Tough as Nails Adoption (Closed for renovations!)

[Moondancer]

I would like to adopt!
Number: 16
Picture:
Name: Skalle Stjäla*
Not technically his name. It was a name given to him a long time ago. He has been called many things through the ages. He doesn't think he was given a name when he was born. If he was born. He's been around longer than living memory and goes by whatever name he's given at the time.
Species: Animal spirit, though he has been believed to be many different things. The early Vikings thought he was a sacred animal, a servant to the gods. Later, they and the Celts believed him to be an omen of death, or even death it's self. For a while, he believed it was true.
Personality: Strangely kind-hearted, despite his appearance. He has a fascination with humans, though he stays away from them as much as possible. He’s very timid around other creatures and afraid of hurting or scaring them. He is rather naive and unsure of anything outside his own environment. Skalle can get very violent and fierce when his home or he himself, is threatened. He also has a slightly mischevious and decievin streak and will take on forms to trick someone, if it benefits him in some way. He is slightly wary of conflict, considering his is not invincible, and his skull is very vulnerable. If his skull gets damaged beyond repair, he will no longer be able to take that form and will again revert to being basically nothing. That is one of the things he is most afraid of, loosing his form.
Likes:
-Quiet
(he’s accustomed to it and hates loud noises, almost to the point where he fears them)
-Humans
(he doesn’t like them, exactly. He just finds them interesting. Before his ram skull was smashed, he spent a lot of time close to a viking tribe. He'd never seen another human before that.)
- Other animals
(being an animal spirit, he obviously feels at home with them, especially predatory ones)

Dislikes:
-Pointless destruction
(one thing that distances him from humans. Being an animal spirit, he is very connected to nature and doesn't see the point in wasting any of it.)
-Unfamiliar things
(more of a fear than a dislike. Skalle spent most of his life in the same place, a large forest in Northern Sweden. It was very secluded and basically stayed the same for the whole time he lived in it.)
-War
(ties in with 'pointless destruction')
Death
(Again, this is definetely a fear, more than a dislike. It believed it was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of humans)

Background:
It was nothing.

It was literally nothing, not anymore. It hadn't been for centuries. It was nothing but a wisp of smoke, without sentience, without conscience, just instinct, and memory; so much memory. It remembered the last time It had taken a form, the first time It had seen a human. They called themselves the Víkingr*. They were curious creatures, with their helmets and swords and the pelts they covered their furless bodies with.

They thought It was sacred; It had been a ram then. They called it Tanngrisnir*. They worshipped It, paid tribute to It. It had been content, for a while. Then they came; the Hǫlðr*. They fought, they died, It watched. Then It ran.

It's skull had been smashed, it's form vanished, dissolved into nothing. It had been afraid. So much meaningless death had frightened It, horrified it. They had been frightened of It, thought It had brought the death. It believed them. It had nothing else to believe. It had come, death had followed. So It had run, from humans, from it's home, from life.

Now, It was getting closer. It could feel what It was looking for. It was still afraid, but It had been away for too long, been nothing for too long. And there it was, the thing It had been searching for; a skull, half-buried in the damp earth. Moss had begun to grow on its creamy exterior. It had once belonged to a wolf. But the wolf's had been a natural death. It was not responsible. This was easier than humans; this death, It understood.

It enveloped the skull, the mist that made It up completely obscuring the skull from view. After a few moments the skull appeared again, rising a few feet off the ground, carried by the mist. The mist slowly began to elongate, stretching out from the skull and forming a long, slender neck. Then came a slender body to match the neck, the mist twisting and intertwining to form muscle and fur. Then came long legs, and a shortish tail with tufted fur. Paws came last, the final wisps of mist swirling around his newly formed limbs as if caught in a breeze.

He was alive.

He, for he was no longer It anymore, lifted a paw almost fearfully, disturbing the mist that still surrounded him. He examined it carefully, tilting his newly found head to the side in what would have been a quizzical way, if his face had been able to show expression. He flexed the paw gently at first, as if he was afraid it would shatter.


*Translations
Skalle Stjäla: Skull stealer
Víkingr: Vikings
Tanngrisnir: Tooth-barer (one of the rams that pulled the chariot of Thor)
Hǫlðr: the closest thing I could find to Celts. (The literal translation is, ‘Free landowner’)

Sorry if my old Norse is a bit off It's not really my forte

A picture you drew:

Still EDITING

[Erille]

I would like to adopt!

