[Strudel]

Name: Raven (formerly Damuron)
Gender: Male
Owner: True Knight


Ok, so I've been totally obsessed with Steven Universe lately. I don't have/like having cable and so I never idly watched it when it it first came on. I watch the first four episodes with Mint Chip a few months back, and it seemed really interesting. But a couple of weeks ago I found a little time to watch it, and it sucked me in (I haven't seen the newest season yet, so no spoilers please!) in fact no spoilers at all because, well, other people may not have watched it yet.
Anyhow, I came up with this idea, and then I managed to finished it this morning.
I tried to make it resemble the SU artwork with the eyes/mouth/mane edit.
Basically, this contest is a color palette contest. But with a twist. Instead of giving me an actual color palette, you will give me a gem and I will create a palette based on the gem you provide me! (and the rounded scales will be made to match the gem) as a little note, yes I know unfused gems don't have multiple gems, but it seemed super silly to only use one rounded scale. You of course don't have to like/watch/know what Steven Universe is to enter.

tl;dr (and/or don't care about Steven Universe enough to read)
This is Steven Universe inspired, and how you enter is you link me to a gem to base the color palette off of. You don't have to be a fan of the show to enter.

Form:

Code: Select all

[b][u]Username[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Name[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Gender[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Gem[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Weapon OR armor location[/u][/b]:
[b][u]One Extra[/u][/b]:
[b][u]Pick a number between 1 and 25[/u][/b]:


• Again, you do not have to be a fan of the show to enter.
• You can only pick one gem.
• You can only pick one weapon or armor piece. And only one of those. I will design the weapon or armor piece based on the gem you chose (or you can chose none if you like. That's totally up to you)
• I know gems are technically sexless, but since this is a viscet, you have to chose a biological gender (so you can say male or female for what they are designated at birth, but then add that they are asexual/him or her pronouns/etc.)
• You have one mandatory extra, of any length. It however cannot be art (since it doesn't have colors yet)
• No prettying up.
• You can name it after the gem you chose (as what is customary in the show) but since I am allowing non-fans of the show to enter, you do not have to do this.
• I would prefer that you didn't pick gems from the show, if you do and you win, then I will do everything that I can to ensure it doesn't look like the show character.
• I will pick the winner based on what I think will make the prettiest viscet and on the mandatory extra.
• The number you pick can be a repeat of someone else's and has no play on whether you win this adopt or not.

End Date: August 5th (extensions may be provided if requested by multiple people, but not for just one person since this is a pretty simple contest)

Mutations:
Minor Mane Edit- Uncommon | Rounded Scales- Rare

[grifforik]

this is great Strudel! hahaha I'll admit I've been binge watching SU for a few days now so I love this one! G'luck to anyone entering!

[Vixen Luo]

Username: true knight
Name: damuron, although he only ever goes by raven. 'damuron' could be considered a dead name at this point.
Gender: male
Gem: star ruby, but to make a dark purple/blackish design and still be beautiful with peaks of bright color
Weapon OR armor location: his weapon is a retractable bow with arrows of pure energy; that'll be located either near his back or just tangled in his tail.
One Extra:
“They’ll be drafting again soon.” Damuron’s ears twitched before they pricked as a human nearby spoke, his head swiveling to follow with his flickering appendages curiously. He remained wordless as the human, an old, aged woman with grief and anger in her eyes, continued to speak. “Haven’t they taken enough from this town? Why go on with the war if we are doing nothing but extinguishing life over resources we can easily share?”

The humans had been this way all week, it seemed. Damuron wasn’t one to pry or listen too much, so he’d only gathered bits and pieces of the situation, but he had heard enough to develop a general idea already. The humans from the eastern side of the country were deep in war with those on the west, where he lived with a small pack of viscets in a small town where older humans lived alongside them peacefully, with a few humanlings (or whatever the little ones were called) dotted around here and there. Now, there had been a few young adults that returned, but most were injured or crippled beyond repair, and Damuron couldn’t help but stare sometimes in wonder. Just what had gone so awry in the human society that battling with each other was the only solution? It was a troubling thought, surely, but it wasn’t like thinking about it much would change anything. Humans would be humans.
“I’ve heard they’re starting to take Viscets into the war as well,” the old woman’s companion chipped in, her voice rather troubled. “Shouldn’t affect us much, but it’s a bit of a savage way to act, isn’t it? Bringing in large animals to fight a human’s fight…what makes them think that they’ll fight for us, anyhow? They’ve lived alongside us just fine, but...not many of the ones around here are vicious at all.” The old woman, listening intently to her companion, nodded and closed her eyes in solemn agreement. Damuron’s ears flicked back against his head at the realization. What did Viscets have to do with the conflicts of humans?

