[squeegi]

base/fur: draft/bald/custom
ears: custom
tail: flag


i thought a little chinese crested fable would be cute!<3 this reference was the inspo. if you'd like to claim, feel free to drop a little lore and i'll take a look through in a day or so and pick!
#1 #2

[BlueEyedKite]

I LOVE dog fables and this is a gorgeous contribution <3<3

[leopia]

STOP I'M IN LOVEEEE 😭💖

[ExVenor]

I will happily slap down some offered lore for a claim on this CUTIE

Works with another of my fables (about to be claim approved) at his Cafe/Bistro as the only one who knows how to cook. Don't have a name just yet BUT he always has the cutest little bun in his hair when trying to cook and is prone to eye-rolling. His boss Xandor cannot cook or bake to save his life but still tries to "help" which our tiny bun-wearing cook chases the retired knight back to the counter. Often locks or barricades the kitchen door and only hands things to Xandor through the service window if he asks nicely. Was a cook on a pirate ship for a while but really liked this island on a few visits so decided to settle. His boss is the coffee entrepreneur of my world so obviously his cook gets access to unlimited premium drinks. Bro is wired on caffeine at all times but somehow also gives a chill vibe.
He also runs cold like all the time, even in the kitchen so tends to rock a long sleeve everyday (also becuase he's prone to sunburns and literal burns while cooking). He was glad to settle somewhere warm and not be stuck in the cold damp belly of a ship forever.

[knickknacks]

I kiss their forehead, so cute!!

[rhythm]

mark >:3c i’ll be back tonight

[razr]

THEYRE SO LOVELYYY <3 if multiple people could throw some lore out there i'd love to toss them in faerendel as my october lore waiver !!

i think i'd maybe name them domino but that's prone to change, they'd be a bounty hunter !! there are some troublesome fables who live here after all ... squints at auriga Anyway /silly
they had a very normal childhood, no master target who killed their father or anything, but they've always had a very strong sense of justice, one that almost felt like a call to violence at times. they knew their calling was to keep people safe by any means necessary
their true home is in belbourne, a tiny ghost town on the coast, where no one would think to look for them. but they spend most of their time roaming faerendel cowboy style, hunting down whatever criminal names catch their attention 🙂‍↕️ they're not opposed to working with a partner if they come across someone capable, but generally they're very solitary and don't want to tie others up in their business

(i'm so sorry for the confusion if the claim is fcfs 😭 exvenor's lore is also very lovely !!! <33)

[Cammeraugepony]

I would also like to try out to claim this cutie!!

Very rough summary! I hope this makes sense >u>

Yàn, the Singing Swordsman, is a living legend. While talented in swordplay, his true strength lies in his magic; he is a prodigal air mage, able to manipulate wind magic through whistling. He can make himself or his enemies flying through the air with only a sound. Despite his moniker, he doesn't sing. Doesn't speak at all. He used to, though, before legends say his voice was stolen.

Legends say his voice could bring a stone to tears. He had gained his start as a travelling minstrel, roaming the lands with a troupe of many other equally talented artists of all sorts. Things were not easy, though, as they had to scrape to get by as anyone else. One day, a princess was hosting a grand festival and competition, seeking new talent to grace her halls. The troupe applied and blew the competition out of the water. Their prize though, was a twisted one; to be trapped within the palace, forced to perform without pause for the rest of their lives. Yàn, through heart-breaking song, pleaded with the princess it let them all go and in exchange. The cruel princess' stone heart was moved. Yàn and his friends may leave but on one condition; Yàn's remarkable voice would be taken from him. He agreed with ease, striking up a cheery whistle as they all left the castle. Legend says that the air itself, summoned by his whistling, wept at this injustice and toppled the cruel princess' castle down right on her.

Yàn's troupe continued to travel as word of his escape spread. Slowly, he drew larger crowds than the rest of his troupe. Not wanting to overshadow the talents of those he cared about, Yàn left behind his troupe to travel the lands alone. He honed his skills with the blade as a means of survival. Today, he is something akin to a knight errant, despite lacking any official titles or licenses. Many travellers tell of how their lives were spared from vicious beasts and highway brigands by the lucky fate of hearing a whistle on the wind, and a black and white shape in the distance. They would sing praises of the handsome silent man, his soft smiles, and chivalrous charm protecting the realm.

