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[booklover789]

Username; booklover789

Viscet name; Wren

Gender; Female

Gender for breeding purposes; Female

Who are they; Moonlight catcher and bottler of dreams. Wren is one of the few viscets that holds power in her paws. The latest in a long line of a short-lived medicine family, Wren has the ability to catch moonlight and dreams in jars and bottles and keep or sell them to viscets who request such items. While she once served only her meager village, when the the majority of the viscet population in that area was killed by a large forest fire, she moved on, one of the three survivors. She now roams the earth, in search of new viscets to share and sell her wares with.

Extra (optional);
Wren lives in an alternate dimension where viscets learned human speech and exhibit more humanistic behaviors than animal behaviors. In addition, in her realm, viscets are the highest on the food chain, with humans slightly below them.
(As stated in the rules, 'These are just the typical nature of the species in a realistic earth-setting. Anthro and etc. AUs are allowed, and your creativity is loved.")

"Greetings," a voice said behind the human.
The person spun around, nose-to-nose with a creature the individual had never seen before. The silver pelt shone in the moonlight streaming down into the cave. The human took a shaky step backwards to create space between it and the larger animal.
The creature chuckled. "My, you're a long way from home, human. What are you doing in these parts of the forest?" The creature sounded female, with a low yet clear voice. Her eye sparkled as she observed the youngling before her. "Do you wish to buy my wares, or are you merely here because of the legends?"
The human gulped, unsure of how to answer. The creature was nearly as large as the person, and the individual knew not why or how it could speak its language. The child had come from a neighboring village where only humans were present - never before had it set eyes upon such a gorgeous creature.
She laughed quietly once again. "Fine. Since you seemed to be scared stiff, let me help ease your concerns and make this easier on you, mortal. I am Wren, Catcher of Moonlight and Bottler of Dreams. I will tell you which of the legends are true first, and then I will wait. If you stay, then you are interested in my wares and in purchasing one or a few of them. If you leave, then you came merely for the stories, and I will not harm you on your way out...so long as you do so quickly."
The child nodded.
With a glint of humor in her eyes and a smirk on her lips, she said, "We shall begin."


Wren darted through the ashes from her village, the burned wreckage floating as dust particles on the wind as the dirt kicked up by her paws mixed with the ashes. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she looked for the survivors she knew wouldn't be there. She turned, about to give up hope, when she heard tiny mewling coming from a bush nearby.
She frowned, turned to the singed bush, and dug underneath it. Her widened moonlit eyes saw two kits. She smiled for the first time in that entire wretched night. "Survivors."

Years later, after she'd dropped the kits off with other viscets at a nearby neighboring village, she decided to take her leave of them. She'd cared for them for long enough, and looked over that village for whatever time she needed to do so. She figured fate had a different plan for her destiny. Her jars were strapped to her lean back, and those that wouldn't fit in the paw-crafted leather bands around her waist and neck were placed gently into the bag she carried with her, small balls of moss helping to cushion the clanking of the glass and metal containers. With a sigh and a glint of determination in her eyes, she took her leave of the village-folk, turned, and went in the opposite direction.

