#vicegrips-fr

[majestyrising]

Art of Lio for my beloved @vicegrips-fr! I experimented with a new shading technique in the first version then more usual version in the second. He was super fun to draw even if it took me three tries before I got it right <3

#flight rising #flight rising art #fr art #my art #liander lightheart #ieri poli

[kaelily]

Imagine a sleepy reader who unconsciously grabs and calls for Kaeya in the midst of a nightmare. And as Kaeya approaches and sits near them on the bed, reader grabs Kaeya by wrapping their arms around their waist in a vicegrip. Once Kaeya is pulled into bed, reader snuggles up near him, and pulls him close. So Kaeya stays with them until morning.

Kaeya gets up first, and just quietly looks at reader, and watches as the way the light hits them. Reader was already beautiful in his eyes, and under this light, reader looks like an angel. As reader wakes up, Kaeya starts teasing, and points out that the reader didn't let him go all-night, which makes reader blush. Kaeya insinuates something might've happened, and watches the reader's blush deepen to a bright red. And then of course, Reader lets him go after that, before Kaeya admits that nothing happened this time, with a sly wink.

(I swear, I don't mean to send so many. My brainrot for Genshin is way too much. Too many ideas, I swear.)

as someone who hugs their pillows to sleep, bc i have no one to cuddle with i can totally imagine doing this myself. he would give the comfiest cuddles fr (i can confirm) and would tease u in the morning like u said cuz he finds ur grumpy face adorable <33

also no need to apologize for sending multiple asks cuz i love receiving them so much 😭😭. so send me anything u want to <33

#ᕱ ᕱ — mail #ᕱ ᕱ — nonnies

[sugaray-fr]

First practice piece for the ever-so-lovely @vicegrips-fr of their character Azizi! Thanks for letting me draw this handsome stranger <3

#my art #flight rising #flightrising #gijinka #vicegrips-fr

[webwingalpha]

Unaffiliated Stories: Onward

@frxemriss​ @vicegrips-fr​ @glasswing-flutter​ @naranciag-fr​ @lumoselm-fr​ @wyvernrising​

(If you want to be added to my lore pinglist let me know! And also let me know if you want to be pinged for bios as well!)

-----

The Skydancer’s clawed feet padded softly over the short grass as he made his way southwards. He had no particular destination in mind, nowhere he planned to go; he just needed to keep moving. Away from wavy and goldenrod grass that felt soft underneath his feet, away from the nearly-always cloudless sky and fluffy, warm-coloured trees. And especially… especially away from the towering and pale gold ruins and buildings that he saw at nearly every turn. He honestly couldn’t do this anymore.

The Sunbeam Ruins were just a mess of bad memories to Skelston now. He couldn’t stay. Just about everything reminded him of something he didn’t want to keep remembering. His previous kingdom and its fall, being in hiding for years upon years underground, the clan who took him in when he re-emerged getting destroyed by the very same thing that destroyed his previous home, and then, the great and foul-smelling beast that resulted in him fleeing further north. It was not rare for one of those memories to show up behind his eyelids when he slept each night.

In fact, the foul beast rampaging over the lands was a reason why he refused to take to the skies, even if it would make his journey faster. It didn’t feel safe. Even if it was miles and miles away now; he could still occasionally hear distant roars, or see elemental blasts streak through the air when he glanced backwards. Neither of those failed to get him to increase his pace for a while. Skelston had never expected to ever see the fabled “emperor” he had heard of in stories over the years, and he really wished he hadn’t.

It had been days since Skelston had begun traveling, and he was finally feeling like he was getting at least somewhat close to out of the light-kissed land entirely. It was only midday, so there were several hours of travel left, and he was able to see the top of the largest buildings that resided in the Hewn City on the horizon. Good. He was going to skirt around it, for there was absolutely no way he was wandering into that cursed place again, but it was a good sign. After all, they were located at the southernmost part of the Sunbeam Ruins, along a lot of the southern border. He was close. He was going to get out of here. Hopefully sooner than later.

Skelston kept traveling, opting not to sleep that night in order to get there faster; it was doubtful he’d be able to sleep for long anyways. He made a longer berth around the City than he originally planned, not wanting to be that close to it when nightfall inevitably hit. He had been told since he was a mere hatchling that it was a very bad idea to be near it at night, after all, and he was not risking it even now. It felt like he didn’t have good luck, all things considered, and going closer was just a disaster waiting to happen.

Roughly two days later, his claws hit the dry, cracked grounds of the Expanse as he landed from a short flight across the divide between the two territories, and after a quick check to ensure that the pearl of one of his former mates that he had managed to retrieve from the ruins of his kingdom before he started his journey was still safe in the bag around his shoulders, Skelston was off again. He still had no idea where he wanted to go or what he planned to do, just that he wanted the Ruins far behind him. That was the only important thing.

And thus, he resumed his travels. As he continued on, Skelston kept to himself, avoiding obvious clans and staying as far away from other traveling dragons as he could. Thankfully, in this harsh, arid desert, sightings of other dragons were few and far between. He didn’t mind the heat, being a fire dragon, so he also kept to traveling during the day for the most part when he did decide to sleep, and that also likely helped keep his sightings of other dragons to a minimum.

