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Username: Synthsational Dragon you are entering for: Chlothar Entry: [center][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/scry?sdid=2316590&skin=25583&apparel=32982,32986,37391,15308,23716,28787,35208,28783,28785,28786&xt=dressing.png[/img][/center] [center][b]THE CHANGED[/b][/center] "Master Tacitus--!" The imperial didn't bother looking up from his work, still splitting the leaves and petals from the flowers gathered fresh that morning. The scent of the room was earthy and accented by the coals beneath the cauldron, light scattering off of the many-colored jars that sat on the shelves and tables. At the archway, a coatl shifted positions every few seconds-- hoping for any sort of acknowledgment from the imperial. There was none. Tacitus instead picked up a stem decorated with drooping purple flowers, striking the flowers from the base with a free claw. "Master Ta--" "I heard you the first time. Out with it." He didn't move to gaze at the other dragon, his growling snarl instead pointed to the dissected flower on his bench. Even without his gaze, the coatl shivered and looked down to tap their claws together, "A message for you, Master Tacitus. It seems to have come from the Scarred Wasteland... Yet it bears a sigil of the Light--" His head turned quickly, a hand braced against the bench to help his large frame turn-- his claws now embedded in the wood. Tacitus loomed over the smaller dragon, red eyes staring as some of the irritation left his voice. Even still, his words rumbled from his chest, "Who gave you this message?" The coatl's vibrant orange seemed to drain from their face, almost seeming to turn to stone if it wasn't for the shaky hand they extended with the rolled-up parchment, "I-it was a wildclaw-- they didn't give a name, only that it was for you-- I-I didn't want to-- to pry into your affairs!" Tacitus raised a brow as a huff of hot air left his nostrils, reaching out to snatch the letter before moving back to his original position at the bench. He pried his claws from the wood before waving the other dragon off without another word; not that words were needed, the messenger skittered out of sight as soon as the motion began. A seal of golden wax closed the parchment, the symbol on it something like a sun or a star in shape. Or something primal. Just looking at it, his snout wrinkled as another heavy breath disturbed the quiet. His ears flicked against his antlers, something of a 'tch' leaving his throat as the rolled-up message was brushed aside. Instead, the imperial moved to pick up a purple jar. He'd gone this long without speaking to them, he could manage longer. Carefully, he brushed the petals of the flowers into the jar before putting the stopper back in and setting it back on the shelf. The movement of his tail made the parchment roll slightly-- crinkling as it swayed on the table. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before letting out a huff, tension seeming to loosen some; aside from the grimace. The wax seal gave way easily to his claw and the message tumbled free. [i]My dear Chlothar,[/i] Tacitus bore his fangs down at the message, gripping it in both hands before tearing it in two. Then in four. Then in pieces. The fistful of shreds was pushed into the coals. Edges coiled before the scraps broke apart into ash. "I'm not your warrior." He watched as the fire consume the message. Perhaps for a moment, there was regret, the lingering questions of what could be if he responded. But as the signature curled up in the flames, the imperial turned away. [i]Regards, Talos Heliodoros[/i]

