[grifforik]

This is a PFCFS viscet! Meaning it will end at the bottom of page 2, you CANNOT edit your form, and you may not mark. Good luck!!!

Username: tenlittlesoldierboys
Name: Ishmael
Gender: gendervoid
Gender for breeding purposes: male
Owned as of: 7/24/18

Rules:
1. DO NOT EDIT YOUR FORM!!! There is no marking for this one.
2. Fill out the full form.
3. The story you create MUST be written by you, and should be written about this 'cet.
4. DO NOT COPY AND PASTE FROM ANOTHER FORM PLEASE. This WILL disqualify you.
5. Have fun!

Form:

Code: Select all

Username:
Name:
Gender:
Gender for breeding purposes:
Plushie gif: (Show me something stuffed animal related gif.)
Personality: (Small blurb on their personality, needs to be over 200, under 400 words)
Short story: (Tell me a story about this 'cet, something to do with their stitches, must be over 500 words. No limit after 500.)
Extras: (Up to 2, these will def help you out ;) )

Mutations:
None

End date:
PFCFS - Ends at the bottom of page 2.
OR 24 hours from now

[tenlittlesoldierboys]

Username: tenlittlesoldierboys
Name: Ishmael
Gender: gendervoid
Gender for breeding purposes: male
Plushie gif: "Meeting him was like a trapdoor opened beneath my feet. There was no turning back. Ever."

Personality: Ishmael used to be a strong, independent and prideful Viscet, until the day he made the mistake of stepping into Willow's life. The other Viscets, or the dollmaker, as people do like to call him, took him in and changed him. The heroic guy, who would not hesitate to stand up for himself and for others, turned into a practially mindless creature, only there to please their master. Ishmael is quite held-back, most of the time, only observing and watching. But if needed, he can turn into a highly aggressive beast within seconds and would not hesitate to attack whomever gets in his way. Whatever he does, however, pleasing his master is always the most important thing in his mind and even beyond sleeping or even eating. Willow brainwashed the other Viscet into being fully submissive to him and him only - if any other Viscet was to approach Ishmael, the Viscet would either react by going completely berserk or by showing any other form of aggression, except if his master would demand him to act any different. Ishmael also rarely speaks his own words, most that come out of his mouth is just what his master demanded him to say; it is to be questioned, if Ishmael even has a mind of his own anymore, or if he is just what he appears to be: a mere puppet, acting out to the will of Willow, who is standing in the shadows and pulling the strings.

Short story: Ishmael... that has not always been his name. Once, he bore another name, a name that neither he nor anyone else could remember anymore. But that didn't matter, because it faded long ago and lost all its meaning. His new name, however, bore more meaning than anyone could ever imagine. Ishmael, the name of a slave, a puppet, a plaything. Given to him by his master. And how the master and the slave came to be... this is the story, that is to be told right here:
Even though we do not know his name, we know quite some other things about him. He used to be a police offer once. A fairly young detective with his head still high in the clouds. A young man who still believed in the good in the world and in the people all around him and a young man who would grant second chances to anyone. He was determinded and independent, nobody else would be able to get in his way, as soon as he had himself focussing on his goal. He surely believed, that he could make the world into a better place, and that's what he tried to do. He really tried. And sometimes he managed. Sometimes, he actually managed to catch a thief or even a murderer. He had seen some pretty bad things, but yet he kept believing in the good, he always stayed positive. There was pretty much nothing that could bring him down, or so he thought. He thought, that no culprid could stand a chance against him, and perhaps he was right. Well, except for Willow. Willow, the dollmaker, the puppetmaster, was the one, that would bring him down.
It all started with people gone missing. First it was a young lady, a successful actress, who suddenly disappeared on her way home. Then it was a young child, together with his best friend - vanished on the playground. Followed by an old Viscet, a war veteran. And then a businessman. One by one they disappeared. All those Viscets had nothing in common but the fact, that they suddenly disappeared into the shadows - never to be seen again. The police did everything they could, but in no way it came to their mind to suspect one and the same culprid having to do with all these kidnappings. Except for one of them - the former mentioned young detective, who had heard stories and rumors about the guy who called himself the dollmaker. He heard, that guy would create you any puppet you desired; and he also heard rumors, that this guy, Willow was his name, would turn actual living viscets into dolls. This rumor was widespread, of course, but nobody paid attention to it, at least nobody within the police force. Well, nobody except for him; and because nobody would listen to him, he went to investigate his suspect all on his own.
When he appeared where the puppetmaster lived, a shiver went down his spine. There was a huge willow tree and right next to it an old hut, that looked just like a witch's hut right out of a fairytale. But neither of these two things had him cower in fear - instead it was the voices, that he could hear. They whined, they cried, they screamed and they pledged. There was no one to be seen, but the voices were everywhere. They filled the air and they filled his ears. At least one hundred different voices, crying for help. They were so omniscent, that the police officer felt like they were reaching out for him, grasping him and sucking the air right out of his lungs. Unable to breathe and with a feeling, that he found the right place, he stepped closer to the hut, when a trapdoor near the willow tree caught his attention. And he instantly knew: He had solved the case, he had found all the missing people. That's where they were. Below that willow tree. He could not know what the dollmaker had done to them, but he felt, that the things were nontheless horrible. But what he didn't yet know was, that he would be the next.
He still didn't know, when Willow approached him and spoke to him. Well, actually it was not the Viscet that spoke, but instead the voices seemed to come from everywhere, even from below the ground he was standing on. The police officer shivered again and every last part of his body told him to run, but he couldn't. The only thing he could was to stare into the other Viscet's eyes and listen to the nightmarish lullaby, that filled the air:
"Whoever you think, you are to be
I promise you, we will soon see
If you still are who you are now
Or if you willingly will bow
When I am done, then you will do
Whatever I will want from you.
My doll, my puppet, hear us speak
Oh feel me caressing your cheek
It is alright, it is all fine
In just a moment you will be mine."
And the last thing he knew, the last thing he would ever remember from his old self, from whom he was before he got turned into Ishmael, was all the sweet voices whispering and singing, when he lost conciousness.
When he awoke again, the young police officer was not anymore. Instead, his name was Ishmael - the name, that he had been given by his new master. The master, who murdered the police officer, just like he murdered all these other Viscets he kidnapped, and then used what was left to him to create yet another doll, yet another puppet whose strings he could pull. And when he was finished sewing new life into the creature before him, Willow smiled and a thousand voices whispered: "Ishmael."

