Creative Corner

• You can only buy a dragon from the AH after you've leveled three dragons to level 25.
• You can only buy one egg a month
• You can't scatter scroll a dragon until they've reached level 25.
• You can't give a dragon a primary gene until level 10, can't give them a secondary gene until level 15, and can't give them a tertiary gene until level 20.
• For every egg you find, whether in the coliseum or by scavenging, you may purchase one breed change for any dragon.
• You cannot gather food, you must grind for it in the coli.
• If a dragon faints in the coli, it's dead. Exalt.

• For every hatchling, flip a coin.
• If tails, the hatchling died. Exalt.
• If heads, you have a survivor.
  

[center][b][size=5][color=red]{ Currently Alive }[/color][/size][/b][/center] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=8944348] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/89444/8944348_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][color=red]Glitter, lv1 the only survivor after the fall[/color] [/center] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=31629499] [img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/316295/31629499_350.png[/img] [/url] [center][color=red]Fearless, lv1 the first addition after the fall[/color][/center]

They were all dead.

It was hard to believe, considering the size of the Blightwound Clan. The clan of assassins, the clan of thieves, the clan of black magic practitioners, the clan of the unwanted. They were all a happy family; at least, that was what the mess of exiles called themselves. For the first time, the banished dragons didn't feel so alone. They were wanted.

Until they all died.

None of the outlaws used to follow rules. If society's boundaries ever constricted them from fulfilling their desires, they would disregard the boundaries. You could call it irony, then, that the only rule they hadn't been able to escape was the Golden Rule. Maybe they had it coming all along. The thieves had their own lives stolen, the assassins had been murdered, the witches had been cursed.

There were forty five of them. Used to be forty five of them. Forty five, a bitter sounding word, where you bite your bottom lip twice speaking it. Forty five, all dead at once. Forty five corpses littering the red fume blanketed ground of the Wandering Contagion. The maw-shaped acid pits of the Plaguebringer's domain seemed to laugh in glee. But it wasn't the disease that took them. It wasn't the rancid illness that the land seemed to breathe out like foggy breath in winter.

It was their own.

A new member to the Blightwound Clan was the culprit. He was a smuggler, he said, banished from his home land for transporting rare materials between flights. The others took him in willingly, never wanting to turn down a fellow outcast. He was a weak looking spiral dragon, but surprisingly good natured for a criminal. Nobody suspected his malicious intent, considering he had the charisma and energetic nature characteristic of his kind.

It was night, and the ink-black darkness crept over the Scarred Wasteland like a stalking predator. The members of the Blightwound Clan were unaware of the dragon creeping through the dark. They didn't know it, but the spiral had a friend.

A shout alarmed the clan's sentries. The three guards rushed to the sound, where the spiral dragon curled on the ground, faking injury. As the guards leaned down to help him, he attacked. The spiral's quick attacks and ability to dodge in the dark night allowed him to take them out before they had a chance to yell out a warning.

Forty two.

The spiral crept in closer to the camp, using the same technique to attract the attention of four more unsuspecting guards, which were also quickly slain.

Thirty eight.

Unfortunately for the murderer, one of those four had a chance to yell out for help. Six more dragons of the clan came rushing to the scene. Almost all of them were poor fighters, though; a group composed of four thieves, one assassin, and one witch. The trick was unlikely to work again, though, seeing as the spiral was splattered with blood and the carcasses of four dead clan members surrounded him. The six attacked.

The thieves were quickly killed, as was the assassin, who lacked the ability to launch an unseen attack. The witch was proving herself a formidable opponent, however, and the tired spiral was having a difficult time finishing the battle. Before the witch could deliver the final blow, she heard the call of her mate from across the campsite, begging her to return to her. She turned around.

It was an illusion, a mimicked voice. During the witch's moment of unsuspecting weakness, the spiral struck her down.

Thirty two.

A nocturne nodded at the spiral, still cloaked in midnight's shadows. He feigned the dying voice of the witch, yelling out that she had planned to murder everyone else in the camp. Ten others ran out to the scene, shocked by the news of the betrayal. They worriedly questioned the spiral, asking more questions about the plans of treachery. The Spiral lied, of course, saying that the strongest dragon in the clan was the one planning the attacks. The others called the imperial out to them, and she ran out, wondering what the others were calling her out for.

