[Neon sparks]

to win this you need to have no founder, or, be level one and up

to win I figured id try something new. you need to make 1 new marking to be added to them. this can be a single spot only, the size of the said spot is up to you. the spot cannot cover the whole body. this could also be one scar, it's up to you.

ends: 6/21/2018

Code: Select all

Username:
Name:
Gender:
Spot:

[Placebo]

ooh marking for sure

[crackerbox_palace]

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username: zaika name: owlet gender: doe spot:

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personality
Like the magnificent predator she is named for, Owlet is nimble
and cunning, a reliable set of skills to herself and her tribemates.
Owlet is a largely independent doe, reserved in nature and
unobtrusive. She will sleep in a tree as to be alone. As much as
she is subtle and mysterious, however, she can be driven by
curiousity and spirit of inquiry. Often at night, she will gaze at
the wonderous world before her, from high up in her tree. This
period of loneliness fills her with the serenity and tranquil she
desires.
x

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Owlet is very good at seeing in the dark. She will find rare, nighttime mushrooms to feed her tribemates.

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part one- the stranger

Golden early sun peered through every stalk of glowing yellow grass amongst the wonderfully vast field of wild wheat, and beneath it, truly lay a perpetual maze. Indeed, one mouse's loss of his direction is not in the least outlandish and, in consequence, untold droves of curious mice are trapped within the trancing high and golden walls surrounding them each by miles to come; like Shasta and Lingonberry, lost, confused, and desperate.

The two mice crept about, and, of course, Shasta stood before Lingonberry, his ears erect and cannily listening, and his nose twitching violently as to detect and evade an ambush. Every sudden snap of the bristle sent a wild pulse to course throughout the both of them in alarm; Lingonberry leaping swiftly in keeping himself close to Shasta, as the larger buck presumes a fighting stance, Lingonberry still cowering behind him.

After a long and ominous silence of caution, Shasta would finally grunt,

"You can come out now."

Lingonberry shuffled about the dirt underneath Shasta and stood up now, forcing an apologetic smile to his live shield and then burrowing in humiliation as Shasta rolled his eyes in disapproval.

The mice only showed themselves to be even more lost with each new step taken, thus ushering in the afternoon.

"Shasta, I'm half-starved!"

Lingonberry complained, though not for the first time since he and Shasta had begun their unexpectedly extensive and exhausting journey throughout the thick yellow plain.

"I won't go any further. Even the sun will sleep!

Shasta saw over his shoulder and, indeed, the sun was sinking into the earth, welcoming the moonlight and its gentle embrace, glistening over the horizon. Shasta knew Lingonberry should be weary by this time. He did feel responsible for the misguidance which had led them on a path they did not recognize. He led them both into the field to feast upon the wheat, after all, and it was his intentions that Lingonberry shall eat.

"Oh, alright."

Shasta sighed before he pounced to grasp onto a clump of wheat, the rough grass churning against his paws as he climbed continuously to the top. At the top of the grass, with his powerful teeth, he nibbled through several blades of the toughly braided wheat plant, each of them falling below to Lingonberry.

Through the gap in the wheat he had cut, he could see clearly the grey soil beneath, the fresh sprouts of new weeds. Using the abundant height of the grass he had climbed, Shasta gazed in all directions, in hope to figure a best route next. He was probing the plain vigilantly from above, when his eye caught glimpse of a small and white figure, curled up in shelter of the towering grasses. No doubt was this sight peculiar, and unsettling- should he be seeing a pup, it would be wailing and wailing loudly, lost, starving and alone. That is, any live pup.

So, Shasta flicked his tail in a swift pattern, as to signal a potential danger. But he now faced down wards, and, Lingonberry had paid no attention to anything but his heap of wheat, licking his whiskers then shoving another mouthful into his cheeks. Shasta shook his head and threw a single seed at Lingonberry.

Lingonberry jumped and scurried zig zags in no particular direction, before looking upwards to see Shasta and shouting,

"Hey!-"

He was shushed before he could begin to ramble. Shasta motioned his head and his eyes toward the small figure buried in the wheat, Lingonberry panting as he was dragged to the highest layer of grasses. He took one look about before Shasta pointed to the thicket of wheat where the figure lay. Lingonberry gasped,

"Well, what is it???"

