Creative Corner

[img]http://i.imgur.com/5nh4hvn.png[/img] [center][size=6]The Amber Tomb: A Pinkerlocke[/size][/center] [center][i]The Lightweaver’s domain is vast, but even within Her territory, there are places her power barely touches. In the depths of the Hewn City, tunnels honeycomb the rock, and remnants of ancient dens moulder, stripped of their valuables - or worse. The depths are unforgiving for all, but none fare worse than Light dragons, starved of their connection with their Goddess. Few tread willingly in the depths, fewer stay for long - and so the tunnels are left to those enemies of the Light, and those unfortunate enough to find themselves in one of the most dangerous territories in Sornieth.[/i] — [/center] This is the story of survivors. A year or so ago, I wanted to start a Nuzlocke, but didn't get around to doing much with it before my POV character died. I left it for a long time, but now I'm on FR much more, and wanted to finally get around to telling the story of those left behind. Posting will be pretty intermittent, because I like to write a far amount in advance. If you actually read this, I'd like to hear from you - I like comments or feedback :) [center][img]http://www1.flightrising.com/static/map/icons/light_2.png[/img][/center]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/h4KvqdD.png[/img] [center][size=6]Characters[/size][/center] [quote=Rocco] [columns][center] [url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=13884508][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/138846/13884508.png[/img][/url] [b]Rocco[/b] Born under the Sign of the Scholar [resonant] [/center][nextcol] Appearance: Unhealthy, ragged fur. Moves very quietly. Eyes have a faint glow, more powerful Light magic than one might expect from a Tundra. Understandable, considering his Resonant Sign. Personality: Awkward around people. Not good with words; has spent large portions of his life alone. Likes: Flowers, grass, friends Dislikes: Mushrooms, Serthis, the Lightweaver Languages: Common Draconic, Serthi. [/quote] [quote=Violetta] [columns] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=16528588][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/165286/16528588.png[/img][/url] [b]Violetta[/b] Born under the Sign of the Forger[/center] [nextcol] Appearance: Muscular, sharp teeth and claws. Some scars on muzzle and claws. Small. Moves with purpose. Personality: Driven, but not ruthless. Will fight dirty. Kind to those she deems survivors, but dismissive of unproven dragons. Doesn’t like mimicry - wants to be independent. Likes: Cooked meat, training, learning Dislikes: Large open spaces, Light mages, water Languages: Common Draconic, Plague, Lightning. [/columns][/quote] [quote=Barwyn][columns] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=9012393][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/90124/9012393.png[/img][/url] [b]Barwyn[/b] Born under the Sign of the Mirror [/center] [nextcol] Appearance: On the large side, awkward. Claws usually stained with herb mixtures. Carries a few too many plants, books, and scrolls with him. Clearly a healer. Personality: Talkative, idealistic, helpful. Likes: Potted plants, Violetta, comparing knowledge. Dislikes: Claw-to-claw fighting, fishing, sand. Languages: Common Draconic, Arcane, Lightning, Centauri [/columns][/quote] [quote=Ayssa][columns] [center][url=http://flightrising.com/main.php?dragon=45186309][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/coliseum/portraits/451864/45186309.png[/img][/url] [b]Ayssa[/b] Born under the Sign of the Starseeker [resonant] [nextcol][/center] Appearance: Despite appearances, not actually related to Rocco. Very small, even for her young age. Eyes glow brightly, signifying her Resonance. Personality: Curious. Bold by nature. Likes: Rocco, magic, light. Dislikes: Cold, cats, hunting. Languages: Common Draconic [/columns][/quote]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/CAoFzQv.png[/img] [center][size=6]Rules[/size][/center] I’m using essentially [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/frd/1525830]the standard rules for Pinkerlocke[/url], except for slight tweaks to battles, breeding, and getting new dragons. Death in the Coliseum - Exaltation Level 25 = retirement Food = Coliseum Plants = 10-20 battles Insects = 20-30 Seafood = 30-40 Meat = 40-50 Materials = Writing Trinket = Artwork Apparel = Breed, scroll, scatter, or equip apparel Battle Items = (flip coin, if heads) Death Streak Familiars = New Dragon Roll 1-14 for breed 1. Fae 2. Guardian 3. Mirror 4. Pearlcatcher 5. Ridgeback 6. Tundra 7. Spiral 8. Imperial 9. Snapper 10. Wildclaw 11. Nocturne 12. Coatl 13. Skydancer 14. Bogsneak Roll 1-24 for element 1-4. Light 5-8. Shadow 9-11. Earth 12-14. Water 15-17. Lightning 18-19. Arcane 20. Wind 21. Fire 22. Ice 23. Nature 24. Plague I’m using adjusted medium rules - Coli teams will be selected by random number, and the tier will be one level down from the highest dragon, BUT if there’s more than 5 levels of difference between the highest and lowest level I’ll instead go to the venue one level ABOVE the LOWEST level dragon. It should be dangerous, but I don’t want a level 1 to have to hang out in Scorched Forest, basically. As far as elements, I wanted to adjust the chances of certain elements showing up in the story. Because of the setting, it makes much more sense for certain elements to be present. All elements will have a chance to show, though. Finally, until a certain point in the story is reached, Light eggs will face two coin flips to hatch successfully (two heads in a row). If Rocco