal-black, and keeping it lifted but nonetheless dripping all over the desk, finds a somewhat clean piece of paper. She presses down on it, and lifting it away watches her paw appear in green and black, somewhat smudged by the liquid flowing everywhere on the desk.
Scribble looks from that green and black paw to her now-drying fur, and her curiosity reaches new heights.
She jumps back to the palette, digging each of her paws into the paint, sloshing it, and mixing it in every way she can. Back and forth she bounds her way between, slipping and sliding and swiping her paws across the surface of the desk. Watching how colors bleed and blend, how they shift from one to the next, and then when too much makes it all dull. She falls a few times in her haste, coating her side and back in color she cannot see, but one of her falls lands in paper and then she can see all the little variants of color and…
In her haste to discovery, Scribbles forgets that she is on a desk. The paper and her paws, soaked in paint and slippy solution and very close to the edge, shift with her frantic scuttling back and forth. One final hasty movement is all it takes for the paper and herself to tumble over the side. Paper and paint-soaked cat, and the brush neglected in the chaos, clatter to the ground, just as the door creaks open.
“Scribbles! What did you do?!”
Cat and owner stare each other down, equally horrified and amused by this series of events.
And later that day, after a tedious scrubbing and reprimanding in a bathtub, Scribbles sees that some of the colors still haven’t washed out of her fur, and the curious little cat beams at her reflection with pride.
[/quote]
P.S. How are we feeling about the moth drops? I may or may not be going a little insane xD
@Grow
Here's your little feline up to no good! Let me know if you'd like any changes, edits, or anything else. :D
Ever since she was a kitten, Scribbles was naturally a rather curious cat. She had been the first to open her eyes in her litter, to dare and stumble her way out of her mother’s embrace. She may have gone even further, if not for her mother yanking her up by the scruff of her neck. Returned to her siblings and a minor scolding.
That aspect had yet to leave her. Even now, in a new home with large windows, delicious food, and a wonderful owner. If anything, it grew: the world is such a vast and interesting thing, after all.
That’s what drove her to wake before the sun each morning, long before any birdcall or alarm. Scribbles ran by the timer of her inquisitiveness, settling into her position by the living room window, illuminated by lamplight and not much else. There she sat, watching the town itself wake from its slumber. Cars ambled by, and soon people began to populate the streets. Two dogs yipped on about the edges of their territory, and a squirrel darted past, bringing the dog’s debate to an abrupt halt.
Her perch on the window was only abandoned at her internal call for breakfast. She wasn’t a loud cat, by any means, but food was food. It only took a few bats at her owner's face and a few yowls to wake them, and Scribbles weaved between her owner’s legs as they grumbled and swayed to the kitchen. A bowl of food later, Scribbles supplemented one curiosity for another as her owner rummaged through the cabinets for a cup. Yet another day of wondering what the steaming brown liquid her owner loved to drink so much, thwarted by a hand placed over the rim. Scribbles’ nose squashed against the palm of her owner’s hand, and with an ‘mrpf’ of discontent and a laugh from her owner, settled back onto her perch by the windowsill.
Now the sun had begun to rise, and the town had gone from a bustle to a crowd. Scribbles had to strain her ears to pick out all the noise from the rest, peering out at all the vehicles, pets, and people walking to and fro. She stretched out, lounging precariously on the edge as the bustle outside matched the clatter inside, and the sun reached that perfect spot in the sky. The angle where rays of light shine directly through the window and shine down onto Scribbles fur.
It is also the time when her owner shuffles out the door. Scribbles craned her neck back, listening to her owner mutter and shuffle about. They had much more than Scribbles expected in their hands, fumbling and running behind Scribbles' internal schedule. The scritch under her chin and the whisper goodbye were delayed, and Scribbles flicked her tail in confusion as her owner stumbled out the door with too much to carry and untied shoelaces.
You see, Scribbles wasn’t keen on confusion. It wasn’t a feeling she liked and sought to solve it as quickly as possible.
Her curiosity about the outside turned to within the confines of her home, and Scribbles began her investigation.
It was easy to find what was different, she knew where everything was and whatever she put out of place herself. So it was simple to find a mess she had not herself made.
