[Strudel]

Name: Mieczysław (myeh-chih-swahf) --Also goes by Desmond--
Gender: Male
Owner: Placebo




This adopt was disowned, and has been for a bit, so he's finally going up for adoption! This counts as community hosted, so it will not count against your monthly limits ^^;
Since so many people really love him, I was given the responsibility of putting him up for adoption since I wouldn't have tried out more than likely even though I've always loved Shiloh
Anyway, this viscet has been bred before, so must stay the biological gender of male. However he may identify however you choose. He just must remain dmab.

This contest is going to be a limited impress me! There will be two required sections, but outside of that you can write/draw about whatever you like as long as it stays within the limits I set ^^;
Also, please do not use the original name (Shiloh). If you name him Shiloh your form will not be counted when judging.

Code: Select all

[b][u]Username[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Name[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Gender[/u][/b]: Male
[b][u]Personality[/u][/b]: (min 150 words, max 300)
[b][u]Favorite Hobby/Pastime[/u][/b]: ( 500 words max [b]OR[/b] 1 art piece with 0-50 words)


• You must completely fill out the given form
• You can have up to four art pieces in the form (excluding the prompt)
• You may have up to 3000 words to utilize however you see fit outside of the prompts.
• I am looking for character building and personality that matches what you put in the form (in other words make sure their actions/thoughts you write in the extras and the prompt fit the personality you wrote)
• Small animations are allowed (pixels with moving parts/etc) if you are unsure whether what you plan on making is or isn't allowed please PM me for clarification. Comics are only allowed if uncolored (and count as an art piece a page)

End Date: June 15th

[Razors]

.

[dzo]

Username: ~Prophecy~
Name: Eve
Gender: DMAB (She/Her or They/Their)
Personality:

Eve is alert and observant. She is daring with her actions and will take risks, but still cautious while doing so. Eve is loyal and dedicated to those who pay her to do a task. She is venal and can easily be bribed. She is resourceful and self sufficient because she has to be to stay alive. Eve is strong and independent. She hates admitting that she needs help or confessing that she was wrong. She is tractable if you play with her emotions enough, and will even turn on people who haven't wronged her if you are manipulative enough. She doesn't trust others until they show they can be trusted, even then she is hesitant. Eve is unfair and unforgiving towards others; she is one-sided and will not think about another's side to a situation. She is solitary, asocial, secretive, and reserved. She is difficult to work with and is not a good companion. Eve will probably not follow rules unless needed or if it is not necessary to actually break them. She can be thoughtless and inconsiderate; egocentric at times. She is self critical, and thinks she is unlovable. Eve is easily irritable and very moody. She is assertive and aggressive, but will not harm those who show peace. She is vindictive, brutal, and venomous towards those who hurt her. She hostile to anyone who seems to be a threat. She is very discouraging (though doesn't get discouraged easily herself) and is mannerless, disrespectful, and deceitful; she can be impulsive, imprudent, careless, and disruptive too. Her actions tend to be unpredictable because of these traits. Eve is thievish, sly, and not afraid to steal. She sometimes questions if there is a higher power. She doesn't know what she believes in.

Favorite Hobby/Pastime:

Eve spends her time locked away, alone, doodling out sketches and patterns, then whittling out the tiniest of animals to add to her continuously growing wooden army, each getting better and better, but never showing them to anybody. Eve is very skilled with a knife, and can put great detail into the tiny figurines which each fit into a single paw. Her favorite animal to carve out is an elephant because of their complexity, though she doesn't get to make them often because they require bigger square chunks of wood which she doesn't always have in stock. Eve keeps a close eye on wood piles from others to take the pieces which won't be noticed and the bigger scraps before they are used instead of going out and getting her own wood. Eve's first step to making the figures is choosing an animal, then she chooses a theme. She will sketch out the veiws of the animal in the pose she plans to carve, and then draws patterns to lightly carve into that animal. Once she draws out the design, she marks out a few places on the wood, and just starts carving. She doesn't care if she ruins a few pieces while getting started, as starting the figure is always hardest for her. Once she has the beginning good she picks up pace and will become entranced in watching the knife scrape of wood slivers. Once the animal is nearly done, it'll look rough sometimes, so she'll sand it down a bit to have a slightly smoother surface. She then makes the details into the animals, like toes, eyes, a nose, etc., and after that she makes the light designs into the animal.