--

Evening sank in like a smooth set of teeth into a freshly cooked salmon - okay, maybe not the best imagery, Damuron thought, his stomach groaning in complaint - as the young Viscet made his way to the den he and his pack resided in, left ear flicking with a small noise of apparent contentment. Despite all the rumors going around about Viscets becoming involved in the conflicts of humankind, he was sure that nothing bad would happen. Damuron and his friends had never really shown any form of aggression, so would it really be logical of them to force seemingly harmless animals into conflict? He supposed...he wasn’t as comforted as he’d initially thought. He shook off his concerns and puffed out a heavy sigh, flicking his tail before walking into the cave mouth and picking his head up, jaws parted to speak.
But there were only large, bulky humans waiting for him, with his companions rounded up in large wooden crate-like cages staring out at him with confusion and distress in their eyes.
His heart sank in his chest.

He’d been stuffed into a crate alongside his newest companion before the boxes were all carried out of the den and onto the shoreside of the town, loaded into carriages drawn by horses while the elderly townspeople watched on in disgust or outright anger, their mouths knitted shut out of fear of the troops rounding the Viscets up. Damuron was pacing in his crate, claws scratching across the wood and splintering his paws as a consequence--though, it wasn’t like the pain was affecting him much, anyway. He could barely think straight, much less feel anything other than numbness. He didn’t want to go to war; war was something that humans mindlessly did to quench their own thirst for violence, not something to bring animals into.
Delilah’s irritation with Damuron’s restless movement was evident as the young male finally snapped out of his concerned haze, making him glance up and gaze briefly at the dark-furred Viscet with her dull rainbow-hued mane gently stirring and jumping along with the rest of her with each bump and wriggle the crates gave.
“Sorry,” he said simply, one of his paws scratching nervously at his neck--well, what he could reach of it. She wordlessly stared at him before her eyes flickered off back outside of the crate, almost as though she was unconcerned with the situation. Delilah had always been a rather odd companion from the time she’d joined Damuron and the other two Viscets in the pack; she was withdrawn, yet not too noticeable or unique outside of her general personality, but she was still enough to help gather food and share at least some semblance of companionship with. Damuron had just always brushed it off with an excuse like we just don’t know her well enough yet or something, and that had satisfied him. If nothing else, she was part of a symbiotic relationship; she used them for shelter, and they used her for assistance in keeping stocked up. Everyone was satisfied with that.

Damuron’s other two companions were quite different; there was Tracie, a somewhat smaller male that clearly had some form of a crush on Delilah that developed from the moment they’d met, and then there was Carrie, who Damuron considered his closest companion. Tracie was a white-furred Viscet with cream and brown scattered and splotched on his pelt like that of a koi fish, with sharp yellow eyes that seemed to resonate his nervous and submissive personality. He was the weakest of the group; dependant and a follower, if nothing else. Before Delilah, he’d stuck to Damuron like a burr, unable to be shaken off. His dependence on others was a little stifling, but it was useful when the one he was dependant on needed his help. Delilah had certainly seemed to enjoy making use of him for menial tasks at the moment, anyway, especially when she didn’t feel much like doing anything that she was supposed to. Of course, Tracie never minded, either. Damuron couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor, hopelessly fallen fool.
Carrie was...different. A simple gray-furred female with deep hazel eyes and a navy blue underbelly and paws, with a personality as calm and comforting as her appearance. Damuron did not love her like he would a mate; to say that would be wrong--not enough of a description, even. He loved her with the ferocity of a brother would his twin sister, or younger, at that. She was his age, and she was perfectly material enough to be his mate, he supposed, but he did not see himself with her in such a way. He yearned for her to find a mate and settle down to keep her out of such a restless life, perhaps have some Visclings for him to be uncle to and spoil--but he did not see himself with her. He was unsure of how she felt, but in a way, he felt like she had a mutual opinion on the matter, at the very least. He was glad for that. Of his three companions, Carrie was his dearest one, his most irreplaceable.