Number:
Three (3)

Picture:

Name:
Diskk (Dis-ck)

Species:
Basneji/Siberian Husky

Kingdom: Animalia
Phylum: Chordata
Class: Mammalia
Order: Carnivora
Family: Canidae
Genus: Canis
Species: C. lupus
Subspecies: C. l. familiaris

Personality:

Likes:


Dislikes:
~Other dogs. This is not stretched. If Diskk even sees another dog, he'll freak out.~
•Loud noises. Loud sirens, car horns, TVs and steroes all make him hide under the bed.•
~Leashes. Diskk likes to roam free, and leashes are at the bottom of his "to-do" list.~
•Someone say "the dark?" This big baby is absolutely afraid of it, ever since he was a puppy•
~And last on his list of dislikes, and the most disliked,is police cars. Long story, but it's in his background.~

Background:
Cha•os A word describing disorder or disfunction; out of control

Noises. Lots of noises. And smells, too. Diskk looked out the window at dark green grass that came with every Summer and sighed. Why couldn't Alaska be like this all the time? It was eleven at night, but the sun shone strong. It glared in Diskk's eyes and he had to squint them to avoid it's rays. Over in a corner, his police officer master, sat. He had his head in his hands and looked depressed.
Diskk sighed. Well as close a dog could get to sighing. He barked when suddenly the police scanner suddenly blared to life. "Number sixty-two-zero-four! Do you read?" Diskk perked his ears as his master went to the radio. "I read." He said.
"Prison escape two minutes ago near the mountains. You and Diskk need to report to the scene." The radio blared one last time and shut off. There was chaos as Diskk and his master were running out the door. The police car sat in the driveway but within seconds, it too came to life and sped out of the concrete road.
The red and blue lights screamed at the top of the car and Diskk had to whimper as they rang deep into his ears. Diskk sunk into a ball until the car stpped in an abrupt halt.
Outside, three other police cars were sitting in the new grass; their sirens on too. The back door to Diskk's car opened and a leash shovd on. He scratched his neck in discomfort. Leashes. Why were they even invinted? His owner tugged on the leash and the ran into the forest. Up above, the moutains towered and snow threatened to fall. Diskk was almost choked as his owner pulled him behind.
Suddenly there was a change in the air. Diskk sniffed like he was trained to do and smelt the worst smell. Blood. His owner couldn't smell it. not yet anyway. Diskk did what he could do. Bark like mad. He strained against the leash so much his neck was forming a red ring from the collar. His owner got the message real quick.
"Diskk!" He yelled. Diskk took off down into the forest. Quickly he lost sight of the police officers. but the smell of blood was getting stronger.
Barking like he was losing his life, Diskk shot down deeper into the forest. Then real blood started to appear. It stained the dirt red and left a clear trail. Now all Diskk had to do was follow it. He ran along the trail of blood; it splatter pattern quickly being dissolved by the bright sunlight. His eyes were blinking hard and fast. Finally there was a place to rest. He laid his head down on a rock. Diskk's breathing became harsh. man, he was really out of shape. Finally, he found the energy to keep running. The scent suddenly grew stronger.
Diskk sniffed agai. Up ahead, a small run down shack stood. it reaked of blood.
In there. Diskk's senses told him. He walked froward, careful not to make any noises as he crept up to the small shack. The smell of blood was now mixed with somthing new. Radiation. And lots of it.
Diskk then growled and ran forward with all his might. He burst down the door. At first he felt awesome. he had busted down a door! Then he looked, andsaw the door had no hinges and had just been leaning against the wall.
Shoot. Diskk thought. He would pretend he had knocked down that door anyway. He then started back up again, this time, not afraid to bark as loud as he could. he had to alert the police.
Just as he began, a large hand came up behind Diskk and picked him up by the neck.
he growled and snapped his jaws around long enough to bite his attacker. The human screamed as more blood dripped from his wrist.
Diskk was feeling proud. Until the human looked down at him and smiled. it's never a good thing when the bad guys smile. Never. Ever. The human quickly picked up a bowl of something yellow. And it stunk!
Diskk pulled his nose ack and started to bark. his throat got sore as the smell burned his nostrils. And then, without warning, the bowl of smelly, yellow gunk, was poured on him.
Diskk jumped as the yellow liquid burned his skin. In some places the fur fell out and it was replaced with brown skin. Diskk yelped as his fur turned a bright, disgusting shade of yellow. Suddenly afraid, Diskk ran out the door. Just as the human was. The human tripped and came crashing down. Diskk barely got outside before a roaring snarl came to his ears. Diskk had no time to worry about the pain.
He ran and ran until the red and blue ligths were in his sight. And when he finally saw his owner, he fell down to the ground, worn out and beat up.