The table that her owner worked at often was covered in color and a mess. For, you see, Scribbles owner had been busy as of late, and had worked the night away to finish a project rather important to them. But, sleep deprived as they were, had neglected to do a thorough cleanup, and now here was Scribbles, hopping from the chair to the desk, and standing before paint and paper and her owner’s rough drafts of a masterpiece.
Scribbles may be smart, but she is also a cat, and having not seen anything like this before piques her interest and impulsiveness.
Scribbles is also a long-haired, snow-white feline.
She begins her investigation by batting at a blob of red starting to dry on the colorful palette, and thus, disaster.
The red sticks to the tips of the fur on her paw, much to Scribble’s surprise. In retaliation, she swats at the palette, but only manages to draw more than just red onto her fur. Like a brush, her paw soaks up red, saffron, and azure, and Scribbles stumbles backward. Onto a piece of paper, slick with a sheen already applied to highen the colors of oil-based paint.
Scribbles’ paint paw has no traction, and the rest of her paws follow as they scrabble for any sort of traction. It is a battle lost in a flash, and as her paws slip, her body tumbles after, and Scribbles collides with a cup. The solution spills across the desk, murky with blended colors and diluted, a brush tumbles out from it and clatters right next to Scribble’s head as she unintentionally flops into the mess.
She smells like her owner, Scribbles thinks as she digs her claws into the desk to stubble upright. Her fur feels sticky and smells sharp, and her pristine fur is coated in solution and paint.
She looks down at her paws. The paper underneath her is shredded, but in the destroyed piece she can see a streak of red and yellow, blended together and swiping frantically with shards of blue.
This time, strategically, purposefully, she dips a new paw into the soaking-wet palette. Her fur soaks up emerald and charcoal-black, and keeping it lifted but nonetheless dripping all over the desk, finds a somewhat clean piece of paper. She presses down on it, and lifting it away watches her paw appear in green and black, somewhat smudged by the liquid flowing everywhere on the desk.
Scribble looks from that green and black paw to her now-drying fur, and her curiosity reaches new heights.
She jumps back to the palette, digging each of her paws into the paint, sloshing it, and mixing it in every way she can. Back and forth she bounds her way between, slipping and sliding and swiping her paws across the surface of the desk. Watching how colors bleed and blend, how they shift from one to the next, and then when too much makes it all dull. She falls a few times in her haste, coating her side and back in color she cannot see, but one of her falls lands in paper and then she can see all the little variants of color and…
In her haste to discovery, Scribbles forgets that she is on a desk. The paper and her paws, soaked in paint and slippy solution and very close to the edge, shift with her frantic scuttling back and forth. One final hasty movement is all it takes for the paper and herself to tumble over the side. Paper and paint-soaked cat, and the brush neglected in the chaos, clatter to the ground, just as the door creaks open.
“Scribbles! What did you do?!”
Cat and owner stare each other down, equally horrified and amused by this series of events.
And later that day, after a tedious scrubbing and reprimanding in a bathtub, Scribbles sees that some of the colors still haven’t washed out of her fur, and the curious little cat beams at her reflection with pride.
P.S. How are we feeling about the moth drops? I may or may not be going a little insane xD
Here's your little feline up to no good! Let me know if you'd like any changes, edits, or anything else. :D
Scribbles Makes a Mess wrote:
Ever since she was a kitten, Scribbles was naturally a rather curious cat. She had been the first to open her eyes in her litter, to dare and stumble her way out of her mother’s embrace. She may have gone even further, if not for her mother yanking her up by the scruff of her neck. Returned to her siblings and a minor scolding.
That aspect had yet to leave her. Even now, in a new home with large windows, delicious food, and a wonderful owner. If anything, it grew: the world is such a vast and interesting thing, after all.
That’s what drove her to wake before the sun each morning, long before any birdcall or alarm. Scribbles ran by the timer of her inquisitiveness, settling into her position by the living room window, illuminated by lamplight and not much else. There she sat, watching the town itself wake from its slumber. Cars ambled by, and soon people began to populate the streets. Two dogs yipped on about the edges of their territory, and a squirrel darted past, bringing the dog’s debate to an abrupt halt.