Backstory (Extra!):

It was a cold winter night. Screams of a young viscet could faintly be heard "Mama?" The little viscet wailed over and over. She was in the half-iced river, put there to drown. All she looked at was her, trotting away, snow already filling the viscet's tracks. Cold tears fell down her cheeks as she bobbed in and out of the water. "I... thought you loved me!" She added, sobbing even more as she was carried farther and father down the river because of the pushing current. Luckily, she knew how to swim. After being pulled down into the water few more times and paddeling back up, she grapped onto a log wedged in place, and pulled herself out with the little strength she had left. Her fur was already freezing with a thin layer of ice from the extreme cold. The only thought on her mind was how she wanted to be inside, away from the cold. In her bed- in her hometown of Uobos. Everything there was provided by the king, so her bed wasnt the greatest to sleep on, but she didn't care now- anything was better than this. As she kept on stumbling through the snow, she was about ready to give up. Taking one step forward, the snow she stepped on caved in, and she found her self face-first planted into a hole which had been covered by the snowfall. She pulled herself in, and licked her fur to try to get the ice off. She curled up as far back as she could, trying to stay warm and away from the wind. "I thought you accepted me for who I am..." She sighed. Tears kept trailing down her eyes. She was abandoned, alone, because of the one she had never thought would...

...Winter had stopped and Eve did her best to survive on whatever she could. She knew that one either sides of the river laid Uobos and Siren. But she never went to either.
"If mama doesn't want me than who will? There's nothin in that town for me. If she can't accept me as a girl then why should I go back?"
Eve had never been to Siren. It wasn't friendly towards Uobos and the people. They weren't enemies, and surely did trade many recourses, but they still despised each other. The creatures of Uobos were more friendly towards the creatures of Siren than the other way around. She went there one day, half starved and with shaggy fur. A viscet there just stopped her in her way and growled at her. She didn't understand how he knew she was from Uobos. Her parents only had been there a few times, long long ago, and she had never been there. After that, she felt like she couldn't trust them anymore. She wanted nothing to do with the small town, until she met Diety. The viscet wore a dark cloak and never shower her face. But no matter where she slept, Diety would find her and give her food. Eve could only catch glimpses of her legs and tail, thought it was strange that she could never for sure decided on the exact colors on her fur. Eve thought Diety had a gentle voice; Diety had spoken to her once in the night and told her her name when she comforted Eve, who had had a nighmare and was tossing around when she came to drop off food. Inside her brain lurked the dark memory of the day she went left to die.

Eventually Diety brought Eve to her home, which was right outside Siren. When Eve and Diety walked through, the two got many hateful glares, only a few sympathetic and warm ones. As they arrived to the small space, Eve decided to ask.
"Why do you wear that cloak?"
"Because the town doesn't accept me."
"My mother didn't accept me, you see, I feel more like me as a female, not the male I was born as, so she left me to die in the river."
Diety pulled her cloak to cover more fur.
"Whe... when did this happen?"
"Three years ago."
"Sweetie..." Diety's tone of voice changed, and Eve shifted her weight around as she becams highly uncomfortable, knowing she was going to hear something bad.
"I saw what happened. I didn't know that was you. It was too bright"
"Diety, how? It was night."
"You must have been asleep, if you didn't see the wall of fire behind you."
"The what?!" Eve exclaimed, thinking this viscet was crazy.
"Let me start from the beginning. Your king was hated by many. Certain towns and species generally didn't like him. It made Uobos a target. Someone... or something... set fire to your town. I was nearby and could see a growing light. That's when I saw creatures running. Most went upstream. Your mother went close to the stream. She must have taken you, and ran, because I saw her and you. I saw her trip over a rock. She fell down to the ground and dropped you. You were whisked off immediately by the current, and she looked around. She saw me, and limped, doing her bets to run, towards me, begging me to get you. I followed your path down the stream, but I couldn't find you. I searched a long time, but eventually went back to my home since it was cold for me too. Almost every night I searched, and then I found you, and you were alive. Some from Uobos wanted to go to Siren for safety, but there was immediate rumor that whatever set fire was coming to Siren next, so they wanted everyone new to stay out. It's not like them to be selfish and harsh. They are all usually so welcoming, I don't know what has gotten into the town lately."