Going on this long journey alone gave him a lot of time to think and reminisce, especially considering the fact he wasn’t able to sleep much at times thanks to either a nightmare or just the inability to fall asleep to begin with. His mind was on both things past and present. How did he become the ruler of a kingdom for years to… this? Run out of two homes by the Shade, Tainted, lost, and with no home to call his own, no friends or allies to spend time with. He had no idea where he wanted to go, even if it might look that way to others observing him; he was just wandering aimlessly. He had managed to leave the Ruins, away from bad memories and monsters, but what was he going to do next? He hadn’t traveled in Sornieth in a long, long time. He had no idea what things were like now.

Not to mention he had no interest in joining a clan at this point in time. He wasn’t just going to allow another clan to fall to the Shade; after two times of having to flee a clan due to the Shade overtaking everything, it felt like he was cursed. And what if he was? He wasn’t going to put that burden on another clan and cause even more dragons to die. Too many dragons had died due to him and he didn’t need any more blood on his hands.

It was still so strange though, going from a ruler, surrounded by his people, to this. Isolated, alone. A stark contrast, and it was likely he’d never get used to it. He would just have to cope, though, at least for the time being.

Skelston finally made it to the top of the next dune, one that was significantly larger than the last few, stopping to catch his breath. Traveling was not something he was used to, at least not by foot, and there wasn’t any way he was flying while he was in the Expanse; it wasn’t safe with the territory’s tendency to get storms. His front leg with the old shoulder scars burned from the journey so far, his back leg ached due to yet another storm on the horizon, and he let his gaze wander that direction briefly to see how close it really was. He wasn’t a fan of how chaotic this place was; he couldn’t wait until he was free from worrying about the nearly constant storms of the Expanse.

He really needed to figure out where to go and what to do. He couldn’t wander aimlessly like this forever. He felt so lost after all the things that had happened, like he had lost all purpose. He needed a purpose, he needed something to occupy his mind, and most of all, he needed to find out where he belonged now. 

Skelston closed his eyes, feeling the wind whip his mane around as he stood there, contemplating on what he should do next. At the very least, he needed a destination. He was not staying here; this was most certainly not a place he wanted to stay in the long term.

After a moment, he let his eyes open, his gaze trailing to the south. Just past the grey sands and dark clouds was lava and black rock: The Ashfall Waste. Where he had been born eons ago, a place he didn’t spend much time in before he was whisked off with his father to the Ruins because their original home wasn’t safe anymore. It had been so long since he had even set his eyes upon it.

And now that he was not on the move or sleeping, Skelston could swear he was feeling a pull towards it. Maybe that could be his destination; it sounded right. It sounded perfect, actually.

He would figure out what to do from there. Traveling and wandering, yes, since clans were a no-go for now. He was not risking the life of another clan. Not again. He had seen so much death over the years. It was not a thing he was fond of.

Wait.

That’s what he could do. He could start targeting the Shade, himself. He had heard of Shade Hunters; dragons who specifically train to hunt down and kill Shade creatures. He liked that idea; hitting them first instead of letting them attack clans. He could help keep clans safe from the dark, lurking shadows.

So that was it then. He had a purpose. He would strike the Shade down himself, keeping them from being able to hurt any other dragons. Sure, this would mean he’d likely not stay in the Ashfall Waste in the long run, but it still was a start, a destination.

Feeling renewed with a strong purpose, Skelston slowly made his way down the large dune after glancing towards the next impending storm. It felt nice to know what he wanted to do now; he just needed to get to the Waste first. Hopefully it wasn’t too much farther.

He wasn’t going to avoid the Shade any longer. He was going to confront it head on, straight for the throat. Sure, he couldn’t eliminate it entirely by himself; he was likely never going to make a dent in the population, but hell, he was tired of hiding. No more.

#fr #flight rising #lore post! #unaffiliated stories #working name but I like it #my lore #l: Skelston #docs kept wanting to autocorrect his name to skeleton lol #also if anyone wants to do lore connections with me hit me up he needs them #he's just a lonely traveler atm #who doesn't want to officially join a clan #and he's a certified sad boy lol #also wyvern let me know if you don't want to keep being pinged #I just figured you'd possibly be interested in this too haha #a big assumption I know #unlike the last one he's in draconic form the entire time #also hi luminax is indeed canon

[breathe2-fr]

Records of the Curator #4

<The top of the page is torn, and only two-thirds of the paper remain.>

Note to self: Speak with Mageroot later about whether or not we really need Beachcomber in the clan.

We spent some time cozying ourselves in the canyon of the Expanse. Cozying, I say, even though the wind stops down there - it makes my skin itch. That said, this would have been a fine place to live, but the shadow stalkers found us there.

