Scrawl Banditta

On the Wings of Dragons

@Nameless Hero Alrighty, I completed my first post. I hope that it is to your liking. This is my first time in a group like setting and I desire to follow all rules. I did my very best, although my skills are a bit rusty after returning to role-play once again.

On the Wings of Dragons

Eira Luneth — a name she learned like a lullaby, though she had never needed one. Her true identity lived in the Norsinian winds that carved her spirit sharp and cold, and in the Avalese light that shimmered quietly beneath her skin.

She was born of two worlds, yet belonged entirely to neither. Instead, she moved between them like a winter star drifting across dusk — a rare convergence of frost and moonfire, of mortal breath and elven grace.

To speak her lineage was to speak of contrasts: the iron-blooded resilience of her Norsinian father,the ancient, melodic magic of her Avalese mother. Together, they shaped a being who was not divided, but doubled — a girl who carried two realms in the chambers of one heart.

And so Eira walked the world not as someone seeking a title, but as someone becoming one.

Eira Luneth — a name whispered into her childhood like a warning, though she had never needed one. Her truest self was carved instead by the Norsinian winds that bit like teeth, and by the cold, silver pulse of Avalese blood humming beneath her skin.

She was a child of two realms, yet claimed by neither. In the human world, she was too quiet, too watchful — a shadow with frost in her veins. Among the elves, she was too mortal, too breakable — a flicker of warmth in a land that revered the eternal.

So she learned to walk the borders instead, a creature forged in the tension between dusk and deep winter. A rarity, yes - but rarities are often lonely things.

Her father’s Norsinian lineage gave her a spine of iron and a heart that beat like a war drum. Her mother’s Avalese grace wrapped her in moonlit silence, a beauty that felt more like a curse than a gift.

She did not simply exist between two worlds - she haunted them, a living threshold, a girl shaped by cold and contradiction.

The cold woke her before the light did.

The cold did not simply wake her — it claimed her.

Eira Luneth rose from her bed of furs as the Norsinian wind clawed at the canvas of her shelter, its howl a familiar summons. She pushed aside the furs and stepped into the breath of dawn, where the Norsinian wind screamed across the tundra like a living thing.The air was a blade, slicing through cloth and skin, but she welcomed it. Frost gathered on her lashes, her hair lifting in the gale as if the storm itself reached for her.

Outside, the world was a cathedral of ice and silence. Snow dunes rose like pale leviathans. The sky was a bruised gray, heavy with unfallen storms.

And in the midst of that frozen expanse waited Crytharion. Frost clung to her lashes, breath curling from her lips in pale ghosts as she stepped into the blistering dawn. The world outside was a wasteland of white and steel-blue shadow — a land that bit, bruised, and blessed in equal measure.

And waiting for her, as he always did, was Crytharion.

He stood half-shrouded in drifting snow, a medium-sized dragon by the standards of the great wyrms, yet still towering above her with quiet, unshakable presence. His aquamarine scales shimmered like frozen glass catching the first fractured rays of morning. Smooth, sleek, and cold to the touch, they reflected the stormlight in ripples of blue fire.

Two crescent-shaped horns curved back from his skull, elegant rather than fearsome. His teeth — sharp as a shark’s and gleaming with frost — flashed only when he yawned or nuzzled her hand, never in threat. For all his lethality, he carried himself with the gentleness of a loyal hound, padding toward her with a soft rumble that vibrated through the snow.

His wings unfurled in a slow, sweeping arc — 32 feet of pale aquamarine membrane traced with veins of silver. Not monstrous, not overwhelming, but powerful enough that each beat stirred a flurry of snowflakes into spiraling dances. Wherever he moved, the air crystallized; wherever he breathed, frost blossomed like flowers.

He lowered his head to her chest, warm breath turning the air to glittering shards. She pressed her forehead to his snout, feeling the ancient calm within him — a wisdom older than the storms that shaped this land.

Crytharion was loyal.
Crytharion was gentle.
Crytharion was devastating.

A creature who could summon blizzards with a roar, or weave illusions from drifting ice. Yet with her, he was soft as snowfall, steadfast as winter stone.

Together, they walked into the white horizon — rider and dragon, girl and myth — their silhouettes swallowed by the storm they called home.

On the Wings of Dragons

I deeply apologize for the wait, I am typing my response now as we speak. Thank you for the heads up.

On the Wings of Dragons

Hello again, my friend!

And oh, I apologize. I was worried that I would interrupt someone's turn so that was why I was asking this question. Thank you for letting me know. I will remember this in the future whenever it is close to being my turn. And no rush, I did not mean to be rushy if it sounded like that way. I wanted to send this message before I headed off to bed, goodnight.

On the Wings of Dragons

I do apologize for my tardiness. I shall proceed with posting if it is my turn to do so. I apologize sincerely for my confusion. It is my first time being in a Public setting, (Group-setting), that is.

Siren's lullaby (Wispclan)

Thank you. :)

Siren's lullaby (Wispclan)

Am I allowed to be 7 years old (80+) years old in cat years. If not then I am more than willing to make the necessary change in age.