[tenlittlesoldierboys]

Username: tenlittlesoldierboys

Name: Tyburn

Gender: Male

Personality: The being currently known as Tyburn - before turning into what he is now, he of course bore a different name too, is especially known as a very restless individual, who has problems sitting down or keeping still for more than a few minutes. No one is sure, if this has something to do with him being a restless spirit or if it is just one of his personality quirks, but you can certainly not argue, that Tyburn makes you crazy watching him. He always strolls around and is on foot 24/7, it even appears that he almost never sleeps. When he is forced to keep still, he will start flitching, gnawing or play with anything he can get his paws on.
Talking to him in a serious manner is impossible, not only because he pretty much never takes anything serious, but also because he just doesn't care. Since he is technically dead, a human spirit bonded with the body of a Viscet, he doesn't really give a flying chicken about anything anymore, especially not serious matters. He also really likes to make puns and tell bad jokes - seriously most of the time he is the only one laughing, when he just told a joke - and has a very dark humor. This shows especially in the fact, that he loves showing up at random funerals and whisper to random strangers "you're next", followed by the most annoying and nerve-wrecking giggle you will ever hear in your life. In some way, Tyburn can be considered as a Poltergeist - he enjoys frightening people, getting on other people's nerves and in general he only seems to exist to cause eye-rolling and heavy sighing, whenever someone mentions him.

Favorite Hobby/Pastime: Even before Tyburn became who he is now, he used to love woodcarving - well, technically he just loved to carve things into wood, which is also a reason for why he carved his name into the tree before he died. But since he left his human life behind and took over the body of a Viscet, he actually found great liking in woodcarving. No matter if he carves figurines out of wood or even small dolls, or if he crates whole stories and landscapes out of some pieces of wood - working with it calms him and gives him a way to relieve stress. Furthermore, thanks to some bits and pieces of magic, that he somehow obtained from the hanging tree, he has the ability to make his works even more special. Which gives him nice opportunity to use his favourite hobby in order to further freak out others: For example, by making dolls dance. He can't actually breathe life into them - as soon as he stops using magic, they turn back to dead wood - but it's very amusing watching someone freak out, because some weird wooden doll started to walk towards them.
But, to be fair, everything Tyburn does freaks people out in some way - that not being the case is quite a rare occassion. So even if he doesn't make dolls dance, he finds it quite funny to carve things into trees or other stuff made out of wood, where others can see it and freak out over it. Creepy faces, messages from some devil or whatever - he will use the cover of the night, stroll around and look for a good spot for his next prank. After carving, he'll disappear again, enjoy the rest of the night and come back during daylight, to watch the reactions to whatever he created - and to laugh his rear of. One example of his rather weird humor would be this: More than once, Tyburn carved words like "help me" into trees that were close to graves on a cemetery or even on crosses standing on graves. The more people freak out over what he does, the more he enjoys it.