While there is currently no understanding these shadows, I will try to explain what we experienced thus far. These things almost appear to be made of smoke or dark clouds, but can take on solid forms of their choosing. They can shift out of thess forms at any time, completely changing their bodies - though they seem to be adept at all forms they take, changing their movement and fighting styles instantly. Their cloudy forms can also be used to blind anyone they surround, allowing one of their allies to slip in wtih an edge. When defeated, they expand into a cloud of shadow, and blow away as if carried by the wind. 

Fortunately, we had dragons willing to take up the fight. Venom, a ferocious plague spiral (at the time, she has since performed a magic ritual to become a guardian), fought back the shadows and saved many in our clan. She even risked herself chasing them down and rescuing a few who had been taken.

We had manage to fend off one of the more vicious attacks we’ve endured, but we hadn’t realized something else was happening - random clans living all around the canyons were attacked as well. The shadows who attacked these clans took on forms that resembled members of the Shifting Wind, convincing other clans that we had gone mad. in only a few hours after we’d saved ourselves, the warmasters of clans around the canyon were at the entrance to our cave, demanding to speak.

Spelldancer pledged our innocence and tried to explain, but it fell on deaf ears. The message was clear: we were no longer welcome in the canyon.

<The document is signed in perfect penmanship, a whimsy cursive signature that reads “Gloam, Clan Curator”.>

pings: @wyvernrising​ @vicegrips-fr​

#flight rising #flight rising lore #shifting wing clan #shifting wing clan lore #records of the curator #shifting wind #gloam

[vicegrips-fr]

fr username change y’all!

hellkite-fr > vicegrips-fr

#words #flight rising #flightrising #this is going to take some getting used to #but i felt like a change before my move!

[regenerated-reedjumper]

azizi belongs to @vicegrips-fr! 

#crow with a pen #pretty boy....

[the-rat-plays-games]

Isane Mordau

“Everyone’s born with self worth, How easily it turns to doubt, it takes letting go of what we know we can’t live without. ... but the blood in the water is the blood of  my brother. We both learned it didn’t mean a thing in the end if one was thicker than the other.” -Amigo the Devil, “Cocaine and Abel” warning for below cut: picture depicts a death scene (also sorry if the writing is messier than usual. i had to write this really quickly between getting off of work and going to bed lmao) tagging @vicegrips-fr​ ‘cause here’s some backstory for that place I mentioned, the Crimson Sun; in particular, one of the women who owns it.

Isane is one of the two women who owns the Crimson Sun. As a child, Isane worked for the family that her wife was born into. The difference in their classes saw them treated differently, but both of them were miserable in their own ways. Isane, a shy and taciturn girl, took to Elysia, and snuck her things she wasn’t allowed to have, such as literature that her family forbade. Isane and Elysia had a quiet romance because they were most certainly forbidden from having one that people could notice. It burned Isane even more because she knew what Elysia more than likely didn’t -- Isane’s mother was a nobleman’s wife. Isane had been abandoned as an infant, because she had been born to the woman’s previous husband. So as Isane suffered, she watched her family blossom and bloom, while she was kept at a distance. But she had Elysia. She wooed Elysia with flowers and poems and awkward displays of martial prowess, because a princess needed to marry a warrior, a knight. Furthermore, one of her brothers, Auro, found out who she was, found out they shared a mother, and the two grew closer, as he tried to at least alleviate some of the stressors of Isane’s life. This all changed when Elysia revealed she had a marriage-match, and Isane knew that she had to act quickly; to this day, she doesn’t know what impulse made her challenge Elysia’s fiancee to a duel, because it certainly wasn’t the kind of thing she was allowed to do -- and it certainly wasn’t a duel she was expected to win, either. But she did win. She just couldn’t look at the body. At Auro. They left together that night, she and Elysia, and it was Elysia who suggested, once they found somewhere safe, to start the Crimson Sun. Isane serves as a protector for the place. The workers are kept safe under her watchful eye, and she has returned to her quiet ways, rarely speaking except in Elysia’s company. She also never gives a second warning for misbehavior, and comes down on those who hassle the workers of the Sun with a wrath that stuns those who don’t know her own history.

#c: isane #organization: crimson sun

[majestyrising]

In anticipation of myself and @vicegrips-fr​’s new light lore, I decided to update Belisarius’ design! Behold, the Herald of Fortitude, valour, summer wind, fresh spring waters, and the arts. She, alongside her siblings, were left to rule over Ieri Poli after the First Herald; original son of the Lightweaver; Iustinious Dei, disappeared six hundred years ago.

It’s been kinda rough, even for a demigod.

#flight rising #flight rising art #fr art #gijinka art #fr gijinka art #belisarius #ieri poli #my art #i kinda like how my art has evolved #to be humanoid but with more dragon traits than before #she's missing her head wings but. i forgot. okay i forgot #IT'S FINE OK IT'S FINE

[majestyrising]

Some of the dragons of Ieri Poli, the keystone city of the Sunbeam Ruins which protects the central lands from the Hewn City! This is a combination of both my side faction and @vicegrips-fr’s side faction that we smashed together because it made more sense for them to just be the same thing.