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Username: Salazia Dragon you are entering for: [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/75341098]Aliza[/url] Entry: [b]Birth:[/b] [i]Life begins with a single beat, a breath taken as crackling erupts into the dreary night. A flash of light danced across the cavern walls for but a moment. If you blinked you would’ve missed the phenomenon. In the light, a vision carried across the land to a powerful Seer. "She is special... protect her at all costs. The Void will be her greatest ally..... Hmm, how ironic, they shall meet..." [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/74577169]Maribella[/url] whispered, gazing off into the distance, her heart pounded in her chest. The light that would save her clan was born.[/i] Claws scraped against the stone underneath her paws. Each step taken away from her former prison, jubilation rose in the hatchlings chest. Shaking her scales, she couldn’t help but admire the beauty she saw. Her scales matched the Earth around her. She instantly took pride in being a sight to behold. An emotion washed into her chest. One she could not place a claw on. A rumble emitted from within the cavern. "What do you feel child?" The hatchling sniffed at the air as realization struck. Mother... Pouncing over to the large creature that stood in the shadows, "I feel something. It’s not sorrow, I heard that in my egg. It’s... different than what I felt in that shell." Lifting her gaze, she stared into her mother’s eyes. "It sounds like Joy. Hmm, that’s it. From this moment forth, you shall be Aliza. It means Joy." [b]The Meeting:[/b] The memory faded away as Aliza closed her eyes, a single tear fell down her scales... One a year, on her hatch day, Aliza thought of her beginnings. Humble, but, she knew there was a hidden meaning behind Yama's words. The Shade was a powerful creature that wasn’t to be underestimated. Let alone, the power her father held. The dragon stood at the edge of the Shadow Realms. Something called to her, like she was meant to follow this path. [i]Little did Aliza know, two sets of eyes rested on her. The amethyst set foresaw her greatness, the crimson set... wanted her.[/i] As Aliza stepped foot onto the Shadow Land, a growl torn through the air. Before she knew it, a larger Imperial had her pinned to the ground. Her heart thumped in her chest. Fear rose in the air as Aliza wondered if this was the end. "I can smell your fear little one. Fret not, I’m not here to harm you. Blood of my blood..." The weight on her form lifted as she was yanked up from the ground. "Maribella, you were right. She is strong but, can she handle the task ahead of her." Aliza felt the female who had laid her out...sniff her??? "I’m [url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/75337521]Atropos[/url], known as the Void, Queen Zinovia Selene's granddaughter. And you, are my aunt. I need you but this isn’t the safest place to talk... come with us..." [b]Present, two years after the Meeting:[/b] "The Fates are almost gathered. Are you sure this is our destiny, Atropos? Something doesn’t feel right..." [WC: 501] This is a snippet of the lore I have planned for Aliza. It’s not fully fleshed out but a good start. I had some ideas for art as well. [img]https://i.postimg.cc/50FWg6B7/E658-B656-1-C08-4-D15-A842-DD0364-D3-CEEE.jpg[/img]

(Oh dear, this ended up a bit longer than expected, apologies for the wall of text!)

Username: Amalgemotion
Dragon you are entering for: Aliza
Entry: Joyful Bones

They had expected a tomb. Well. It might be more accurate to say that they'd expected a crumbling ruin, quiet and dark and crumbling with the weight of years of lives sent to sleep under the ground. Plague was full of them, all memories and dust. The archaeologist and his apprentice were no strangers to it. They were building a catalogue of the old bones, and after a while one finds that one ancient catacomb twists much the same as any other, and so in this place they had expected nothing more.

And well, it was a tomb! It must have been - there were plaques on the walls, old carvings and statues, and the telltale smell of bone dust. And yet it was not quiet, or dark, or crumbling. The ancient stone blocking the entrance had been rolled away before they'd arrived, replaced with - of all things - a beaded curtain, and a trail of tiny fairy lights had led inside.

Their glow was soft and warm - warmer than a tomb had any right to be. This place did not feel like death. Quite the opposite. The archaeologist - an older wildclaw with a brace supporting both wings - tilted his head.

From deeper in the tunnel came the distant, distinct smell of fresh-baked bread.

Together, the two made their way cautiously onwards at a slight downhill slope, following the tiny lights as they flickered and eventually gave way to - again, of all things - paper lanterns. Brightly colored and affixed to sconces on the wall, they cast a flickering light on the walls and their rows of bones.

Matching paper ribbon had been strung up across the stone ceiling, streamers in blue and green and bright orange. Here the catacomb changed, gray stonework giving way to an older section, where the walls and floor were made of a darker brown tile. Against the walls now were pedestals on which open boxes lay - and in them, yet more bones, lovingly arranged, fresh flowers tucked in-between ribs and scenting the tunnel with sweet orange blossoms.

In the distance, a fiddle, halting, as if the musician was only just learning to play.

They continued downward and onward as the walls gained more and more decoration. Lit torches joined the lanterns, burning multicolored flames.