Extra - A Loud Voice Gone Silent: All fairytales begin with "Once upon a time", but this is not a fairytale. It is rather a nightmare, that I will never be able to tell. A nightmare, that left me silent but with thousand voices in my head. A nightmare, that left me with my own voice gone silent and with everything that I will ever say, only being the words of my master. It should be wrong, calling him that. Or at least it should feel wrong, but it does not. It's quite the opposite, to be fair. He, William, Willow, the dollmaker, the puppetmaster. He is all that I have left, he is all that I am living for anymore. It is true, that he took my old life with the grasp of his paw, but it is also true, that the granted me another. A second life, a second chance, so to say. Why do I say this? It is easy: He could have killed me too, couldn't he? Instead of keeping me, he could have ended my very life. I was at his mercy and I still am. He is not just the puppetmaster, but he is a deity. One of darkness, that's for sure, but a devine being nontheless. Who else, if not someone devine, would hold such great power? See, that's what I am talking about.
However, it is not what I want to talk about right now. Instead, I want to tell you my story. I know, that nobody will actually ever hear about this, as it is all just happening in my head, but there is nothing else to do. And this is the only reason why I am telling this story to myself at all: Because I have nothing else to do. I do not wish to be saved and there are no crimes that I want to speak about. No crimes have been commited, right? Sometimes, just sometimes, for the blink of an eye, I dare to think otherwise. But my master will always assure to punish this rebel side of me. There is nothing wrong with what I am, there is nothing wrong with what has been done to me. Willow saved me by granting me a second chance, a second life. He gave me bits and pieces of his power and I have to return this favor. Now, what do I do? I swore to protect him with every single breath I take. I am his and his only, only he can play me like the puppet I am. He is holding the strings and when he tells me to bow, I bow.

[Lioashu]

Username: humerussin
Name: isabel
Gender: female
Gender for breeding purposes: female
Plushie gif:

(This gif is a great representation of Isabel in action.)

Personality - 230 w / 400

Isabel tends to get herself into trouble no matter what it takes, or what consequences it causes - she loves to sit back and watch the havoc of what she did, and most definitely enjoys it through and through. It wasn't exactly her fault for being this way, though. Due to her rough upbringing, she sought attention and love through her childhood. Isabel was abandoned by her parents in her previous life, so she was left in a solitary life of what felt like watching others through glass. A metaphorical barrier separated her from the rest, and she remembered it whenever she looked at others of her kind. Isabel learned quickly what she could get away with, to hopefully be noticed by some of the other creatures. With time it grew to more and more serious actions, causing issues and even ruining the lives of others. Still, then she would be ignored for the most part and became lonely rapidly.

Having been transformed into her new viscet plushie form, she no longer made such rash decisions to endanger the lives of others. Instead, she works on a smaller level, hoping Maple may figure out she lives there or exists. Though whether or not she will become irrational again is up to time; maybe she will have learned her lesson after a while, or maybe, Maple's life could be on the line...

Short story - 1223 w

Isabel was purely an experiment by Maple. That's all she was at first; a test run for something he wanted to try out with his plush making. He never thought she would've turned out how she is in the present.

She started out as a small soft doll, made up of different pieces of fabric and stitched rather crudely. Before her, Maple hadn't much experience with his new personal career; he had shaky paws and found it difficult to thread the cloth together, but that didn't exactly stop him. He was diligent with his work and even if it took him many years, he would perfect it to be the best he could be. With Isabel, he was using whatever materials he had to create something still just as cuddly as any other plushie, and pretty as well. She was a real piece of work and despite being able to do far better in the future, Maple was proud of himself.

Cinna had been particularly busy that day, so it gave him plenty of time to work on stitching her together and seeing if he needed to make any changes. As he sat back and looked at his work, he pondered what he would do with this one.

