[redhorizon]

name: Praline
gender: Male
how many viscets do you own? One, which was gifted to me by a kind soul <3

A single soul.
A single life.
Brought together
By the bonds of the light.
Through pain
Comes the victory.
Through victory,
Comes life.

[Pvnkky]

name:
Talon CrowFeather

Nicknames:
Usually Prefers to be called Crow, isn't too fond of his real name

gender:
Male

how many viscets do you own?
I Currently own No Viscets

[Vixen Luo]

please note that the date is not set in stone, guys uvu you may request for it to be longer!

[GasW0lf]

Ich bin auf einen am meisten eigenen Menschen gestoßen.

name;;
Claude

gender;;
Male

Story;;
He had been traveling to another land to find a new home, a forest fire having decimated his own, the night was going to be long and restless as he heard hunters were nearby, they would easily capture a severely burned viscet. Someone will always buy a pelt, no matter how damaged it seemed to be. The moon was black as it made her rounds across the sky, there would be no help from her tonight, her beautiful rays vanished in her cycle, the darkness that was enveloping him made the journey all the more dangerous. This forest had rumors about it, that there were bear traps all along the ground and nets ready to scooped any poor creature into its webbed design.
He treaded carefully as he heard humans’ laughter and voices from afar, even as an intelligent beast he was he knew that the humans were more cunning and the will power would override his own. A human had strayed from its pack, stealthily moving into a cabin not far from where he stood. He drunkenly wandered through the forest and into the foreboding cabin nearby. A woman was also following. She paused to stare at him for a while with a dazed grin upon her face, like a child that realized how amazing the sky was. She stared at him with all the happiness that a mother with her first born stares at a comfortable bed at night.
He didn’t approach but he did set his haunches to the ground dipping his head in a final greeting he watched her saunter into the cabin for the night. The other humans in the pack followed soon after, maybe she was the ringleader of that circus, resting his head on his paws and his hind legs outstretched he would wait here for the sun to rise.
Waking to the morning rays he saw a two large bowls, one with water and the other with fish. The scaly silver of the fish's’ flesh called out softly to him as he roused from the sleepy arms surrounding him. Gliding along the ground with his raptor like body he leaned low, expecting a cage of some sort, a trap to fall upon his body. Nothing of the sort occurred as he ate. Through the window he saw a woman, the same from the night before, making food for herself. Her strange human utensils clanking quietly as she set a fire for cooking. The other humans seemed to have left her in her lonesomeness.
Over the next few days he made the forest here his home, staying so near to the human woman was a dangerous idea but he was sure it would be alright. He slept far enough away that she would put food out but not come out to touch him. It wasn’t until a slow lazy night that the moon shown a bit brighter than normal did she sit outside. Watching him watch her, both of her eyes were a dull grey and her hands were shaking as she patted the wooden porch. Her hand hit a cup, almost knocking it over as she gripped it tightly. Her eyes never leaving his.
Breathing heavily, she stood from her perch, holding out an unsteady hand she made towards him. Scared but determined movements until she was beside him, it has only been four days and already this small human has made a move to befriend him. She takes another step forward, close enough now that she could touch him, she tries to move closer. Succeeding in stepping on his foot, with a grunt he lifts the offending appendage off him ignoring the human jargon that he doesn’t understand. Her hand almost stabs into his collarbone and he realizes. This human might be blind, it would explain the shaky movements and the unsure patting as she tries to find her drink. In this small but important reverie he decides he likes this human enough to stay.
Nuzzled into her bosom he rests his large head there, ready to allow her access to his entire being. She is trying to find his face, gentle pats down between his ears and to his nose he feels her hand on his muzzle. Cross-eyed as he watching her get an understanding of his being, her hand gripping his nose as he yawns against her. Her fingers dipping into his mouth and she recoils making disgusted sounds as she wipes her hand against her human fabrics. She leaves with a small farewell to enter the cabin for the night. Their friendship would benefit both of them, would help him find a home and she would have a guard seeing eye companion.

how many viscets do you own?;;
None


-He is still very wild in nature, obviously spending some time with a human doesn't mean instant domestication
-His name is pronounced like 'clah-ood'
-His territory is near to viechtach, a small town in Germany.
-He stays away from the main town, residing mostly in the forests.
-He can understand basic human speech (only German of course) but has troubles understanding more complex words and phrases.

-His story is a bit sweet atm but I have an idea for backstory that is a bit... darker? Not really horror movie worthy but I guess something that is a bit sad/unnerving? I'm bad at explaining.
-His backstory is based off the phrase 'ich will'

I am very sorry for my amateur German, I'm still learning '^u^


Vielleicht werde ich sehen, wie das sich daraus dreht.

[dragonlover9]

name: Bandit
gender: male
how many viscets do you own? I own no viscets
(art is wip)

[Sunlitsecrets]

Petrichor -- the storyteller

why do I want this character?
As soon as I saw this character's design I knew what his story would be. Funny thing is, the majority of my characters are like this, but this guy was a special case. Instead of having to think for a while about the details, they were already there.
If I win Petrichor, I intend for him to be used often and to have a place in my character family. I'll enjoy drawing and writing about him, but most of all, just imagining his adventures.

how many viscets do I own?
currently none

name;; Petrichor
name meaning;; "a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather." - Oxford Dictionaries
gender;; male
age;; who knows?

personality / info
"Petrichor - that smell in the air after it rains. I love that smell. ...Since Petrichor's my name, I suppose it would be rather unfortunate if I didn't."