"Copper," said the archaeologist. His apprentice turned.

"What?" She hadn't wanted to end the silence - these were usually such quiet places - but the fiddle (squeaking as it was) had already completely broken the typical gravitas of the older Plague tombs.

"The flames - they're green." The archaeologist smiled. "Usually that comes from burning copper. Or certain acids. It's a beautiful effect, isn't it?"

The apprentice, a young gaoler, shuffled uncomfortably. "It's a little weird," she whispered. "Like someone's throwing a party. Kind of disrespectful, don't you think? I mean. Is necromancy a thing, or... I just mean, there's probably something terrible and sinister going on here, this is the Plague flight's domain."

Her tutor turned a single red eye wryly in her direction, and they both began speaking at once.

"Gondwana, dear, we've talked about this, it's quite rude to assume-"

"Oh no - no offense, I mean, I didn't mean - you're not sinister or-"

-twang-

"Oh, eggrot!"

The pair stared down the tunnel, where the fiddle had abruptly halted and a female voice had rung out.

"I'm sorry, everyone, give me a moment, I'm still trying to - oh, gods blight it - oh dear. Oh gosh. Maybe mother was right, Ode to the Sunbeam Fig might be a little too advanced, I should start with... with scales or something."

The adventurers came to an old stone archway, in which had been hung a thick beaded curtain like the one at the tomb's entrance. The tiny glass orbs caught the lantern-light, and cast hundreds of rainbow specks on the walls. On the other side, the voice continued muttering, now accompanied by the occasional twings and twangs of a fiddle being haphazardly re-strung.

Gondwana, positioning herself protectively in front of her frailer mentor, pushed aside the curtain and stepped into-

This was a tomb?

There were flowers everywhere - sprigs of orange and cherry blossoms in vases of water, potted ficus in the corners, garlands and wreaths hung on the walls between more paper lanterns. A soft fuzzy rug warmed the ancient tile floor. In one corner, an empty nook in the wall had been repurposed into an oven, and several loaves of bread were stacked atop a rack to cool.

On the far wall was a tapestry of exquisite design, depicting a stylized Imperial in black and orange, his eyes aglow and wings spread wide. Beneath him in intricate cursive read HELIODOROS. In embroidery floss at the very top, incongruous against the fine-threaded work of art, someone had lovingly added thick block letters: #1 DAD.

Under this tapestry was a puddle of oil, draped across a plush couch.

Gondwana blinked.

The oilslick shimmered, and stood up, and uncurled into an Imperial, her colors shimmering in the lantern light to give the illusion of a rainbow on every scale. She held a fiddle in one claw, one of its strings broken.

"Oh!" she said, face splitting into a delighted smile. "I didn't expect guests! Oh, I apologize for the music, it's a bit of a work in progress, I hope you don't mind." She tilted her head at the pair. "You're remarkably corporeal. Are you alive?"

"I... what?" Gondwana stared. "Yes! Yes, we're - who are you? What are you doing here?"

"Oh good, then you can have some of this bread." The Imperial gestured to the cooling loaves. "I make it for the ones who still have tongues, it helps to taste something that isn't rot, but everyone here turned out to be more of the restless wraith type and I can only eat so much on my own."

Gondwana turned to find her mentor already across the room, carefully selecting the slice with the most nuts. Amon was faster on his feet than most flight-capable dragons she knew, and had a fondness for crunchy snacks that clearly made him bribeable. She eyed the strange dragon warily.

"State your business!" The Gaoler drew herself up to her full, quite impressive height - or as close as she could get without bumping into the streamers on the ceiling.

The Imperial chortled. "State yours! I was here first!" She placed the fiddle gently on the couch and similarly stood tall - and she was, as it turned out, quite a bit taller than the apprentice. "You look like adventurers - are you? You're more than welcome if you mean no harm. This is a place of joy. Or, it's going to be. I'm working on it!"

"Joy? A Plague tomb?" Gondwana scoffed. "This is a place of death and decay! We're here to catalogue the names of the dead, so that their memories aren't lost when this place is inevitably rotted away or... or eaten by mold or... or desecrated and-"

"Gondwana!" The archaeologist snapped from behind a mouthful of walnut bread.