Her perch on the window was only abandoned at her internal call for breakfast. She wasn’t a loud cat, by any means, but food was food. It only took a few bats at her owner's face and a few yowls to wake them, and Scribbles weaved between her owner’s legs as they grumbled and swayed to the kitchen. A bowl of food later, Scribbles supplemented one curiosity for another as her owner rummaged through the cabinets for a cup. Yet another day of wondering what the steaming brown liquid her owner loved to drink so much, thwarted by a hand placed over the rim. Scribbles’ nose squashed against the palm of her owner’s hand, and with an ‘mrpf’ of discontent and a laugh from her owner, settled back onto her perch by the windowsill.
Now the sun had begun to rise, and the town had gone from a bustle to a crowd. Scribbles had to strain her ears to pick out all the noise from the rest, peering out at all the vehicles, pets, and people walking to and fro. She stretched out, lounging precariously on the edge as the bustle outside matched the clatter inside, and the sun reached that perfect spot in the sky. The angle where rays of light shine directly through the window and shine down onto Scribbles fur.
It is also the time when her owner shuffles out the door. Scribbles craned her neck back, listening to her owner mutter and shuffle about. They had much more than Scribbles expected in their hands, fumbling and running behind Scribbles' internal schedule. The scritch under her chin and the whisper goodbye were delayed, and Scribbles flicked her tail in confusion as her owner stumbled out the door with too much to carry and untied shoelaces.
You see, Scribbles wasn’t keen on confusion. It wasn’t a feeling she liked and sought to solve it as quickly as possible.
Her curiosity about the outside turned to within the confines of her home, and Scribbles began her investigation.
It was easy to find what was different, she knew where everything was and whatever she put out of place herself. So it was simple to find a mess she had not herself made.
The table that her owner worked at often was covered in color and a mess. For, you see, Scribbles owner had been busy as of late, and had worked the night away to finish a project rather important to them. But, sleep deprived as they were, had neglected to do a thorough cleanup, and now here was Scribbles, hopping from the chair to the desk, and standing before paint and paper and her owner’s rough drafts of a masterpiece.
Scribbles may be smart, but she is also a cat, and having not seen anything like this before piques her interest and impulsiveness.
Scribbles is also a long-haired, snow-white feline.
She begins her investigation by batting at a blob of red starting to dry on the colorful palette, and thus, disaster.
The red sticks to the tips of the fur on her paw, much to Scribble’s surprise. In retaliation, she swats at the palette, but only manages to draw more than just red onto her fur. Like a brush, her paw soaks up red, saffron, and azure, and Scribbles stumbles backward. Onto a piece of paper, slick with a sheen already applied to highen the colors of oil-based paint.
Scribbles’ paint paw has no traction, and the rest of her paws follow as they scrabble for any sort of traction. It is a battle lost in a flash, and as her paws slip, her body tumbles after, and Scribbles collides with a cup. The solution spills across the desk, murky with blended colors and diluted, a brush tumbles out from it and clatters right next to Scribble’s head as she unintentionally flops into the mess.
She smells like her owner, Scribbles thinks as she digs her claws into the desk to stubble upright. Her fur feels sticky and smells sharp, and her pristine fur is coated in solution and paint.
She looks down at her paws. The paper underneath her is shredded, but in the destroyed piece she can see a streak of red and yellow, blended together and swiping frantically with shards of blue.
This time, strategically, purposefully, she dips a new paw into the soaking-wet palette. Her fur soaks up emerald and charcoal-black, and keeping it lifted but nonetheless dripping all over the desk, finds a somewhat clean piece of paper. She presses down on it, and lifting it away watches her paw appear in green and black, somewhat smudged by the liquid flowing everywhere on the desk.
Scribble looks from that green and black paw to her now-drying fur, and her curiosity reaches new heights.
She jumps back to the palette, digging each of her paws into the paint, sloshing it, and mixing it in every way she can. Back and forth she bounds her way between, slipping and sliding and swiping her paws across the surface of the desk. Watching how colors bleed and blend, how they shift from one to the next, and then when too much makes it all dull. She falls a few times in her haste, coating her side and back in color she cannot see, but one of her falls lands in paper and then she can see all the little variants of color and…
In her haste to discovery, Scribbles forgets that she is on a desk. The paper and her paws, soaked in paint and slippy solution and very close to the edge, shift with her frantic scuttling back and forth. One final hasty movement is all it takes for the paper and herself to tumble over the side. Paper and paint-soaked cat, and the brush neglected in the chaos, clatter to the ground, just as the door creaks open.