And now, replaceable or not, all three of those companions were stuck getting shipped off to war alongside him.
For centuries, it seemed, Eterna had been a beautiful, peaceful place. Born from war in the first place, it served as a warning in itself; Earth had been devastated by war, destroyed by the nuclear weapons of mass destruction that mankind had created, and it was left a barren orb of death. Little to nothing had prospered. It took many, many years for a deity - The Elemental was his name - to take pity on that barren land, to restore it with vibrant life and greenery and allow the scant species that had survived to thrive again, to allow new species to develop and evolve into something that could prosper just the same. War was something that no one would even consider anymore, not at such a cost; the new generations had developed that mindset from the start, when The Elemental graced them with the gift of a second chance.
The Dark Wolf was who began it again. Mythology and stories said so, anyway. When he came around, negativity blossomed again, and violence prospered. The Elemental was nowhere to be seen, nowhere to stop him, until it was much too late--and mankind was again corrupted by hunger of power, despite the dying off generation of the new world’s pleas for it to stop. Weapons were created. Spats turned to fights, turned to battles, turned to war.

And everything else got caught up in it.

That was how, why, they were stuck like this. Some little wives’ tale deity that had some collective following of crazy humans; either that, or the guy was real, and he was majorly screwing up what the good guy had worked for. That was how Damuron thought of it, anyway. His ears pinned back at the thought, and finally, he stopped. His eyes flickered up to the sky, where raindrops began to fall. Tracie and Carrie were huddled in their crate quietly, trying their best to remain calm and sleep, whereas Delilah was peacefully sleeping already. Damuron, however, knew he would be getting no sleep that night.
He would be mourning for himself, his group, and his kind in silence.
He and the rain alike.

--

Training - rather, ‘abuse’ was a better word - was vigorous and harsh on those involved. At the moment, it was full of nothing but Viscets, muttering and speaking amongst each other nervously while the humans kept them enclosed in a small area with no exits and little room to breathe. Every Viscet present was sore, if not moments from collapsing from exhaustion; they had been overworked, forced to run and spar and fight with each other against their wills - was it a better option to be attacked by a seasoned warrior or human for refusing to fight, or to get hurt fighting someone as weak as the resistant one? - until hardly any of them could move--and then, they were pushed into this tiny area, filled with mud and slop for food and Visclings - yes, Visclings, barely old enough to start walking on their back legs alone - crying for their mothers. The overwhelming mess of it all was already giving Damuron a migraine to boot, on top of his burning muscles and aching wounds.

He hadn’t seen his packmates all day. All--week, in fact, if it had been that long. Or had it been even longer? His heart lurched in his chest and he tipped his muzzle up to the sky, gazing at the sunset that was increasingly getting more and more dreadful by the day. At this point, sunset just ticked off another day they had fewer before they were thrown into a battle they were never meant to be in. Each sunset was each death to come.

Damuron’s shoulders jumped as the loud, deafening sound of the gates opening rang in his ears, making them pin back against his head in some vain attempt to muffle it while his gaze shot forward like the rest of the Viscets in the enclosure. What did the humans want with them now?
Instead of a human entering, however, a rather large red male Viscet with crippling red eyes entered, muscles rippling beneath his fur that shimmered and practically glowed with health. The female Viscets murmured amongst themselves as though admiring the handsome male, their eyes curiously inspecting--that is, until the male reared up further and stood tall over the rest, flicking his tail sharply like a whip cracking in the air as the gates slammed shut. Damuron dared take a step toward him, a challenge lighting his eyes; he could tell just by looking at the red snow-leopard-like Viscet that he was planning on taking charge of things--that, or he was another one of the fully trained and brainwashed Viscets working for the humans. Brainwashed was how Damuron hoped things were, anyway, because he couldn’t bear to imagine his kind doing this of their own free will--

