#figlore

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I've already shared this dragon. Bio under the cut

Smokescreen | Scroll Stories

The shop was at the outskirts of the bazaar, tucked behind an outcropping of rocks. Even so, the haze had drawn a half dozen complaints.

It was no wonder. The wagon was surrounded by small burners, the incense sticks streaming with blue curls of smoke. Even under the open sky, the air was heavy with the smell of resin and cedar.

Khepri glanced at the shopkeeper, a Fae with bamboo-green eyes and a tail that kept twitching like a worm on a string. The Fae kept jerking his gaze from Khepri to the Gaolor that loomed over them both.

A cloud of incense. A nervous shopkeeper. It was a telling combination.

Khepri turned to the Fae. “You’re new at this.”

“Oh,” The Fae’s neck went ramrod straight, and he stared directly into Khepri’s eyes. “Yes. Yes officer, that’s right. I’ve only been in the textile trade for a few months now. They’re sourced straight from the Emberglow Hearth.”

Khepri glanced at the fabrics draped around the wagon. They were flimsy. The colors would fade if they were kept in direct sunlight like this, and they were already saturated with the smell of smoke.

“You don’t have much of an inventory.”

”Ah. Well. Like I said, I’m just getting started. I got a loan from my auntie, and—“

”Officer Milt?” Khepri said.

The Gaoler behind him grunted.

”Search the wagon.”

Milt, with one enormous paw, tipped the entire wagon, sending several crates tumbling onto the ground.

The Fae jumped into the air and began flapping around Milt’s head as she began inspecting the wagon for more inventory.

“Oh no. My auntie’s investment. You can’t do this!”

“Yes we can,” Khepri snapped. “By the authority of the Lady of Light herself. You will land this instant.”

The Fae obeyed, his crests pressed flat against the side of his neck.

There was a delicious crack as Milt used one long claw to splinter open a crate.

The Fae seemed to be telescoping into himself, crumpling his head and tail into unnatural angles. “I know I don’t know my trade as well as I ought, but surely it’s not a crime to--”

”Sir,” Milt said, “I think you should see this.”

Khepri joined her. He leaned over the crate and inhaled the smell that the incense could no longer hide. It was acrid, stinging his nostrils as he breathed it in. Magic.

And there they were. The scrolls were crisp and white, nestled side by side, as neat as pins.

He picked one up, turning it over in his claws. He could see the faint outline of runes that veined under the thin scrolling paper. The wax seal was stamped with the clear profile of a Pearlcatcher.

Milt growled. “Transformation scrolls.”

”Yes,” Khepri looked at the Fae who had frozen mid-twitch. “We do not permit these vulgar transformations within our Flight. According to the Laws of Light, we must burn them.”

The Fae didn’t move.

”Burn them,” Khepri repeated. “All of them.”

After a pause, he added, “You’re entire inventory.”

The Fae was still frozen, staring at Khepri with shock. Milt shifted impatiently.

Khepri glanced over his shoulder. The outcropping of stone hid them well enough. He turned back to the Fae, sighed, and held out his paw.

At last, the Fae snapped into action. He dove into his wagon and returned with a pouch that he spilled into Khepri’s palm.

The facets of the gemstones glittered between Khepri’s claws. There was even a garnet so rich in color that it was nearly purple. He exchanged a glance with Milt.

Khepri tipped the gems back into the pouch. ”As representatives of the Lady of Light, we understand that starting a new business can be difficult.”

“Do you?” The Fae said faintly.

“We do.” Khepri kept sorting through the scrolls. "Plenty of new shopkeepers make mistakes.”

“A mistake,” the Fae repeated. “An honest mistake”

Khepri kept examining the scrolls. Wing scrolls. Hide scrolls. All genuine, and as fine as he’d ever seen. He glanced up at the Fae who had not relaxed. How did such an inexperienced smuggler get a hold of such premium inventory? “It would be unkind of us to deprive you of your stock when you are so new to your trade. I’m sure you will get it sorted out. I’m sure our wise goddess would understand.”

“Yes. Um. Thank you so much. Can you go now?”

Khepri picked up another scroll, inspecting the seal. The wax had not been stamped.

Khepri held the scroll up to the sunlight. It was a trick to decipher the overlapping runes through the roll of paper, but he knew his business. His eyes widened as he made out the pattern.

