#dragon tribe

Here are two Winterhorns from the history of Palera

Princess Kaguya who was designed by @/flamewafflz_ on discord

And Lady Ermine who was designed by me

This is Ghost, a top favorite dragon oc of an original tribe of dragons made by me. (Bet you can’t guess what her color scheme is based off of)

Rant under the line

Idk, just a dragon tribe that came to my mind some time ago

Git LFS (Large Format Storage) is successfully implemented in the project now, so I'm slowly testing the new plug-ins from the Unity sales for cross-compatibility in an empty Unity Project, before putting them in the project proper.

While doing so, I sketched some really rough ideas for the Summit Tribe's Home (Hub), basically the sheltered monastery-esque area where the game begins. I need to work with expanding out to some more explorable areas amidst the peaks of Koh's mountain home, but I'm loving the stilted sweep to the glaciers here, with the runoff flowing down into the Taiga Tribe Lands through treacherous gullies.

Not for a minute were they left alone in this fire-forged, ice-cold room. Their shoulder wound had been reopened, bandages well-worn and bloody even before they were taken captive for punishment. Red and bloody lines wrapped around their legs from whip strokes they hadn’t bothered to count. They waited for someone to start giving them rules, shouldn’t they be given some? They always were. Even with Mother, the punishments weren’t this intense, ever, but they had rules. 

But no one had even spoken to Heart, or Viitorul Nostru, as they had been addressed, since they’d been told of their crimes. It had instead been, one guard after another, for hours at a time, going in a rotation for who was dealing out the overlapping whip strokes. Well, one used the whip especially, but these guards had been specially chosen for their specialty weapon. The one who used the whip had extensively long, brown hair and tattoos all over his chest and arms. And with force that they could not have expected from his smaller frame, the way he whipped at them forced them to let go of their legs. The next had made it so it hurt to move their leg away from where it had been straightened out. Whip after whip, lash overlapping lash overlapping lash. Their jeans had been torn up, stained red. 

The next guard was taller, hair short and cropped, free of tattoos, all but one. One of a glowing knife. There was two frosted-over knives at his side and one in his hand. They got one minute to breathe, one minute where they weren’t being continuously hurt.

They almost reverted back to how they would react when Mother was teaching them, punishing them. They almost tried to pull away as he started cutting into their arm, superficial cuts, but in shapes, then deepened with added pressure on the knife that sends them reeling into a panic attack. They tried to pull their legs in again, but they burned, almost completely opposite of what the knife is doing. At least with the whipping, it didn’t remind them of anything else, and they could blink back the tears, knowing that they would do nothing to make the guards stop. But the ice cold knife brought them back to some of their first few lessons. 

The guard almost hesitates, but keeps going, harshly holding down their stabbed shoulder to keep them still. If their vision was unclear before, it was red now, and then went black.  They fell still, and finally the guard pulled away, sheathing the third knife.