[ravemn]

What is a Sima?
Simas are cat/wolf creatures basically. Their paws resemble a wolves while their body structure could resemble a cat. Simas are also known as 'Sword Mammels'. This name comes from their tail. The tail is the most important part of a Sima's body. They resemble a sword most of all. They are thick and fluffy at the base and when the go down the tail, it gets thinner then widens into two tail guards like the guards on a sword. The jewel acts like the blade.

The jewel of a Sima comes in various shapes, sizes and colors, in which they make a Sima unique. Their eyes are always the same color as he jewels unless they have a special condition. Simas have a furry body, their mane around the neck the most furry of all. Even their ears are fuzzy. Baby Simas are more so however, with furry lips, poofier manes and slightly larger ears than what their heads would allow.

Simas are omnivores, meaning they could eat anything from fruit to the meat of a rabbit and even to things like candy or cake. Their teeth are sharp in the front with molars in the back to chew with. All Simas live or come from tropical places. Most are house Simas though and are transferred to other locations where they live with humans. In the wild they are usually in packs of ten. They are social creatures so that's good. Some Simas mate for life, while others like temporary mates.

The jewels of Simas glow at the night, illuminating the darkness when they want. Some jewel colors however cause darkness while others cause more interesting powers.

A Sima has two types of horns that are found in the wild. They are uncommon though to find a lot with them. There are long ones and short ones. Babies don't know which they got until they grow up.

My first Sima as an artist! QwQ He's based off one of those rare black lions!
I tried my best not to make him a too high of rarity but I couldn't pass this dude up!

Okay for the contest I'd like you to tell me a 5-7 word personality, a quick story about him (about 500-700 words?), and art if you can but that is not required! ;v;

Code: Select all

Username:
Sima name:
Personality:
Story:
Art: (optional it will not improve or decrease chances)

This will also end in about a week? :0

[mal du pays]

Username: Takura
Sima name: Castrol
Personality:
Story:
Art: (optional it will not improve or decrease chances)

res aaaa fluffy bab

[kamelgirl]

Username:
Sima name:
Personality:
Story:
Art: (optional it will not improve or decrease chances)

aah cutie~ maybe res

maybe

[clouds-move-on]

Username:
☁Lady Raincloud☁

Sima name:
Zaccheo Quixote

Personality:
Adventurous, thoughtful, daring, Boisterous, curious, secretive, and Calculating.

Story:

Who has seen the wind?
Neither I nor you.
But when the leaves hang trembling,
The wind is passing through.

Who has seen the wind?
Neither you nor I.
But when the trees bow down their heads,
The wind is passing by.

"Who Has Seen The wind" By Christina Rossetti

Characters In This Story

Zaccheo, the narrator.
Gigi, the brother.
Name, the stranger.
Watermelon, the neighbor.

I was not certain when he had gone, but I knew that morning, when I awoke, his presence was not in the house. My brother had long been restless, and I had been watching his brooding, sour face for weeks on end, staring out the window of the cottage, or leaning over the railings of the porch, as if intent on something unseen. I would ask him, "Brother, are you trying to get a glimpse of the winds?", for it had been a log lasting joke of ours as, both being rather curious souls, we would be the first to discover and appearance and nature of the invisible gust.

At first, he would laugh, and then muse aloud, sharing his thoughts. I could sit and listen to him for sometime when he did, silently contemplating his jumbled thoughts, which ranged from the weather, to topics of war, and of, ultimately, the nature of mortals. He would ask me, as if I knew the answer, if I could explain to him why people did this, or that, and why at ever turn there seemed to be some sort of confrontation. He almost seemed desperate, really. Desperate for any answers his younger brother could give him

And then he'd laugh again, and ask me, with a smile and change of expression. "Go on, today your making breakfast." Or "And what time did you say it was?" Or some trivial, daily question asked under normal circumstances. With that simple note, the conversation was done, and I would be puzzeled. I thought a lot about things, and yet I never felt troubled. Yet I sensed when he thought, things would worry him. And, day by day, his staring blankly out, up, and over everything would seem to worsen.