"Oh. You... haven't had the best experience with the Plague flight, have you?" the Imperial asked gently, relaxing a little. Her scales continued to catch the lanterns, dull brown in the shade but a full spectrum of colors in the light.

The Gaoler fidgeted. "We have... our clan has a bunch of people who were sort of - there was this cult. It's fine now, they got out and they're safe with us, but they told stories. About Plague. About anger, and blight, and bones." She glanced at her mentor.

"It's a desolate place." The Imperial nodded, and gestured for the pair to join her curled on the soft rug. "But I wouldn't call what is done to the dead desecration at all - it's a celebration! To gather and wear the bones of those lost, it's a way of remembering them. There are cults, yes. There is death. But there's that everywhere! Surely your mentor could tell you..."

"I haven't been back here in years," Amon told her quietly, red eyes meeting red eyes. "Tides' sake, I barely remember the Undercroft. But with everything that's been happening lately - the Wyrmwound, those new ancients... The entire wasteland's been in a bit of an uproar, and we were worried that... Well, these old tombs so often fall to plundering. Armor is growing more desirable, and when people are desperate they don't always remember the names of the ones whose bones they wear."

The Imperial sighed. The lanterns flickered.

"They don't," she agreed finally. "Gondwana, is it?"

The Gaoler started slightly, and nodded.

"Oh, how to put this. I can't say your concern is... unwarranted. This land is violent on the best of days, and with everything that's happened lately, the dead haven't been precisely restful." She gave a soft smile. "That's why I'm here. You've been to other tombs, you've seen how they get. How this whole place gets. It is, to put it mildly, not especially joyful."

"I... guess not, no."

She gestured around the room. "Things fester here - not just disease, but thoughts. Anger. Hate. Sadness. Loss. Terrible emotions. Plague is supposed to be about the cycle of death and rebirth - from the decayed comes new growth! But things here, sometimes they just sit forever, and forget to grow again. My father is from the Sunbeam Ruins, all light and warmth and memories. Ancient relics, polished to still shine! Old and crumbled, but not forgotten, not left to rot. Everything there is still full of light. Still full of hope."

"Except for Luminax," Gondwana chimed in.

Amon choked on his piece of bread. The Imperial sighed. "Yes, well. Except for Luminax." She shook her head.

"Point is, there are a lot of restless spirits here. I'm trying to help. If they still have tongues, I bake them bread. If they can still hear, I play them - I try to play them music." She turned to glare at her fiddle. "And either way, I weave them tapestries and paint the walls and hang beads. It helps. They need that, to feel something other than anger and fear. So I'm trying for peace."

Gondwana paused.

"That's... very optimistic of you," she said finally.

The Imperial chortled again, a high, clear sound like a bright flute. "Aw, well thank you! I admit I have no idea what I'm doing! But the way I see it, you just can't go wrong with a homemade meal and a little company."

"Who were you talking to, earlier?"

"Hm? Oh! Just the ghosts. I don't know they're listening - all wraiths here, mostly invisible - but it wouldn't be polite not to at least address them." She stretched out on the rug. "I expect someone will come and take their bones eventually, that's just how it's done here. It's not disrespectful. But even if their names are lost, at least they won't be. Does that make sense?"

There was a quiet weight to her final words. The scent of the orange blossoms grew stronger, and a gentle breeze from nowhere caused the streamers to flutter lightly along the walls and ceiling.

"...It does," Gondwana said finally, settling down on the rug beside the Imperial. "I'm sorry. If I offended you."

"Oh, you're young, you're still learning, no harm done." The Imperial's eye twinkled.

"Well, yes, but that's no exc- wait, hold on, there's no way you're older than me!"

"Ah, but my father whispered ancient proverbs to me in the egg, and now I have the wisdom of aeons! While in body I am but a wee youth, truthfully, in mind, I am centuries old!"

"...Really?"

"Nah. Well, yes to the proverbs, he did actually do that."