“Scribbles! What did you do?!”
Cat and owner stare each other down, equally horrified and amused by this series of events.
And later that day, after a tedious scrubbing and reprimanding in a bathtub, Scribbles sees that some of the colors still haven’t washed out of her fur, and the curious little cat beams at her reflection with pride.
P.S. How are we feeling about the moth drops? I may or may not be going a little insane xD
@Frostlightles
Ahh that's fantastic, thank you so much! This is such an adorable story, and the little town descriptions are so cute too!
Sending payment!
(Oo? What about the moths?)
Ahh that's fantastic, thank you so much! This is such an adorable story, and the little town descriptions are so cute too!
Sending payment!
(Oo? What about the moths?)
@Frostlightles
Ahh that's fantastic, thank you so much! This is such an adorable story, and the little town descriptions are so cute too!
Sending payment!
(Oo? What about the moths?)
Ahh that's fantastic, thank you so much! This is such an adorable story, and the little town descriptions are so cute too!
Sending payment!
(Oo? What about the moths?)
@Frostlightles
[b]Username |[/b] Hawkbert [emoji=sunglasses size=1]
[b]Narrative Bio Type | [/b] Scene
[b]Character image/link |[/b] I got 2 old characters you tormented me with a cliffhanger over tht I'm still NOT OVER LOL (if that's okay!) Torrin and Bright
[b]Key Information |[/b] I think you're pretty awesome
[b]Other | [/b] Hallo there!
@Frostlightles
Username | Hawkbert
Narrative Bio Type | Scene
Character image/link | I got 2 old characters you tormented me with a cliffhanger over tht I'm still NOT OVER LOL (if that's okay!) Torrin and Bright
Key Information | I think you're pretty awesome
Other | Hallo there!
Username | Hawkbert
Narrative Bio Type | Scene
Character image/link | I got 2 old characters you tormented me with a cliffhanger over tht I'm still NOT OVER LOL (if that's okay!) Torrin and Bright
Key Information | I think you're pretty awesome
Other | Hallo there!
@hawketh Hello Hwewk! We're talking about when their world fell out of orbit, right? Either way, the order is confirmed. :D
@hawketh Hello Hwewk! We're talking about when their world fell out of orbit, right? Either way, the order is confirmed. :D
@LiveleyLayla
Here’s your order. Please let me know if you’d like any changes or edits.
[quote=Navale]
When his hatchmates had heckled Navale for his lack of a role in the clan, his mother pulled him aside with a huff.
For a spiral already on the cusp of maturity, it was an odd sight, to a feeble mind. Navale ducked his head as he curled himself as deep into the shadows as he could muster.
“Do not listen to them, sweetheart.” She had said. “Fitting into a role is not how the brightest and greatest are made. Where we find ourselves comes from love, joy, and passion, and I know you will find it when you are ready.”
In those moments he had doubted her, nervous and aimless as he was, but she was a mother with a stern and truthful love. She had been right. She always was. The clan had tried to fit Navale in molds and traditions, and like water against a dam, he found his way around and over their walls.
Over their walls and soaring beyond reach.
Overseeing the land and dancing in the clouds. That was where Navale belonged.
Flight is a gift overlooked. From any mind, it’s simply logical. Dragons live, breathe, and flap their wings, and yet so little about the sky itself is misunderstood. Navale never took seeing the world below him for granted, he cherished every moment, and just as his mother had said, joy and the passion of flight lead to an understanding.
The wind whispers. Not like a voice or the rusting of leaves, but nonetheless, something that can be heard and understood. Navale learned to listen, and in-kind the wind showed him the way to almost brush against the cosmos.
The currents can be a guide. They are erratic and sometimes misleading, but they will always whisper toward the path of least resistance.
The wind guided Navale to the clouds. Then it showed him the way forward.
It brought him above. And from that vantage through the clouds, he saw what Sornieth had to offer.