And the last thing Diskk saw before he completely fainted, was yellow fur engulfing the last of his body.

A picture you drew:

[Ranua]

Im going for a Smili! XD

[Rainbow Dash]

Number 6 has been pulled at the request of the donor.

Numbers are still the same so you don't have to alter your forms.

Im going for a Smili! XD

If it's not an application, please don't post it here. Chat goes in the Fanclub thread.

[Pharaoh]

Can we still donate? I would like to give back an old character who went unused, and would like to know if it's too late this round?

[Ebonpyre]

I would like to adopt!

Number:
22

Picture:


Name:
Khana

Species:
Canis lupus pallipes -'Indian' or 'Iranian' wolf.

Personality:

She is kind, and generally patient and loving. Her patience is next to none, especially towards herself, and she will easily become frustrated, and eventually angry. She's stubborn to the point, though, where she refuses to back away from a failure that's bothering her, and just increases in annoyance to the point of being rude and snappish to any who come across her at these times. It usually isn't until she unintentionally upsets someone that she realizes how she's behaving, though at times she cools down on her own. She also tends to try and take on everything at once, giving her too much to handle and making her frustrated again.

Khana is socially awkward. When speaking to a large amount of people, she's perfectly fine, but when someone approaches her infividually, she comes off as blunt, relatively unintelligent, and very deadpan. Aside from social matters, she's quite self-confident, with a submissive personality, and finds it hard to take control of a situation. She lacks eloquence in conversations.

The wolf is respective towards authority, but she is not afraid to disagree with them. She is comfortable talking about most things aside from those deeply personal to her.

She feels awkward being talked about, whether the words are good or bad, and dislikes being center of attention.

She tries not to hold grudges about others, but forgiveness for her own shortcomings is something she finds hard to give.

Despite the fact that she relies heavily on her own feelings to make decisions, she has trouble showing other people she likes them. Most of the time she tends to simply looks cold, clipped, and uncaring, and it frustrates her to no end.

She has a terrible sense of humor, with next to no wit, and is usually unable to detect sarcasm, even in some of the most obvious of situations.

She fears growing old and weak, and death along with it.

Khana enjoys children, and finds herself more patient when around them.

Likes:

Daytime, laying out in the sun, talking to her cousin, the smell of spring. Despite her fear of the night, she likes stars themselves.

Dislikes:

The night, her own shortcomings, inclosed areas, smoke,

Background:

The morning sunbeams streamed down lazily through the maze of branches, casting their light upon the darkness, and eliminating the shadows of the night. The light petals of the newly-budded flowers quivered slightly in the breeze as the flora of the land began to open and face the sun with the morning, blooming an array of color.

The winding creek by which I lay glistened brightly as it ran down the never-ending path to the ocean. Many birds, most pale shades of tan, were singing their melody, relaxed in the brances of thinly-spread trees. The light revealed grass, unruly, growing between the roots of the ancient trees.

The sun was pleasantly warm, it's spring heat not enough to be a discomfort. I enjoyed it as I lay sprawled in the grass, watching the movements of the birds with half-lidded eyes.

Unexpectedly, the peace was broken.

A sudden series of twigs snapping, followed by an angry, partially-muffled bark sounded in the silence, startling a group of birds and bringing them into the air.

I wasn't startled by the noises, for I knew that no hostile intruder would possibly make so much noise, and also because I recognized the disgruntled noises as coming from my cousin.

A slight smile slipped across my thin muzzle. He was usually far quieter than that, usually playfully startling me with his sudden appearances. This didn't seem to be one of his good things.