That single step had been a mistake. The Viscet snapped his jaws with a threatening snarl and Damuron reflexively jumped, his messy hair bouncing with the motion. The other male stepped toward him with heavy, firm pawsteps, leering into Damuron’s eyes as though attempting to quash any semblance of resistance right then and there.
“Stay back with the others before I force you there,” the Viscet snapped coldly, his voice mature and memorable much like a cello’s careful, controlling tune. There was something off about the glimmer in his eyes; Damuron could tell that much now that he was standing closer to the other male. As much as he wanted to be defiant...something told him to just keep his trap shut and obey--and so he did just that, although not without a rather aggressive stare being fired right back at the red-furred male. Once he did so, the male carried on. “My name--” He paused, straightening again, with his chin held high as though he had practiced holding himself in such a way. “You may call me Kratos. From now on, I will be your leader into battle.”
An uproar of protests and snarls greeted the male, who stood tall and unmoving through it all; it was clear that he’d either done this far too much previously to let it get to him anymore, or he didn’t care anymore to be affected by it. Damuron felt as though it were a little bit of both, honestly. He watched, stiff-legged and sewn-jawed as Kratos calmly waited out the protests as they trickled off, the crowd confused by the lack of aggression they were met with. Instead, the snow-leopard Viscet gazed out among them, unfazed, before he resumed speaking. “No matter how much you think you may be able to escape, you will be involved in this war. You will get injured. Some of you will die. If not all.” His voice lacked an ounce of pity. Somehow, Damuron felt like that was the most merciful thing he’d done; he was treating them as equals, not Visclings. He was giving the news to them as it was instead of sugar-coating and backing away from the truth, and for that, his ebbing pride was replaced with a mild speck of respect. He couldn’t say the same for the others, but then again, that was because they were frantic and didn’t know what to do. What am I thinking? I don’t know what to do, either. I’m just trying to take this with a grain of salt, I-- I can’t go to war!! His mouth remained shut. Why couldn’t he talk?

“We plan to leave at sunrise. Unless you intend on dying, I suggest you get as much sleep as you can.” His tail twitched before he turned. “An informant of mine will give those of you with a proper listening ear the run-down of the skirmish we are assigned to fight, and why.” Kratos’s ears flicked back as though he were...disgusted, oddly enough. “Prepare for battle. That is all I have to say to you.”
Damuron felt numb up until the moment Kratos left, staring down at the mud with disbelief in his system. How was he going to do this? Why was this happening? What--

His vision fluttered like a butterfly flapping for dear life before he slumped to the ground and blacked out, squashed and dead to the world.

It would be a long, long night before he would awaken.

--

“This entire war started over resources that the east doesn’t want to share, you know.” Damuron’s ears pricked again, curiously glancing over at his companion whose name he still did not know. Now that he thought about it--he didn’t know how everything started, did he?
“...what?”

“The war. The westerners - that’s us - wanted some of the east’s resources because we’re in a shortage right now. Crops and tools, I think. I hope it’s something actually worth fighting for. But anyway, the east refused to give us any, and so push came to shove, and--well, there you have it. The Dark Wolf must be snickering right about now,” the younger Viscet muttered, appearing about 18 to Damuron’s 25. He paused in his talking when Damuron gave him an odd look, one of his cream-colored ears flicking back. “..what?”
“Ah--nothing.”
“...oh, you don’t believe in the Dark Wolf and the Elementals? Not even the Deities?”
“...not very religious. I have other things to worry about, you know?”
“Oh. I, uh….I guess so. It’s just--thinking about it that way kind of explains things, I guess.” Damuron felt a bit guilty for having worded his previous statement the way he did; the poor Viscet was just trying to make some idle conversation to help himself keep distracted away from the fact that they were marching to battle, Kratos silent in his leading while the sun shone down across his bright red fur.
Ever since the previous night, he had not spoken to anyone; instead, the informant had come, as promised, and filled in those willing to stand above the rest on what the skirmish would hold.

“The easterners brought humans. There are some Visclings on their side to fool us into pitying them, but be careful. There will be human soldiers waiting to kill you if you stop and try to help them. As far as we know, we will be the only brigade with Viscets for the time being--but deeper into the war, just know that those of you who survive will have to face off against other Viscets. Maybe even those you know. We got word in last week - the humans did, anyway - that one of the last Viscet drafts was raided by easterners and they were taken, so be prepared. Any form of hesitancy, loved one or not, will result in your death and our failure. Be prepared to die. Be prepared to see death. And be prepared to kill.”