"We're going to have to see for ourselves, if we're to keep our heads tonight."

Shasta retorted seriously and the two continued to gaze forward, bearing indecisive expressions, until Shasta leapt and landed on the soft grey earth below them. He began to march further into the vast field, towards the stranger. Lingonberry shivered before falling clumsily and following in Shasta's pawsteps.

The mice pushed forth and after one final layer of wild wheat they found themselves before none other than, as Shasta had suspected, a pup, hidden between grasses and laying absolutely still. The sight was very much unsettling to the mice. Shasta had to wonder, was the poor child even alive, or had he found their cold body too late? He steadily approached the seemingly lifeless pup. The small and fragile thing made no move.



part two- a fated meeting

Until its eyes came unshut, revealing two glowing, deep pools of green, staring with no emotion, and meeting with Shasta's. Everyone was still and silent for a while, before Shasta reached forth his right paw to the pup with the hypnotic green eyes. Startled, the pup took one large bound backwards, still locking eyes with Shasta, bearing a distrustful gaze.

Shasta crawled closer and still he offered the pup his hand.

"Don't be afraid."

Lingonberry watched distantly, as not to spook the young mouse into fleeing. For once again, it shuffled back in retreat. Shasta sighed softly, then he turned around, walking away from the pup as, clearly, it sought not to trust him. Then there was a padding in the dirt and he saw over his haunches, the pup, shaking, but still standing in his trail.

Shasta could not help but to grin. Still acting slowly, he turned to face the youngling, and he whispered gently,

"I am Shasta. Now, what is your name?"

There was no reply from the pup. Instead her long eyelashes gave one blink, and she sat down, her head tilting in a puzzled manner from her left, then to her right, and her expression always blank.

Again Shasta's heart dropped to the bottom of his chest. He knew this pup deserved to be loved by somebody, that even just a name is what makes a mouse a member of a family.

"Nevermind."

He said alas, but quickly he gave in to his gut feeling; although Shasta has a heart like the rest of us, his heart has troubles speaking what it feels. So it was with an awkward atmosphere he spoke again.

"Have you ever seen an owl?"

He hadn't ever expected a response from the pup, nor did he get one. He continued,

"Well, an owl is a big and mighty bird. They are so silent, just like the whimsical white clouds that play among the sky. And their eyes, they are so green, not even the brown mask around their faces can contain their radiance."

He paused to lick his paws, sore from walking and especially climbing, when finally a benevolent voice was heard-

"Owls? Are they dangerous?"

the nimble pup, still tentative, had shed her silent nature for her hidden curiosity, much to every mouse's surprise; and Shasta came one step closer to rescuing this pup. He was no longer feeling distressed or anxious for her fate, but rather, glad, and even proud, like she was already a strong and growing mouse in his tribe. It was with much satisfaction when he answered,

"The mouse is center of a vicious cycle, of hundreds of enemies."

Shasta glanced at the pup, and then at Lingonberry, calling for both of their attention before he continued.

"If it moves, if it has eyes, if it is not a mouse, it has no desire to befriend a mouse."

The pup, of course, had little understanding of Shasta's words. The wonder racing through her mind had not yet been settled, it yearned to know more.

Her thinking was, however abrupted. It was dark now, and from the forest of rustling wheat popped out suddenly a black and white mouse she had never seen before. It shrilled loudly as it tumbled and scurried through the dirt in front of them, frightening the pup into panic.

Shasta flinched when there was a tug on his waist, but when he whipped his head around to face his attacker, there was only a startled pup, clutching onto him for a feeling of comfort and safety.

"Don't be frightened by my friend here! He couldn't hurt a fly if he were set on it."

Shasta assured the pup, her quivering beginning to ease as she surveyed the funny-looking stranger. It was little Lingonberry who had hurdled clumsily into the clearing.

"Why hello!"

He exclaimed loudly to the pup.

"I'm a bit surprised you hadn't run away from me. You're very brave."

"Who would run away from you, Lingonberry?"

Shasta joked with his friend, the two laughing before the pup spoke again.

"Will you tell me more about the world, Mister Shasta? Please?"

He smiled and tucked the young mouse under his paw, before lying down, Lingonberry just beside them for the chilly night.

"Do you know why us mice have white whiskers that will glow under the moonlight?"