A picture you drew:

Adoption cap slot:
Yes

Staff signature:
Atwood

-WIP-

[Rainbow Dash]

Can we still donate? I would like to give back an old character who went unused, and would like to know if it's too late this round?

New donations have just been posted. You'll have to wait.

[Ranua]

Number 6 has been pulled at the request of the donor.

Numbers are still the same so you don't have to alter your forms.

Im going for a Smili! XD

If it's not an application, please don't post it here. Chat goes in the Fanclub thread.

Sorry Wendigo. XP
Im not too used to this thread yet...Ill adapt tho. X3

Can we use chunks from another form
we've made here? I really like my personality
from my last application, and though it didn't win,
Id love to have a character with traits like the one
I had designed for the other Smili I had applied for.

[Desmond]

I would like to adopt!
Number: 4
Picture:

Name: Darda [Hindi, “Sting”]
Species: Jungle Smili

Personality:
Pompous. Darda loves to toot her own horn, and exaggerate to make herself look like the best, because she believes she is the best. She often blows stories out of proportion, and, when called out on her bluff, often leaves rather than recant her story, or, when that is impossible, covers it up with some excuse or another.
Paranoid. She is scared to death of anyone learning that she is afraid of the smallest things. Her bright markings have caused her pain in the past, and so, while she shies from social interaction in which she is expected to share any more than her stories, she wants to be admired by others. Constantly glancing behind her, she flinches even when all she sees is her own shadow.
Somewhat Schizophrenic. Darda’s paranoia is further encouraged by the voices that whisper in her head, insulting her and distorting her reality. This, perhaps, is where much of her stories come from. However, she is not completely disabled; most of the reality she perceives is real. The voices in her head do not wish to risk themselves by allowing her to die in a wildfire that she does not see is real, after all.
Homebody. Darda loves to be in a place she can call home. When she loses the village that she has lived in all of her life, she is completely lost, and pines for it, even after she has found a new place to inhabit.
Defensive. Being easily seen by prospective predators as a cub did not come without its effects. Driven by paranoia and the voices, she is quick to attack in order to defend herself.


Likes:
Home. Naturally, being a homebody, she loves feeling safe in a place she can hall her own.
Bright flowers. In her tropical forest habitat, bright flowers are both relatively common, as well as the perfect hiding place from the world. If they are pleasant-smelling, all the better. She sometimes plucks flowers and decorates her body with them, as she is dissatisfied by all of the prospective earring stones and bones available to her.
Admiration. Darda loves the looks of awe she gets from others as she tells them stories. They make her feel better about herself, and she loves getting her ego stroked. The looks also seem to ease the voices’ hateful words.
Safety. With the target-like colors on her fur, safety is something she does not often get. She relishes in the ability to relax whenever she can, though she is almost always snapped into full alertness by her paranoia catching the movement of wings or leaves shifting by the wind.


Dislikes:
Revealing unnecessarily. Darda loves telling stories, but hates revealing any more than her “fictionalized” self. Males that try to court her must be satisfied with this false projection, as they are very unlikely to get any farther than that.
Danger. Despite being familiar with danger, she hates the loss of safety and shelter. Her mental disorders are at their worst when she is in the most trouble, which causes her to break down.
Exposure. Akin to her dislike of danger, Darda cannot take exposure, be it being called out by someone that knows the correct version of the story, exposure to the elements and to the other predators that might wish to take on someone like her, or exposure of her weaknesses when she has broken down. She cannot imagine being safe if she dares seek comfort from another living being, at least for the majority of her life.
Herself. She knows only too well that her markings are the reason for most of her problems. Without them, she would not have had such a hard childhood, would not have felt so compelled to be so flashy, and, as she feels, would be able to be normal.

Background:
Dark. The eyes of the birds… she could feel them on her, watching her, judging if she’d make a good meal or not. She could almost hear them consider whether or not to call out for a real predator, perhaps one of the dragons or dark, flesh-hungry gryphons that she’d heard frequented the skies above. Lying here… she was exposed. The nest, where was the nest… it was here, she could have sworn, where’d it go?!

