Gristle78 » Clan | Lair | Nesting Grounds

Gristle78's Clan

Ancient Lair

upon the

Shattered Plain

Clan Info

Commissions makes pictures and I love my dragons ..I love
I go by Crabsbeverage on most things ..
You’re always welcome to contact me for anything or send a friends request if youd like ..

Scroll to view.... IMAGES and..... LORE

Your arms are like overcooked spaghetti. The cage is the pot in which you were left to boil, breathing air like lukewarm soup cooling as the fluorescent sun retreated over the distant mountains. The sky reflects your expression, red, purple, blue, in iridescent blend and staining the earth below. The rattling of chains fills you with regret, they sing in time with wagon wheels making steady pace over the chapped ground. From the bars you can peer, you descend into the fading light of the valley, the giants throat. The giant you see, immense, slimy, and green, warty with bulging black eyes, its tongue is long, thin, and arched like a bridge. And it jumps. You are a fly, but your wings have been plucked, and so you must walk, but your legs have been broken, and so now you must wait.
“You will love her when you meet her.” Promised a voice you had come to resent, it drew long breaths between loud, booming words. “Always, they always do.”

Enter the arms of
THE MOTHER GRISELL
In the place of endless squalor and endless splendour

Found some blood on the caravan's wood floor, it intermingled with slime and something else. Smiling at you from amongst the clutter, blending in with objects of the similar shape and those of others a small, green frog perched on the only bare bit of shelving. She speaks the word "come", a voice low and hoarse from her wide mouth, stretching wider at the sound of your footstep, but retracting as you did. A coiled black heap with one tail too many, assuming that's who it belonged to, but you didn't. One spade still and the other twitched, it's owner buried yet eager.
"Come." again the frog spoke with a tone identical to the last, and as was your reaction.
Take another step forward? you ignore the door as it calls your name.

COME

It was like a shanty town on wheels, a bizarre and vibrant parade now idle against the desolate landscape. A cluster of bedraggled wagons dressed in rippling tapestries and murals, caked in dust and faded. Makeshift tents of old and weathered canvas to house the largest of the inhabitants were dotted in between. The structures were evidently built by amateur hands, with messy patchwork of wood and rusty tin, windows of stained glass, and the scavenged objects of foreign lands. Towers several stories tall lent at concerning angles, looming above the brittle wheels and sagging foundation. Frogs were a common theme in the ornate paintwork and fabrics consuming every available surface, slimy little creatures illustrated in loving detail against various scenes and background, the work of what seemed to be many different artists. Wind chimes caught the occasional breeze, the pleasant sound interrupting what was almost an eerie silence. Despite itself it felt as dead as the endless desert surrounding it. The shadows cast a little darker than before as the harsh sunlight failed to penetrate entirely the invisible veil that shrouded the vicinity. The air felt thicker, humid and heavy like a hazy afternoon, in morning of the sweltering wasteland.
Each step closer echos painfully loud, belly crawling and spitting sand, a mouth as dry as your hide fails to salivate at the thought of potential respite and a sudden onset of nausea. You feel the judgemental and prying eyes of countless unseen individuals, burning into your skin like the heat on the back of your neck. The dread of dying lost and alone in the wastes now overshadowed by a new fear rising in your throat like bile. The frog towers above you with boneless limbs outstretched like Christ, bulging eyes lifeless and flat against moist, warty skin, against the backdrop of a crudely illustrated nebula. The wind chimes sing again and make you jolt, accompanied then by a thick scent of something rotting sweet and putrid, clinging to the hairs of your nostrils.

Do you continue?

Any uncredited art in bios was done by myself

Lore is unfinished.. always will be unfinished
Dragons currently with bio content/lore:

MOTHERS ARMS
Grisell
Cornelius
Alexis
Weedeater
Clement
BonesOfTheMaster
Donnie
Flipper
Jarod
Meadow
BibleSmoker

CALF AND THE EXECUTIONERS
Calf
Odebix

THE TRUE SURGERY
Montserrat
Belladonna
FudgePutty
Locust
GregoryChimney
Meatbag
Sweetcakes
Pustule

RESIDENTS OF THE WASTE
Ancient
Fable