Top left: Belisarius Dei, an ancient creation of the Lightweaver known as a Herald, worshipped as a demigod. Her domains are Fortitude, fresh spring water

Top right: Marpessa, a mid tier priestess of The Order, the encompassing paladin organisation that runs the city. She handles administrative duties.

Bottom left: Aristides, the captain of one of the paladin guilds named Lux in Tenebris Lucet. He’s highborn, proud of his abilities, but forced to herd cats due to his teammates being, uh, unusual.

Bottom right: Alcibiades, (whom some may remember!), a noble who was kicked out of his house. Now he freeloads at the temples and plays music for the festivals.

We’re both super excited about this and have plans to actually write down a linear story in rp form which we can then clean up and post in parts! <3

#flight rising #flight rising dragons #dragon share #clan lore #my lore #fr lore #ieri poli #belisarius #marpessa #aristides #alcibiades

[majestyrising]

Metamorphosis, Pt. II

Notes: Bec continues to be experimented on by a strange dragon of a strange breed. Read the first part here. Continued warnings for body horror and gore.

Pings: @vicegrips-fr​ @mask-fr​ @kattafr​ @slighteyewing​ @deadland-disciple​

The switch is subtle enough that in her addled state she doesn’t realise what has just happened. The journal switches hands, quill pinched between fingers as a clawed hand reaches up and tugs the ropes around the two eyed head until his jaw is tied shut. He looks down and begins writing as the three eyed head finally looks up at her, and tugs on the strap of his doctor’s mask to free it.

“You are a strong one, aren’t you?” he says, this head’s voice slightly softer and more humane, “Most die before they reach the table. Sif is not known for her gentle touch.”

He waves a hand. She feels a rush of magic wrap around her body as the bones and muscles of her face rearrange themselves. It’s a spine chilling process that fills the very seat of her soul with nausea. Once it’s done she can at least open her mouth and hiss out loud.

“Indeed,” he says, “Your blood is old, fledgling. Older than the dirt beneath us. Perhaps older than I am.”

He smiles, which is eerie and strange. She’s not the best at reading anyone’s true intentions but it feels genuine, and considering how she’s not much more than a corpse with an attitude right now, that is all the more disturbing.

“Power like yours has a way of, shall we say, diluting as it comes down the stream,” he continues thoughtfully, head tilting to the side as he studies her with wide, intelligent eyes.

“You’re very angry,” he says.

She tries very hard to work her tongue around her teeth and spit out a ‘no fucking shit’, but all she can do is let out a wet croak.

He chuckles, which chills what little of her body she can still feel.

“You want power,” he says, “You feel that you have been shackled down by the mortality of those who claim ownership over you. I can always tell when I find new blood- it is the drive to life in spite of overwhelming odds that allows one to survive such ordeals.”

He clasps his hands together and leans back slightly, resting more weight on his twin tails as his head rocks slowly left to right in thought.

“Do you like art?” he asks, looking back down at her.

She can only blink in response to such an unexpected question. Though as she blinks her vision swims harder, and the more she blinks the worse it gets. At the same time her sight expands, its range growing wider in sections.

It is as if a spider web has been draped over her eyes.

“I do,” he continues, mildly, “Art has no boundaries when it is true. It must be pushed onwards past what the masses consider to be cruelty, and only the strong can do such things.”

He lifts a hand to slice his palm open. Before she can do anything else he shoves his hand deep inside her chest. There’s resistance at first but it buckles and she can feel his fingers around her heart.

It’s as if she swallowed liquid fire. It screams through her heart first and pumps through her body in an instant. It sends her limbs thrashing violently but also sends a surge of energy through her.

She can finally turn her head further and see that her brightly coloured body has changed from the spots of a jaguar to neon slime that is sent spattering against all four walls as the seizure contorts her body in unnatural angles. All of her senses are overstimulated, the pounding of her blood in her eardrums so loud it feels like they’re going to pop.

Though she cannot see, the switch occurs again as the journal changes hands. The ropes are loosened and the doctor’s mask strapped back on.

The two eyed head looks at her with no emotion.

“Blood dosage administered,” he says, “Preliminary result is seizure due to excessive neuron activity.”

The sensation of temperature on her skin is boiling, then freezing, like needles piercing the skin. It feels like an eternity before that finally stops and she is able to turn her head again to see her skin ‘settle’; there’s no scales as there were before, but the surface stops oozing and bleeding everywhere. 

“Secondary result is composition stabilising,” he notes, “A promising sign.”

Her vision doubles even further, but her head feels so heavy she cannot lift it anymore. She’s so tired.

Her captor comes closer once more, leaning over her. This time, both heads are looking at her with interest.

“If you maintain your sanity,” the two eyed head says, “Then we shall induct you into Pulpa Artifex as one of our fleshweavers.”

“We are Bragi,” the three eyed head says, voice muffled by the doctor’s mask, “But you may call me Father.”

#flight rising #flight rising lore #fr lore #my lore #clan lore #pulpa artifex #becquerel saint-noir #i need to change her tag probs #bragi #there will be an epilogue!