Shasta begun, and the pup looked up upon him with wonderous green eyes, shaking her head no.

"Long ago, there was a prince..."

And so he told the tales of his own puphood, about how the prince pulled sparkling thread from the stars to give to his people, so they would never lose their way in the dark. Before long, the tired pup had fallen asleep on his lustrous pelt. And, Lingonberry too- but that was alright, because these mice needed him, and he was going to free them from this maze of wheat, whatever it might take.

He glanced once more at the sleeping pup.

"Goodnight, little Owlet."

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Shasta, as tough and brawny he may be, is quite afraid of heights.

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[azhdarchid]

(thanks for answering my question c:)

Username: blupcretia
Name: Mahonia (a type of plant)
Gender: female
Spot:
a marking on her throat reminiscent of a bird’s

unshaded version

Mahonia is a hardworking mouse who came across Mottle Deep in a time when she was down on her luck and looking for a purpose. She found that purpose with the mouse Skimmer, and after hearing his plight and a nightmarish tale of ordials and trials to match her own, she made the decision to follow him and do everything in her power to aid him and his cause. She’s the mouse that made the Deep into a place that could be lived in, a place where other mice like herself and Skimmer could survive and thrive.

When the group was large enough to be called a tribe and they began to take up roles, Mahonia became the first and most talented builder in all of Mottle Deep. She has a good head on her shoulders with a knack for strategy, and she’s one of few tribe members who knows Skimmer as Skimmer, rather than as ‘Keen the Leader’.

But that’s all for later. For now there are only two mice, and they must rely on each other to survive in this new place. It’s taken some convincing to get Skimmer to open up to her, but Mahonia would like to think of him as a friend. He seems to feel similarly, or at least he appreciates the companionship. They aren’t ambitious mice, they aren’t looking for glory, or honour, or luxury, but simply to survive. And if they meet anyone along the way, they’ll do anything they can to help their fellow runaways, outcasts, and orphans.

~•~

Mahonia and Skimmer go venturing deeper into the tunnels to scope out the location, and stumble across proof that other mice lived there long before. It’s an exciting discovery, but.... what exactly happened to those other mice?

~•~

Mahonia herself has some self-esteem issues tracing back to her puphood. Her sire and dam were rather... ‘opinionated’ mice who believed their view of the world was the only right one. Growing up in that household wasn’t easy, where pups where expected to be seen and not heard, while Mahonia instinctively wanted to sing and shout and play rough-and-tumble games with other young mice.
The moment she determined she could fend for herself, she left, and both she and her parents were likely happier with her absence. The only mouse she misses from her home tribe is her grand uncle, a tough old mouse with dozens of exciting stories (never mind that some of them were tall tales). He never minded hanging out with the pups, and taught them the scraps of knowledge he’d picked up over a long and fulfilled life. He gave Mahonia the nickname ‘Little Bear’, because - he claimed - her marking made her look like the great bear he encountered once upon a time, long ago. Mahonia has never encountered a bear and she doubts her uncle had either, but she still remembers him and that story fondly.

a possible theme song for her would be ’ES’ by Crying

[Neon sparks]

mark~


Question, how should we do this? Should we just describe what we want it to look like, edit it into the pic, or draw the character with that added marking?

i would accept any of these, so you can pick which you prefur

[Bloth Hoondr]

Username: Lloril
Gender: Male
Name: Finch
Spot:

[Neon sparks]

sure thing, you can save the image directly and draw over it in any art program.

[NinjaGerbil]

mark

[nat13]

I'll watch this one! Love the entries so far!

[Imagine_Ink]

WIP

Ƨραяяσω

Username: The Dragon Collector
Gender: Male
Role: Builder
Spot: He has a long scar on his left side.

Personality:
Sparrow is an adventurous mouse, filled with the desire to explore. As soon as he was old enough to fend for himself, he left home and set off on a journey that would take through years of his life. He has built up a reputation, a brave wanderer, facing danger at every turn, escaping foes, and quite the ladies' mouse. However, he has a habit of stretching the truth. If a mouse pushes him to tell the truth, he'll be reluctant at first, but will open up and eventually give in.