He shook his head, trying to clear his head of the incense that still hung heavy around them.

“Sir?” Milt asked.

Khepri held up the scroll again, carefully inspecting the runes. He had not been mistaken. “Imperial.” He said.

The Fae jumped straight up, flapping furiously, but Milt brought her paw down on the little dragon’s tail.

“I’m putting the gems back,” Khepri murmured to Milt. She growled softly and kept her eyes fixed on the shaking Fae.

“Am I going to go to trial?” He squeaked.

“You have been found with Imperial scrolls," Khepri said. He set the gems in the wagon, though he slipped the garnet into his own pouch. “You may have earned the honor of meeting the Lady of Light herself.”

[facinaoris]

Figures of Lore |

Tzitzimitl is a monstrous deity in Aztec mythology associated with the stars and with various star goddesses. A tzitzimitl had a double role in religion. For one side, they were protectresses of the feminine and progenitresses of mankind. They were also powerful and dangerous, especially in periods of cosmic instability. Tzitzimimeh were often linkened to the stars that appear near the sun during a solar eclipse. This was interpreted as their trying to attack the sun, so they could descend to Earth and devour every living thing on the face of the planet and wreak havoc.They were also feared during other ominous periods of the Aztec world, such as during the five unlucky days called Nemontemi which marked an unstable period of the year count, and during the New Fire ceremony marking the beginning of a new calendar round - both were periods associated with the fear of change. Because of this, human sacrifices were necessary to keep the demons at bay, or else they would have been successful at destroying humanity.

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The Sentence | Assorted Stories

Geir wanted to fidget. He wanted to strain against the iron that held him fast, but he resisted, taking deep lungfulls of the chilly cave air. In through the nostrils, he reminded himself. Out through the mouth.

He kept his head bowed and his eyes closed. He needed to look meek. He needed to look frightened. Above all, he needed to appear as if he was in the depths of remorse, as harmless as a lamb.

Geir cracked his eyelids, trying to make out the silhouettes of the dragons around him. Each was a member of the Crystal Court elite, and each had voted on Geir’s sentence. Under the light of the sun, Geir had thought they were all hopelessly silly, decorating their palaces with expensive trash like the frivolous old birds they were.

Here, underneath the soft blue glow of the cave worms, none of them looked silly. They looked grave, elemental even, their colors and patterns reduced into geometric shapes of light and shadow.

Geir’s father was not among them.

An Obelisk stepped forward, her face hidden behind a mask that seemed to glow in the dim light. A priest.

“The time has come,” she said, her voice echoing through the cavern, “to deliver justice.”

Geir kept his breathing steady. Surely, surely, his sentence would be repealed.

“This dragon has been found guilty of treason and conspiring to murder the honorable King Meinhard. He has been stripped of his title, his inheritance, and his clan name. If there are any who would dispute this, speak now.”

A silence stretched. Geir could hear the distant sound of dripping water deep within the caves.

The priest bowed her head. “With the breath given to me by the Mover of Mountains, let flesh become stone.”

“Wait.”

A deep voice rang through the cavern, resonating through the stone beneath Geir’s feet. The hulking shape of a Snapper entered the cave and each dragon dipped their head in a bow. The King of Dragonhome had come to stand before his son.

Geir relaxed. His father had just wanted him to squirm, presumably to teach him some twisted lesson that was supposed to stick.

“Friends,” the king said, “subjects. I have been thinking about the condemned. I have thought about him since his sentence to this very moment. I have come to believe that I alone am responsible for him and his actions.”

Geir considered his future. How long would he have to play the part of the repentant prodigal before the old king let his guard down? He tried reading his father’s expression, but the wrinkles in the old dragon’s face were so deep that his eyes were hidden in shadow.

“And, after much thought-” the king’s voice cracked. “I have decided that I must carry out the sentence myself.”

Geir snapped to attention. “Father?”

The king opened his mouth, and with the delicacy of a summer wind, began to breathe. It was not the hot breath of life. It was the cold, unfeeling mist of petrification.

“Father? Father, no.”

Geir’s mind raced. His father was supposed to rescue him. He was supposed to tell the Crystal Court to shove off and leave his son alone.