and co. manage to find Truelight, then this will be eased to the usual Nuzlocke rule of one flip. [Credits: headers are Mibella’s, [url=http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/2021835]found here[/url]]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/7xmmeMg.png[/img] [center]Reserved[/center]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/7xmmeMg.png[/img] [center][item=etched tusk] Day 1: Trinket[/center] Rocco is exhausted. His jaws ache, around the pearl clasped in his mouth, and all he can taste is dirt and dust as he slogs through the tunnels. The stale Serthis smell has had him on edge for hours. It is stale and old, but it still pays to be careful. Truelight. He repeats it over and over, trying to carve it into his fleeting memory, carve it in like a tablet. He will not fail this time. Truelight. Truelight. Truelight. True- There’s a squeak, and he crouches on reflex, baring his his teeth around the precious pearl in his mouth. A new smell. He has smelled this before, accompanied by a grief he will never forget. He will risk it. He calls on the Light magic still deep in him, and the space around him glows a little brighter. There, huddled against the side of the dusty cave, still damp from eggwet, is a baby Tundra. Its eyes open, deep pink, and the baby makes another squeak, looking up at him fearlessly. A piece of its eggshell drops from its mouth, the tough pink material glittering a little from saliva and molar marks. Only the strong survive in the Deep. This one is not strong. Like his eggs, dark and silent as they withered, eggwet and death-smell. Like his unborn children. This one has hatched, but there is nothing for it. No plants, no dragonsmell nearby, only the old Serthis scent. It chirps again. He does not have enough food, but he sets the pearl down as gently as possible anyway, digs through his pack for the scraps he’d been able to store. The hatchling is too weak to move, so he shuffles closer, pushes the dried plants to it, and watches it stretch its thin neck and begins to eat. In the dim light, the hatchling’s colors look identical to his own. [i]“Will they look like their father, strong and handsome?” she asks, curling herself around the two eggs. They pulse weakly with Light. Too weakly. He rumbles low in his chest. “We should move. Find more plants.” There is a smell in the air. Something seems wrong. He does not want to believe that, but something is always wrong in the Deep. It is simple: the hatchlings will be hungry if they hatch. When they hatch. So they need to find plants. The eggs smell wrong. [/i] He has not had occasion to speak in a long time. Grief and dust have choked him, and when he tries to speak he ends up coughing. It takes him nearly a full horn of water to soothe his throat. More that he can afford to waste. He gives the rest to the hatchling, breathes in the new smell (her-alone-new-small-protect), brushes an egg fragment from her dark green mane. “Hello,” he murmurs. [img]https://i.imgur.com/EugGymf.png[/img]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/7xmmeMg.png[/img] [center][size=2]@Luthyx[/size] [item=ambush] Day 2: Battlestone Death Streak: yes[/center] The hatchling can walk, but she is wobbly and stubs her toes often. After a few minutes of distressed peeping, Rocco picks her up by her little scruff and settles her on his back. It only takes a few seconds before there comes a faint thrumming purr. [i]I love it when you do that. It makes me feel safe. [/i] Truelight. To Truelight. He pads on, pearl in mouth and hatchling on back. He is almost distracted enough by his new company not to notice a sharp difference in smells. Almost. He halts abruptly, feeling empty space on his flanks. There’s a tunnel intersection. A moment of stillness, then another crossbreeze comes (blood-dragons-fear-anger-rot-dust) and he crouches against the wall, fangs bared. There’s faint hisses, too, and the scrape of claws against stone. The hatchling gives a tiny peep, and he rumbles in warning, setting the precious cargo down. It’s a little harder to twist far enough to grab the hatchling’s scruff, but he manages, and she curls around the pearl, looking up at him with those wide, dark eyes. “Stay,” me mutters to her. Her eyes shift to something over his shoulder, widen. Rocco whirls around just as the Protector makes its leap, its claws raking harmlessly through his mane instead of his wing. The crude stone figure makes no sound as it struggles to extricate itself from his mane. Heart pounding, he rears up and rips it off, smashing it into pieces against the floor, but two more take advantage of his distraction and dart in, leaping in silent coordination for his back. He snarls and bats his wings, catching one mid-leap and sending it tumbling in front of him. The one on his back digs in past the fur, and pain lances along his spine. He turns and snaps at it, but it’s in just the spot he can’t reach, as if it knows just how to kill a dragon, and the other one leaps again while he’s distracted, claws raking down the side of his face. Through the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear the hatchling crying, and something twists inside of him. He will not fail to protect another life. Light fills the corridor, pouring from his eyes, from the blood, and he spits a beam of energy at the statue on his back, knocking it back against the wall. The last Protector drops from his face, stone paws bleached from the light, and hisses. As quickly as the light came, it fades, and Rocco blinks in the darkness, scent confused, breathing heavily. There’s someone else there.