Siren's lullaby (Wispclan)

Thank you! I tried my very best.

Oh dear, oh my, I do sincerely apologize for my error in choice of wording of "Years" and "Moons", so I thank you for the kind explanation in a way I could easily understand. And by a leader I meant Queen. I tend to mean moon in years at times because I believed it sounded much more fancy and mysterious. Sorry about the confusion, haha, I am more than patient to go back and make necessary recorrections in my Character Sheet if needed. I do not mind doing so.

On the Wings of Dragons

Name:

Eira Luneth

Age: 32 (appears mid‑20s due to elven lineage)

Race: Half Norsinian Lord (Father) and a Avalese elf (Mother)

Nation: Norsinia born but of Avalese elf blood as well

Magic Type: Mana but magically enhances her own weapons and Armour which Eira uses to boost the offensive and defensive strength of her equipment through the transfer of prana. A double threat, if you will say.

Abilities

Frostweave: Manipulates Mana and Prana to form crystalline ice armor or weapons mid‑battle.

Soul Resonance: Can merge consciousness briefly with her dragon, amplifying magic and perception.

Echo of Winter: Her presence chills the air; wounds inflicted by her magic slow regeneration.

Auric Sight: Sees the flow of Prana in living beings, allowing her to detect lies or hidden emotions.

Background
Born of an Avalan elf scholar and a wandering Norsinian Lord, she was raised among the snow‑cloaked spires of the northern citadel. Her mixed blood made her both revered and distrusted — a bridge between two worlds. When the Frostbound Dragon chose her at sixteen, she became one of Avalan’s youngest riders. Her scarred eye marks the day she faced the Frost Wraiths alone, sealing their rift with her dragon’s breath. She led a lonesome childhood because she was an only child. Her homeland, a cursed, unnamed, uncharted land, simply called "That of what Shall not be named" was bleak, untouched by the soles of man yet inhabited by those of her kind, pointy eared beings of Mana and Disruption, and even Disarray, though not meaning to, nor knowing of just how unstable it truly is when unleashed. And Disruption Mana could do more than Disrupt, it could unravel the binds of time, and the threads of life itself. A once widely populated but now sparse, dwindling one. With only but a dozen or so souls left existing because of prey shortages, famine or simply going "mad" with the wasting disease of insanity that felt like boring holes through ones skull before reducing it to mush. In the end it was only her that remained, and to escape the same fate of her loved ones and her friends she flew away upon her dragon, a smaller, yet stable wing spanned reptile of a beast yet colossal as a large stone, just enough for her to ride upon.

Appearance
Tall and lithe, with silver‑blonde hair that glows faintly under moonlight. Her eyes are glacial green, one marred by a diagonal scar across cheek and brow. She wears layered dragon‑scale armor with fur trim, silver jewelry etched with runes, and a circlet of froststeel. Her aura carries a quiet allure — beauty sharpened by resilience. She stands like a poem carved from winter and starlight — an elven dragon rider whose beauty is not fragile, but sharpened, tempered, and made luminous by survival. Every part of her carries the quiet majesty of Avalan’s frozen heights, as if the cold itself chose her as its emissary.

The Elven Rider’s Presence
Her face is a study in contrasts: soft, enchanting features shaped by elven grace and the frigid harshness of her father's Norsinian bloodline, yet marked by the fierce diagonal scar that cuts from brow to cheek. It does not diminish her beauty — it defines it. It is the kind of scar that speaks of battles survived, of storms walked through, of a soul that refuses to break. Her eyes, glacial green and bright as thawing ice, hold a depth that draws others in like a quiet, irresistible gravity.

Her silver‑blonde hair falls in waves, catching light like strands of moonlit frost. Braids woven through it carry tiny charms and runic beads, each one whispering a story — victories, losses, promises made beneath ancient skies. When the wind touches her, her hair moves like drifting snow, soft yet wild.

Armor and Adornment
She wears dragon‑rider armor shaped from dark leather and frost‑forged metal, each plate etched with Avalan runes. The pauldrons resemble layered dragon scales, shimmering faintly with green and silver accents. Fur trims her shoulders and collar, a reminder of the cold she was born to command.

Jewelry adorns her with the elegance of a warrior‑queen:

a silver circlet resting on her brow, its emerald centerpiece glowing like a captured shard of aurora,

delicate chains draping across her forehead,

an ear cuff hugging her pointed ear, its emerald teardrop swaying with each breath,

rings and bracers engraved with sigils of protection and Prana flow.

She is alluring not because she tries to be, but because she embodies a rare, magnetic duality — beauty and danger, softness and steel, winter and fire.

The Rider in Her Element
Behind her, the blurred silhouette of her dragon looms over but not terrifying size — not a massive collossal structure of reptile but a well-sized, medium to slightly large statured presence that makes her seem even more mythic. Yet she does not shrink beneath his shadow as she would much larger, more colossal forms of dragon; she stands as his equal. The frost‑laden air around them bends subtly toward her, as if recognizing its kin.

Her posture is calm, confident, almost regal. She carries herself like someone who has ridden storms, danced with death, and returned with snowflakes in her hair and power in her veins.

