An amaziingly detailed sketch by 1phoenix1 of the very first D&D charcter I ever created, a Dragonborn Sorcerer named Myastan Balasar. The prompt I gave him was Balasar recovering after having just gained the ability to grow wings. There is a slight deviation from the scene I wrote, and pic, but no matter :P
Exhausted from the rigors of the day and slightly drunk off Messikamen's excellent Honey Ale, Balasar lay in the room lent to him. Just as his eyes began to close, he suddenly noticed a figure in hooded robe coming towards him from the corner of the room. Roused by this sudden intrusion, and thinking of earlier events he sat up: "Alisar, is that you?"
There was a baritone chuckle, and a deep voice replied in Draconic, "No son, do you not know me?"
It was then that dancing lights appeared around the head of the figure, showing not the visage first feared by Balasar, but the face of an elderly man. . . . No, not lights, but golden canaries. . . .
The presence of figure filled the room, and for a moment, it was not a man that stood before Balasar but a great Platinum Dragon towering over him, staring at him with a piercing eyes: "War is coming, It is time for you to receive the gift of your ancestors."
The image became blurry, as a wave of pain ran up Balasar's upper back. Gasping for breath, he was thrust forward in agony as bone and sinew ruptured out. At first looking like long pointed arms, the tissues quickly folded and expanded into the form int a pair of wings.
"The first time is often difficult, Myastan Balasar, the pain will pass; hereafter, you may call forth your wings at will."
The voice faded, as did the vision . . . Balasar woke from his bed with a start. The room was empty, though sore, his back was devoid of wings; but he sensed that should he want them they would appear.
Balasar knew from his training with Tokris that fire breath was not the only trait his race had inherited from his draconic ancestry, but he certainly had not been prepared for this.
"Well, I guess I'll need to get my clothing altered." He said to himself, "Good thing I wasn't wearing anything when the wings sprouted, my tunic or cloak would have been shredded. Then again, perhaps that was all a dream. . . Bahamut knows, not I."