Amon chuckled and shook his head. "Whippersnappers."

With all tension broken, the three burst into laughter, and the paper ribbons fluttered as if joining in.

"Hey," the Imperial smiled. "My name's Aliza."

"Oh! Joy."

"Precisely! And I would be quite honored if you two would like to stay for dinner. I swear I do have food other than bread somewhere in here. Maybe a little more company would do the spirits good, and I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you tried to ask their names, for your record. No promises that they'll remember them, though."

"That's alright," Gondwana said softly, looking towards her mentor. "...Can we stay?"

"What?" Amon mock-frowned at her. "In this dusty, rot-infested den of death and corruption?"

"I have a piñata," Aliza chimed in. "It was for the poltergeists, but there weren't any."

"...We'd love to."

---

If you wander in the most barren and blight-ridden corners of the Wasteland, it won't be long before you find an ancient, rotten tomb. There are far too many.

Its entrance will often be a great stone or gate of ribs, and inside will be a dusty ruin filled with skulls still creased in anger. But sometimes - only sometimes - the entrance will be a glass-bead curtain, and if you descend, the floor will be swept clean and the dimmest crevasses neatly dusted. Fairy lights will line the catacombs and sweet flowers will be nestled between the skulls. Streamers and lanterns - never tacky, but hung delicately in an earnest effort to brighten the space - will wave in a breeze from nowhere.

Somewhere in the deepest tunnel, you will hear someone practicing scales on a squeaky fiddle. She laughs sometimes, in a high clear voice, when she hits a wrong note or when a friendly visitor tells a good story. But always she is spinning and dancing in the lantern-light, rainbows in her oil-brown scales. Singing joy to forgotten bones.

Sorry this is last minute! Username: Xeiana Dragon you are entering for: Enora Entry: [img]https://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/dragon?did=75341097&skin=19460&apparel=36025,33507,28800,22823,28779,28804&xt=dressing.png[/img] In the beginning, there was darkness. All around her, the absence of light. It bathed her in its embrace the moment that she broke free from her egg. Alone. She was alone. But why? Where was her father and mother? Images came unbidden in her mind. [i]Outcast. Ones who should never have existed.[/i] "Enora." The barest whisper of a voice reached her, brushing by her ear. Startled, she jumped, newborn wings flaring awkwardly. Her crimson eyes darted everywhere around her, the unnatural glow lighting up the shadows around her. Shadows that were moving. "W-who's there?" [i]"We are here." "Here!" "We will protect you-" "- from the ones who fear and despise you."[/i] For a moment, she was afraid. Who was Enora? Where was she? She had siblings, where were they? Her nest? Wings trembled in the near-darkness. One shadow moved closer, flowing like oil on water. It peered up at her with purple glowing eyes, revealing a skeletal figure with feathers covering its body. It chirped up at her in a strange darkness. And strangely, she could understand it. [i]"We are the darkness. You are Enora."[/i] It had said, sitting down and tilting its head almost sideways. Its long tail wagged, as if to indicate its happiness. Enora, her name was Enora? But... The hatchling began to approach the shadow creature, curiosity beginning to override the fear that had begun to arise within her. The shadows and darkness encasing the area were not hostile or dangerous, instead, they felt like family, soothing, calm. The creature chirped again in happiness, its front two feet prancing in place. [i]"Wake up."[/i] it chirped, the words dissolving into a giggle. Enora woke to a warm nuzzle against her snout, a yawn escaping her maw as she raised sleep-ladden eyes to her parents. Talos stood tall and proud behind Yama. The sun was setting behind them, lighting the sky on fire as darkness began to consume all light. In time, she will understand the meaning behind that dream she had the moment she hatched. The shadows of the darkness were particular and their favor was easily swayed. Yet this child born of chaos, whose lineage should never have been born, they watched with bated breath. They had chosen their new mistress to serve. ----------- There are whispers of a dragon that holds a portion of the power of the darkness itself. She walks among the living with a distant look. They say she can carry the souls of the dead or is a necromancer or grim reaper who can raise the dead. Both rumors somewhat held the truth, in an albeit different way. A Soul Gatherer who raises the souls of the dead back to life instead of their bodies, to guide them into peaceful slumber no matter who they were or what they may have done. Around her neck she carries a shroud that glows like the starry skies on pure darkness. These are where the more violate souls reside until they can finally pass peacefully. In the end, there will also be darkness. But it will be heralded by the soft embrace of someone you cannot see. Someone like Enora.