The Aura She Carries
There is something enchantingly beautiful about her — not the delicate beauty of a flower, but the breathtaking beauty of a winter sunrise over endless ice. Alluring in the way a blizzard is alluring: mesmerizing, dangerous, impossible to look away from.

She is a suren on land — ethereal, otherworldly, a creature of myth walking in mortal shape.

---

Crytharion

Dragon

(Imagine the same dragon but only much more medium-to-normal dragon sized, more normally behaviored, and not too imitidating. Re-tweaked information.)

Type: Ice / Snow / Frost dragon type

Description: Crytharion will be a dragon of about a 32 wing span, a medium size of about 7 feet, but not too humongous and a lot more docile, as well as less imitidating, with smooth scales, crescent shaped like horns and sharp, shark like teeth. He is a aquamarine dragon, with large, but not overly massive wings like other more imitidating dragons. He always is there for Eira, never leaving her side, always as if a noble, loyal dog would, only a few sizes larger. And with sharper teeth, a dragon form and just as lethal four claws that could inflict tons of damage. A not-at-all mdium sized dragon whose scales shimmer like frozen glass. His breath crystallizes the air, and his wings leave trails of snowflakes in flight. Loyal, ancient, yet gentle, affectionate, and wise — his roar can summon blizzards or form illusions.

What this tells us about Crytharion
His frozen‑glass scales mark him as a dragon born in the deepest glacial epochs, not merely adapted to cold but forged from it.

Breath that crystallizes the air suggests he can freeze not just matter, but the very Mana currents around him — a rare trait among frost dragons.

Snow‑trail wings imply he carries a micro‑blizzard wherever he flies, a signature of high‑tier frost drakes.

A roar that summons blizzards places him among the mythic class of dragons whose voices shape weather itself.

His loyalty and wisdom hint that he has chosen her not as a rider, but as a partner — a bond Norshinian culture treats as sacred.

Crytharion is believed to have hatched in the heart of the Eternal Glacier, where the world’s first winter still sleeps. His scales refract light like shards of frozen dawn, and when he unfurls his wings, the temperature drops as if the land itself remembers ancient cold.

He rarely speaks, but when he does — through resonance, not words — his voice feels like a calm snowfall settling over your mind. He has seen empires rise and fall, and he carries that quiet, heavy wisdom in every slow, deliberate movement.

Appearance: Pale blue scales with veins of silver, eyes like shards of glacier light, and horns curved backward like frozen crescents.

Crytharion’s Size and Physical Presence

Height (at the shoulder): About 7 feet — towering over most dragons, with a posture that feels like a moving glacier.

Total length (nose to tail): medium sized, with a long, sweeping tail that stabilizes him in high‑altitude storms.

Weight: Approximately 95 tons, though he moves with surprising grace due to Mana‑infused musculature.

More to the meaning of his imitidating ppearance

Crytharion’s body is a masterpiece of winter’s craftsmanship:

Scales: Translucent, shimmering like frozen glass layered over pale blue ice. In sunlight they refract light into cold rainbows; in moonlight they glow faintly, as if lit from within.

Eyes: Sharp, glacial white‑blue with slit pupils — like staring into the heart of a storm.

Body Structure: Broad chest, powerful limbs, and a long, serpentine neck. His movements are slow and deliberate, like shifting permafrost, until battle awakens his terrifying speed.

Frost Aura: A constant halo of drifting snow surrounds him, even in warm climates.

Horns

Crytharion’s horns are one of his most striking features:

Shape: Twin crescent‑shaped horns that curve backward, then slightly outward, like frozen moonblades.

Texture: Smooth at the base, becoming jagged and crystalline toward the tips.

Color: Frost‑white with veins of silver that pulse faintly when he channels Prana.

Function: They act as conduits for his blizzard‑summoning roar, vibrating with deep, resonant power.

Wingspan

His wings are vast but not fully enough to darken the snowfields beneath him like most dragons but still large enough to ride on:

Wingspan: Medium-to slightly large feet from tip to tip.

Membranes: Thin, translucent, and patterned like frost spreading across a windowpane.

Wing Bones: Reinforced with natural ice‑crystal structures, making them both flexible and incredibly strong.

Flight Signature: Every beat of his wings releases a burst of snowflakes and a gust of freezing wind enough to create a medium to slightly large gust.

[SFW] Finding Family!

Hello, I prefer to be called Silent Feather, or simply Si.

I would love to be the mother character of this "said" roleplay mentioned above. I suffer from a deep touch of Autism so I do know of all the "ins" and "outs" of the disability and I would love to be mid thirties because I am about around that age. And my father was in the navy so I also have expertise on those subjects as well. and I also love the idea about the prosthetic limb. It adds to the drama, as well as depression and helplessness at times.

We can indeed discuss if you wish. I am quite a paragraph to novella role-player who prefers quality and quantity as well. So this idea of being a mother to a child with so many difficulties and discomforts is not a challenge, it will be like having a son of my own.

Feel free to message back if interested in my reaching out. Thank you and I shall be awaiting your reply, my friend.