wyld_dandelyon: (Creative Joyous Cat)
I did a couple of gift-paintings for someone over on Flight Rising, which were delivered as electronic images. They aren't interested in the physical paintings, so I'm pondering what to do with the canvasses.

But anyway, I haven't been sharing creative stuff enough, so as an intention to both do and publish more creative work next year, I'm sharing them here:

I do like how much most of the people over on FR enjoy art, and how welcoming they are to artists at all levels.
wyld_dandelyon: (Creative Joyous Cat)
This is a tale set in the world of Flight Rising. There is no in-universe explanation for why clans would do things like give gifts at midwinter or pick names in a "secret Santa" drawing. From outside the game, I know it is people sharing their love of the holiday inside the game. But inside the game, that's not so clear. This is a bit of the lore of my lair.

The Meaning of Santa

Alastair, Chymeria’s clan’s long-lost tundra progen, stood next to a huge bucket of stones, handing out one to each member of the clan. They’d been written on with magical writing, so each person could be the secret Santa to another dragon. One after one, dragons approached and took a stone.

Driochta, the clan’s loremistress, came up behind him, looking grumpy. “But what is this word, ‘Santa?’ It seems to be associated with the Night of the Nocturne every year, but where did it come from? I’ve asked all the nocturnes I know, and not one could tell me.”

“It means ‘gift giver’, teacher.” Jenny, the newest addition to the clan, volunteered, taking a rock from the bucket Alastair held.

“I know that’s what dragons use it to mean, but where did it come from?”

Jenny shrugged, which made her butterfly wing apparel shimmer beautifully. She shrugged again, admiring the effect. “It’s always been that way, as far as I know.”

Driochta sighed. “You’re, what, a month old now?”

Jenny nodded. “Ready for my first nest, even!”

“Well, nothing was ‘always that way’, things come from somewhere. Even the gods came from somewhere.”

Alastair nodded to Jenny to move on so the next dragon could take a rock. She swished her tail as she did so, setting both her dress and wing adornments to gleaming again.

“Well, they did!” Driochta grumbled.

“So they did.” Alastair nodded, and handed her a rock.

“I’m not in line to participate in this thing!” She glowered at Alastair.

He smiled back. “And yet you are here, and you have a rock in your hand. Now, be off so everyone else can enjoy the party. Picking a gift for whoever that is should distract you from being a sourpuss for at least a little while.”

She flounced off, setting her starlight cloak to fluttering gracefully. Her companion comet trailed after her.

At the other end of the cavern, Jenny watched the teacher leave, holding her stone. Jenny was worried—she was so new to the clan—how would she know what to get anybody? She turned her own stone over and breathed on it. Driochta’s name picked up the exhalation and gleamed briefly.

Slowly, Jenny smiled.

In the following weeks, Jenny was noticeably absent from the lair from early until late, and often overnight. A number of the dragons sought out Driochta to ask if she’d headed on to serve ShadowMama or if she was planning to leave for another clan, but Driochta had no answers for them. “She seems happy enough, when I do see her,” was all she could say, besides agreeing it was very odd that she had not yet had a chance to teach her any of the clan lore.

Finally, the night of the big party arrived, and people started to receive their gifts. Jenny was missing until late into the night, when she finally flew in, snowflakes swirling off of her still-shimmering apparel. She flew straight to Driochta, a book in her hand. “I flew to every corner of Somieth with your question. I visited many different clans, and while I could not get any definitive answer, this book holds one hundred tales about Santas, each one from a different clan. I bring it to you as my Santa gift—a compilation of Santa lore, of the tales told to hatchlings and sung at parties. I hope you will enjoy reading it.”

Driochta felt her eyes gleaming with emotion. “Oh, Jenny, it is a perfect gift for a teacher and loremistress! Thank you so very much!” She hugged the book to her and then, though the party was still going on, she sat down right where she was, opened the book, and started to read.

wyld_dandelyon: (Polychrome Wizard)
I really enjoyed drawing that last dragon, so I went looking for another one to draw. For some reason, I couldn't resist this particular shiny dragon with glorious purple wings. Here, I have her juggling five pretty flames.

This one is for Speedemon.

Random Art

Dec. 7th, 2015 08:32 pm
wyld_dandelyon: (Polychrome Wizard)
So, I picked a more-or-less random stranger over on Flight Rising and did a portrait of one of their dragons as a surprise holiday gift. Since FR posts don't make it easy to share art that's not posted somewhere, I'm posting it somewhere!

