Raffles & Giveaways

Also @schingiuire how do you check word count? this is what I have so far:

The rocking of a ship lulled a hatchling to sleep. It was quite funny, truly, because a raging battle was taking place just beyond the ships protective walls, and this dragon managed to sleep through it; that was, until the door to her resting place swung open with a bang. Jumping up in surprise, the hatchling squaked, angry to be woken from her slumber.
"Shhh, shhh." The giant who had disturbed her whispered in a loving tone. Once the hatchling stopped her wailing, the dragon picked her up and cradled her in her arms. The dragon who carried the dragon seemed like a female, but it was hard to tell. Definitely a imperial, however.
The hatchling was starting to cry, and her captor started to freak out. A nearby mango caught her eye, and she grabbed it so quickly it nearly crushed in her talons. Peeling it, the hatchling was already reaching for it.
The dragon gave the hatchling a piece of the mango, and the hatchling instantly munched down on it. A smile appeared on the dragons face, before realizing she was in the middle of a battle.
"She has the princess! Get her!" The yell made Akaya jump into the air, her wings beating.
"Akaya, bring her to our ship!" The captor's captain yelled, his blade at some dragon's neck. With a nod, the dragon leapt into the air. Now it was obvious she was a female.
Talons on her tail showed her that she was caught. Strong arms pulled her from the sky, forcing her on to the planks of the ship floor. She used her massive wings protected the hatchling she held. This was a dangerous mission, not for herself, but for the next heir who resigned in her talons.
She flung her tail into the attacker's face, and they backed away slightly.
They now circled each other in a duel. He'd lunge with his daggers then draw back. Her mind was swirling until she saw her Captain sneaking up behind him. Her eyes didn't turn from the dragon she was dueling till the last moment, when he grabbed his shoulders and sunk his broadsword into his chest.
"Bring the child to safety. I'll tell you when you can come out." Albatros said, pointing to the room the child was in originally. She ran into the room, leaned across the door, and her wings wrapped around the young princess and my head bent down.
"You'll be alright." She whispered.
"She's in there, lets go." A growl caught her attention, and her mind became a panic.
Bang.. Bang.. Bang..
The door behind her shook.
"Akaya- r-un!" Atlantas yelled. His voice sounded like he was stressing out, or like there was a dragon on top of him. I barged out of the door, and two mirrors flew backwards. One hit a pillar with a crack. Albatros was covered in dragons, trying to snatch away his broadsword.
With the hatchling in her hand, she rushed over and grabbed the sword. Albatros let go, trusting she'd know what to do.
She leapt into the air, with the whole crew following her. When everyone left Albatros, she let the sword fall into his claws.
When he grabbed it, the surge of power that ran across the battlefield was undeniably there.
"I can handle them now, go to the ship." Albatros said with confidence. She flew slowly with the hatchling in hand, and landed on her own ship, which was peaceful.
"Vile! There is a baby abroad! Anywhere I could put her?" She rocked the baby in her arms, watching as Vile ran up to her.
"Aw cute, what'll you name her?" He asked, petting the baby Coatl's feathers back.
"How about Keeper? After Hazel's sister?" Her head turned to Hazel, Vile's daughter.
"I- sure, that sounds great!" Vile said, but she could see the sadness in his eyes at the mention of the name. His smile was genuine, however. It was a happy sadness.
"The little keeper." He said, smiling down at her. "Welcome to the crew." He whispered to her.

@Schingiuire, I believe if I've read the rules correctly, I may claim one more dragon for the week? I'd like to claim Santos, please. Here is his lore. 907 words: [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=47282467] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/472825/47282467_350.png[/img] [/url] Santos is a dreamer. But, he doesn’t only dream dreams, he can interpret them. Of course, the accuracy of his interpretations depends on the dreamer’s divulgence of facts and inclusion of every part of the dream. When half-truths are told or important parts of a dream are omitted he is left to base his interpretation on what he’s told. Unfortunately, he neglected to give this disclaimer to the King. Now, the King was not HIS King, just A King. But, his arrival was fraught with pomp and circumstance. It was apparent that he was Important, but Santos didn’t realize just how Important until it was too late. Up until the arrival of the King, Santos was an extremely laid back dragon. He didn’t worry about much. He dreamed pleasant dreams and gave mostly accurate interpretations to his friends and family. If he misinterpreted a dream because of an omission, the dragon who had had the dream would always take responsibility for not disclosing all the details. Mainly because they were embarrassing and they wanted to keep them to themselves. Nothing bad ever came of it, except that one time where his father showed up to a party dressed as a human and it turned out to be a cocktail party, not a costume party. That was a bit embarrassing, but nobody got their pantaloons in a bunch about it. Anyway, the King showed up one day after having been camped with his entourage on the outskirts of Santos’ clan’s territory. He had dreamed of a black raven with a twig in its mouth, dancing to a tune of the Plague Territory. He’d had this dream for three nights in a row, but no one could tell him what it meant. Disturbed, he sent a team of dragons to the nearest Clan to inquire whether they had a soothsayer or mystic to help with the interpretation. Santos was recommended to the strangers and after a brief consultation was brought before the King. However, when the King relayed the details of the dream to Santos, he left out the fact that the raven carried a twig in its