Extra - Story: Have you heard the story
About the old Tyburn tree?
Thou say thou haven't?
Well, let me tell thee.
~
There are many stories about the hanging tree of Tyburn road. But which ones are true and which are not? There are stories about ghosts, demons, supernatural creatures - and many more. But most of them are just mere stories, told to children to keep them away from crime and thus the hanging tree; told in honky tonks over the fifth or sixth beer to make others shiver or laugh or shake their heads. The stories that keep you awake at night are never true. But then there are stories that are almost, if not completely, forgotten. Stories that are not interesting enough to be told to your friends, because they won't make them shiver. There were, and still are, some, who show interest in those stories, but most of them are the kind of person, you side-eye at, because they are weird. And one of these long forgotten stories is not just a mere story. It is as solid as historical proven facts and it is the story of a guy, now a Viscet, who calls himself Tyburn - after the tree, which granted him a second life.
During the late 16th century the Hanging Tree of Tyburn was a place overrun by specators. Note, that during this time, we are still talking about an actual tree, a huge willow with thick branches, not the man-built hanging tree, that would replace the actual, old willow only some centuries later. There were many stories following that tree - some of them being that he feasted on the souls of the dead, some said that he actually was a supernatural being, a spirit, a ghost, a fearie - you name it. Not that any of them were widely believed, of course... but some of them bore some truth, at least.
This tree and the ones following were place of death for many men and even some women. One of them was named Blake Emerald-Watson, a young fellow with a sense for adventure and entertainment. Being a black man in a white society has never been easy, but for Blake it wasn't that difficult either. Hearing that he found an end on the hanging tree of Tyburn, you might believe, that he was poor and unfortunate. Unfortunate he certainly was, for being blessed with such a rebel character, but poor? Far from that. His father, Joseph Emerald-Watson was the owner of a big company and without a doubt a man of high status. Therefore, Blake wouldn't have any problems growing up and later on in live taking over his fathers company and wealth, if it weren't for his hot-headed temperament and his love for making a fool out of himself and - especially - others; or taking any stupid risk his friends would dare him to. One of these, actually, would turn out to be the final drop of water, that would leave him on his way to the hanging tree.
Blake and his friends were known for spending their free time in quite expensive etablishements. They were able to afford it, anyway. One night, they were drunk, maybe a little too much, and having fun, again, maybe a little too much. They dared each other as they would do quite often, but this time, things got more serious. They started out with "I dare you to drink a whole glass of beer in one go" and ended up with "I dare you to steal the purse of the man sitting alone on the back table" - the latter addressed to Blake. Not wanting to be called a coward, he agreed - not knowing that "the man sitting alone on the back table" was, in fact, the mayor of London. And, furthermore, Blake has never been a very good thief in the first place and being drunk made the chaos complete. He didn't even actually steal the purse, but he stumbled over his own feet and poured expensive scotch on the other man's lap. Now, if he had happened to be a white guy, like his friends all were, nothing would have happened to him, except for him having to pay for a new suit. But he wasn't. He was a black guy during dark times and this turned out to be his death sentence. The police were called, Blake was taken to court and without even considering as to who his father was, he was charged guilty and sentenced to an end on the old willow of Tyburn.
And so it came to be. As always, there were hundreds of spectators and Blake, while he was waiting for the final blow, could feel his guts churn. He tried to bring himself to other thoughts, kicking around pebbles and staring at the bark of the tree. Being guarded on all sides, he would never be able to run away, but when he picked up a rock, he only was being watched closely, but nobody stopped him. And so, with that rock he just picked up, he carved his name into the tree. And then it was time. Blake sighted heavily, but even considering the outcome, he still smiled at the thought of what had happened. At the end, it was pretty funny indeed.
~
Slowly, very slowly, he woke up. To be fair, it didn't really feel like waking up usually felt like, but he wasn't able to come up with a better word. So waking up it was. He saw a road, Tyburn road, he recalled, people and houses in the distance. And then he remembered: He died. He was sentenced to death. They hanged him. But... wasn't he alive? At least it didn't feel like death, but what did he know? And if he truly was dead, why was he still at the exact place where he died? Wasn't he supposed to go to heaven or something like that? Or, considering that he died a sinner, to hell? Not, that he was very religious, but of course he had wondered where he would go to, after he died, like everyone else did.
~
He soon realized two things: He had become the Tyburn tree. He had no idea how, as he had already forgotten that he had carved his name into that tree, but that fact fascinated him. And, of course, being a tree, he was not able to move as in walk. But he could move and shake his branches and then, there was something else. He could not put his finger on what exactly it was, but if someone had asked him, he would have said: magic. He had heard about the Tyburn willow growing on an ancient Druid burial ground or growing on a portal between different world, but so far he had never believed any of it. His current situation, of course, made him reconsider his thoughts. But being a tree it was a little difficult to further investigate anything. And he also wondered, if he now was forced to be the Tyburn tree for the rest of his life. And if so, how long would this life be? Until someone would cut down the tree? Being honest to himself, he didn't want to find out.
~
Being a tree had the side effect of having nothing to do. This made Blake start to pull pranks on bypassers and start the rumours and stories of a haunted tree. He would drop his branches and make rich snobs fall into the mud, he would kick of noble ladies' hats and as soon as he figured out that he could do it, he would start whispering and talking to people.
~
Another change of faith only came, in fact, around a hundred years later. Hundred years of being a ghost trapped into a tree, a tree that most people avoided as best as possible; only risky children and teenager would dare themselves to get closer. And, more than often, animals would seek proctection. Indeed, the animals loved him, no matter if they were small or big. There were birds' nests between his branches, squirrels burying their nuts between his roots and cats and dogs and foxes who would lie down during hot weather or a snowstorm. And then, there were Viscets. These creatures Blake was most fascinated by, as they were bigger than anything he had ever seen. He knew, that they were no natives of Great Britain, but were brought to the United Kingdom on ships, perhaps back from America or India. Most of them as pets, but soon, as time passed, there appeared to be some wild ones too. And sometimes they would come to him too, hide and sleep.
Then there came one that was dying. He had no idea why he knew, but he could feel it. Indeed, he could feel the soul of the Viscet slowly ceasing, seeking for a hold. And for some reason, Blake wanted to be that hold. With his branches and roots he welcomed the Viscet, embracing it into a tight hug, feeling a connection between him and the creature. And then he closed his eyes, even though he technically didn't have any.
And when he opened them again, he felt different. He gazed at something in front of him and blinked, but his eyes didn't deceive him - it was a tree?! And then he realized that he could feel new, different, things. Just like when he was a human being, he was able to move his arms, instead of hundreds of branches. And he could feel legs. After over a hundred years, he was able to take a few slow steps again. He was exhausted, needed to recover, so he laid down and fell asleep.
~
After he woke, he took a last glance at the tree and decided to leave. But before that, he left his old name with it and took a new one: Tyburn. In honor to the tree that somehow granted him a second life.
He ran around laughing, frightening people who were intimitated by his height and behaviour. But Tyburn didn't mind. He enjoyed it. And now, 300 years later, he still does.