Without a warning, all the ten members of the Blightwound Clan standing around the spiral attacked her. Of course, she fought back, denying the accusations that she planned to murder the rest of the clan. She used to be a mercenary, and still retained her strength from those days, and held her own against the ten other non-trained dragons. She killed none, but retreated at her dying moment, collapsing unseen along the camp's boundary. The spiral quickly killed the severely weakened ten other dragons with a burst of magic. With the mercenary dead, that was a total of eleven.

Twenty one.

The last few attacks continued in this way, with the nocturne and the spiral turning the clan members against each other, the inner-group conflict killing off all of the dragons except for two. The mirror progenitors of the clan were wise, and had seen this sort of trick many times during their time living with other criminals. They attacked the spiral with amazing strength. Unfortunately, they quickly tired, the two dragons old and now lethally wounded. The spiral, now on his own death bed, slaughtered them both. He turned around, panting, looking at his nocturne friend.

Of course, the spiral's own friend slew him in that moment. The spiral learned one lesson, of course. It was foolish to trust a fellow traitor.

Zero.

The nocturne smirked, looking over all of the bodies of the members of the Blightwound Clan. The treasure and rarities the clan amassed were finally his.

Suddenly, he felt a strong tear on his wing.

The mercenary imperial was, miraculously, still alive. She let out a fierce roar, slashing at the dragon that had caused the death of all her clan mates. Even in her weakened state, the nocturne knew he couldn't win against the far larger, far stronger dragon. He fled. There the mercenary stood, and bled, a softly colored dragon a drastic comparison against the dark, rotting landscape.

She fell to the ground, panting, waiting for her own demise. As the sun rose, she was almost certain she'd be dead before it fell. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sleep she was sure would be endless.

Somehow, whether by the blessings of the Plaguebringer or her original deity, the Lightweaver, she lived. She opened her eyes to a dreary landscape, the sight of her dead friends- no, family- strewn across the putrid ground. She wanted to join them, but at the same time... she knew they would be disappointed in her if she did such a thing. And so, in that moment, she decided one thing: she would rebuild this clan, right from the start.

One.

It seemed cruel to her that this was how it would be.

The only survivor of the Blightwound Clan, the imperial mercenary Glitter, had found her first member. It was an egg.

A nocturne egg.

An egg of the breed that caused the downfall of her clan. She had dedicated herself to killing the one who murdered her clan mates, of course. And she couldn't help but feel a sting of sadness when she first saw the egg. Glitter felt guilty about it, but her first impulse was to destroy the egg before it hatched. She couldn't bring herself to do it. That wasn't right. This one wasn't a murderer.

She'd had four hatchlings in the past. She had no luck with them, seeing as her first clutch of three, a group of imperials colored similarly to her and her mate, quickly died after they hatched. They had some sort of illness. Maybe caused by the rotting landscape. Glitter had no idea.

And then she had a son. That clutch only had one egg, from which hatched an imperial her and her mate named Scared, due to his timid nature. She was shocked, and desperately happy, when he grew into adulthood. Scared didn't die, not like the others. Of course, though, Glitter was plagued by more bad luck.

Her mate, Scared's father, died a few days after his son grew. She felt nothing but misery back then, as everything she loved was torn away from her. Her first three hatchlings, her mate, and her parents, who'd died shortly before the birth of Scared. But she had Scared. And as a very important member of the clan, she had to keep herself together for her clan mates' sakes. She had her son. That was what mattered. She wasn't completely alone.

Scared was the first corpse she found.

He was nearby the bloody path she'd limped down to escape the initial conflict. The thought hurt her head, caused her to dig her claws deep into the festering ground. He died trying to protect her.

She stood in front of the egg for a while, wondering what to do. Really, as far as dragon lives were concerned, Scared died very young, and nobody else in the clan was left. Glitter... she didn't want to be alone. She took the egg back to her lonely base camp, where she was still going through the process of burying bodies. She was sure the thing would die, and yet, she was there with it every day, tending to it as she tended her own hatchlings. The first day, it seemed foolish, but after, she found herself eagerly awaiting- and hoping- for the hatchling's arrival into the world. When the egg began to shake, she smiled, for the first time since the... incident. Glitter waited patiently, nudging the egg every so often, waiting to have someone to care about again.

She gave a wide, gleeful smile as her new daughter, and first ever new clan member, emerged from the egg. She was a beautiful, pink dragon hailing from the Earth Flight.

Glitter decided to name her Fearless.

chapter 2