Damuron’s pelt twitched and he shivered at the thought; his naive stance on things was starting to fade already. He was going to see death, going to have to deliver it, perhaps even face it--and although he was positive he was not ready, he forced himself to be. He had to brave through it if he wanted to see Carrie and the others again. Once he found them, they could run from all of this together, couldn’t they?
His silence apparently spooked the younger Viscet he’d been chatting with and the younger male fell back in step with a few of the females traveling not far behind Damuron and Kratos, their heads down as they moved as though submissive toward their own fates. Damuron felt sick.

He quickened his pace to catch up with Kratos, whose red eyes darted to the new arrival before he dismissively cocked his head forward again and proceeded. He was still holding that haunted, morose look in his eyes, one that Damuron could not forget.
“Did you lose someone in the w-?”
“You are lacking in respect for the dead by asking.” His voice was not angry, nor was it friendly. It was an even tone, his voice solemn and controlled. Regardless, Damuron’s question was answered. “I have no family to lose to war. Although, I suppose the war had a hand in their deaths.” The word ‘their’ was hesitated, almost as though he didn’t believe what he was saying. Damuron didn’t ask for him to expand. “I participate willingly because I am of use in this war. My lack of a future does not hinder me in doing so.” He paused. “I will not allow Visclings to enter battle. We Viscets do not communicate verbally with humans, but I do expect those we travel and do battle alongside will have an understanding.”

They traveled silently after that, their pawsteps squelching in the mud or thumping against dry ground the only sounds in their ears, until they could hear clashing metal and throaty shouts. Damuron stiffened in response, his eyes widening in mild alarm. Had it already started? Kratos easily answered his question, swerving and halting the pack. “You will run for the western camp in the center of the battlefield. They’ve surrounded us!” His red eyes flared to life at the announcement, as if to further deliver the alarm rippling in the crowd of inexperienced Viscets. “Weaponry for the adults and shelter for the Visclings is there! Run!” Without a moment to spare, Kratos was gone, his red pelt lost over the hilltop he passed. Damuron, heart racing, followed without a second thought.

It was a living hell. His paws skidded along the dirt and he came to a halt with wide eyes as the scene unraveled before him, clashing blades and arrows flying, spears being thrust while the choruses of horses’ panicked whinnying and nickering played in the midst of humans and Viscets alike clashing, snapping and falling limp and attacking each other in a ceaseless cycle. Any semblance of following Kratos’s plan and following the running Viscets, who were being taken down one by one, was forgotten. His heart hammered in his chest frantically, rooted to the ground, until a body shoved him down just in time for an arrow to come whistling by, narrowly missing out on striking him. Dumbfounded, the shaken Viscet blinked and looked up at his savior--and felt his heart leap in relief. “C-Carrie-!”
“Not now!! You need to get up and move--c’mon, Delilah and Tracie are back this way!! Hurry up!” The Viscet he had been oh so happy to see quickly whipped around and ducked and twisted behind whatever cover she could find in her rapid dash to regroup with her packmates, and Damuron was not close behind. He scampered like a Viscling, stumbling and running with fear pulsing through his pelt while arrows and swords slashed at the air and made it hiss like a snake poised and ready to strike, narrowly missing them both in their venture.

Damuron stumbled to a halt as Carrie did, his eyes falling upon two familiar forms--but his happiness was stunted by their actions. Delilah and Tracie were both cornering a human, their fangs bared and jaws snapping softly in a threatening manner--and quickly, the newest arrival barked out for them to stop. “Wait, what are you doing!? You can’t kill him!!” Even Carrie’s head swiveled to look at him in an utterly bemused manner, ears flat in disbelief.
“What are you talking about, Damuron!? We have to kill them! They’ve already killed enough on our side!”
“O-our side!? The west? Th-that guy’s on our side!” He thought, anyway. His mind was racing. What colors were the humans wearing, again?

Distracted, his two other companions glanced up and gazed upon him - Tracie with a look of uncertainty, and Delilah with pure agitation - and gave the human a chance to gather his bearings again and take hold of a sword--and then he shot directly for Damuron, who just barely had time to react and duck out of the way before Delilah and Tracie were on the human, snapping and slashing and--
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. He went numb at the sight before his eyes squeezed shut and he shook his head, struggling to keep his head about him. He could do this.
“Damuron, please. I don’t want you to die. We have to do this,” Carrie pleaded, and Damuron felt his throat tighten with his torn morals. He had to do it. He knew he did, but that didn’t make the decision any easier.
“Okay,” he whispered, head lowered. “Okay.”