~ ~ ~

To be fair, in the second hundred years of his second life - and his first hundred in the body of a Viscet - Tyburn had prepared himself to die almost daily. But soon he started to notice, that some magic of the tree was still with him and was not only keeping him alive, but gave him strenght and some useful powers. Not that he was able to teleport or walk through walls or whatever you might have in mind now, but wounds would heal within minutes and he discovered that he could swim and dive for great distances without needing any air. In some way, he also was able to melt with the shadows, which he soon started to use to his advantage.
Just like he had enjoyed pranking people when being a part of the tree, Tyburn now loves nothing more than to keep on pranking and frightening others. Although he seems to be pretty alive, he always claims towards other Viscets, that he is, in fact, a Poltergeist, and just came back to haunt the world. Not like he thought that was true, but even after centuries he did not change even the slightest. Some people just never will and Tyburn, former Blake Emerald-Watson, certainly never will.

[G1 Sunstreaker]

Username: G1 Sunstreaker
Name: Nolan Hedge
Gender: Male
Personality: (min 150 words, max 300)
Favorite Hobby/Pastime: ( 500 words max OR 1 art piece with 0-50 words)
mmmmm perhaps...shoot idk, maybe...ffff
something artsy/creative, I think



lol sorry bout that I can be a little blind sometimes.

[Unleashed Squiid]

Cute! Mark.

[otis,]

Username: george washington
Name: spence
Gender: Male
Personality: (min 150 words, max 300)
Favorite Hobby/Pastime: ( 500 words max OR 1 art piece with 0-50 words)

[steamplonk]

username:: steamplonk
name:: axle
gender:: male
personality::
[ 0 / 300 ]
hobby::
[ 0 / 50 ]

[Mint Chip]

marking only to watch ; good luck guys

[Placebo]

||Name||
Mieczysław
(myeh-chih-swahf)

||Informal Name ||
Desmond
(dehz-mund || des-mond)

||Gender||
Male

Hobby

Desmond tends to a bonsai and shohin nursery. It resides in a small, open greenhouse at the top of Genoveva's home, and was given to him by her parents. He creates the tiny landscapes to relieve his constant stress- minimal magic involved. No assembly required, just... peace. Quiet. And seeds. {50}

-click link for animation and full view- || -full size + sans foreground + sans ani-

Personality

Desmond exudes a tired spirit. It shows in the stress lines around his eyes, and it makes his youthful appearance age considerably even though none of this exhaustion is apparent in any other part of his body. He used to be a high strung in his youth, always fluttering about in an effort to keep his body in tandem with his overactive mind. However, age mellowed him out into his open-minded and level-headed nature, and now he walks and talks with purpose, but his tendency towards solitude makes it seem like he mindlessly drifts. He almost appears unapproachable because of this, always confined to his own thoughts even though he's keenly aware of his surroundings.

Despite his constant fatigue, Desmond’s rarely waspish; his temper almost seems too long at times since it takes so much to ruffle his feathers. He’ll instead channel his energy into sarcasm and witty words.

Desmond isn't particularly kind, but he is very gentle (and very protective) of the things and creatures he cares about. He’s not one to offer sweet words or platitudes, but he adores his loved ones enough to defend them to his last breath. It's uncommon for him to tolerate idiocy though, so he'd be the first to call them out on their stupidity. The love anchors him, but it's eerie to look into his eyes and realize how little he cares about anything he doesn't consider his.

However, his unassuming appearance belies the fact that he's extremely territorial, and he rarely compromises when his home is threatened. He's prone to jump to violence, and it definitely doesn't help that he's sometimes plagued with dark thoughts. It's a constant battle to keep them under wraps, since he knows the consequences of letting them fester. His stress comes from maintaining that precious balance.

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Origins

After all this time, Desmond considers himself a form of a genius loci. Not even he’s quite sure of his origins or whether or not he's had someone who physically conceived him, and he only saw fit to name and title himself after claiming his own territory. All he’s ever known is his existence, but to be frank, he's never had the urge to find out anything more. He’s seen lifetimes come and go like the wind, continents shift and change under his feet, and animals die and evolve in equal measures.