[majestyrising]

Metamorphosis

Notes: Becquerel gets captured by Pulpa Artifex and experimented on. Warnings for body horror and gore.

Pinglist: @vicegrips-fr @mask-fr @kattafr @slighteyewing @deadland-disciple​

The only natural surface in the entire room is the table she’s strapped to. The walls and ceiling are the pale pink colour of skin, ripples running across every surface. It’s eerily familiar but ultimately completely alien to her.

She’s long lost the ability to struggle. The stone surface of the table is now uneven with layers of blood and viscera, and the only thing that keeps her clinging onto consciousness is pure spite.

It wasn’t meant to go this way. She’s one of the strongest mercenaries under the Thanatos Syndicate, sent to the northern Quarantine Zone to investigate disturbing reports of missing villages. The area was just on the border of the Syndicate’s reach, meaning the now completely abandoned villages weren’t under their protection but were of interest to them.

She had protested, of course. Who cares if some weaklings go missing? But Rho had insisted, and so off she went.

Unfortunately, she has no idea how long it’s been since then for any sense of time has been stripped away. She found the villages, and hunted the strange marks in the soft earth that led away. Then there was a battle- someone, a coward, fought her from a distance. She found herself swiftly pinned by magical chains of blistering plague-rot-red and then struck on the back of the head.

And then she woke up here.

“Body tissue transposed into gelatinous substance. Major organs now visible to the naked eye.”

The voice comes from a dragon who has been prowling around the table for seemingly the entire time she’s been here. She’s been in and out of consciousness, but every time she wakes up he’s watching.

She doesn’t recognise the breed. At first, she actually thought she was seeing double from the pain of being injected with all sorts of unknown substances.

Turns out he actually just has two heads. He rears onto his hind legs, balancing using the long tails which remind her of a double helix.

The head with two eyes is the one staring at her with paradoxically clinical curiosity. A looped rope hangs loosely from his jaw. His eyes are a crisp red and green and every time his gaze moves she can feel the intensity of plague power behind it.

The three eyed head hasn’t looked up once, instead looking down and writing in a journal in never ending script. She can’t see what he’s writing from here, and she doesn’t care. A doctor’s mask is strapped around his mouth.

“Gelatinous substance is currently compositionally unstable,” the two eyed head dictates in a strange accent she cannot place.

If that’s because she’s too far gone in her feverish state or if it’s completely impossible to work out for some other reason, well, she doesn’t know.

She tries to open her mouth to spit a string of curses at this insult. For all the pain she’s in; and it’s a lot of pain, so much so that if she wasn’t such a glutton for punishment she’d have begged for death by now; her pride is in even worse shape.

Unfortunately there’s nothing left of her facial muscles right now, so all she can do is seethe.

“Subject appears lucid,” the two eyed head adds, taking a step closer to the table to loom over her. 

His expression is completely blank, a slow blink as he completely ignores her glaring and waves a hand. There’s a noise that she can only just about hear- a sizzle, and then a snap.

Her vision swims as a feeling that is strikingly similar to sniffing rubbing alcohol floods her nostrils and brings tears to her eyes. A muffled sizzle pops next to her right ear. Or where it used to be, maybe.

“As hypothesized, gelatinous substance is acidic in nature,” he notes, “May contain sulfuric or hydrofluoric acid.”

Whatever is happening to the composition of her body doesn’t register to her in the scientific sense. It just hurts. Her nervous system is on fire, pulses of pain that register in a way that can only be described as every fibre of her being screaming, and then numbness.

She won’t give up. She won’t give this piece of shit the satisfaction of killing her.

“If not aforementioned acids, then antimony pentafluoride may be best compared,” the two eyed head continues, beginning to encircle her again, “Whilst molecular structure is beginning to stabilise, fluctuations in composition are beginning to degrade bone.”

Becquerel summons all of her strength, all of the tenacity of her vicious spirit to turn her head a scant two inches and bear her teeth, nailing the bright red-green eyes of her captor with a glare full of malice.

The scaled ridge of his brow raises in surprise.

#flight rising #flight rising lore #fr lore #my lore #clan lore #pulpa artifex #becquerel saint-noir #bragi #part 1 of probably 2! <3 #hope you don't mind the ping mary it's ya gal i swear it's relevant

[majestyrising]

Metamorphosis: Epilogue

⚔ Part 1. ⚔ Part 2. ⚔ Epilogue. ⚔

Notes: Far to the south-east of Pulpa Artifex’s hidden sanctuary, the Thanatos Syndicate gets bad news. No warnings needed.

Pings:  @vicegrips-fr​ @mask-fr​ @kattafr​ @slighteyewing​ @deadland-disciple

It’s a balmy day. Rho’s monochrome room is bathed in sickly pink light. A crystal chandelier hangs above, unilluminated.

He’s sat reading through yesterday’s reports, each more concerning than the next. When there’s a knock at his already open door, he stifles a sigh and gets up.

(Come in, Shara.)