Darda’s paranoia and schizophrenic behavior started when she was a weaned cub. Her parents, since they were darker, hunted at night, and hunted together to increase the odds of catching prey. This left her alone, in the dark, hoping that none of the night creatures would come for her. Her parents, during the day, tended to a large-leafed plant that she was to hide in, but she eventually grew too big to be adequately hidden. Even with just the tip of her tail peeking out, she could feel the eyes on her, with the sharp voices murmuring words of death into her ears.

Something was there. She knew it. No, no- it was over there! Yes, that was it! There it was, she knew it was there, it was going to hurt her- kill her, eat her, slice her open- no, please… no…. A growl behind her- another cub from the village, it pounced- no, no! It was a predator, it had to be, the voices, kill… kill… die…. She twisted around, clawed the eye of the offender, bit his shoulder, threw him off… attack… before he does, before he kills….

Darda’s paranoia made her extremely dangerous. A playful cub that harbored a young crush on her found out that she didn’t like to play-fight or be surprised- and he lost an eye to this lesson. She became well-known for her ferocity, and was left well enough alone, for the most part, by the cubs. However, it soon became obvious that the threats that haunted the jungle did not view her as a threat, but a challenge…. More than once, the dragons from the Flatts flew over, looking at her… watching, waiting for the perfect time to strike… though, unbeknownst to her, the dragons only appeared to her, in her imagination…. But oh, she was so scared….

Loneliness… how to bring attention to herself to attract a mate? Surely, she had to seem better than all of the other females… she had to seem like she had more qualities… but her colors… a liability, at best. She focused on her bravery. She could be brave. She… defeated a boar for one of her piglets! Yes, yes, that would go well…

Her storytelling began when she reached maturity, and felt the urge to find a mate and reproduce. Her hatred of her own body and how it had betrayed her to the eyes of the predators- real or not- during her cubhood- made her feel that she would never be able to attract anyone with her physical attributes. So she exaggerated her abilities and accomplishments. Sure, some of the stories were almost true- after all, she had taken a piglet from a boar mother, but said mother had been killed by something much more sinister beforehand, and she had not needed to raise a paw to take it. Unfortunately, others in the village that liked to wander soon became aware of inconsistent evidence- after all, didn’t she say that the boar mother’s skull had been broken, yes? No, no it wasn’t… It was all she could do to not panic and run as her stories were unraveled before her, sometimes by the one she had been telling it to in a vain attempt at astonishing them.

Crying. The village was sick. Dying. She could hear them struggling from her den on the outskirts. If she was to live, she had to leave. The voices flared as she ran, and, convinced the illness was a monster chasing her, ready to kill… maim… torture…- she ran faster than she had ever ran in her life. Must… run….

When illness swept through the village and wiped the inhabitants out, Darda was just able to escape. One of the Smilis that lived in the village had eaten infected meat, the day after one of Darda’s stories had been publicly exposed, and so, while she hid away and broke down, the disease spread quickly and killed all that it had infected within a few days. She would have been one of the dead, had she not hidden away… but no. She ran until she collapsed just inside the border of the Lower North. She was found by a lost Pardusero cub, Manchado, who initially sought her help, but soon grew to love her stories, and started thinking of her as his mother. She, on the other hand, treated him more as a pet- a companion, but nothing more.

Laughing. Hyenas had surrounded them, taunting their targets. These may have been stupid lackeys, but they were still dangerous… still deadly. The voices… rip… tear… eat while it’s still thrashing- let it be a dream! They leapt forward- and so did she.

Darda first met the hyenas when they tried to kill her and her pet. She didn’t particularly care if Manchado died- after all, the scent of the young adventurer’s blood would be enough of a distraction for her to escape- but she did not want them to turn and come after her if the little one was not enough of a meal. So she did what she felt she had to do- she launched herself at them and snapped their long necks, her canines sinking deep in their flesh. With them dead, she found herself not sighing with relief- instead, she broke down, the danger just too much for her to handle; exposed… open… target! She nearly had a panic attack when a small, warm body nestled itself against her, trying to help, and yellow met yellow as she found no judgment, no hatred, no hunger. The cub would never hurt her.

Lost. Homeless. Being with another didn’t help the pit of sadness that cut through her, leaving her feeling empty… abandoned by all hope, cut off from safety, betrayed by the only thing she felt was a constant comfort in her life, and left to suffer the danger and despair. And the voices….

