[UltimateKitty]

aaa mark

[Peyto1217]

Username: Peyto1217
Name: Kumba
Gender: male
Limited impress me: (400 minimum)
Optional extras (up to 3)

Res for this sweet child

[IMadeYouRead.This]

Marking.

[Mimu]

*burp* mark

[~Teya~]

There's a certain charm to this viscet, I really like it :0 Congrats to the future owner!

[-Shaded-]

Mark!

[Kydashing]

6 days to go, just so yall know!~

[Kydashing]

Closed to judge~

[Kydashing]

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Username: Gleon
Name: Bernie
Meaning: Brave, Hardy Bear
Gender: Male
Raceviscet: 1,392 Words
Hat's Shade: 103 Words
Nature: 193 Words
Finish Line: 83 Words
Song: The Navigator, by D&D

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Bernie, the Raceviscet

The morning dew clinging to the blades of grass in the pasture quickly soaked Bernie's paws, but he did not mind the moisture. Bright rays of sunlight bathed him, offering a promise that today would be a warm day. If that were true, wet feet were the sort of problem that was temporary and not even that much of a problem to begin with.
This early in the morning, things were very quiet, but that would soon change when the crowds arrived. For now, Bernie enjoyed a relaxing morning aside some of his friends and coworkers in the pasture while they waited for breakfast to be served. As if on cue, the tantalizing scent of beef ribs drifted past Bernie's twitching nose. He licked his lips and turned towards the smell all in the same motion. One of the human employees of the racetrack was just shutting the gate behind him leaving a wheelbarrow of fresh meat unattended. This did not escape the raceviscets' notice, and the creatures approached eagerly, Bernie among them.
The human laughed and muttered something in his native tongue as he waved the viscets away, pushing the wheelbarrow with his other hand. Obediently, the lean creatures gave him some space while he donned a pair of rubber gloves and placed a rack of ribs in each trough. After everyone had been served, he made a sweeping, welcoming gesture to the meat and backed away. This was Bernie's chance!
He launched himself across the grass, claws scoring deep marks in the ground beneath him as he covered the distance in broad, easy strides. Within seconds, he skidded to a stop before one of the troughs, sending a spray of dirt up in the air. Before he even touched the food, he looked over his shoulder to see how far ahead he was of the other viscets. One of them padded up at his right side and grasped her breakfast between her paws.
"Jeez, Bernie. It's not a race.", she said sarcastically while rolling her eyes.
Bernie could not have disagreed more. Everything was a race.

After breakfast, came the most glorious time of the day. It was when the lead viscet handler came to announce the day's lineup. When he arrived, he brought a few other handlers with him. As the leader gestured to viscets in the pasture, the handlers would disperse, put a halter around the viscet's head, and lead the creature away to be prepared for the track. Bernie waited nearby, ears pricked eagerly forward as he observed with laser-accuracy. Finally, the lead handler waved in Bernie's general direction. The golden viscet padded up to the handler and lowered his head amiably so that the handler could apply the halter with ease. Within seconds, Bernie found himself accompanying his handler as she led him away to the grooming stables. Bernie was as tame as a lamb while he followed. Excited as he was, he had followed this routine enough times to know that patience was required. Besides, there was nothing wrong with enjoying some attention.

Before long, Bernie' coat was shining valiantly. His freshly-combed mane rippled in the breeze as he stepped back out into the sunlight sporting a pale blue vest with the number, "5" on it. Some of the other viscets were already groomed and waiting nearby. Each had vest with a unique color and number combination. Once all nine of the selected viscets were ready, they were led to the track. Each viscet was placed in their own stall at the starting gate. Since Bernie had drawn number five, he was near the center of the gate this time. It was not the best place to begin, since those closer to the inside of the track had a shorter distance to run, but Bernie's position could certainly be less favorable as well. For him, this was a mere observation. Regardless of advantages and statistics, he intended to place first every time.