Traits:

• Witty
• Entertainer
• Great with Words
• Stretches the truth
• Insecure
• Sarcastic
• Loves kids
• Great memory
• Can be Arrogant
• Slightly self-centered

^^нιѕтσяу^^

The coarse bark crackled beneath Sparrow’s claws as he dug them deep into the tree. He propelled himself upward, scaling the tree easily. Sparrow laughed and climbed on top of a small branch, pausing to survey his surrounds. He felt a breeze whistle through the leaves, rippling his fur. He breathed deeply, admiring the spectacular view from where he stood. The branch bent beneath his weight, straining to sustain him. He paid it not mind. The branch would hold.

Crack! Suddenly, Sparrow found himself falling, falling, and falling. He dimly registered hitting several branches on his way down, but the terror of the fall was all his mind could focus on. He hated this sensation of falling, the feeling all the way in the pit of his stomach. He wished it would stop.

It stopped as suddenly as it began. With a jarring crash, Sparrow felt his body collide with a wide branch. He only felt pain, coursing through his body to his head to the tip of his tufted tail. He groaned and blinked, lights dancing before his eyes. As the pain receded, Sparrow rolled onto his side, breathing heavily. He chanced a glance upward.

Sparrow’s eyes widened. Before him was a nest shaped like a cone. Suspended between several spindly twigs, a nest woven into the shape of a cone quivered from Sparrow’s impact. A fearsome bird was rising from the nest, and Sparrow felt his pain replaced by fear.

The mother chickadee before Sparrow squawked angrily, flapping her wings. She launched herself into the air and flew- straight towards Sparrow.

How Sparrow wished he could forget the incident with the Chickadee. But, the Chickadee had made sure he wouldn't forget her soon. All of the scratches from the attack had disappeared, except for the largest of them all,it had turned into an obvious scar. It was an ugly thing, twisted and white, replacing his beautiful white fur with a reminder of the most embarrassing thing that had happened to him.

It had not gone unnoticed either. With every new mouse he met, each one asked him the same thing: how did you get that scar. Sparrow hesitated to tell anyone. He had built up a reputation that he was proud of. A Traveling Storyteller. Brave, adventurous, not bad with the ladies. All of his stories were based on events that had happened in his own life. But he was embarrassed to relive this particular adventure.

So he lied. Sparrow didn't hesitate to tell them the "true" story of how he was kidnapped by a hawk, bent on feeding him to her chicks. But in his tale, he managed to escape the hawk using a clever plan filled with trickery and ludicrous stunts. Even though it seemed impossible, no mouse questioned it.

Until he met Rose.

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Sparrow ducked under a branch hanging low over the ground. His green eyes surveyed the area, catching sight of a small bush. His eyes lit up when he saw clumps of blue hanging from the branches. Sparrow's eyes widened and he scampered over: blueberries.

Sparrow didn't hesitate to jump onto the low branches and scamper up towards the luscious fruit. He plucked the largest blueberry he saw from it branch and brought it to his mouth. He was eager to gorge himself on the delicious fruit. It had been ages since he had had a proper meal.

"Hey!"

Sparrow was so startled, he lost his balance. With a sickening crunch, he landed heavily on his side. Groaning, Sparrow rolled onto his back and closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to recede. After a few moments, he opened his eyes. He was shocked to find a pair of bright blue eyes only a few inches from his.

The bright blue eyes drew back, and Sparrow saw a red doe standing over him. Her eyes twinkled as she picked up the blueberry Sparrow had dropped.

"I believe this is mine," said the doe playfully. She quickly stuffed the blueberry into her mouth.

"It was not!" Sparrow cried indignantly. "I had it first, fair and square!"

The doe shrugged and mumbled something that sounded like "too late." She swallowed and looked at Sparrow.

"What's you name?" she asked.

"Sparrow."

"I'm Rose," she said."What brings you here?"

Sparrow stuck a dramatic pose. "I am all but a wanderer!" he said with a flourish of his paws. "I travel around the land facing dangers of all kinds, from birds, cats, and even the mysterious humans. I have hundreds of tales to tell from my own adventures. All of them," he added, winking at Rose. "Are completely true."

Rose nodded thoughtfully.

"Would you care to tell me how you got that scar?" she asked. She raised a paw and gestured to the thin white line on Sparrow's side.

Sparrow grinned.

"You may want to sit down," he said. "For the tale I am about to tell is one that could take a while."