--

Pain flared in Damuron’s left side as a sword pierced his skin yet again, the human attacking taking a step forward to advance. It only took a defensive maneuver from Carrie for him to recover, however, and for a joined attack to take the human down with an exchanged solemn glance afterward.
They had been in this battle for days now. Countless lifeless bodies littered the area around them, either from exhaustion or from the violence that the battle ensued. Damuron was exhausted, mentally and physically, and he was almost certain that the rest of his pack was as well. Carrie seemed the most out of it; she seemed smaller than normal, thinner, like the fighting from the past few days had taken more out of her than she could get back. Damuron didn’t like to think on it too much; in his mind, ignoring the problem would fix it. She would get better.

Except, she wouldn’t. In the midst of his thoughts, he muttered, “C’mon, Carrie. We need to get back to the easterner’s camp to find water for you.” He received no response. Confused, he lifted his head, turning back to face her. “Didn’t you hear me? Now’s not the time to be stubborn. Carrie-” His voice died off as his eyes fell upon his best friend and packmate, collapsed on the ground with an arrow plunged deep within her chest. Her eyes gazed up at him, exhaustion and agony glimmering within the pale blue depths, before she slumped and fell limp before him. Damuron froze, and time seemed to just stop around him.

She wasn't dead. She couldn't have been dead.

Before Damuron could even process, much less react to, what had just happened--he felt a rush of blazing pain siphoning in the lower right side of his chest. He staggered, eyes widening while he fumbled desperately for some form of leverage. His breathing grew shallow, erratic, while he gazed up at his attackers--and the last thing he could properly identify was Delilah’s dull-rainbow mane and Tracie’s sharp yellow eyes turning away and sprinting away from them without a second glance, human soldiers swarming around Carrie and the dying young male.

And then, Damuron’s vision wavered and swam before he fell back, feeling his exhaustion and pain alike slipping from him like grime being washed from a dirty surface.

--

Hot. It was hot. His throat burned and felt dry, cracked, as he jerked his head up, breathing raspy and more like a pant than anything regarded as even or normal. His eyes widened and he glanced around frantically, spotting nothing but a deserted, destroyed battlefield around him. Was he dead?
Damuron let his eyes drop to his chest, where his fatal wound--the wound that he was sure killed him--was replaced with a nasty scar with a red center, and a glimmering scale much like those along his body. Though….it looked much more like a gem, now that he gazed at it. Stupefied, he reached up with an uncertain paw and touched it--and jerked with surprise as it glimmered brilliantly in response, shining as though it were as strong and living as his hammering--

…no. His heart was…

He didn't feel his heartbeat.

I'm dead?

But--he felt so alive. He felt full of vitality, as though he hadn't been struck with an arrow at all--but he didn't have a heartbeat.
Instead, the jewels along his body glimmered brightly, almost sneering up at him and illuminating the body of Carrie before him. He felt his eyes watering at the sight.
It had to be a dream.

“You've awakened.” Damuron jerked with shock, staring up with wide eyes while he jumped to an offensive position.
“Who's there?!” he barked, tail wildly lashing. Silence greeted him, until he felt quiet, calm pawsteps approaching him. His eyes slowly turned and swiveled with his head to find the source, feeling dread welling within him. His jaws parted to speak again, until he was struck dumb.

“....Kratos..?” The tall red male was standing before him again, coated with scars but no injuries that suggested he'd been at battle at all. But he'd been in the fight the entire time...hadn't he? “Kratos, what's going on?! What is this?”
“You believe I have the answers to those questions?” Silence. Then, the older Viscet let out a rumble, much like an amused chuckle. “....perhaps you are not as naive as I thought you were.” Damuron remained quiet, swallowing quietly in a nervous manner. What was he getting at?

“...that bow you hold in your paws.” Bow? What-? The younger Viscet glanced down, only to notice a brilliant purple and brown bow in his paws, seemed to be constructed of both wood and the same gem-like scales coating his body. A bright, glimmering arrow was notched in the weapon, almost as if to complete its mystifying appearance. When had it gotten there, though? And how-?