However long his life may be, Desmond could feel his life source dwindling faster than it could regenerate by the time he was aware enough to notice. After long periods of rest forced on himself just to stay alive (and missing countless revolutions of the world- time he’d never get back) Desmond realized that he was never meant to roam, and the need to establish himself made him antsy.

And so he roamed the earth before finding his way to the Osa Peninsula. He was attracted by the sheer life and diversity permeating from the soil— wedged midway between the Tropic of Cancer and the Equator, the area promised a great deal in sustaining his life source, so he took root, and the earth easily accepted him as its master. His life source manifested itself into a Kapok tree, and the tree grew tall and proud amidst the diversity of the forest. He took on a new skin, adorned in colorful feathers and sinuous muscle in an effort to blend in further.

His elation wasn't set to last long. Now with a solid connection to the earth, he inadvertently limited himself to the Peninsula— Desmond could go no farther than the boundaries that his life force had established in the peninsula, and each reminder of the fact drove him to seek other solutions to calm his need to move. Rationally he knew the limitation was a small price to pay for his life, but he became greedy. And rash.

Now, before Desmond elected to settle down, he resorted to more insidious methods of taking energy and life he couldn't create himself. His whole existence turned parasitic— he started small in an effort to limit himself, simply killing like a predatory animal, but his increasing need led him to decimate whole forests and populations, only leaving barren wastelands, extinction, and husks in his wake. The high of temporarily restoring himself to full power made his thoughts acidic. The flora and fauna mattered little to him, and the remorse he had for snuffing out life dulled to where he simply found joy in the rush.

And Desmond would have continued down this unfeeling road had he not realized that stealing energy this way only doomed him further. His own greed betrayed him as he grew weaker and weaker and fell into deeper slumbers after crashing from his power fluxes.

The peninsula seemed like a godsend as he slowly felt his energy grow bit by bit, but it wasn't enough for him to wait patiently.

It wasn't long until Desmond realize that he didn't need to limit himself to his small territory in the peninsula. He couldn't physically extend out, but his life force could.

He discovered that the roots of his Kapok could reach deep into the earth and far out in any direction he pleased. And the rush he felt from extending his power and range of his territory made it all the better. Desmond cared little for the death and rot he left in his wake. The territory he admired so much for its vitality was succumbing to his hold, and he fed greedily on the energy of the earth itself.

He never did learn to learn from his mistakes.

(Desmond dreads to think about what would have happened if the peninsula hadn't unintentionally stopped him.)

Desmond knew little of the method he used to keep himself alive, so he didn't realize that the state of the forest reflected his own health. And he was steadily destroying the Peninsula.

The energy he took in started to corrode the mortal form he adopted from the inside out, and he felt his own power feed on himself as his own greed turned on him. Had he not pulled back his roots in time, he would have killed both himself and left a blight on the earth the likes no creature had ever seen.

The experience shook him- it had been a long while since Desmond gave a thought to the life he saw as merely food. Too damaged and volatile to sleep in order to heal, he had to watch as the forest around him recovered as he struggled to keep his roots tethered to the Peninsula. He instinctively knew that a repeat of the incident would kill him. It was agony how his roots perpetually fought against the restraints.

Like a punishment, he had to watch and feel the energy of the forest bounce back before he could recover. His spirit was trapped in his mangled body until the forest healed enough to spare energy for him. It was humbling, knowing how little he truly mattered to its health.

(No true organism willingly feeds their parasite, after all.)

But, despite the forest’s callousness towards him, Desmond was still privy to its inner workings. And he watched and felt as it grew back to its former glory, sprouting vulnerable buds that grew into the sturdiest trees, and fostering generations of animals that changed with it. Despite any fires or disruptions, the forest stubbornly grew, not willing to succumb to destruction.

Because of this, Desmond formed a connection to the land he was sure wanted to expel him. He grew protective of the forest in a way that he's never done before. The tenacity of the life of the forest only tightened his own grip on his covetous roots until they eventually stopped vying for freedom.

(But… the greed remained. The roots would never forget that rush.)

Once the forest gave him enough energy to heal, it was odd registering how he stepped on eggshells for a good bit of time whenever he explored his own home. He knew the forest would tolerate him for years to come, sure, but…

Desmond's not too sure if he’ll ever forgive himself for what he did to his own territory. All of the lives he once carelessly threw away, now infinitely precious in their fleeting nature.

His mission to indefinitely protect and provide for the forest is the least he could do, really.