With a heavy sigh of unfinished business but also the need to go to sleep for the night, Maple left his workshop into the back. It was where his bedroom was located and provided a safe space should his anxiety rise. In his workshop along the walls, were plenty of shelves to showcase all of his future work. As it was still early on, he only had several up on the very top shelf, with a ladder still nearby to reach that high up. Maple was average height, so he usually would need it to reach the upper shelves. Having been too busy that day, he left it out.

The purple and orange plushie sat still on his wooden desk as if holding its breath. With a moment's hesitation to ensure Maple wouldn't be coming back until the morning, the viscet doll twitched its arms to adjust to this new feeling. Was this what it was like to live again? Slowly it moved, coming to life over a small period of time and exercising its limbs. The desk felt so smooth beneath her fuzzy feet, and her beady orange eyes peered around the room, scanning for other forms of life. Nothing.

Without warning the rush of the events from many years ago flooded into her vision, opening up her memory completely much to her disgruntlement. It pulled her straight from this reality back into her previous one.

--

A creature sat in a mostly empty room, consisting of one solid color with no walls but a floor. She crossed her legs with a dissatisfied noise as she took in her surroundings. A bright light was shining above her as if she was being interrogated. "You sure have an attitude for being in purgatory," a smooth but menacing voice sounded from all around her, echoing through the chamber. The creature spat in a general direction. "I already know what I did, and I still stand by it," Isabel hissed. "I understand that, but it doesn't mean you don't get to go through the process like everyone else. There are other things you've done, as well." The voice boomed, silencing her agitation for a few minutes. "I know you are aware of those, as well, and I won't remind you. But you need to make a decision now," another creature of the same kind manifested in front of her, with beady white eyes and a misty form. "You may be given another chance, under specific conditions."

With this Isabel perked up, whatever ears she had aimed forward as if she wasn't listening hard enough already. "Either you will go to the afterlife, succumb to the consequences of your choices... or..." the being trailed off for dramatic effect, "take the form of an object in a new world and make up for what you did. Should you do good deeds, whatever way it may be, you will return to your life. Should you not... you will remain as that object forever." Isabel grimaced, unsure of taking such a risky deal. For all she knew, they could trick her with a completely useless artifact. She mulled over the odds for a while in her head as the spirit waited patiently. They did have all the time in the world and more, so what was the rush?

"Am I able to ask any questions to prepare myself for the latter, or do I not get a choice?" They shook their head somberly, and Isabel trained her eyes on the floor. "...I'll choose the latter." "Is that your final decision?" Their words weighed heavy on her physically, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Isabel went silent for a few moments before responding firmly. "Yes."

With a snap of the spirit's misty fingers, she was ripped from reality and thrown into a void for what felt like several minutes. Before she knew it, though, her vision was flooded with color again.

A new, foliage and lush world graced her eyes, and Isabel expected to feel what should've been her jaw dropping, but instead nothing. An echo filled her head in a familiar voice. "Not so fast. You're almost there, but for now, you're not in existence yet." She could feel a gentle pull down to the ground, readjusting to gravity and feeling air pressure around her. "It is time. Prepare yourself, Isabel..." the voice spoke one final time before the presence left her head. Everything went black again for a moment before she was looking through the beady orange eyes of a viscet plushie. It felt far more restricting and alien to her than she was used to, so once Maple left the room she began to test out her new form.

--

She gained her present vision back and grimaced remembering it all. After a few more moments of trying the limits of the plushie, Isabel raised herself to her feet and began to explore the surface of Maple's desk. Needles were still strewn about, with clippings of different types of threads piled together on one corner. On the other side was a wide space for mapping out plush patterns before he takes to the fabric. Her eyes went immediately to the other plushies decorating the top shelf, and the gears in her mind began turning.

Even though she was given a second chance, the spirit knew Isabel would only cause trouble. In her past life, the once-creature she was committed to a life of crime, even going so far as to go behind the backs of her own friends and pull the rug out from under them. She never truly attached to anyone, merely putting up a front to get ahold of what she wanted in the end. Isabel was born to be trouble, and everyone around her soon grew to know it. After a while, her misdeeds caught up with her, and she was sent to purgatory.

Now she lives in Maple's workshop, tossing around or knocking over shelves of plushies when Maple isn't paying attention. He still has yet to learn of her presence, and possibly never will.

Extras

Isabel never thought she would have betrayed one of her once friends before in her life. One other person, who made the mistake of crossing paths with her, found themselves entangled in her issues. Although they didn't want to admit it, they were ashamed of being associated with Isabel due to her past. Her friend also made the poorest decision of their life by entrusting some of their secrets to her out of pity. They had no one else to listen, but since Isabel was so quiet for the most part and observing - at least, from what they had seen - that they thought maybe for once it would be okay.

Oh, how they were wrong.

Nothing happened immediately after they admitted to Isabel, but that doesn't mean she had forgotten or didn't plan to wait until later to flip their life upside down. No, it was at least a year later of listening to her friend's issues and secrets that she finally decided it was time. She knew her friend did it out of pity, and no one truly cared about her existence, and she was going to change that. Even if it meant for the worse. Isabel felt horrible outing her friend for a while afterward but easily avoided being seen or running into her again. Now the others were whispering to one another when she came by, but she couldn't be sure if it was her or not. With time she overcame her regrets and forged the idea in her head that no one still cared, and her friend probably didn't by then.