"Bottling dreams is a tricky thing," she muttered to herself, walking a grassy hill at night, watching for the wispy substances to float up to the stars. She'd catch them right after they left the viscet's head and floated through the roof of their home. Most viscets in this area lived underground or in caves, so it was easier to catch the dreams floating out of the ground. Wren frequented this area frequently when her other locations proved to be more difficult to bear good dreams. "But nightmares are the worst," she said with a shudder. She'd already successfully captured two nightmares from the previous night, and they were doozies. The nightmares were her most popular item, oddly enough - viscets with vendettas liked to purchase them for a high cost and then unleash them on their enemies, plaguing them in their sleep. The pleasant dreams were not her next best-seller - they were bottom of the barrel, and thus, Wren had to be careful of which dreams she chose to keep. Even the sweetest dreams filled with puppies and laughter and kittens didn't earn up as much as the most horrifying nightmares did, so she had to be picky. She had to choose only the absolute best dreams that viscets had to offer up.
Whenever Wren would capture a dream, the viscet who dreamed it, upon waking, would merely remember the attitude towards the dream and not the dream itself. If you've ever woken up and thought to yourself, "What a strange dream," but been unable to remember the specifics, the likelihood of your dream having been stolen by Wren or by someone like Wren is very high. Wren never thought she was doing anyone a disservice, however - one cannot miss what one cannot remember, after all.
Suddenly, a darkened mass lifted from the nearby hut. It soared low over the ground, and Wren leapt up and caught it in her paws.
Moonlight had been filtering down through broken clouds, and the stars reflected in Wren's pelt. When her paws touched the dream, her mind was sucked into it.
She was falling, tumbling downward in a spiral motion. Head over tail, she started to pick up speed and screamed in terror. She knew it wasn't her dream, but she felt it as strongly as if she'd had it to begin with. That was the curse of her gift: she was forced to live every dream she attempted to capture...even if she wasn't successful with said capture. Wren struggled to find her bearings, and instead slammed into a dirt wall. Roots became tangled in her fur, slowing her momentum only slightly. She then realized she wasn't just falling - she was spiraling out of control down a rabbit hole. "A kit must have dreamed this," she murmured, closing her eyes before she hit the ground.
She opened them, successfully having wrangled the dark, tar-like mass to the grass. She was back in reality and relatively safe, though a little out of breath after wrestling through the dream. She took out a jar and shoved the gooey, sticky blob into it, capping it tightly. "One more caught," she said with a tired smile. She took out her pen, tape, and notepad, jotted down the general characteristics of the dream, and then taped it to the outside of the jar. The writhing mass inside slowly changed color to a navy blue. She nodded, a small smirk on her lips. "Of course," she murmured. "You're a navy blue 5. You're nowhere near as terrifying as a black 10." Wren color-coded and numbered the dreams she kept to show her buyers how scary they were. Her system was fairly easy to understand and made her life a lot easier - the colors dictated the content of the dream, and the numbers dictated how pleasant the dream was. 1-4 were pleasant dreams, 1 being most pleasant. 5-10 were unpleasant dreams, with 10 being the worst nightmares. The color system was a little more convoluted, but still easy to discern: the more colorful a dream was, the better the dream tended to be. With the lack of color - with grey and black dreams - tended to be the solidification of negative aspects. For example, if a dream was pink or purple, it would probably be a 3-4 on the scaling, meaning it was pleasant, but it wasn't the perfectly perfect dream. A white dream would always be 1, as it would be the most happy dream available at any given night. A black dream would always be a 10, as it would be the most hate-filled or fear-filled nightmare seen. A grey dream could be anything from an 8-9, the darker the shade the more terrifying the dream. Darker colors like navy blue and blood red tended to be 5-7, as these dreams were scary, but were not terrifying nor as hate-filled as other dreams devoid of color.
Moonlight was her second most popular thing to sell. Viscets who weren't in the market for dreams loved her moonlight jars. Catching moonlight was more difficult than capturing a dream, as the conditions for moonlight being ripe enough to gather were rare and difficult to spot to the untrained eye. Wren would have to wait for a cloudless night with a clear sky, when the moonlight streamed down in little ribbons to the ground below. She'd then have to find the perfect spot, wait for the moonlight to just barely kiss the grass, and then leap forward and jar it as fast as she possibly could. Moonlight died very easily, so she'd have to store it immediately in her bag - it thrived in darkness, and died out quickly in the light. Moonlight sales and transfers could only be done at night, which didn't help her clientele, any. Many viscets didn't like going out at night, and preferred to stick to daytime purchases, which limited them to buying the captured dreams instead of moonlight. Wren didn't care, though - a sale is a sale, after all, and for the extremely needy viscets, well, she knew they'd show up at night.
"Necessity is the mother of all invention," she muttered happily, clipping the jar to her back as she darted off, greedily searching for more dreams to obtain.


"I know what you're thinking," Wren said to the human, her jellyfish markings standing out in the sprinkling moonlight filtering through the top of the cave.
The child gulped again, nervous at what was to happen next.
"You're wondering what gives me the right to steal these dreams, right?"
The child nodded very slowly, getting ready to bolt at a moment's notice.
"Well..." she said, pausing before she continued, "I suppose it's a family trait. I'm carrying on my family's name by doing my job capturing small bits of moonlight and carving out the dreams from viscets' minds. My mother did it, and her mother before her, and her mother before her. Only the females of the family have the gene. However, the males are...shall we say...gifted, as well. My child, be it male or female, will be gifted, as the gene is dominant."
The child looked confused.
"Ah, I've spoken over your understanding, have I? Are you perplexed, young one?"
He nodded very cautiously.
"My apologies. I often forget how simple-minded you humans are. So slow to mature and even slower to understand the wonderful world around you. No matter - I am pleased to have told you my story. Now, run along. Go and spread the word."
"Wh-what word?" the child whispered.
Wren smirked, lashing her tail before uttering her final sentence. "That I am Wren, Catcher of Moonlight and Bottler of Dreams. I have returned from my hiatus, and I am ready to clutch at the dreams of mankind."



I finished this at 11:59pm, 6/30/2017 PST.

[Unleashed Squiid]

This is officially closed for judging, no more editing your forms!

[Unleashed Squiid]

At long last I have finally judged this. Sorry for the wait.

The winner is booklover789! Congratulations! c:

[LimeThing]

Congrats ;3

[booklover789]

At long last I have finally judged this. Sorry for the wait.

The winner is booklover789! Congratulations! c:

Congrats ;3

Yaaaaaah, thank you sooo much! I absolutely adore Wren! Can't wait to write more about her and get some awesome art of her!