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Sparrow finished his tale as he always did, with a dramatic bow and and thanking the crowd before him (he did this every time, even when his audience consisted of one mouse). However, when he looked up, Rose did not look impressed or excited. Her expression was filled with skepticism, an expression Sparrow had seen very few mice make after his stories.

"So..." she said. "That really happened?"

"Of course it did!" Sparrow said in a seemingly hurt voice. "Why wouldn't it be?"

Rose frowned. "Well for one," she said. "How is it possible that you escaped the hawk by talking it into letting you go? Hawks are pretty unreasonable. Second, the whole thing is ridiculous and impossible. It never could happen." Her eyes narrowed as Sparrow shifted uncomfortably on his paws. "So how did it really happen?"

Sparrow hesitated. The moment he had feared was about to come to pass. If he avoided to tell the truth, Rose would only push him to tell the truth even more. He couldn't make up a convincing story in time either. That left him with only one thing to do. Soon, he was gushing the whole story. He was ready for her to mock him, to tell him off for running away. However, what she said surprised him.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," she said consolingly. "Chickadees can be very frightening. But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me the truth,” Rose added. “Why would you alter the story?”

“To spare myself any embarrassment,” said Sparrow, avoiding Rose’s eyes.

“Very few mice would tease you for that,” she said consolingly. “All you had to do was tell the truth.”

Sparrow turned to Rose.

“Thank you,” he said, surprising her.

“For what?

“For listening,” he said. “No mouse has ever pushed me to tell the truth before... and it feels good to get that off my chest.”

Rose grinned.

“From now on though,” she said, wagging a paw at him. “No more lies. No stretching the truth, or inventing stuff you make you look better. I want the truth and only the truth.”

And Sparrow did tell the truth. It wasn't easy, turning over a new leaf. He often found himself wanted to twist the truth to his own advantage, but he remembered what Rose had told him. Each time he avoided lying, the easier it became to tell the truth.

When he became the second member of the Tribe of Falling Water, he became the tribe's unofficial official storyteller. He told the truth in each and every one of his stories. He often entertained the Tribe before they turned in for the night. Story time is a highlight of the evening, and all the mice enjoy it. He goes out of his way to make the other mice smile and enjoy the quality time they share in the evening. It is considered a major loss to miss the tribe's story time.

As Rose soon found out, Sparrow was quite inventive. He became the tribe's first builder, and helped choose the location of the tribe's burrow. He discovered how to make small rafts out of branches tied together with reeds on the river's edge. Sparrow dug the entire burrow, working for weeks so his tribe could have a home (even though the tribe was just him and Rose at the time). Sparrow became really close to Rose, and the two confided in each other often. Rose trusted Sparrow, and Sparrow trusted Rose. They kept very few secrets from each other, and became the closest of friends.

Sparrow would often drag Rose out of bed in the middle of the night. He would lead her off to this one particular hill, where they would have a clear view of the stars. For hours, they would sit, Rose listening to Sparrow talking about everything and anything. In their few stolen hours of solitude, Sparrow would voice his deepest worries, if the new rafts he had built were strong enough, or if he was being nice enough to the other mice. Rose never had to say anything, but she knew Sparrow felt reassured by her presence.

Soon, Sparrow never lied. He put his old ways aside and became the most truthful mouse in the Tribe of Falling Water. He developed the ability to read other mice, to be able to tell when they were lying. He pushed the Tribe to be more honest to each other, to never hide the truth. Whenever a mouse asks him why he's always so honest, he takes them aside and has a small talk with them.
"I used to lie," he would say. " A lot, in fact. I always got away with it, telling false stories to improve my own image. Little did I know, I was weighing myself down. The lies were making me more insecure about myself, doubting who I really was. But then, one day, I met a mouse. She was the first to push me to tell the truth. It felt good to finally say what really happened. Somehow, I became lighter and happier. Now a days, whenever I want to lie, I remember what it felt like, to finally say how I felt. Every time I resist lying, I feel happier.
'Lying is never the answer. Believe me, I know. No matter what, you should always tell the truth. Even if it gets you in trouble, the truth is the best way to go.'
Sparrow sometimes would look up and see a red mouse watching him talking. She was far away, but not so far that Sparrow couldn't see the smile on her face.