She never realized this would be a stepping stone to her one-way trip into the after life.

Maple and Cinna belong to me.

[Synerie]

Username: juice box.
Name: Jabberwocky "Lullaby"
Gender: male
Gender for breeding purposes: male
Plushie gif:


❯❯ click! ❮❮


Seems innocent at first, right? Well... just wait.

Personality: [ 280 words ]

An extremely interesting character, Jabberwocky is very... insane, to say the least. He very well likes to just say he's "off his rocker." He's very well known for his rather mind-boggling nonsensical jokes that only he seems to get. Jabberwocky tends to be described as being "creepy," hanging around in the shadows or just having a wide smile plastered on his muzzle. Being a very talkative soul, he usually will babble on for hours, and whatever he says tends to make no sense at all. Those who listen are usually very put off by the aura he emits. He's loud and boisterous, not hesitating to jump into someone's personal space to "make friends." Being serious is something he's never known, finding it hard to keep a straight face in a conversation. He usually will end up bursting out in laughter at the wrong time. Though he may appear to be a rather goodnatured guy, Jabberwocky has mood swings that are very easy to set off. Jabberwocky tends to have "fits" of different moods throughout the day, varying from his usually "off the rocker" kinda deal to ticked to even just plan out depressed. He has quite the temper that is extremely easy to pull out. The only time he may seem anywhere normal is when he's around Visclings, oddly enough. Jabberwocky has a strange obsession with Visclings--having always wanted one of his own. He usually seems to be rather down to earth around kids, trying not to startle the little ones. He tends to love to sing to Visclings who were just having one of those days and needed to calm down, which is where his nickname "Lullaby" came from.

Short story: [ 961 words ]

xx"Hey mister Jabber, where did these stitches come from?" The small Viscling, Gigabyte, tiredly poked Jabberwocky's side to make emphasis on his question. He was leaning into the older male's side as he had been listening Jabberwocky's song. The older male twisted his head around to peer down at him before turning to his side. He cracked a wide smile, looking back down at Gigabyte with an amused look glinting in his eyes.

xx"Well! Lemme tell ya that story, kiddo." Jabberwocky giggled, leaning back as he brushed a paw down his own chest fluff. Gigabyte perked, nodding excitedly as he leaned forward to listen.

xx"Well, these stitches aren't markings... but rather...


xxPazuzu leaned forward as he fiddled with the final thread upon the plushie, a satisfied grin pulling his lips. He sat back, wiping his forehead as he admired his creation. It roughly resembled that of a Viscet, button eyes seeming to beg for help under the glint of the blinding bright lights above the mad scientist. It was stitched haphazardly, stuffing pooling at the base of its kinked tail. Threads hung loose and tangled where he discarded them, getting frustrated trying to continue them. He cooed as he gently lifted the plush into his paws, kissing its forehead with mocking love.

xx"Oh, another child for me to adore." Pazuzu snickered to himself, eyes glinting maliciously as he rose. The plush was made for a reason, a dark one. This doll, like a creation he made previously that went haywire, would be brought to life. Just at the thought of that experiment made his stomach twist in rage. Pazuzu strolled across the slick porcelain floors of his office, making his way around littered tables and lab beds to where he was going to perform his little experiment: a fusion chamber of sorts. He gazed into the side already occupied by the limp body of a past test subject. Pazuzu tsked.

xx"Pitiful." He purred sickly before trotting over to place the plush within the other half of the chamber. His grin began to grow, twisting into a sick, malicious one.The disturbed scientist trotted over to his control panel and began to fidget with the buttons. He hummed low to himself, keeping his sick grin as he heard the machine roar to life. Turning his head, his eyes glittered joyfully as he watched the experiment occur. Oh gods, he was almost excited. A new creation to command and control, one that wouldn't be an absolute disappointment like Project M1m.1C or... Wren, that disgusting creature. A new puppet for him to tug the strings on, to force to do his bidding. He was not going to let another experiment be a failure, this one was the one.

xxThe door opened with a crisp hum, smoke rolling out thickly as the experiment was complete. A faint groan came from within, a hunched form laying in the mouth of the cursed machine. Pazuzu bounced on his paw pads, giddy like a young Viscling about to get a treat. Bounding forewards, Pazuzu leaned against the opening of the machine to peer at his creation. A Viscet laid there, head on the cold metal floor, huffing weakly as it attempted to catch its breath. Pazuzu inched forward, hovering above this new male. The other stirred weakly, Pazuzu grimacing slightly as he noticed stitches where the plushie had been stitched-- yet far cleaner.

xx"Hm... I suppose you shall be known as Jabberwocky." Pazuzu reached out to curiously touch Jabberwocky's cheek, relieved to find it to be a regular Viscet's pelt. Jabberwocky tensed when he was touched, a deep growl thundering from his chest. Pazuzu narrowed his eyes threatening as he heard, arm stiff now. Jabberwocky squinted up at him, baring his fangs before they were suddenly lost within Pazuzu's skin, breaking the skin and digging deep to the bone. Pazuzu froze before his mind registered the intense explosion of pain coiling up his arm. He howled in rage, roughly pressing his other paw against Jabberwocky's lips to tear his teeth from his arm.