Shara is well known for his jubilant enthusiasm in the face of just about anything, so the fact that his eyes are on the ground and a slight frown sits squarely on his face isn’t a good sign.

He didn’t have much hope in the first place, but that tells him all he needs to know.

(You did not find anything, I take it.)

Shara’s brow furrows into a deeper frown, his head sinking further down as if in shame.

“No, your majesty,” he admits, “I looked far and wide but I found nothing. The villages are, as we established, empty. But, uh, Becquerel is nowhere to be found.”

Rho rubs a hand over his face, shoulders sinking at the news.

(I see.)

“I shall go back out,” Shara says, sucking in a breath and standing up straight, “I will keep looking for as long as you command.”

Rho drops his hand from his face and gives Shara a genuine, if weary, smile. He shakes his head and flicks his hand in dismissal.

(Not yet. Get some rest first then return to me tomorrow. I will plan where you should search next. I may send others with you.)

For a moment he wonders if Shara will protest, but after a few moments he nods- perhaps he realised he’s covered in desert sands and a heavy layer of sweat from tracking their missing comrade.

As Shara leaves, Rho pauses for a moment. It’s a sixth sense at this point, for he can sense the liquid shadow that waits just beyond the door.

(Do you wish to investigate yourself, Gabe?)

Gabriel slips around the corner and lets his magic fall away, standing before Rho with his arms folded in front of his chest. He looks down at him with his trademark serious expression.

“I will if you send me,” he says, his tone neutral, “I was going to say I’m surprised you’re using so many resources trying to find her.”

Rho’s brow furrows ever so slightly, linking his fingers together behind his back.

(Is that a hint of protectiveness I hear? It has been a long time since she arrived here.)

Gabriel huffs, looking off to the side as his tail slowly moves behind him.

“No,” he says, “There’s a bunch of others who got here in weird ways.”

He looks past Rho at where all the reports lie, two neat piles of looked through and to be looked through. An inkwell and quill sit nearby, both used, and Gabriel knows Rho isn’t meant to write with the nerve damage to his hands.

“No,” Gabriel repeats, “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, just that I’m surprised.”

Rho looks behind him to where Gabriel is looking and lets out a very quiet sigh.

(I know she can be a handful, but I value her skills and her company.)

He tries again to fight back the frown on his face but it wins out, settling over him like a chill.

(More than that, I value her life.)

Gabriel nods at that, unfolding his arms and taking a step closer, clasping Rho on the shoulder for a moment before he lets go and turns around to leave.

“I know,” he says, simply, “We’ll keep looking, boss.”

At that Rho can only nod, watching as Gabriel leaves, shutting the door behind him.

(Let us hope it is not too late.)

#flight rising #flight rising lore #fr lore #my lore #clan lore #thanatos syndicate #rho urusov #Sharazhkavdgedze Molachanov #gabriel sahin #ALRIGHTY i may do a sequel post to this #with bec waking up as an abberation #we shall seeeee

[sugaray-fr]

Your art is lovely and deserves so much more attention! Every time I see it on my dash I get excited.

AAAAAAA THANK YOU SO MUCH!! You have no idea how much that means to me jskdfnkjds

#vicegrips-fr #asks

[majestyrising]

Since @vicegrips-fr posted Liling’s glow up I figured I’d do the same for Shirane! Top is old, bottom is new. This one makes a lot more sense for him considering he runs his province and would mostly wear formal clothes and jewels.

#flight rising #dragon share #kasaiwari #shirane ueda

[majestyrising]

Formation of the Syndicate

Notes: Exactly what it sounds like! The five founding members of the Syndicate discuss their plans. No warnings required. Pings: @vicegrips-fr @mask-fr @kattafr @slighteyewing​

From left to right: Koschei, Mischa, Nightshade, Nakahi, Mokomoko.

The inn is as it always is. The hodgepodge music of activity fills the air, overlapping chatter from patrons and off-key drunken singing laying a soft blanket over the entire inn. It leaves the party gathered around their usual corner table safe in their own private bubble.

Even so there’s a tension which runs through them. The merry quartet sits silently around mugs of ale they’re clutching too tightly. No one speaks, where there would usually be an overflow of conversation, all of them laughing and sharing stories. Eventually, one of the five claps his hands together and startles all but one other.

“A thought, Koschei?” Nightshade asks, not reacting to the clap but blinking slowly as a thin finger scratches the wooden grain on his mug. He looks at his protégé sidelong from the opposite side of the table, unblinking red eyes which appear as if infused with honey.

“A many,” Koschei says agreeably, lifting his chin up and exhaling as a catlike smile works its way across his features. He reaches to his left and lays an arm over his brother Mischa’s shoulders.

Mischa glances at him with an arched eyebrow.

“Go on, please,” Nightshade urges, the cadence of his voice hypnotic enough that it puts the rest of them more at ease, invites them to share their secrets, “Speak.”

“We need a base,” Koschei states, watching across the room as the other patrons dance and shout. No one is listening to them.