mouth. Santos considered all the information and regretfully told the King that he would soon run into a powerful dragon of the Plague Flight who would infect him with a disease of unimaginable pain. From that point on, he would fail to rule with success and his kingdom would be taken over and dedicated to the Plaugebringer. Unsettled by this news, the King made the difficult decision to relinquish his title to his Right Hand and set off alone to meet the foretold dragon who would seal his fate. He did come upon a Sorcerer of the Plague Flight who did curse him with an illness that caused great pain. But, shortly afterwards the King stumbled upon a Wind Clan that homed a renowned Healer who used his power to cure the King. This cure was the part of the dream represented by the twig, and had the King only told Santos, he would have known that his illness would not lead to the dismantlement or takeover of his kingdom. Returning to his kingdom, the King discovered that his Right Hand rather enjoyed his new position and refused to relinquish his new power. Instead, he plotted to capture the King and throw him into the deepest, darkest dungeon to rot and be forgotten. The King was warned by his most loyal subjects and he escaped before the evil plot could be carried out, but now he would live in danger for the rest of the Right Hand’s reign. He cursed the dream interpreting Tundra he had listened to and called upon a mighty sorcerer to cast a curse on the unsuspecting dragon. From that point on, Santos would be surrounded by an immense flock of ravens, all of whom would want to peck his eyes out and rip the fur from his body. Santos, back at home, knew nothing of the curse until a flock of ravens appeared one day and surrounded him. Pecking and scratching, they chased Santos back to his lair where he fell into his nest, bleeding and exhausted. His dreams revealed to him the origin of the ravens and the curse that had been cast. Sadly, Santos prepared to leave his home. Until the curse was broken, he refused to subject his clan to the terror of the ravens. Though they didn’t attack his clan-mates, they destroyed everything in their path and left bird droppings everywhere. Pies could not be left on windowsills, laundry could not be hung out to dry. The dragons had to fly everywhere because walking in bird poop was simply disgusting. They didn’t deserve all that. And so, the next morning, Santos began tunnelling. He dug and dug and tunnelled and tunnelled. For days, he worked beneath the ground, hoping to lose the ravenous ravens, but every time he broke the surface of the earth, they were there. And so, he kept going, pulling plants down by their roots for sustenance when needed to eat and digging down to underground springs when he needed to hydrate. It was not a life he enjoyed, but his dreams told him that his time in the tunnels would end one day. And so, until then, he continued to dig, praying for a dream to tell him how and where and when the curse could be broken.

@orchardofstone Hello, I believe I laid a claim for this boy, whom I'd name Pygmalion! I hope you enjoy the short epic style story I laid out for you! [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=48014943] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/480150/48014943_350.png[/img] [/url] ---------- In a kingdom of chess there was only war. It was a constant fight of black pieces against white, a battle between the two lands because of the rivalry of the queens. The dragons of black were the warriors of the chess carved lands, but the dragons of white were the hero's. They both had reputations, white were pathetic pushovers and black was feral slaughterers. However, the dragons of each had no desire to slay the other kind. Neither wanted any part in the queens unruly need for dominance against the other. A black dragon, a war tired imperial with his wings stripped from his back wanted to prove himself. Metal wanted to prove that as a dragon he was not useless and that the beauties of art was not just for the pearly dragons. He was laughed at for his scarred back and his hopeless dreams. Yet he carried on. With his talons full of tools and a looming block of pure white ivory before him he only said “The days of war matter naught, fore future thee shall show” Metal started his creation, but he began to notice that the dragon before him was starting to take shape of its own. It was a dragon with wings spread in flight and it's talons sharpened for battle, but it's face held a serene look of peace. It was beautiful, intricate details and fur so meticulously placed. Metal only grew more and more obsessed with his work. Unfortunately, it was doomed to go wrong. With gasps of determined breath Metal saw that there was something wrong. He desperately sought his creation for what was wrong. In agony, he lashed out and sliced at his own body. His blood, black as night herself, arched onto the statue. The sculptor froze and cried “Oh, oh! Perpetual tenour to inspire my celestial heat! Wronged have done to you, my beauty not nam’d!” It was only until the black dragon opened his eyes and sought what he had been missing. “Eureka! Eureka!” He shouted, praising his own brilliance. He had realized that the dragon he was making was never supposed to be a single color. In a craze, Metal peeled his own scales off and sliced at his raw skin. He was manic as he drew his blood caked tools up once more and tattooed a tale into the beast's side. The Black was curled into ocean waves and the spirals foretold prophecies. The wings were striped into a ladder of steps that told of past future and present whereas the tail’s end was a brush to create life. Stripes were painted into the tail to create a path and its black stained paws revealed its glorious battles. The black mingled in with the white and created tones of grey for pale skin. It was a dragon that had never existed, a life between both lands. It was not a pawn like Metal, it took no sides. Metal crooned upon his creation being born, but he was losing life. In his madness to create what couldn't be done he had