Petrichor is, at first glance, a very quiet viscet, and a very average one at that. He's short and has a stutter, and a very reserved personality. Most people don't even notice him in a crowd. He's quiet, and he's glad he is, because this makes him a brilliant listener. Quiet people hear more things, and Petrichor hears more than most.
...The wild sings to him. Every blade of grass, every mushroom, every beetle that crosses his path has its stories. He listens carefully, writes the stories down, and re-tells them to others. The notebooks he writes in are full of the tales of battles fought centuries past, of kings and queens, of bold adventurers... and occasionally the odd prankster ghost. He scribbles in tiny font to try and fit the most story in the least space, yet still he always seems to run out of room in his travel bag. Slowly, over the years, other items like food, a blanket, and other 'essentials' have been thrown aside to make more room for his precious stories.
He travels everywhere in search of his tales and ensures that they won't be forgotten. He may not be the only storyteller, but he is the one with the most original method. Of the many storytellers within the land, there are none so reknowned as Petrichor. When he tells a story, his eyes light up, his voice rises and falls with the action, he pauses at all the right moments. At these times his stutter is gone, and it's hard to think that this viscet is the same as the shy, slightly strange guy who spends his time in nature.
...There are rumors that Petrichor has lived for a thousand years or more, but only he knows how long he's endured. Certainly longer than normal, though he doesn't care how old he is as long as he can keep traveling and listening.
He is a very gentle person by necessity. Even an action so simple as killing a spider would appall him - he hears the stories of spiders, after all, and they are every bit as important to him as the tales of tigers and bears and wolves. He doesn't get why not everyone understands that yet.

storytelling;;
The campfire was burning bright, and as Petrichor gazed into it, the crowd of animals waiting to hear him speak vanished, and it was just him and his story. The viscet smiled slightly - this was one of his favorites to tell, no matter how many times he spoke it.

"Long ago, back before the times of any of us, there was a forest with a tall and majestic tree. This tree was the best of all of them - his leaves were green, his trunk was rich and brown, and his branches stretched up into the sky.
"Every animal who dwelled in that forest wished desperately to live in that tree, but he was known to be quite grumpy. When he got into a mood, he would sway with the wind... and cast anyone in his branches to the ground." The fire crackled ominously at this, and one of Petrichor's paws thumped the ground before he continued, as if a brave mouse had just fallen from the tree.
"One day, however, a squirrel was determined enough to climb up the tree. He perched on one of his branches and said in a small but bold voice, 'Sir tree, your branches are strong and your leaves are the greenest anyone has ever seen. Would it not be better for you to share this with others, rather than keeping it all to yourself? Many would benefit if you were willing to help them.'
"But the tree shook his branches in anger and replied, 'No - I will not help - not you or anyone!' And with that, he flung the squirrel away from him, and down, down, down towards the hard ground below.
"Somehow the squirrel survived the fall, and early the next morning he climbed the tree again. 'Sir tree,' he said again, 'Would it not be better to be friends with just one person rather than enemy to all?'
"'No', said the tree, and he shook the squirrel out of his branches again." Petrichor grabbed a leafy branch that he had left on the ground for this purpose, and shook it. The leaves rustled madly.
"The next day, the squirrel climbed up again, though she stopped further down as her legs were quite sore from all the climbing and falling. 'Sir tree,' she asked, 'Aren't you ever lonely?'
"'No!' intoned the tree, but before he could shake the squirrel out she said,
'I could be your friend. If you want.'
"The tree paused, as if contemplating what the squirrel had offered. 'I... I'd like that.'
"The two talked the rest of the day and on into the night, about everything from the sky to their favorite color flower. At the end of the night, she fell asleep nestled between two of the tree's mighty branches.
"Word soon got around that the greatest tree in the forest had actually let someone stay in his branches. As the months went on, the tree and the squirrel went on to become the best of friends.
"One night there was a large storm passing through the forest. Lightning lit the night, thunder shook the sky. As it sometimes is with the trees, they could sense when they were in danger, and the tree could feel it in his very branches - lightning was coming after him. If he bent out of the way, he's easily avoid the worst of the shock, but he feared endangering his newest friend. He told the squirrel what was going to happen, and as he expected, she refused to leave him to face the danger alone. Lightning came down, and instead of bending to try and escape the blast, he used his last action to fling the squirrel out of his branches, and into safety. There was a noise like a cannon firing as the tree slowly fell. and hit the ground." Petrichor's held branch was thrown into the fire, and sparks flew everywhere as the leaves and bark crumbled slowly into ashes.
"The squirrel hurried back to the dying tree's side, in time to hear him speak. 'Just... one last thing. I guess I was being a bit rude all those years before. Whoever wants is welcome to rest in my branches, for as long as this forest survives and after."

With the end of the story, Petrichor found himself getting a bit melancholy for the time when he'd heard it first. That same tree was filled with life now - spiders and ants and moss and even a family of bunnies... it amazed him every time.

fun facts;;

• Petrichor is almost never seen without a string of ivy wrapped around some part of himself - whether that be his tail, paw, or head.
• He can't sing. At all. Please don't ask him to try.
• Unless you like a voice that sounds like a sick badger, in which case, go ahead.
• He can whistle really well, however.
• His favorite story he's had the privilege to record is about a civil war between five different colonies of ants.

art
all by me -

[tiny little box]

Mark

[Macyduke]

I'm gonna drop out...

[Vixen Luo]

bump! This is the halfway mark to the end date!

[r.ddler]

name: Sutherland || Sooth
gender: Female
how many viscets do you own? I own 4 c: Shiloh, Rowani, Cato, and Cailan

playlist tbd--

art tbd--

personality tbd--