xxIt took effort but he was able to, Jabberwocky rearing back to fully stand. Pazuzu grimaced in pain, jaw tensed tightly as he cradled his wounded arm. He twisted to focus back on his creature, heart dropping as he found this male towered even him. Jabberwocky bared his bloodied teeth and charged, snarling viciously. Pazuzu yelped, managing to roll out of the way just in the nick of time. Jabberwocky crashed into the carts of surgical tools and needles, sending them cascading to the floor in a loud ruckus. He snarled, shaking his head violently to clear his confusion. Twisting on his heels, he faced the doctor again, drool bubbling off his lips in rage. Pazuzu scrambled to his paws, huffing lowly as he faced the other male.

xxInstead of attacking this time, Jabberwocky ran. He fled the crazed doctor's offices, slamming the door down as he did. He was terrified and overwhelmed by everything. He didn't know where he was or who he really was: he just knew he had to get away from Pazuzu, who seemed to make no move to stop Jabberwocky.

xx"Woah!" Gigabyte gaped up at him, eyes wide in surprise.

xx"So you're like.. actually a doll?!" Gigabyte tilted his head, paws resting on Jabberwocky's chest after the story was finished. Jabberwocky smirked, dipping his head in a nod. Gigabyte's eyes stretched even farther in shock, jaw lowering even more as he stared up at him.

xx"Yeah kiddo, I didn't get these stitches for nothin'."

Extras:

After fleeing from Pazuz's clutches, Jabberwocky became a well-known name. And not in a good way. He lashed out at those who reached out to help the Viscet, thinking he was suffering. He had learned from the start to never trust anyone, no matter who may appear to be your friend. He was alone in this world of Hell and alone he would stay. He may have picked up some that were considered a "friend" to him here and there, but they learned quickly that Jabberwocky wasn't the most easiest Viscet to handle. He brought them down with the ship, tangling them in his problems and his past, tearing into them mentally to contort their visions upon the world.

It was soon him everyone was fleeing from and he wasn't bothered-- on the outside at least.

Inside, Jabberwocky craved friends who he could stay true to. Yet everytime someone got close to him, he lashed out. He made them fear him. He made them hate him. He regrets it, severely. Jabberwocky would be devastated after they left, beating himself up mentally over the loss of someone who could have been a huge support to him. He had grown to despise his creator and began to blame him for all his problems. Just the thought of the doctor himself brings a bitter taste to Jabberwocky's mouth. Jabberwocky yearned for one day that Pazuzu would receive the horrifying karma he deserves. Though over time he managed to understand friendship, only managing to make friends truly with one Viscet, Wren-- one of Pazuzu's "accidental" past experiments who showed Jabberwocky the light and now they're... stitched at the hip.

[cyberdragon725]

Username: Cyberdragon725
Name: Nathra
Gender: Female
Gender for breeding purposes: Female
Plushie gif: (Show me something stuffed animal related that relates to their story)
Everything seems to be fine on the outside but you never know what's hiding beneath
Personality: (Small blurb on their personality, needs to be over 200, under 400 words)
Cold. Quiet. Alone. Nathra is all these things and more. Often seen as frightening or intimidating, others fear to be around her. she's cold, angry, moody, and harsh, always seeming to drive others away from her. what many don't see are the specific characteristics that make up nathra.

Abandoned; Nathra is used to being abandoned. Forced to take on the world by herself ever since her creation, she wanders silently and watches others as they carry on their lives without her. Often this sense of loneliness and anger feeds to malevolent and vicious thoughts, often ones she feels guilty about after the occurrence.

Spiteful; Nathra has a difficult time letting things go. she can hold onto a grudge for far longer than most other cets, feeling fury and rage as a part of her daily emotions. she struggles to look at the world optimistically, often taking the pessimistic viewpoint.

Fearful; So afraid she is of the opinions of others and the potential of failure, Nathra rarely will take action. Only when taken over by intense emotion will she take a stand and since she's locked her personal emotions so deep within herself, rarely does such an act occur

This combination of fear, anger, and loneliness makes Nathra a feared figure as she tries to live amongst the continual fear and hate of those that surround her. Living in the dark ages after the fall of kamali and during the demons rule means that she has had to fight for her own survival should she wish to interact with others. Also known as 'the puppet' Nathra's role amongst the demon nation means she has to take on some of the crueler tasks requested and hiding behind this ruthless and cruel facade is her true self locked away from the light of day.

Within, Nathra is far different from the rest. She's lonely, so very afraid, and she longs to find someone who can understand her. Until the day she comes across the young necromancer who helps put her back together, Nathra is nothing more than rags torn and ripped by the two opposing forces of the world fighting to control her. She longs to be so much more. She longs to be complete.

Short story: (Tell me a story about this 'cet, something to do with their stitches, must be over 500 words. No limit after 500.)