“You can’t do this,” Geir said, as a heavy numbness began spreading up his legs. “I’m a prince! I am a prince of Dragonhome!”

The faces of the dragons around him began to warp, stretching and swirling into a smear of blue and black.

“Father,” he whispered, and the stone swallowed him whole.

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A few years ago, I went through a phase where I tried writing dragon nursery rhymes for lore, lol. They’re pretty old, but there are still a few I like.

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Emergence | Path of the Emperor

Durum shuddered. There should have been thousands of leaves far above him, filtering the sunlight into a dim green. The earth should have been carpeted with decaying leaves, and the air should have been ringing with the echoing calls of the jungle. It was eerily silent as Durum surveyed the damage. The splintered trees, the inexplicable piles of crumbled stone, and the deep gouges in the earth. With no leaves to scatter the morning rain, water pooled all around him, forming deep troughs of mud. The forest floor had been laid bare to the sky, and it oozed like an open wound. Durum closed his eyes. The clan scouts had spouted a wild tale about a three-headed monster carving through the jungle, turning trees to stone before blasting them away. Durum had scoffed. These young dragons were always running away with their imaginations, turning shadows into shade-beasts and hydras into monsters. Now that the destruction was spread before him, Durum knew he had been wrong. The monster was real. Durum thought of his green goddess. Some said she had left them. Durum felt that she must still be there, slumbering, hidden away in the depths of jungle. The elders taught that the very blood in her veins ran through the jungle itself, pulsing through every tree, root and vine. Had she felt the destruction here? Had it hurt her? Was she angry? Durum snarled at the open sky and spread his wings. The clans of the jungle would need to know.

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Gene origin headcanon-Brightshine/Sparkle

The original brightshine wasn’t a heritable gene. It was a gift the Lightweaver herself, bestowed on her most favorite and loyal children. These “brightmarked” were deeply respected and often given special privileges throughout the Flight.

However, it didn’t take too long for scroll artists to make imitations, some ranging from a weak sparkle to a nearly perfect copies of the brightmark. (In fact, one scroll maker flooded the market with them at a loss, purely to spite the elite.)

There was already some debate around “scrolled” vs “true” appearances, and whether using scrolls was cheating fate or dishonest etc, but the idea that any dragon with enough treasure could masquerade as a god’s chosen really set the debate into overdrive.

Scrolling fell out of fashion for a while, or at least, dragons claimed not to use them, but brightshine/sparkle had already circulated far and wide.

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Gene Origin Headcanons

Veined 

A gene that originated in the Scarred Wasteland. Warriors would accentuate their battle scars with metallic highlighting or tattoos to show off everything they had survived. The practice spread to mercenary groups and warriors from other flights, and eventually, to young dragons who wanted to make themselves look more edgy without actually earning scars. Some opted for the magical route and ended up passing the trait along. 

Opal

A Dragonhome original. In the Crystal Court, petrification was reserved for two things. Persevering their most respected and powerful dead and executing their most dangerous and treasonous criminals. Some rebels, however, managed to escape after partial petrification. They escaped with their lives, but not before patches of stone and crystal had grown into their bones. It was a handicap for the first few generations, but the trait softened until it was purely aesthetic. 

Runes

Originally called Oathmarks. Runes were magically binding oaths seared into the oath-maker’s hide. The terms of each oath varied, but the marks would always burn and glow if the oath-maker violated the their contract. If they were not removed, the runes could be passed to offspring, though the magical binding wouldn’t. After a few generations, the marks would resemble script, but would not be legible. 

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OK

Capsule

Capsule began as the infamous Crystalbelly Curse. Dragons with Crystalbelly were able to function normally, but they were left incredibly vulnerable to injury. With many vital organs condensed into a visible, liquid slosh, a single hit to the chest would lead to instant organ failure. 

The curse was originally commissioned for high-security Arcane prison. Wardens thought that the vulnerability from Crystabelly would force the more violent inmates to be much more cautious and lessen the likelihood of prisoner violence or revolt. (It didn’t work, but that’s a story for another day.) It was also heritable, a huge oversight by the developers.  

It took many generations, but Crystalbelly was eventually diluted into the harmless “capsule” which was just a shimmery belly gradient and doesn’t impact organ function at all. (The capsule in the site artwork depicts the original curse.)