Darda did not handle being homeless very well. Because she still felt her den in the jungle was her home, all of the hovels she and Manchado stayed in simply were not safe enough, were not protected enough, were not hidden, warm, soft, close, high, or spacious. More than once, she expressed a desire to return, but such thoughts were followed by the punishing voices, whispering that the dragons would get her there, that to return was to commit suicide. She was forced to settle, nestling in the low scrub along the southern edge of the Lower North. That was where they found her.

Blue, grey, black, red, white, green, orange. A dozen hooves and a dozen paws all stood before her, a pair each of Smili, Quagga, and Goennec. The quaggas spoke… harmless, they were harmless… they offered safety. Safety? Yes… need it…

She did not know how to handle the rebel band that approached her, but agreed instantly when they offered safety. Never mind that she would have to go through danger first…. The promise of safety was sweet on the horizon. As they started wandering, she slipped back into old habits- trying to impress the two male Smilis, despite one being taken and the other uninterested in females. She was constantly flirty and flashy, showing off her abilities and particular assets that she found even somewhat attractive, the picture of a [flawed] temptress on a mission.

Messenger. That was her job. She had to keep up communication between the two patches of forest and the horse herd that rested in the plains in between, and hope the dragons- so close, so close, they’re going to kill, rip, they’re hungry, hungry, hungry and they want black and yellow, please help, help, help- would not fly over and kill her. Kill her dead, dead, dead….

She was assigned to coordinate the efforts of the three major contributors of fighters, the East and West forests, and the local horse herd, with its single reindeer, musk ox and Pardusero followers. She found that the equines with zebra and quagga blood in them were the warmest to her efforts, and would often meet her halfway in an attempt to be helpful. She assumed it was the stripes in her mane that caused them to act in such a way, which was a mild comfort. They didn’t consider her a liability for her colors, at least. After discovering the sad male Pardusero that followed the herd, she sent Manchado to him, murmuring that it was for his own good. She was almost sad to see him go… almost. But she had to focus on something more… on bringing the herds and groups together. On helping combine and coordinate their forces, training the young and refining the old into an able army that could dare stand a chance to threaten the dark masses.

Battle… danger! No way to escape… what to do, what to do…. Freezing meant death, panicking meant being ripped apart- dead, dead, dead. Fighting. Must fight.

The band decided to take her with them behind the dark enemy’s- Shiva’s- lines. She was to keep the main fighters intact as they approached the wolf’s lair, where the quaggas and Angat were to attack, and the poisonous Smili was to kill him. She, on the other hand, had to stay at the entrance to his lair, and stop whatever guards came to stop them. Easy enough job, if only she was not petrified at how dangerous the mission was. Reluctantly, Angat attempted to reassure her that he would help her out if she needed it, once he completed his part. It was the only thing that kept her from running as everyone passed her into the cave, leaving her exposed- the dragons, please, no, they’re here, they’re going to kill- to the guards, Shiva’s own two children. One obviously didn’t have any fight in him- he turned and ran. But the girl, on the other hand…. She fought to the death.

Story of a lifetime… surely this would attract someone. She had helped vanquish evil! Surely, surely, there was a male out there that would find her attractive for that! Surely, he would be able to look past her yellow stripes. She could dress herself in Orchids, Tiger Lilies, and Black-eyed Susans- yes, yes, that would look beautiful…

With Shiva dead, she finally had the story like none of those she had tried to fabricate to amaze those in her old village- but she could no longer return, and she did not really feel the urge to tell the story. It may have been true, but the experience… was not of the type that she wished to relive. She broke down for several days after leaving the battlefield, the voices finally murmuring words of peace.

Finally, finally, she was safe, if only for the moment. Unfortunately, the darkness was reluctant to leave.

===
References
Angatuyok | Quagga Pair |Manchado

A picture you drew:
http://i37.tinypic.com/hvdmiu.jpg

[Rainbow Dash]

Sorry Wendigo. XP
Im not too used to this thread yet...Ill adapt tho. X3

Can we use chunks from another form
we've made here? I really like my personality
from my last application, and though it didn't win,
Id love to have a character with traits like the one
I had designed for the other Smili I had applied for.

No, you have to write a new application.