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Abilities

Longevity- Desmond's outlived entire species during his lifetime. He’s never actually adopted a corporeal form until recently, though. The names “Desmond” and “Mieczysław” were even more recent. However, since adopting Mieczysław as his true name, the only other soul who knows it is Genoveva.

Energy Transference- Although he usually takes energy for himself since it's his only viable form of sustenance, he can also give energy- turning back the clock is beyond even him, so the most Desmond can do is accelerate growth or accelerate decay. With the Osa Peninsula as his home, he acts as a conduit for the life permeating the forest. He's sustained by its vitality, but he inevitably cycles the energy back into the forest. The fruit has never tasted sweeter.

Parasitism- Desmond's ability to transfer energy is only benign because he forces it to be so— there's no limit to how much energy and life he can steal or give, and he can easily overload energy back into a target to corrode it from the inside out. He's ashamed to admit that he once regarded the earth itself to be a mere host.

Root Manipulation- Once his life force manifested itself into an impressive Kapok tree deep in the heart of his rainforest, he found that he could extend the roots for miles in any direction and bring them up to the surface as well. Nowadays, he uses them merely as a physical weapon. Can't give them much more power than that.

Genius Loci- After claiming the forest as his own, Desmond sought to protect the peninsula as well. His life force is tethered to the area, so he can't exactly leave (or he can't leave without severely weakening himself) so he commits his time to safeguarding the forest.

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A Love, Lost and Found || Story

Desmond nearly killed them the first time he spotted the family through the trees.

The group— not that he could really call it a group, their numbers were so miniscule— was unassuming as they carefully trekked through the thick foliage and vines on the windy morning. Hiding in the canopy, all Desmond could tell was that one was a female, one a male… and he also noticed another light scent he couldn't identify. He definitely didn't see another shape through the trees.

Well, no matter. Trespassers didn't get very far in his jungle, anyway. The energy in the forest easily bended to his will as roots buried deep within the ground responded to his call, shifted in the earth, and eased their way to the surface. Just a quick snap, and problem solved. Desmond really didn't want to deal with anyone unruly today. He wouldn't even make it hurt.

Desmond’s not entirely sure what made him pause long enough for the pair to rest. The female carried a sturdy rucksack at her flank, and the male was quick to relieve his partner of her burden. And out of the bag came… an egg.

So that's the smell.

The roots stopped before they reach the surface. He watched as the pair cuddled their precious cargo, and inch by inch, Desmond’s roots receded back into the earth. His gaze was unreadable as he watched the pair regain their energy while carefully doting on the egg, and they didn't even notice him when they pass under the tree he was resting in. He was almost tempted to laugh at how blissfully unaware the vigilant parents are.

Still, he allowed them deeper into the jungle. Nothing wrong with giving a viscling a home, after all.

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Desmond doesn't reveal himself to the couple in those first few months. He merely watches as the pair builds a home for themselves from the ground up, and every day he watches as the male lays on the ground and indulgently holds the egg up to the light every morning like a prayer, just to catch a glimpse of the tiny life tucked inside.

If Desmond subtly cranes his neck out to take a look from his vantage point too, then no one’s the wiser.

It does make him a bit restless knowing how close the family is to his tree, a Kapok barely as ancient as he… but, then his mind strays to the developing life inside that egg. To the hopeful, determined faces of the two parents. It's a strange experience, this sort of offhand protectiveness he feels towards the young family. Desmond can't recall ever showing this level of concern over anything trespassing in his home. He loves his home, truly… but rarely interferes for anything outside of it.

After all, a Mahogany tree graciously offers itself as a shelter to a passing songbird, but dually watches on impassively as it’s snatched up by a hawk in the same branches. The old proverb rings in his ears as Desmond watches on intently, curious eyes constantly tracking the egg in the warm sunlight. The family shouldn't hold this much influence over him.

They shouldn't.

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He's discovered entirely by accident one evening.

Day by day, Desmond silently observes as the family’s egg grows more opaque under the weak morning rays, until one day the mother interrupts her partner’s habitual routine to keep the egg inside the developing house.

He sees not hide nor hair of the family for several sunrises, but it barely surprises him when they come out one day with a small body cradled in the female’s arms.

The baby's a tiny thing, merely a brown blob nestled against her parent’s feathers, and Desmond continues to observe as she's brought out day by day and grows fat and happy under watchful eyes. Six instead of four as the tyke’s likely led to believe.