“That much is obvious,” Mischa mutters under his breath before he looks up at Koschei, “But with what you two are suggesting we need more than a house in the city. It would have to be easily defendable-”

“A castle with walls so high they’d never fall?” Nakahi interrupts from Koschei’s right with a scoff, “It doesn’t matter where we are. Nowhere’s impregnable.”

“Don’t let history blind you my friend,” Nightshade says with a gentle warmth as he deftly avoids the difficult subject, “As true as your words are, Mischa’s are in turn.”

“It’s all a moot point when we can’t afford the rent for a castle,” Mokomoko points out, weakly kicking Nakahi’s shin from her other side, “We barely have enough coin to keep our rooms.”

“Does that not get on your nerves, Moko?” Koschei prods, his eyes sharp as he stares across the table at him, “To know if one of our current prospects dries up, we could be staring at a winter on the streets?”

“It’s winter?” Mokomoko responds with an unfazed grin, “I can’t tell the difference between summer and winter here, honestly.”

“Don’t avoid my point,” Koschei sighs, though rolling his eyes good-naturedly as he lifts the mug to his lips and sips, making a face as he does, “Ah, I’d much rather be drinking vodka.”

“Too risky to drink the rubbing alcohol they sell here,” Nakahi bemoans, drinking from her own mug, “At least with ale we’re not going to go blind.”

There’s a few moments of thoughtful silence before Mischa shifts in his seat.

“I know you want us to be safe, Kos,” Mischa says, frustration evaporating as he looks over at his brother with a worried frown, “But what you’re suggesting isn’t possible.”

“It is,” Koschei insists, putting his mug down as his brows furrow, “It has to be.”

“Indeed,” Nightshade says, “If this proposal of ours is to succeed, then we must have somewhere to call our own.”

Nakahi hums, drumming her fingers on the table as she glares a hole in the middle of it. Her thoughts are like a physical thing swirling around them, maybe because of her strong heritage. The jade green eyes hidden by the black shrouded sclera of undeath stare and stare.

Finally, she tsks aloud and bites her lip, looking over at Koschei with an equal amount of thoughtfulness and hesitation on her face.

“You’re not done with being a nomad, dear?” Koschei asks, correctly reading her trepidation, “I understand your fears.”

She remains silent for a few more moments before speaking.

“If we tie ourselves to one place,” Nakahi explains, picking her words slowly and carefully, “Then if someone with greater strength than us comes, we’ll have no options.”

Nightshade folds his arms over his chest, sitting straight in his chair as he looks around the table.

“Well then,” he says, with the energy of a wise elder teaching fledgling students, “How do we make our way around that?”

“Multiple bases,” Mischa answers, with a shrug, “Even more astronomically impossible.”

Koschei groans aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stamps his foot in annoyance.

“You’re a real downer tonight, eh Mish?” Mokomoko says, giving Mischa a lopsided smile, “Drink your ale already, you’re depressing me.”

“Ah, ye of little faith!” Koschei complains, raising his arms in exasperation, “Must you doubt me so, brother mine?”

“If no one else does, then yes,” Mischa counters, “Someone must curtail your lofty dreams, Kos.”

“Why curtail me when we stand to gain so much?” Koschei counters back, a twitch in his jaw, “I am by no means saying this will be easy, but it will be worth it! We will-”

“Oh, here we go,” Mokomoko whispers, nudging Mischa again- who this time hides his smile under his arm.

“-We will run an empire with no borders, no nation, no gods,” Koschei says, his tone hushed and reverent, his eyes open as if transfixed by his own dreams and words, “We’ll formulate a private army and place informants across all of Sorienth. We will pull strings to keep ourselves safe, relevant, and powerful.”

“All that just so we can be at peace,” Nightshade says, with a smile. Koschei grins back at him, encouraged by his smile.

“And we can’t do any of that without somewhere to live,” Mischa says, waving a hand dismissively, “I get it.”

“The way to get around it,” Nakahi says thoughtfully, her shoulders relaxing, “Is to have forces so powerful that no one could topple us.”

The calm thoughtfulness evaporates instantly as she punches her fist into an open hand with a shark-like smile. When she meets Koschei’s eyes he’s all but glowing with shared enthusiasm.

“All that,” Mokomoko echoes quietly, almost resigned to it.

Neither Koschei nor Nakahi hear him, both of them too busy encouraging one another’s dreams.

“That part is easy,” Koschei says, excitedly, “You are already incredibly powerful, my dear. All you would have to do is to push past those limits- who could stop us if we have you on our side? Who could stand toe to toe with someone whose combat sense is as refined as yours?”

“No one,” Nakahi growls loud and deep, getting to her feet and forcing Mokomoko to grab her drink so she doesn’t knock it over.

“Hey, easy!” Mokomoko protests, wincing, “No need to start a fight right now- at least wait until someone says something gross so it’s justified!”

“That’s not going to take long,” Mischa snorts, nodding to a man who is gesturing at them with pointed look, “The guy at the bar earlier gave us the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen.”

Nakahi sits down, shooting Moko an apologetic look and taking her mug back to take a hearty drink of it.

“Anyway,” Mischa says, “All that’s great but we haven’t resolved anything.”