Nathra... was not born like other viscets were. Rather she was... created. Initially, she was not a viscet at all. Rather, she was a puppet, more specifically a spirit buried deep within the wooden frame of the puppet. A small plushie marionette with strings being the only way she could move. She controlled by the puppet master, forced to dance and move as he would make her. She was happy those days with luscious fur and a cute form. Children adored seeing her perform, screeching with joy as the puppeteer's skillful hands would mirror her actions. Of course, things were never the same when the curtains closed that day.

It began as any other. The show had come to an end but something seemed slightly off. The windows were locked, blocked off by thick curtains. When the puppeteer moved to close the door, he locked it. Locking himself inside with the poor little puppet and forcing her to continue her act even though the lights had dimmed. Feeling her strings pulling her softly, she felt something she had never felt before yet something she would come to be very familiar with in the future. Fear.

Many have read the tales of Frankenstein. Of how science would be pushed to the max in order to resurrect what had previously been alive. But what if someone tried to bring something to life that had never had the chance, something... inanimate. Like a puppet. listening under the puppeteer's breath, she heard his mutters as he carried her far deeper into the toystore than she had ever been. Past the performance hall, through the shop.. she could almost sense the sympathy of those other toys. Her soul ached. This was not the first they had seen another be taken down.

Several more steps. One. Two. They had arrived. A thick oak door, darkened by age and worn with use was pushed inward. Sharp tools rested on the tables, all surrounded by the disassembled parts of various toys and creations. A single dolls head sat, severed from it's form as she heard the spirit within the toy crying in agony. Pushing the crying doll out of the way, the puppeteer sat me straight up, allowing me to take in the form of the man sitting merely three steps away. The toymaker. Hands darkened with oil and cracked from shaping and forming our lives. He was our creator and our destroyer. she could remember his voice still.

'now, now, little puppet. let's see here.' gently, he lifted her into his embrace. 'Yes, you should do well. Thank you, Mark. This will do nicely.' The puppeteer looked at her with sympathy, pain seeming to strike him for a minute before he shook his head and closed that thick oak door.

On this night, the toymaker would attempt the impossible. Freeing her from her strings, he would carefully break her seams, gently forcing within her seam a small red gem. A sense of power seemed to resonate within the gem and her soul trembled with agony as this power was forced to merge with herself.

'A doll cannot move it's features. Did you know that little puppet? there's too much plastic. no space to breath. That's why that one failed. You, however, face made of cloth and core made of wood. You have potential.'

She didn't want potential. She simply wanted to be back on her stage, performing with the help of that man known as Mark. She knew the second he began to rip into her that she would never perform again. When he had ensured that everything was as he wished and the burning gem was directly near where a humans heart would be, he stitched her back together. Once complete, he lifted the aching puppet with gentle hands, such a vast difference from the harsh ferocity he had shown when ripping into her seam. Cradling her form, he carried her over to a stand and placed her on display. Satisfied with his works, he would place the glass case over her with eagerness.

'Now little puppet. I know it must hurt but soon it will be better. I hope to see you up and about by the morning.' Abandoning her, he left towards the door leaving her with nothing but darkness, pain, and a sense of extreme fear.

As morning came and time went on, the toymaker would watch her with intense ferocity. The broken doll seemed to have disappeared, taken away by the toymaker when she was lost in her thoughts and fear. She knew she could move. She didn't understand how or what he had done to her, but she knew that this pulsing within her chest was coming from the gem and she could tell that this newfound freedom of movement and life had come from it's magical core. She refused to allow the toymaker to see, far to afraid of his reaction to give in. Days would pass and he would become more and more frustrated with her. She had a suspicion that he knew. She didn't quite know how he knew but he did. In his frustration and anger, he would yell at her, throwing things and ignoring the dangers that his office brought forth.

One day, his dangers would prove as fatal. The tool he used to shape a dolls face, to burn into the warm wood the features and forms that would give it identity, was left alive. The heat would build up overnight until a flame was lit. Burning to life, the fire feasted eagerly upon the toymaker's workshop, devouring the wood with hunger. Pushing herself from her stand, she stood on fearful wooden legs, weak and without the strength needed to push through. She would try to escape but ultimately as the fire grew closer she knew it was no use. The toymaker was the creator and destroyer however she accepted her ultimate demise and felt relief in the knowledge that she would not fall to his hand.

Flames licked at the doll, burning through the wooden base and shattering the cool glass cage on impact. when the toymaker would return in the morning he would find nothing but the broken glass and an office off ash.

When she would wake once more, she would no longer be in the glass made prison nor would she be burdened by that wooden frame and cloth made features. She could still feel the pulsing of the gem within her, however. Stumbling to her feet, she made her way to a small pool of water and looked into the rippling shore with apprehension. A feathered face, eyes that blinked when she thought it, and limbs that moved without being controlled by the puppeteer. She may not have known where she was or how she wasn't burnt to a crisp but she knew that she was alive. Despite the stitches and seams she still bore, she seemed just as alive as any other animal she had seen and suddenly she was afraid. She was alone. And things would never be the same again.
Extras: (Up to 2, these will def help you out )

Meeting the Undertaker
I honestly had no idea what to do after my arrival here. This world was so different from the toyshop and I had no idea why I was here or what exactly I was supposed to do here. I struggled to understand what the pain in my stomach would mean or why my mouth would seem so... dry. All I knew was the hurt I would feel when I would try to ask someone for assistance and they would either flee or threaten me. I didn't know what I had done to hurt them or why they were so afraid. What I did know was that I couldn't seem to trust anyone here. At least, that's what I thought until I met him. He was traveling with a viscet who seemed much older than him. Oddly enough, the two were carrying a coffin through the middle of town. Townsfolk seemed to avoid the odd pair as if they were the plague and neither seemed bothered by it. Following them quietly, I tried to find out where they were going. Into the graveyard, they went and with care they sat the coffin in the dying grass. The one with the long white and black hair sat upon its surface, bangs falling into his face and hiding his eyes. The other crossed his arms and seemed to glare at his surroundings.