Curiosity wins out one day as he strays much too close to the home. The parents were gone that day for whatever reason (not sure why they would, but he's never raised a viscling so what does he know), and Desmond noticed that the viscling had strayed. Considering her natural predator was everything, he knew this had a high likelihood of going south, and fast.

She regards him curiously as well when he came into view. She’s rightfully wary of him, but the fact that he was also a viscet like her parents made her approach him on wobbly paws. He’s quite sure what to do with her once she clings to his leg, but he gingerly picks her up in an attempt to return her home.

He's not quite sure how he ends up staying outside with the child, letting her battle with his ears and tail. Desmond’s leery about letting her be so close to him but he thought a being a babysitter for a few hours can't hurt.

It's probably the baby blue eyes.







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He's not sure what it says about him when he doesn't even hear the male approach him from behind.

The poke comes out of nowhere, and it's a testament to how engrossed he was with the child not falling off his back when he calmly looks over his shoulder and into the pale blues of the male. Desmond looked at him blandly, but he did shift a bit as the male’s expression remained wry, but nonetheless intense.

«I suppose I should thank you for watching Genoveva,» He said.

It takes Desmond longer than he’d like to admit to process the language. Talking’s never really been his strong suit, but he still managed to blurt, «Why did you leave her alone here?»

The male had the good grace to look sheepish. «She's gotten more mobile than we’ve anticipated. Hard to keep in once place.» Desmond's careful to stay still as Genoveva’s father carefully retrieves her, and he internally notices how adorable it is when she stretches out her paws to meet her father. «But we didn't leave her alone— I knew you were here to watch over her, oh protector of the jungle.»

Desmond's eyes snap up at that. So they knew he was here this whole time.

He must've been more transparent than he'd thought because the male gave him a wry half-smile and said, «You're not as well camouflaged as you think you are, child. I honestly thought you were a black jaguar at first, but the ears gave you away.»

«My ears aren't that big,» he calls after the male as he walks away with Genoveva. And then, petulantly, «…And I’m not a child.»

«Well, come on then.»

Desmond dutifully follows.

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It seemed as if that exchange was a thinly veiled excuse for the family (Santiago, Adella, and Gen as he came to call them) to invite Desmond into their home. They quickly brought him into their fold as Genoveva’s honorary big brother. They also regarded him as a son, though he wasn't sure why— he might look younger than them, but it didn't mean he was.

They were a quiet, well-settled pair, but quirky nonetheless; he could sense weak magic in all three of their souls, and suspected they could sense his as well. It's a wonder that they didn't question him about the fact.

Desmond watched as their daughter grew into a soul far older than her parents' optimistic spirits, and they went to great lengths to keep him around the house whenever he wasn't checking his territory.

Including giving him a greenhouse on the top level of their home. Adella’s exact words were, «Well, we brought the forest inside to keep you inside.» Desmond's still not sure why they filled it with tiny trees, though…

It comforted him knowing that they came for the sole purpose of protecting the Peninsula through preservation efforts. (Though unnecessarily, as he never told them— there's a reason why there was next to no civilization in his Peninsula. No creature ever got far enough to attempt it) It's the thought that counts, really.

Desmond grew to love the three in a way that made his heart constrict in an entirely foreign way.

Well, Desmond supposed it was never too late to create another promise. He’d protect this family, too.

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It's a wonder how the only thing he couldn't protect them from was a fire. He never found Gen’s young body in the ruins.

The forest mourned with him that day.

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For Desmond, at the very least, the years passed in a near eternal blur.

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It’s a sickeningly cheerful day when he spots the form from his vantage point in the canopy. He doesn't even bother letting his roots creep to the surface at the intrusion. He also doesn't notice that the figure disappeared during his internal slump.

He barely reacts to the poke on his flank. He calmly turns around and peers into baby blues. The female casts him a wry half-smile, and says, «You still suck at camouflaging yourself, Desmond.»

Desmond's voice cracks, betraying his bland stare. «Genoveva.»

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Decided to keep everything in one place as suggested by a few peeps who helped me out ;u; thank ya kindly

Hope you enjoy reading!

Genoveva was the other viscet used in this story (please ignore the user seen on the front post- I won her in a readopt last year)

raw text, shown for archiving purposes

Hobby- {Art Piece with 50 words}
Personality- {300/300 words}
Origins- {1099 words}
Abilites- {294 words}
Story- {1503 words}
Total for Extras- (excluding titles) {2896/3000}
Titles- {11 words}
Extra Art- {1 Piece}

-To the winner, please pm me about the art! There's a version I wish to give you instead of the full one seen in the form since I plan to use the background further.-