Just saw I still had this picture on my phone. Here's a string that's 0.85m long. The length of the average Veilspun (adult) (plus some things for scale)
when i work on art i always get the urge to share WIP shots with everyone, idk how staff can stand to work on new dragon breeds without feeling like "hey guys look at what weve been cooking up what do you think :)" all the time. mad respect
(lore writing dump, apart of my twisted sornieth lore, not proofread, cw for implied death, fire, burning and injury)
In the blink of an eye, there was nothing left but a blanket of fumes rising from the lands surface. All types of construction, be it of natures bloom or the toil of dragonkind, were set alight. No force could douse the flames - they would burn and burn, till nothing but a smoldering tar was left behind.
He was ecstatic as he flew through the blackened skies. It was all gone, not a single trace of the others magic remained for miles. It was just fire, and fire and fire. Fire and smoke, the curling smoke like obelisks raking through the sky.
He had finally banished the intruders, left nothing for them to cling to and fight back. Nothing but Fire would pass through the lands again, it was all land for Mother to claim rightfully as hers.
Flying higher into the shaking air, he shouted to Mother, to behold in all the glory he achieved for her.
"Look! Look! They are gone! This place, this land, I reclaimed it for you! For the glory of mother!"
He continued to shout as he flew higher and higher, till the only light that remained were the smoldering holes in his very wings. He never stopped flying, using all of his strength to keep going.
He went, and went, till he bursted through the smoke, and found himself staring down at the forest. The forest, that he had just burned to ash, to fire, to tar. It was back, as if he never began.
Why, he questioned, had the leaves grown back already? Wood burns! Dirt chars! There shouldn't be any land left to sprout!
It didn't matter, no matter how many times he would burn that forest down again. He would do it over and over again, forever till everything he saw was red and orange and yellow and black.
He flew closer to the canopy with a speed he'd never had reached before. He could see figures down there now, all standing around like they were lost in a daze. All just standing and flailing above, pointing and singing a chorus drowned out by flames.
Flames that he tried to spit fourth to drown their words out, but nothing came but smoke. He tried and tried, but it was useless. Was it too cold? Had they dried his throat free of any debris to set fire to?
They all kept flailing, and he kept falling, trying and failing to spit flames. In anger, he flapped his wings, only to feel something give way.
Crooning his neck, he looked to his wings, and the holes that had grown through them. No longer was the membrane still connected to his finger tips and body, but burned uselessly in the air. The patterns of flame had long since dulled to just jagged scars, that hurt, and hurt, and hurt.
Everything hurt. His tail burned and smoldered like a torch long past its due, his limbs flailed helpessly in the cold air, smoke seeping right past his scales as he fell.
And he realized, with fear, he had lost his prize. The proof that the Mother had chosen him above his brothers, sisters, the flames that endlessly circled his horns. They were gone, gone and smoldered into the nothing.
The dragons below continued to flail about, and he joined them, twisting himself till he crashed through the canopy and into the solid earth below.
And they circled him, turning and snapping at one another as he laid. His fire was gone, replaced with only a smoldering smoke that whisked off his scales like rain from clouds.
The dragons looked to him, to each other, and back to him. Their maws would open and shut, but nothing but sound came through. They just kept singing as he laid.
He opened his mouth to plea with Mother, but nothing came forth but smoke.
And he realized, as the dragons lingered closer, that this wasn't his home.
(Some lore I wrote awhile ago for Ling and Mercy. Posting it here to not lose it since replacing the dragon(s). General advisory for reading it as with all my lore.)
The sound of talons clinking against polished gemstone echo through the church halls. Behind stained glass, the moons hang high, but barely illuminate the walls. Through muscle memory alone, Mercy navigates the winding halls and arching doorways. Candles that have burned for eons cast his sullen shadow when he walks past, as if he were a ghost.
One more turn leads him up a staircase that feels endless for the unworthy. And he begins to fear - is it too late? With every step he takes, he feels his legs wish to give out underneath him. If he were to fall now, then by daylight, he would never be seen again. The spirits of the halls would drag him under, away from the room just beyond.
He tries to use his wings to push him forward, but they soon give out as well. Maybe, maybe Scorn was right. Was he not welcome, not even to say goodbye to Mother? The Creator? Even with the lance in claw, would the church rather lose an artifact, than see one charged with guilt?
Before his thoughts could mingle any longer, he heard the doors creak open before him, high above, on the end of the staircase. Light filtered down the stairs, and eventually hit his glossy form. It refracted everywhere, causing Mercy to curl in on himself, and hide underneath his mantle even more. He didn't deserve this light anymore, it shouldn't ever shine on him again. It's why he was leaving by dayfall, it's why Scorn fled from him even when wounded.
Through his hood, he could feel the eyes on him again. It was Ling, no one else under that roof would ever give Mercy such a warm gaze. He stood there, for what felt like an eternity. A gaze flowing down a sullen, fools gold of Mercy.
At once, he spoke, no louder than the crackle of embers, "Mercy, I was told you left. Did the Council change their mind?"
His words hurt, hurt almost as much as receiving the declaration of guilt had. But Mercy still raised his head, and forced a reply through his liar's teeth, "No, Ling, I'm sorry. Once the Council has decided, they shall not ever take back their order. I am guilty. It was wrong for me to attempt to enter this place."
Ling stared from above the steps again, a habit he's kept since he first arrived as a hatchling. A child of light, who only rested his eyes to fall into the Unknown. His eyes were never filled with things like Mercy's were.
Not once, has he ever cried. Not once, has he raised his teeth and claw, not even to the guilty of the world. "Ling could never be a Knight or a Mage", they would say. "Even when met with a postule-riddled crow, he conversed with it instead of felling it."
Being brought back from the past, Mercy realized Ling was taking his form into his arms, with his wings being used for support of the much larger Wildclaw. Weighed down with guilt.
"Ling! What are you doing?" Mercy couldn't help the slight shake in his voice, watching Ling hoist him up the stairs, and set him down at the entrance of the chamber.
"Helping you. I don't know what happened in the Council. I was in training that hour. They said, you were to leave my dayfall." Ling said, and turned his unblinking gaze up. Up, and through th e glass skylight above. It was just past midnight. "You may not be apart of us anymore, but you still serve the Creator. If you want to speak to her before you go, then you should."
"But, Ling, I'm-", Cursed, guilty, infected. Nothing Mercy could ever stomach to tell Ling. "...I am not in good healthy anymore. They, they will know you touched me. That you have my scales on yours. What if they banish you too?"
Ling kept his gaze on the moons, for a long time. Long enough for the feeling to return to Mercy's wings and legs. When Mercy was about to speak again, Ling exhaled a plume of smoke that dissipated almost immediately around his horns. He stared back at Mercy.
"Then it's okay. They can take me away again. I never belonged here. But, you did. You lived under these crystals, and over this soil. I'll be gone eventually without regret, but you will live forever with it. Go speak to her, even if you are infected with what you fought, its only skin-deep. It will never touch your mind or spirit."
"...Thank you, Ling."
I'd put some spooky lore blurp here but I'm tired so you get the fried chicken version: "An aflicted Veilspun with an obsession over kidnapping other dragons has broken out of retirement and is not-very-subtly trying to lure the viewer into a trap"
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