[img]http://i.imgur.com/7xmmeMg.png[/img] [center][size=2]@Luthyx[/size] [item=berserker] Day 3: Battlestone Death Streak: yes[/center] Just as he readies himself to another attempt to cast light, the other dragon beats him to it. A small, glowing crystal is unveiled, revealing red eyes in the dark a few yards away, and the dark, scarred, angular face of a Nocturne. Her eyes flit to him, before returning to the battered Protector and hardening. “I’ll take this one, if you don’t claw me in the back. Deal?” Rocco stares at her a moment, struggling to parse the words, the appearance of another dragon in the depths, her offer. “Deal?” she repeats, low voice growing sharper. Rocco shuffles backwards slowly. The hatchling has stopped crying, watching with wide eyes, and he curls a wing around her. This seems good enough for the Nocturne. She turns to the cat statue. The two size each other up, and in their posture seem frighteningly similar in that moment. Then she pounces. Her fury is impressive, and through the statue’s claws draw a little blood, she pries a crack open, slashing at it with claws dripping red-green magic. The red spreads quickly, and before long the statue’s struggles fade, crumbling and revealing its weakly pulsing core. The Nocturne takes the core out and turns it over once or twice. “Bar’ll know what to do with this,” she mutters. Rocco does not know what to do with this. With any of this; with the hatchling peering at the stranger from under his wing, with the Nocturne, even with the pearl, beyond finding Truelight with it. So he watches as she tucks the piece away into some ragged pouches and turns to him. “Strong silent type?” she asks, looking quizzically at him and at the hatchling, who peeps at her in response. He swallows. Common Draconic has never come easily to his tongue. The Nocturne crouches, peeps a little at the hatchling, who perks up and lets loose with more peeping. A smile spreads across her scarred face, and she doesn’t seem quite as intimidating anymore. “At least you talk,” she says. Straightening up, she glances at Rocco. “I have a healer with me. He might be able to do something for your face.” Rocco hesitates, still. It will be a trap, or even if it is not, they will expect something from him. But he will not live long in the Deep without vision on one side. He will not be able to live long enough to protect the hatchling, to find Truelight. So after a moment, he ducks his head, and picks up the precious pearl, and shuffles forward, following the Nocturne.

[img]http://i.imgur.com/7xmmeMg.png[/img] [center][size=2]@Luthyx[/size] [item=tracker engine] Day 4: Material[/center] “Vio!” The voice is startlingly loud; Rocco flinches, half-expecting more Protectors to come pouring out of the cracks in the dust. A bright pink light flares, lighting up another Nocturne, with a genial, open face. He’s reclining against a set of rocks, bending over his own hind leg, which is bloody and twisted around. “You- you’ve got some friends with you?” the Nocturne asks, hissing a little. The steady glow around his leg falters for a second. Violetta is quiet for a second. “Friends? Maybe. He helped me get the rest of the pack.” She jerks her head towards Rocco, who blinks at her. “He’d taken care of most of them by himself, actually.” The other Nocturne smiles a little bit, easing up on his leg. “Vio, are you impressed?” Vio lets out a huff. “Ready to set that leg?” The other Nocturne grimaces. “When you are. What’s your name, friend?” He takes a moment to clear his throat, hoarse from all that activity. “Rocco.” “Nice to meetAAAYYYYAAAHHH!” His high pitched yelp as Vio snaps his leg back into alignment has Rocco on edge, whipping around to check the tunnel behind him. The movement dislodges the hatchling, who stumbles toward the Nocturne and sniffs him inquisitively. “Shut up, Barwyn. Do you want every single creature in this godsforsaken place to be after us?” Barwyn had squeezed his eyes shut, but opens them up as the wet nose touches his side. “Hurts, Violetta. Not all of us are seasoned fighters who live for pain. And who is this?” He bends over with slight difficulty, sniffs the hatchling back. She looks up at him, delighted. “Ayaaah! Ayssah!” “It,” Barwyn says solemnly, “is an honor to meet you, Ayssa.”