As the final preparations were made, Bernie waited in his stall. From here, he could not see the other viscets, but he could see ahead of him. The empty race track was stretched before him, just begging to be sprinted across. A giant sports area surrounded the track, and even though it was still early in the day, the stands were filled with humans of all types noisily chattering and eagerly awaiting the first heat. Some of the raceviscets loved the roar of the crowds, or felt so honored that people bet on them that they tried even harder to win. While the crowd was invigorating, Bernie would have tried his hardest even if there was no one there to watch him run.
Speaking of humans watching races, Bernie's ears twitched to attention as the familiar sound of the announcer's voice appeared over the loudspeaker, preparing the crowds for the race that would begin in mere moments. Bernie stomped his paws and lashed his tail against the walls on either side of him, expressing his eagerness to get moving. Several of the other viscets also tended to get excited when they knew they were about to run. A few of them grew dangerously quiet as they tensed themselves for a strong start. Then, the glorious crack of the starting gun marked the start of the race. Each stall's door flew open, and all nine viscets exploded from the starting gate. Among them was Bernie. In his haste to exit his stall, he stumbled slightly and swung his tail to the right to catch his balance, knocking it painfully against the steel wall that had contained him just moments before. Fortunately, Bernie was able to keep his paws under him and charged forward, trying his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his tail. However, the slow start had cost him. He exited the gate second-to-last.
Bernie clenched his teeth as he dashed on, but the pain in his tail was distracting. With every stride, his tail swayed back and forth, flexing the sore muscles. There was no doubt that he would have quite a bruise by tomorrow morning. Just ahead, Bernie could see the pack of viscets all vying for position, while the single racer behind him worked at maneuvering around Bernie. It took all of his concentration just to keep from falling further behind.
As Bernie rounded the first corner halfway down the racetrack, something changed. His eyes narrowed, intensely focused. Stiff pawsteps became fluid motion and he began to surge ahead. The pain in his tail dulled to a nonexistent level. Now that he could see the finish line in the distance, past the pack of fellow racers, a fire had sparked in the jet-maned viscet's very soul. Bernie refused to lose.

The crowd roared in exhilaration as one of the underdogs near last place suddenly gained speed and began to weave around the other raceviscets. A golden male made a miraculous comeback to find himself in second place as he hurtled down the dirt track towards the finish line. People began to stand. Some raised their fists into the air and cheered for the viscet. A handful threw their hands up in dismay as they realized they would likely lose money on this race, and many sat with baited breath as they waited to see what would happen. The new crowd favorite slowly closed the distance between himself and the current first-place holder.
At the last second, the fluffy underdog pulled ahead just far enough to slip into first place as he crossed the finish line. The crowd erupted in such cacophonous cheering that they drowned out even the announcer for a few minutes. Those who bet on the golden viscet to win began to rush back to the lobby to claim their winnings. In the excitement, few noticed the winner's own reaction to his victory.

Bernie skidded to a halt several meters past the finish line, swayed, and then fell clumsily back on his haunches, furry chest heaving as he gulped in oxygen. His eyes shone with passionate lust and pride as he sat for a moment, catching his breath. It took everything he had to finally pull ahead for the win, but it was not over yet. That was just the first heat of the day.

Everything was a race, at least everything that Bernie truly cared about.

Hat's Shade from Judgement

The humble viscet with the mind of a child is one who
Would never do anything that needs use of a tissue,
Because tears are not his passion. Instead, he would rather chew
On dreams of adventure and thoughts of the thrill of the track.
Nothing lights his spirit more than charging towards the finish
Line. Likewise, there is no worry or fear to diminish
His desire to continue winning. A good review
Does not matter, and a bad review is not an attack.
What humans write on papers is not important to him,
Because his determination shields him like a hat's brim.

The Nature of Bernie

This black-maned viscet is imbued with an adventurous spirit that drives him to fearlessly seek novel experiences. He is always ready for a new challenge and is often the first to volunteer to try something new. Others are naturally drawn to his carefree charisma, though Bernie is not particularly suave or silver-tongued. Actually, Bernie is more naive than manipulative. He always thinks the best of situations and seems to have no concept of danger, as if nothing seriously bad has ever happened to him in his life. Instead, he is a simple viscet who enjoys simple pleasures and lets simple displeasures slide off him like water from a duck's back. It is rare to catch the normally cheerful raceviscet in a bad mood. Even when times do get tough, Bernie's determination shines through. For better or worse, he simply refuses to see the bad in things. Instead, her prefers to let his passionate nature drive him to overcome challenges and achieve his final goals. Usually, this passion and determination is reserved for racing-related endeavors, but if Bernie ever found himself needing to rise to the occasion, he would likely do so without complaint.

Finding the Finish Line

A navigator finds
His way to anywhere
He goes. Can he repair
Just any lost state of
Affairs? Desire, it binds
A dream to many minds.

Arrival here is all he wants.
Indeed, it takes all kinds
Of navigators all
Together as a chair
At every tables' fronts.
The journey, they do love.

A track in Delaware,
From zeros, up to nines
Each one flies free, a dove
Of peace as victory shines
For each. A loss affronts
Their nature. Race and win.

You have waited an awfully long time, i apologize for that. Congrats, you are the winner! You tots deserve them, take care!~

Thank you everyone for trying out and keep up the amazing work you all do being apart of the viscet community!

[Tordier]

Thank you so much! I can't wait to keep fleshing out my ideas for Bernie. This just made my day!