And I knew he was taking a turn for the worst when, asking him if he was looking out to find the wind, he did not laugh, and no reply came back. He could not be amused anymore, and he could not push aside these thoughts, these worries. He went about the day like a robot, programmed to do chores, feed the hens, wash the dishes, make dinner, and every other task in our simple monotonous day. When all necessaries of the day were complete,he would sit aside, and resume his staring. I am happy to report he did not stop taking care of himself and become a total memory of what he once was and waste away to nothing, but, he did seem to loose his humor, and I feared for his mind.

Then, more recently, he seemed to recover, just a touch. He woke up smiling one day, as if he had found, in his vigilant days of silence, something worth living for. but then he would flash odd looks at me on occasion, sad ones, almost as if he was expecting to never see me again. Then I knew, somewhere inside me, I wouldn't be with him for very long either.

It was not death we feared. Neither of us were to die. It was mere separation, a parting of ways. After the untimely death of our parents, brother Gigi and I had always been inseparable. We comforted each other, shared our hopes, our dreams, and, in spite of anything sad life threw our way, we would triumph and come out of it, still prevailing and getting by, with smiles and laughter still in our minds and hearts, removing all ill tiding and memories and recalling only the good things.

We were, in short, content. And it scared me to think that would change.
And it frightened him as well, and yet, one day, he stared at me for a long time, taking one long look. His expression was odd for him. He had always been able to keep it cool, even in times of sadness. And yet, this time, he looked as if he would cry.

And yet, without a tear, he bid me goodnight. He smiled, and I watched from my bedroom door as he shut it, and I listened for his footsteps, holding onto the sound as it faded off into the distance.

And the next day, he had left, with only a few of his belongings. I think he realized that, for whatever reason, we needed to part. We needed to grow up, I suppose, and leave the farm, and discover the world, by and for ourselves. I had felt it too, and he knew I did, and he made the hard decision to leave, the decision I couldn't make.

I was sad, I admit it openly, I did not want to be alone. With all my wish for adventure I was scared to be alone. For that entire day I went about my chores, alone, trying to think over what it all meant. Though I was sad I did not cry. This was not the eternal separation, this was only a brief good bye. I would get through this like with everything else.

And so I decided to leave too.

I made that choice one day when, staring out from the porch at the sunrise, I noticed someone walking past. I hailed him, and, with the hospitality of our small town, invited the stranger in to have breakfast. I wanted company. And this fellow looked absolutely exhausted.

"Where are you headed?" I inquired as we ate together. "And what is your name, stranger? This town is in the middle of nowhere I reckon by the world's standards, so what brings you here?"

The stranger gave me a smile and replied. "I am exploring the world to discover all I can. I have a lot of questions, but only few answers. Besides, it is lovely to see and walk through nature."

He did not tell me his name, so I assumed that, for his own reasons he wanted to keep that to himself.

"Is it lonely, traveling by yourself?" I then asked.

"No, it is not. In fact, it is sometimes lonelier being in one place, even if it is filled with people, friends and enemies alike. See, I sense you are lonely, and yet you have neighbors, all of which seem kind from the few words we shared, and all of which seem to know eachother. Perhaps you should try traveling too, if just for a little while."

I stared at this stranger for a moment, and then we spoke no more, finishing our meal in silence. I offered that he could say here overnight, and yet he refused, insisting on leaving right away. As I let him out and bid him farewell, I asked him for his name again.

"I have none." He replied, with a laugh. "And that I mean in all truth. Though, I have been called by different names in the past. Simply the word Name suffices enough."

I found this curious, and, as I watched him go back up the long, dusty road leading far on ahead into the plains, I thought over hsi words.

"No, it is not. In fact, it is sometimes lonelier being in one place, even if it is filled with people, friends and enemies alike. See, I sense you are lonely, and yet you have neighbors, all of which seem kind from the few words we shared, and all of which seem to know each other. Perhaps you should try traveling too, if just for a little while."