The thing about living legends though, is that it's difficult to tell where the legend ends and the life begins. Fact and fiction all coalesce into a muddled mix of reputation, where people see the title before the individual. This is, of course, by Yàn's design. Most of his exploits are staged, with the help of the very crew he pretended to leave behind. Elaborate costumes and illusions to create false monsters and bandits, all for Yàn to heroically "dispose" of. Turns out, when rich people think you've saved their life, will hand over valuables willingly! It's much easier to fence something if there hasn't been a stolen object report put out for it. Everyone gets a cut of the take, and be much more sure of whether they can afford to live another day when they don't have to busk or haggle for performance permits. Beneath his charming smiles, Yàn is cunning as a fox and as foul mouthed as a sailor. Yes, he does indeed still have his voice. Magic that can do something as abstract as steal a skill is a legend, so he has to sell it. Everyone loves a humble underdog, afterall. He couldn't give a fig about chivalry and the realm, his interests lie solely in himself and his troupe

Every lie has a kernel of truth to it, though; despite the charade, Yàn is indeed a magical prodigy. Underestimate Yàn or his troupe, and you'll be blown away.

omg this took 4 hours to convey why is my mind so against putting things into words. Worth it though for this cutie!

[feverrr]

VELLLLL i love those bangs so much oh my gosh!! gotta try my hand at this <3

named rhune. a citizen of whitcairn, a dilapidated mining outpost-turned-township, living among what little remains of house maravil. they hail from a family of renowned artisans, but never quite had a knack for forging anything themself - something she has always felt quite bitter about. when house thalorian was born during it's split from house maravil, rhune found herself profoundly, morbidly interested in constructs. to her shock, everyone around her - family, friends, neighbours - seemed completely repulsed by the things, and disgusted by the distortion of the natural order they represented. rhune, however, just could not shake the nagging curiosity they felt towards constructs, no matter how hard they tried. they wish everyday that they had left to join house thalorian during the split, but remain in whitcairn (for now!) with their family because change is scary. recently, they've been pretending that they're finally becoming more devoted to honing their smithing skills in order to placate their family. in reality, rhune is spending their days in their rundown little workshop trying to create a construct themself. maybeee some horrors beyond fable comprehension ensue. as a treat <3

[kyeza]

all of faerendell showing up on ur doorstep like 🧍🧍🧍🧍 this guy is sooo cutie i can't pass the opportunity up either DHGJF

i'm thinkinggg scammy necromancer vibes! taryn was raised by their sibling in lieu of a parent, as they passed away with their birth. taryn was born with necromantic abilities, which entails draining life energy or communing with and summoning the deceased. they happened to have the ability to use both types of necromantic power, though as a result, they were each very weak. necromancy is a rarer type of magic, not exactly seen as frightening or anything of that sort as one might expect, but rather regarded as something to be treasured.

they spent their early days together in evoncrest, a small fishing village on the bank of lake omyhr, just outside of the wyrmwood. eventually, they grew weary of life in such a small, uneventful place, and left their sibling to travel the world. they used their magic to gain popularity amongst the nobility of the townships they visited, offering visits from deceased loved ones for coin. their abilities, however, were so weak that all they could do was receive one single word from the dead, and then make up the rest. was it deceptive? maybe, but they needed the coin. one day, their occupation brought them to avondelle (house lysandor's township), where they spotted the most beautiful, most fatefully perfect fable they'd ever laid eyes on. their paths weren't meant to cross, however, and she was whisked away before they could do anything to stop it. they mourned this loss like no other.

they later found themself drawn to aerillion (eldemar's township) for work, and ran into her once more. they promised themself they wouldn't waste this second chance. it turned out her name was isolde and she was a noblewoman of house eldemar—they later found out that she was engaged to a lysandor noble, the brother of the head of house. not everyone was a fan of this arrangement, though, and an assassin was sent to take her out of the picture. it was a beautiful day when the love of their life hit the ground with a lifeless thud, a day they would remember for the rest of their life.

when she fell, their mind went numb. they let their limbs take charge, working to do something never done before out of blind despair—they brought her body to the countryside, where no one would bother them, and used their magic to siphon the remnants of her soul into something unnatural. a construct of sorts, if you will. she would not remember anything from her past, but perhaps it was for the better. in fact, taryn took great care to stay out of her way, as much as it pained them, so that she would not have to remember. instead, they did what they do best and left, roaming the world an unsatisfied soul, the love of their life living a half life on her own in a cabin in the wilderness where she would never be bothered or hunted down again—picking flowers and fruit, lifting mechanical limbs in peace and solitude, unfeeling of anything more. every time she tried to grasp at something beyond her quiet little life, her mind would go fuzzy and she would return to her garden, never to be hurt again. taryn would never be able to handle what they did to her, what they created, forever unsettled and unhappy.