Nightshade chuckles at that.

“Have we not?” he asks, putting both palms on the table for a moment, “We are in agreement, for once, that we need a home to call our own.”

“Mm, true,” Moko muses, “I… I mean, I do worry that if we’re not able to escape then we’ll be pinned in again- and I don’t want that to happen.”

He jumps a little when he feels Nakahi’s hand on his, for her hands are cold. They weren’t, not before she was resurrected by Nightshade. But that’s just the problem isn’t it? They both know how things can crumble if your back is against the wall.

“But I,” he continues, clearing his throat, “I know that those are just wounds from before.”

But then there’s the opposite. You can’t just run forever.

“Perfectly reasonable wounds,” Koschei assures, “Far be it for me to, ah, steamroll over your worries. Unless they’re Mischa’s worries.”

“Ha ha,” Mischa says, deadpan.

The four pause to drink, letting the slow burn of alcohol soothe their worries.

As the others drink, Nightshade reaches into the pocket of his suit and pulls out a letter. He places it on the table with great care, smoothing a palm over it.

“Oh?” Nakahi notes, tilting her head to the side, “A love letter for our silver fox?”

At that Nightshade’s eyes go wide and he laughs slightly, shaking his head. 

“Hardly,” he says, “No, this is something far more valuable to all of us. I did some proverbial shaking of the trees, if you understand my meaning.”

“You… asked around for information on somewhere to set up base?” Mokomoko ventures, rubbing his chin with one hand.

“Correct,” Nightshade confirms, “I can verify that this is not nonsense, either. There are historical records- I say historical, I do not mean pre-history or some such nonsense.”

Koschei reaches for the letter but lets his hand hover over it motionless before Nightshade nods. At the confirmation he takes it and opens it, reading over the contents before handing it over to Nakahi.

“Reclaimer’s Glacier?” Nakahi asks, looking over at Koschei to find his expression not the one of elation she was expecting but one of deep and troubled thought.

“A worry, Koschei?” Nightshade asks lightly.

“Ah, no,” Koschei dismisses, swallowing, “Not at all. Do elaborate, friend.”

“According to my sources,” Nightshade explains, “There was once a clan of indeterminate origin and business that once held claim to a large palace among the field of the Reclaimer’s Glacier. Purportedly, it was carved out of one of these glaciers.”

“Sounds cold,” Mokomoko comments, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Not to the intensity you may expect,” Nightshade continues, “It is magically reinforced.”

“Mm, who's to say it won’t be full of traps?” Nakahi asks, handing the letter to Mokomoko, “If we don’t know who used to live there then we can’t rule out that maybe they didn’t want anyone following them.”

“Oh, but if it’s full of traps then it’s also full of treasure, right?” Mokomoko points out, “That might be fun.”

“Anyway,” Nightshade says, his serious tone silencing Nakahi and Mokomoko, “It is a solid lead- if I say so myself.”

“It’s pretty far away from civilization,” Mischa points out as the letter is handed to him by Mokomoko, “Which is good and bad, obviously.”

“If we have the right caravans set up then the trek to the nearest city is what, a couple of hours? It’s not too bad,” Nakahi muses, looking up at the ceiling as she maps it in her head.

“Really?” Mischa says, blinking, “Shouldn’t it be more like five hours?”

Nakahi reaches into her backpack where it sits next to her stool and proceeds to pull out a map to show Mischa the route they would take.

“Oh,” he says, lamely.

“You really can’t read a map to save your life, can you?” she teases, to which he sniffs indignantly- though he also smiles sidelong at her.

It is Koschei who has been uncharacteristically quiet. He stares at the ripples of ale in his mug, his mind transforming the waves into wind, into a blizzard, into being trapped.

“Koschei,” Nightshade says, as Koschei is startled out of his thoughts by his name being called, “Does this sound agreeable to you?”

Koschei looks down at the letter again where it now sits in the middle of the table and closes his eyes. He lets the blizzard slip away from his mind.

“How many supplies do you think we have?” he asks, tone unreadable.

“Uh,” Mischa offers slowly, “Enough for a week, probably.”

“Then we should go at daybreak,” Koschei declares, opening his eyes with a grin, “No time to waste.”

Nightshade smiles at that, nodding his head in agreement.

“No more stale ale then,” Mischa says, a little brighter and holding his mug out, “I’ll drink to that!”

“Oh, so now you like my idea?” Koschei counters, holding his mug to the middle of the table to clink against Mischa’s.

“It was Nightshade’s idea,” Nakahi points out, raising her mug too.

“I’m happy either way,” Mokomoko laughs, raising his mug in turn.

“To new horizons, then,” Nightshade finishes, lifting his mug with a delicate hand as the five of them clink the heavy wood together in the middle of the table, sealing the deal with a drink.

#flight rising #flight rising lore #fr lore #my lore #clan lore #thanatos syndicate #koschei urusov #mischa urusov #nightshade #nakahi awhatopana #mokomoko awhatopana #WHEW this starter paragraph was in my drafts for months