'Alright. Whoever's out there, come out. We know you're there.' he spoke, his words harsh but for some reason i felt no fear. His confidence inspired my own as I stepped from my hiding place yet held my head low. The two seemed surprised at first. Snitch stepped up, a grin on his features and seemed to size me up. The other had pity and anger in his gaze as we made eye contact.

'I know who you are, right, yes I do.' the one known as Snitch spoke with a snicker. 'You're the little puppet who was sent here by the serpent.' Confusion filled my mind at the cryptic words but relief caused me to almost collapse. only the strong hands of the other reaching out held me up. These two knew who I was and for once I felt like things were beginning to go my way.

'That's enough, master.' Harlow spoke to the other before turning to me. 'She must be confused. I am sorry for what has happened to you. It's cruel for one to misuse such an incredible gift.'

An incredible gift? Would he truly consider bringing myself to life an incredible gift? In shock of the words, I did not speak. Snitch smirked. 'She certainly isn't much of a talker.' Rolling his eyes, Harlow responded. 'How fitting, You've never been much of a listener yourself, master.' Smirking at their petty banter, I felt surprised at the way they bantered. When Harlow noticed my smile, a small smile appeared on his own features.

'You have been given a new life in return for the one forced upon you. The serpent has ensured you cross paths with ours.' Just who is this serpent that Snitch keeps mentioning? Feeling puzzled, she listened as the pair continued.

Harlow spoke next. 'With this new life comes a new decision. You can choose to live your life in solitude or join us. The darkness rules these times and they are always recruiting more members. As a necromancer, I can ensure that your soul stone would stay intact and repair it if damaged. On your own, you'd have to learn how to survive.'

'But there's a catch too.' Snitchs words ended with a laugh. 'If you come with us, you have to work with us. That means earning your own keep and taking care of the business no matter how dead it may seem.'

I nodded eagerly. Reflecting back on those fearful months between my arrival and now, I held no hesitation in making my next choice. I didn't want to be alone and here, these two would not judge me for my appearance. They hadn't tried to force me to speak. They knew who I was and why I was here. Maybe if I spent more time with them, I would even discover who this serpent was. Accepting my response, the two nodded and Harlow smirked.

'If you're going to stick with us, you're going to need a name. Nathra. Meaning an incomplete view. I'd say it's rather fitting.' My eyes lit up. I had a name now. An Identity. something to prove I was alive. Nodding with approval at my joy, the two turned to the coffin and lifted it. I rushed over to help, taking a portion of the weight off the middle of the casket. Finally, I was feeling as if I'd been cut from my strings.

Features; Snitch And Harlow

[muttgirl310]

Username:
Muttgirl310

Name:
Lang

Gender:
Male

Gender for breeding purposes:
Male

Plushie gif:

I just thought this little guy was adorable and based the finished plushy in the story off it


Personality:
Lang was a curious and caring viscet but was never accepted when young. He never fit in around the other little visclings because of his stitches and was often made fun of because of them. Lang never had a hard time in any of his lessons, he was actually quite smart, but could never understand why he stood out so much from the other kids. He couldn’t understand why they taunted him and called him zombie and undead. He was neither of those things, he assured them that he was very much alive but that just made them laugh harder. It also didn’t help that his mom had left him here after he had become too much of a burden on her. His own mother, the one viscet you are supposed to be able to trust and look up to and she left him here since he was too much trouble. He misses her. She was always so gentle with his stitches and even when she would scold him for playing too rough and tearing his stitching, she had such kindness in her voice. Lang never meant to be a burden, but I guess it just came with all the care his stitches required. All Lang wanted was for someone to care about him, but as he grew older, he found it harder and harder.

Words: 225

Short story:


On his way back to school from his favorite spot, Lang spotted something in the dumpster nearby, a simple little bat plushie. It was sitting on top of the can as if waiting for someone to claim it and Lang smiled, he had always wanted a plushie of his very own. He gathered it up by a wing and rushed to the school, suddenly excited by his find.

Lang held his little bat plushie in his mouth, desperately wanting the other children to enjoy it but instead they just laughed. He shied away as they laughed at his plushie which was quite honestly, falling apart in his mouth. Some kids taunted him saying that without anyone to care about him, he would soon end up like the ratty plushy in his mouth. Lang held back the tears as best he could and dropped the plush bat in the dirt, no longer wanting it.

Lang didn’t see the stranger watching nearby, nor did he see them walk over and collect the plushie from the dirt, all he could see were tears as he rushed away from the school. Lang sat on the edge of the stream, crying as he thought about what the kids had said. Would he really fall apart like that plushie he had found?