“Do not squander this opportunity. You have not a heart, now, but you still yet contain a soul. That bow represents the vitality lingering in the gems in your body. Should you allow that vitality to be crushed--you will allow your second chance to receive the same fate.” The older Viscet - one who seemed far, far older than he appeared - paused again, for a long moment. “Don't die, Damuron.”

Almost reflexively, the young Viscet spoke again, his voice trembling with the overwhelmed stature of the news. “--don't-” He swallowed. “Don't call me that.”
“...what shall you be called, then?”
He didn't know. He just--

It didn't feel right, being called ‘Damuron’. Not anymore. “....give me a name,” he muttered, ears flicked back. “You gave me life, so--give me a name, Kratos.” The other male remained silent for a moment, gazing up at the sky, before he decided.
“...Raven.”

“Raven?”

“You shall be Raven, the dark gem of the stars. Take flight, my raven, and make use of your life.”

Damuron--no, Raven-- glanced up to look at the mysterious Viscet, his gaze mystified--but Kratos was gone, vanished without a trace.

In his place lay a single black feather, undisturbed, on the battlefield.

--

Raven jerked awake with heavy breathing and flattened ears, uncurling from his sleeping position restlessly. Again? Lately, his nightmares--memories sounded like a better word for them-- were acting up much like when he’d first run from the war and started a life on his own. He would have thought that ten years would have put such memories to rest, but he supposed not. Even now, he was gripped by thoughts of the dead, of those he had killed, whom he had nearly been killed by--and of course, how he had died. No--how Damuron had died. Raven was an entirely different Viscet, as far as he was concerned. His ears flicked back and he felt those familiar emotions wisping at him again, threatening to pull him back down into that abyss of negativity--but now he had a way to push those thoughts aside. Although he did not want to, he pushed himself up and out of the cave he slept in, and onto the beachside where he and Carrie had first found their home all those years ago. Instead of the Viscet he had considered a sister and two others who were little more than outsiders to him, however, he had a different pack. A family.

“Hey, there, darlin’. Nice night out, ain’t it?” A beautiful Viscet, female, stood alone while gazing up at the night sky. Her ears twitched as though unsurprised by the sudden voice in her ears, her head remaining still along with the rest of her body as she offered a simple reply.
“You seem to say that so often nowadays, Raven. Have you run out of pick-up lines already? I figured someone your age would have enough experience by now,” she said without missing a beat.

“Judith, darlin’, ya scar me with those words. Can’t this old man get a break?” Raven gripped his chest softly with a mock expression of pain plastered across his face as though the female Viscet had attacked him rather than simply pushed him aside again.
“Perhaps one day. Maybe when you decide to start acting like a gentleman.” Judith cast him a side glance, her purple-red eyes glimmering in the twilight with pure amusement at the jest.
“Gentleman? Trust me, ya haven’t met a bigger gentleman than good old Raven here. Ya wanna keep denyin’ yer love for me, darlin’, ya go right ahead--I’ll still be here when ya come crawlin’ back. I’m hard to resist.” He grinned and closed his eyes, turning to face the beach.
“Go to sleep already.” A sleepy mutter greeted them both from outside the den, making them both glance back to see a rather fuzzy-maned blond staring at them with grumpy blue eyes, a darker-furred, smaller Viscet with long, silky hair at his side. The latter seemed more agitated, though Raven just supposed that was how Yuri was on the last vestiges of his down days.

“Ah, now here ya all are, firin’ away at me. I understand, fine; ya don’t want me ta stick around anymore. This old man gets it,” Raven sighed gloomily, and in response, Yuri blinked and perked his head up before frowning up at his blond mate, fluffy little rabbit ears going flat.
“I--I-”
“Yuri, don’t listen to him. He’s being an idiot.” Another voice came from inside the cave, making Raven grin a bit since it let the little rabbit-eared Viscet shoot a slight glare in his direction before stomping back inside, clearly headed for his and Flynn’s - the blond’s - nest. Yuri was probably the most sensitive of the group; quite reliant on Flynn, he was involved in the war as one of the Viscling decoys, barely old enough to understand what was going on. He had been an immigrant, barely able to communicate with other Viscets, before he was tossed into the fray of things, and perhaps that was why Raven had seemed to pity him the most. Flynn had guided Yuri through it despite his own young age, and that was how the two had met and grown together. Judith had tagged along at a much later date(or so he’d heard) and stuck with them up until they found Raven, just a couple of years before the present date. He’d been independent, withdrawn then, but he’d still carried the same facade he did now.
Though, now, he didn’t suppose it was a facade. Not after they’d heard his story after many instances involving persistence (and maybe a couple of near-death experiences) and Raven being far too careless with his bow. He didn’t consider it a major factor of his life; it was a weapon, something he had grown to use like another limb, but it was nothing for him to gawk at anymore. It hadn’t seemed outrageous to him to just whip out the bow in front of his new companions, but he hadn’t realized his mistake until the questioning started.