"Perhaps........" I mused, staring out to the sunset that night from the porch, like Gigi, my brother, would so often do when he was still home with me. "Perhaps I should."

And so, I set to leave. I gave my hen farm to the care of my neighbor and friend, Watermelon, and I explained to him that I was leaving for a trip. He seemed to think it curious, for I had always seemed to be so content with my life.

"My dear friend." I told him, as I packed my things and strode down the rode, him following me hurriedly to hear my farewell. "I am off to, perhaps, follow the wind. And maybe one day, I'll be the first, the very first, to see it."

THE END

Art:

[ravemn]

@Lady I'd say go over the word limit if you need it! ;w;

[Novi]

username;; underfaker
sima name;; Harkness
personality;; Coward | Conceited | Sarcastic | Spiteful | Prankster
story;;

Okay, so maybe she was right when she said Zevach would kill him if he tried this. But there was no way in hell he was about to admit his fault.
Rounding the corner swiftly, Hark glanced back momentarily to see how far along he was getting - a decision he soon came to regret. Not because he tripped or anything - oh, no. Hark was fairly graceful, and could not be toppled that easily. He regretted looking back because of a certain necromancer and his ghouls chasing after Hark, eyes set to kill.
Hark gave a comical, not so manly shriek of fear and bolted once more, eyes fixed towards the chain link fence not too far from where he was currently. If he could just get a little extra boost, maybe, just maybe he could scale the fence and escape from Zevach and his-
Something grabbed Hark by the tail, earning a sharp yelp from the dark Sima. He whirled around to see one of the red-eyed ghouls, sharp fangs bared, holding his tail in a vice grip.
If there was ever a time that Hark regretted his actions, then yeah, now would be that time.
He squeaked fearfully as the ghoul yanked him along, pulling him back towards Zevach - much to Hark's horror. Desperately, Hark clawed at the air, trying to find something, anything to hold onto. On the list of things that Hark didn't want to do, dying was in the top five, so you could imagine how he was feeling at this moment.
But alas, his attempts at escape were futile. The ghoul threw him forward none too gently, which caused Hark to scream like a prepubescent girl. He rubbed his sore arm tenderly, whimpering in pain before shooting a glare towards the goon. "Really, Zevvy," he growled to the older Sima, afraid to look him in the eye. "Can't you teach your little henchmen some manners? I mean seriously, I'm pretty sure this is going to be bruised in the morning, and-"
Hark squealed as he was roughly lifted up by the collar of his red flannel jacket, forced to look Zevach in the eye. The angry, red-faced Zevach, who was dripping wet from head to toe.
"Harkness Fulgroff," Zevach snarled calmly, eyes seething with rage.
"Look, Zevvy, I can exp-"
"Then get to it!" Zevach snapped quickly, throwing the younger to the ground once more. Hark landed with an "oomph" before he whined and looked up at Zevach, searching for the right combination of words in his mind that (hopefully) wouldn't get him either killed or buried alive.
"Uhm..." Finally, something clicked in his head, and Hark smiled widely. "You looked hot! I-I mean, it's really warm out, so I figured I'd try to cool you down."
Zevach quirked a brow. "...By placing a bucket of water on my door without my knowledge," he said slowly, "you wanted to 'cool me down.'"
"Yep! That's exactly what I intended!" Hark smiled triumphantly.
"...You weren't trying to prank me."
"Nope!"
"...You are the BIGGEST idiot I have EVER met."

art;; wip - if not completed by the time this ends, ignore qwq

[Burn.]

Username:
Sima name: Zion
Personality:
Story:
Art: (optional it will not improve or decrease chances)

[koegami]

Username: lord raegami
Sima name: Anuk


Personality:
Story: [5-700 words]
Art: (optional it will not improve or decrease chances)

[bite sized kuiper]

hggn
most likely watching qwq

[Sheer]

Definitely marking~