[b]Username:[/b] ClockworkEclipse [b]Dragon you are entering for:[/b] Aliza (scry is pose changed, but they'll be going by they/them; name changed in story to Simcha for a gender-neutral alternative to Aliza that also means joy/happiness) [b]Entry:[/b] [url=https://docs.google.com/document/d/16x6h_IRHuSvuLbHv4slzjzs3KRaz9sLhK5HZEbCOZAQ/edit?usp=sharing]Full Entry Here[/url] [center][url=https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/75341098][img]https://www1.flightrising.com/dgen/dressing-room/scry?sdid=2281096&skin=0&apparel=34614,19448,25347,6272,42694,22658,22663,22657,22655,22659,22660,22661,22656,22662&xt=dressing.png[/img][/url] ----- I carefully walk along the path in the Garden, twisting about from clearing to clearing. It’s been so long since I first came here, left behind by means beyond even me. I don’t know why my parents left me here in the Garden, and yet I cannot help but feel as if it were the best thing to happen to me. I slow by one of the statues, showing a massive Imperial and a smaller Gaoler, somehow bearing some Guardian-like qualities. Likewise, the Imperial doesn’t appear to be a full on Imperial, with shiny scales and stars dancing along his hide. I cannot help but smile at the ancient depiction of professor Raphael and his beloved partner, the guardian of the gate Aziraphale. There are many statues like this scattered about the place, but this one always draws me. They’re among the kindest of the Archivists, after all. “Up so late, little liege?” I look over and spot Kaurik, standing near the treeline. There’s another one I’m always drawn to. I’ve learned over my years here that he’s truly ancient, especially among the Archivists. He was apparently there when I hatched, trying to find just where I came from. If it weren’t for him, I’d have likely been taken by the Barghests back then, just another hound racing in the Garden, feasting on dreams. I could still become that, if one were to bite me here. If it weren’t for Nakir, it’d likely be much more likely. “I know, Kaurik. But this is honestly the best place to see the stars, especially this time of year.” I watch as he nods his head, approaching my spot to settle in beside me. He’s quiet as we watch the stars glimmer above us. After what seems like enough time for such a pause, I speak up. “You know, sometimes I swear my old scars move to match those stars up there. Kind of like professor Raphael’s stars do on his body. Do you think they match?” He looks me up and down, quiet, then nods his head to me. I let out a happy sigh as I keep watching the stars above as the moon crosses the sky. Finally, I remember a question I’ve had for some time. “You know, you always said you were lucky to have found my egg, but the other Archivists said you set out early to where I was found. That you knew.” I leave the question unspoken, knowing I don’t need to say it aloud. I expect some lengthy answer, some grand spell that led him to me. Instead, I’m shocked when he simply hands me a book. It looks old, intricate with a starry pattern on the spine. He motions for me to open it. I’m afraid at first, but slowly I manage to lift the cover, revealing the title. I slowly read it aloud. “The Tale of the Joy of Talos…?” He motions for me to continue reading, and I do just that, my curiosity peaked... ----- [u][b]Before Zerah[/b][/u] [outfit=1881062][outfit=1881065] [u][b]After Zerah[/b][/u] [outfit=1881057][outfit=1881068][/center] ----- This is just a snippet of what I wrote in the Google Doc. The doc itself rounds out to about 5.5k words (since it likely counts my little chapter titles, summary, and character descriptions at the end). The tidbit posted here is 502 words exactly. The outfit shown is how he normally looks with the attire Agar made him get, but I included before/afters for both outfits and gene changes in the doc and here. Good luck to everyone entering!