Too focused on his thoughts, he missed the footsteps of a viscet behind him and almost fell into the stream in fear when they spoke, “Hello.”

Behind Lang was a tall viscet, his coat pattern a mix of blues and blacks that reminded Lang of a starry sky, “I couldn’t help but hear those awful children making fun of you.”

Lang shrugged, “its ok. I am used to it at this point. My name is Lang by the way.”

“Lang? Well that’s a nice name,” The viscet frowned and then looked nervous as he saw a torn stitch on the little viscets side, “Oh dear. We should get that fixed up for you now shouldn’t we?”

Lang was confused by the viscets willingness to help him and moved so the viscet could mend his seam. The viscet sat down and very carefully fixed up the seam with a small traveling sewing kit he had. Once it was fixed, he smiled at the little viscet, “Try that. I did reinforce it bit so hopefully it won’t come apart so easily.”

The viscet packed up their supplies as Lang looked over their work, “Thank you Mr.”

“Estrello. My name is Estrello and no need for the Mr. stuff.” The viscet said with a smile.

“Thank you Estrello. It has been a while since someone has fixed up my stitches.” Lang said and Estrello frowned.

“Well I am sorry to hear that little one. Let me walk you home then.” Estrello stood to walk with the viscling.

“My home is the school Estrello.” Lang said, his voice shaking with tears.

“Oh boy. Well Lang, how about you join me at my place? I have a project that I am just about finished up with that I think I may need your help with, if you would like of course. I would be willing to make some tea or something warm to help get this chill from your bones.”

Lang shrugged, “Sure Estrello. I can come help you with your project.”

Estrello helped Lang back to his cave which had various pieces of fabrics scattered around as well as books on crafting. Estrello started up a fire and Lang stretched out beside it. Estrello started up a pot of some stew for the child and then went to collect his project, the little bat that Lang had discarded. Lang looked at the bat sadly, “why would you want that ratty old thing?”

Estrello could hear the pain in the child’s voice and sighed, “Well it’s ratty because it has been loved so much without anyone there to mend it. So why not give it some new life and hopefully someone else to love it again?”

Estrello smiled at the boy and he sighed, “But it is all torn and most of the fabric is gone.”

Estrello laughed, “Fabric is easy to replace. I have lots to pick from. It is the heart that really matters, and seeing how frayed this little plushes seams are makes me think it must have an awfully good heart to be cared about for this long. So what do you say? Will you help me mend it?”

Lang sighed, “Sure, I can help but I don’t know how much it will do.”

Estrello sat next to the boy with the stuffed animal in hand, “Have faith little one. Now will you pick out the fabric to replace on the wings?”

Lang sorted through all the different fabrics, as Estrello had lots, and finally picked a galaxy designed fabric, enjoying all the different stars. Estrello smiled at the choice, “I like that one as well.”

“I remember my mom teaching me the constellations one night. I had tripped and tore my knee threads open so she was mending them and decided to tell me about the stars to distract me as she worked.” Lang said, staring at the pattern.

“I think we should use it if you think of happy memories when you see it then,” Estrello held his hand out for the fabric and Lang handed it over.

“It also looks like your pelt patterning,” Lang joked and Estrello set to work, repairing the little bat with the new fabric.

Lang and Estrello worked deep into the night, sipping tea and sewing to bring the new little plushie to life. About halfway through the work, Lang fell asleep against Estrello and so he worked even more carefully to avoid jostling the little viscet. He worked until morning and until he thought the bat was perfected, before wedging it into the small viscets arms as he slept. Lang tightened his arms around the bat and Estrello stood to get breakfast made.

Estrello couldn’t help but smile when he heard the soft gasp behind him as Lang woke and found the bat in his arms, “Oh Estrello! It looks amazing! How did you make it so perfect?”

Estrello handed the small viscet a bowl of porridge, “We did it together, remember?”

Lang threw his arms around the viscet and Estrello rubbed his back, happy to have brought this viscet who had gone through so much, such joy. Estrello looked into Lang’s eyes, “Now I want to talk to you about something.”

Lang watched him carefully, waiting to see what the viscet wanted to say.

“I want you to come visit whenever you want, alright? And for heaven’s sake, if you manage to rip one of your seams please come to me right away? I will be here anytime you want.” Estrello smiled at the little viscet who eagerly nodded.

“Oh thank you Estrello! I will visit often!”

He ate his breakfast and then went back to the school, the little bat held close to his chest with such pride that none of the kids even commented about his stitches the whole day.

Words: 1187

[grifforik]

Closed to judge.

[grifforik]

Alrighty this one has sat for awhile, I'm super sorry about that ^^"

Anywho, the winner is tenlittlesoldierboys! I really liked the character and how it's worked into your world!

I'd like to give an RU to Muttgirl310 and Cyberdragon725

And an HM to juice box. and humerussin!

Congrats to everyone and than you for waiting ^U^

Muttgirl and cyber, PM me on here with 2 colors, and either leopard spots, dots, zebra stripes, or some other animal print pattern. ^^

[Mint Chip]

Viscet Offspring:
HB#0008