The least he can do now is teach others how to listen.
And so, he travels far and wide, and between he speaks, animatedly, about the whispers in the wind.
[/quote]
@LiveleyLayla
Here’s your order. Please let me know if you’d like any changes or edits.
When his hatchmates had heckled Navale for his lack of a role in the clan, his mother pulled him aside with a huff.
For a spiral already on the cusp of maturity, it was an odd sight, to a feeble mind. Navale ducked his head as he curled himself as deep into the shadows as he could muster.
“Do not listen to them, sweetheart.” She had said. “Fitting into a role is not how the brightest and greatest are made. Where we find ourselves comes from love, joy, and passion, and I know you will find it when you are ready.”
In those moments he had doubted her, nervous and aimless as he was, but she was a mother with a stern and truthful love. She had been right. She always was. The clan had tried to fit Navale in molds and traditions, and like water against a dam, he found his way around and over their walls.
Over their walls and soaring beyond reach.
Overseeing the land and dancing in the clouds. That was where Navale belonged.
Flight is a gift overlooked. From any mind, it’s simply logical. Dragons live, breathe, and flap their wings, and yet so little about the sky itself is misunderstood. Navale never took seeing the world below him for granted, he cherished every moment, and just as his mother had said, joy and the passion of flight lead to an understanding.
The wind whispers. Not like a voice or the rusting of leaves, but nonetheless, something that can be heard and understood. Navale learned to listen, and in-kind the wind showed him the way to almost brush against the cosmos.
The currents can be a guide. They are erratic and sometimes misleading, but they will always whisper toward the path of least resistance.
The wind guided Navale to the clouds. Then it showed him the way forward.
It brought him above. And from that vantage through the clouds, he saw what Sornieth had to offer.
The least he can do now is teach others how to listen.
And so, he travels far and wide, and between he speaks, animatedly, about the whispers in the wind.
Here’s your order. Please let me know if you’d like any changes or edits.
Navale wrote:
When his hatchmates had heckled Navale for his lack of a role in the clan, his mother pulled him aside with a huff.
For a spiral already on the cusp of maturity, it was an odd sight, to a feeble mind. Navale ducked his head as he curled himself as deep into the shadows as he could muster.
“Do not listen to them, sweetheart.” She had said. “Fitting into a role is not how the brightest and greatest are made. Where we find ourselves comes from love, joy, and passion, and I know you will find it when you are ready.”
In those moments he had doubted her, nervous and aimless as he was, but she was a mother with a stern and truthful love. She had been right. She always was. The clan had tried to fit Navale in molds and traditions, and like water against a dam, he found his way around and over their walls.
Over their walls and soaring beyond reach.
Overseeing the land and dancing in the clouds. That was where Navale belonged.
Flight is a gift overlooked. From any mind, it’s simply logical. Dragons live, breathe, and flap their wings, and yet so little about the sky itself is misunderstood. Navale never took seeing the world below him for granted, he cherished every moment, and just as his mother had said, joy and the passion of flight lead to an understanding.
The wind whispers. Not like a voice or the rusting of leaves, but nonetheless, something that can be heard and understood. Navale learned to listen, and in-kind the wind showed him the way to almost brush against the cosmos.
The currents can be a guide. They are erratic and sometimes misleading, but they will always whisper toward the path of least resistance.
The wind guided Navale to the clouds. Then it showed him the way forward.
It brought him above. And from that vantage through the clouds, he saw what Sornieth had to offer.
The least he can do now is teach others how to listen.
And so, he travels far and wide, and between he speaks, animatedly, about the whispers in the wind.
@Frostlightles
Username | Tigerstar54
Factual Bio Type | Headcanon
Character image/link | https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/84371687
Key Information | NOPE
Other | NONE
Username | Tigerstar54
Factual Bio Type | Headcanon
Character image/link | https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/84371687
Key Information | NOPE
Other | NONE
@Frostlightles
Username | Tigerstar54
Factual Bio Type | Headcanon
Character image/link | https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/84371687
Key Information | NOPE
Other | NONE
Username | Tigerstar54
Factual Bio Type | Headcanon
Character image/link | https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/84371687
Key Information | NOPE
Other | NONE