To PinkiePastel: Rynzin struck me as more of a lover than a fighter, and maybe a bit of a dancer. I hope you like the portrait!
wyld_dandelyon: (Polychrome Wizard)

There was a different smell to the air, and the unnamed coatl wiggled out from under his mother’s wing. “Kitten?” she murmured, not really waking up.

He paused a moment, considering. No, his name wasn’t kitten. That was a name for something small and cuddly, and he might be the smallest of Shyness’ babies, but he wasn’t cuddly. Not at all. He was fierce and strong, and he was going to find out what that smell was. He crept onward, careful not to wake anyone as he snuck out of the lair.

When he got to the entrance, he looked out and up. The moon hung in the sky, wisps of clouds shrouding her face. A breeze rose, and with it small flecks as white as the moon, and finally not-kitten looked down and gasped. The whole world was white and shimmery!

“Moondust!” His voice was low, barely louder than a whisper. He paused again, and shook his head again. He was way too brightly colored to be called moondust—and besides, the moondust looked just as soft and cuddly as a kitten. And he wasn’t soft and cuddly, he was bold and strong! He inched forward, carefully, to sniff the moondust, but then imagined his younger (and larger) sister was watching him. He looked around, but she was nowhere near. He sighed in relief. She would have called him timid, creeping forward like that, and he wasn’t timid. He was bold!

He backed up to take a running start, and then leapt out into the moonlit sky, feeling the cold wind under his wings and moondust whirling around him. For the very first time, it worked, and he flew! Four, five, six wingbeats, and then he was past where he could count. It was glorious!

Then the playful wind paused, letting the moondust settle downward, and the baby dragon lost altitude too, belly-flopping into a deep pile of slippery, ice-cold moondust. He looked around, and didn’t see anyone—that was good. There was no one to laugh at his awkward landing. But he couldn’t see anything else either. No matter, in his experience, everything went downward from the entrance to the lair; getting home just meant going up.

The moondust made it hard to tell which way was up, but the bold little coatl wandered around in it, playing and having fun for quite a while. As he played, it got brighter and brighter, and the moondust started to hurt his eyes. He was very relieved when he bumped into one of the apple trees, and could climb up out of the moondust. It was still too bright, and the few apples still on the tree reminded him that he was hungry. He wasn’t hungry enough to eat an apple, of course—plant-food was disgusting—but it had to be breakfast time by now, didn’t it?

He looked up the slope to the lair, and was surprised to see a bunch of grownups milling around, kicking their feet through the moondust. Some of the younger ones were gathering the moondust into balls and throwing them at each other. Shyness was standing in the entranceway, looking upset, and refusing to let his brother and sister leave her side. He wondered why she was so worried.

“There you are, kitten!” Icicle’s deep voice startled him, and he nearly fell back into the moondust.

“I—I didn’t see you!” The bold little coatl protested, trying to sound fierce, not scared.

“Well, I am ice-colored. And this morning, everything is covered in snow and ice.” The large wildclaw smiled down at the little coatl. “Did you get lost out here?”

“No!” The coatl baby put all the scorn he could into that one word. “I was exploring in the moondust!”

Icicle looked at the setting moon and all the snow, and quietly said, “While I think calling the snow moondust is lovely, the other little dragons might tease you for it.”

“This—this is snow?” Snow was a beautiful and powerful word, and the baby considered it, but though it was a stronger word than moondust, it was still not his name.

The larger dragon smiled, then turned toward the lair, raising his voice. “Shyness, I’ve found your little explorer.”

Shyness looked up with a whoop of joy, let go of her other two babies (who went screeching into the snow to play with the other hatchlings), and came running. “Kitten! I’m so glad you’re all right!”

The littlest coatl looked up at his mother with a frown. “I’m not kitten! I’m—I’m BoldExplorer!”

BoldExplorer’s Mama looked down at him with a smile. “Well, then, BoldExplorer, would you like some clams for breakfast?”

“Yes yes yes yes yes! Can I have hot ones? All this moon—er, snow—is cold!”

wyld_dandelyon: (cat is ready)
More data for the raffle. Maybe something creative after #sffwrtcht and Criminal Minds.
just bad screenshots of exalted dragons )
wyld_dandelyon: (cat is ready)
For record keeping and a raffle:
exalted dragons )

I could share pictures of some of my favorite dragons (without the obscuring bit), if anyone is interested.  But not tonight.  It's time for sleep.


wyld_dandelyon: (Default)

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