fallen in love with the beauty he had made, yet it was killing him with every drop of ink he lost from his blood stream. With his last, dying breath and his blood spilled across the tiled floors he whispered “My darling, oh my darling! I name thee Galatea! Nam’d thus been born, my life sorrows. Gladly I left, goodbye my love. I only wish to have been lovers with thee. Goodbye, goodbye!” He died on the cold floor surrounded by his own life blood, talons reaching for nothing while his statues name died on his breath. The statue’s eyes flashed purple, life given from magic and the ethereal themselves. Galatea woke and his first sight was the ruined corpse on the floor. He stepped down from his throne of ivory and dipped his snout into the inky blood of his creator. “Thank'd the adorned, I will make affirm your vengeance.” The born broke out of the stone cage the sculptors home took and fled to the sky. Galatea was not one of reality so he took the stars and held them in his underbelly. He used the speckled sky as fuel for his ungodly rage and left a fiery trail as he rocketed down to the earths. His flight path was now visible to the mortal eye as he flew over the battle scarred lands. Gasps echoes as the pawns of black and white drew their eyes to above. It was so stunning that the fighting that lasted for millennias froze for the first time. The dragon above them was like nothing they saw before, a glimpse of both worlds in one. Immediately they recognized the dragon as a god and wept in joy. They danced in their suits of armor with one another in a cesspool of whites and blacks, for the dragon above them was the same with all in between. The queens of their each land heard of the ruckus and sought each other out for a furious explanation. For the first time the black queen saw the white queen in person and vice versa. Their first words to each other were accusations. “What is this madness?” Cried the black queen. “Something has come afoot!” Bellowed the white queen. “What have you done?!” They echoed. It was only then that their eyes were brought to the sounds of talons clicking against the checkerboard floor. Roars of incredibility sounded at the impossible dragon before them. Queens in pure colors stood before Galatea, the white queen decked out in gorgeous satins of white and diamond jewelry with a crown of pure ivory. The black queen had cloths of the starless night and spinel jewelry with a crown of pure obsidian. Yet before them stood a dragon with no jewels, no fabrics, and no crown. But the foreboding look of impenetrable marble scales held something so much more impressive. “Who dare stand forth the queens of chess?” A queen demanded, her color mattering not. “How far dow thee selfishness run?” The newcoming dragon asked, wings flaring high above his proudly arching head. “Dare thee speak?!” Cried another queen. “Stop this war lest you be slain.” Galatea demanded. The queens had enough, launching themselves bodily at the stranger in pure frothing rage. They were mirror images of each other, perfect echoes. It was a sorrow that they had never decided to agree with each other. Galatea roared, breaking his facade and lashing back. The queens were disemboweled in a single strike and their powers went just as soon as the light flickered from their eyes. The queens were struck down, but it was a faulty death. Chess was never meant to end by a piece off of the board. Reality grew strained and the curse was lifted, the monotoned land suddenly bursting with color. The dragons in the battlefields grew in color and size, individuality appearing within every stripe of pink and every spot of blue. Colors danced for the first time and the kingdom celebrated. But it was not so simple for Galatea. He retraced his steps, Stars still glittering in his hide but he himself was not shining. He could only mourn as he flew into the broken building. Eyes laid on the corpse on the ground, he too still black as sin. “Oh, last you sleep. I know naught thee name so I keep the one given to me neither. I am called Pygmalion and you my lover.” It was only until the magic sparked in his eyes again that he was reminded of the last thing he could do. “My love, my love you love’d me once I can offer thee again. You requested thy love and I offer it back.” Pygmalion stood before the corpse and felt his body go solid, black and white of a fallen kingdom forever set in stone. His stillness represented the past, but his eyes played the future. He never moved again. When Metal awoke from his death, it was to a kingdom of his own and a story to be told. Maybe it was a dream to him, but he was suddenly in a world of color. His body was full of life and so was his people. Not only that, but he suddenly had his flight again in the form of wings. They were glistening and beautiful, perhaps even more gorgeous than they were before he had them ripped from him. Strangely, he somehow inherited the kingdom of chess which was to be renamed from its awful bloody past. He suddenly had his claws full of responsibilities and he had proven himself indeed. He was praised and it was everything he could of asked for. Well, almost. A near year later he stepped down those old creaking steps into his old sculpting parlor. This time he was dressed in golds and silvers and all sorts of colorful gems. He looked like royalty instead of the filth he used to be the last time he laid here. The ex-sculptor looked at the beautiful statue he had fallen in love with all that time ago. It was a strange dream he had in which he died for his creation, but he still held it to his heart with a strange urge. He stared into those beautiful purple eyes that he never remembered painting. He sighed, putting a paw on his strange statue and traced a swirl. He left, for he had urgent matters to attend to Later that night when he went to his nest and was curled into sleepless claws he thought about all he had seen. He remembers all the sleepless days he spent in a building turned cave to try and perfect his beautiful craft. Though… he doesn't remember carving stars into the belly of the marble statue.