Frankly, he still wasn’t so sure if any of them believed him. If only he had been able to find Kratos again...though, Yuri seemed to be a strict believer in what Raven said, so that was appreciated. Or...maybe Yuri was still unused to how often people and Viscets in Winderia lied or told tall tales.

“Such a gullible little thing, ain’t he?” His grin was back.
“Shut up, Raven. Go to sleep. You too, Judith; we have to be up and around in the morning, you know.”
“Of course, of course,” the female Viscet replied, humor lacing her smooth voice while she turned to re-enter the cave. “Raven? Are you coming along?” Expectantly, she glanced back at him, but Raven remained where he was. His eyes turned up to the night sky, left ear twitching just a bit as though musing something over in his own mind.
“Nah. I’ll be in there in a little bit, don’t ya fret, gorgeous.” The young female huffed out a soft laugh before leaving him alone on the sandy beach.

“I’ll be there soon,” he repeated softly, his eyes resting on a sole blackbird floating lazily about overhead.

A single black feather floated lazily down to rest, undisturbed, on the sand.
Pick a number between 1 and 25: 23

[kiffell]

Username:
Tigerblue


Name:
Emerald


Gender:
Male


Gem:
Emerald


Weapon OR armor location:
Weapon
And Tail


One Extra:
story or personality


Pick a number between 1 and 25:
17

[modern]

Username: Modern.Vintage
Name: Dogon
Gender: Male
Gem: Fire Agate
Weapon OR armor location: Feet
One Extra: -Wip with story-
Pick a number between 1 and 25: 21

[jolteon]

possible res

[Burn.]

Username: burninflames
Name: Sky
Gender: Female
Gem: Sky Blue Topaz
Weapon OR armor location:
One Extra:
Pick a number between 1 and 25: 18

Res c:

[Stårry]

Username: Marki-moo
Name: Oppentine
Gender: Male
Gem: Ethiopian Welo Opal
http://www.diretube.com/articles/read-e ... _4071.html
http://www.diretube.com/uploads/articles/39097959.jpg
http://www.diretube.com/uploads/articles/2b019e0d.jpg
http://www.diretube.com/uploads/articles/728c550c.jpg
http://www.diretube.com/uploads/articles/4be66172.jpg
http://www.diretube.com/uploads/articles/28835b11.jpg
Weapon OR armor location:
Armor on tail

.:Personality Positives:.
:Adaptable:Balanced:Charismatic:Dutiful:Ebullient:Freethinking:Gallant:Hardworking:
:Intuitive:Jovial:Kinetic:Lyrical:Magnanimous:Nitid:Observant:Protective:Quilted:
:Reflective:Seraphic:Tractable:Undogmatic:Venturesome:Wise:Youthful:

.:Personality Neutrals:.
:Artful:Boyish:Casual:Determined:Enigmatic:Frugal:Guileless:High-spirited:Impassive:
:Kindred:Livid:Maternal:Neutral:Outspoken:Proud:Questioning:Restrained:Solemn:
:Tough:Whimsical:Yon:

.:Personality negatives:.
:Aloof:Brittle:Compulsive:Difficult:Escapist:Fiery:Gullible:Hesitant:Indulgent:
:Loquacious:Messy:Naive:Overimaginative:Possessive:Quirky:Repentant:Superstitious:
:Tense:Unrealistic:Vulnerable:Wishful:Zany:
Pick a number between 1 and 25: 3

I love opals if you couldnt tell <3
Extra is personality c:

[corgiboy]

ima just going to silently cheer someone on XD who ever owns this beauty feel free to message me one day of future breedings and stuff <3

[manta rae]

mArk