Scaranames Fandreamsgo

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Like many on the mountain, he was born during a storm- a dreadful blizzard, a thundersnowstorm the likes of which few had ever seen. Three days later, some others from his tribe found him, alone, hungry, cold- but alive. He got his name young because it was judged a feat to have merely survived, especially when none of the rest of his family had done so.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

It was night, deepest, blackest night, where the cold light of the stars didn’t seem like any light at all. She was alone in the blackness; there was no ground, no sky, only night. She glowed in the blackness, shining brighter than anything. She stretched infinitely, arching her back and feeling herself grow and glow and grow. A smile crossed her face as she looked down at herself, her shape changing and shifting to match her limitless potential. As her monstrous magnificence morphed and shifted, she awoke content in the knowledge that she could do anything, and that she had all she needed.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

[Scaramouche Fandango]

She hunted, but not alone. The pack's howls filled the night air, and her voice rang out the loudest.

Spoiler

Real Big Fish stood before two of her offspring, staring them down. Her youngest sons, two beautiful boys... who really needed to do something to earn their names. She loved them dearly, but they needed a bit of encouragement. "You know, we're different from every other kind of kin. Our names aren't given to us- the Motherfather doesn't speak to us in that way. We have to grab them, snag each passing chance to act with honor and courage and make our mark on the world. This is what makes us Totoma, the essence of our kind. We earn our names. The problem with this is as follows: I'm sick to death of just calling you "kids." So now it's time to get out there and do something awesome. Now, pay attention, because I, your loving mother, am going to help you with this. Or rather, they are."

She led them to two small pools on the beach. A small whale shark cruised the waters of the one on the right; the one on the left contained a shuppy puppy, splasying about happily. "There's one for each of you. They'll help you figure yourself out. Now come on, it's time to go do something cool."

This contest is a naming contest for a couple of Totoma and a couple of familiars! Each familiar will go with a Totoma, and must be included in their naming story somehow! Perhaps the tale is a tale of first impressions; perhaps it's a story of hunting excellence. Perhaps the two of them caught a fish this big. Whatever the case, these familiars are loyal and true, friends for life, and there to adventure by these Totomas' sides. You can enter for both of the brothers and you can even use the same name for both if you really like it, but each story must be different! You can also enter for either the shark or the shuppy, or both. So like, you could do a gray+shark and an orange+shark entry, or you could do gray+shuppy and orange+shark. That's fine! Please keep naming contest entries to a single post- you can edit at will, but it's much easier if you keep your entries together. Also: the Totoma who comes with the shuppy must join The Cres! These Totoma (and their sister) were born by the sea, so it's not like they have to journey there. Shark Totoma can join if they want to, but they aren't obligated.

Your naming story doesn't have to be long- it just needs to be awesome.

Code: Select all

[color=orange][size=140][b]I chase sharks at sunset![/b][/size][/color]
Kin Name(s): 
Shark or shuppy? 
Familiar name: 
Naming Story: 

Code: Select all

[color=gray][size=140][b]I dive deep at dusk![/b][/size][/color]
Kin Name(s): 
Shark or shuppy?
Familia name:
Naming Story: 

If you entered for both, please edit your post to contain the following

Code: Select all

[color=purple][size=140][b]I'll try anything...[/b][/size][/color]
But my preference list is (grey, orange) (orange, grey) (I can't pick!)

FISHING MINIGAME
The shark and shuppy weren't the only thing in those pools. There were fish in there, too! If you'd like to try your hand at one, you're more than welcome to do so. Each day you can roll 1d100. At the end of the contest, the two people who were closest to my roll will win a fish!

[Scaramouche Fandango]

They called him Wounded Tooth, both for what he’d done and for what he’d paid. The battle had been fierce, raging for over a day as the two crashed at each other over and over. The creature was insatiable; the buck, furious. Eventually, the buck won as the beast retreated, its gums bleeding and its fangs shattered from crunching against hard armor and being battered each time. For his part, the buck was sorely wounded, rake marks streaking his skin from the beast’s mighty claws, his own mouth a wrecked nightmare of blood and bone- though whose, he could not say.

Perhaps, had the injuries not been to his mouth, this story would have ended differently. Perhaps his name might have been Beast-Beater, or maybe Beast-Bruised. But the infection settled in his tooth, and then as it often does, a fever followed. A terrible fever, one of the ones that took you in the day and held you through the night. Death often follows this fever, and perhaps his name would have been Beast-Bayer, Who Died Honorably...

But in a moment of heated clarity, he dashed his own head against a stone, over and over, until the offending tooth and affected chunk of bone shattered free, snapping away from his jaw and crumbling like wet sand. It stank horribly and oozed with the black sludge of infection– but the bone in his mouth, bleeding and damaged as it was, remained healthy. The fever subsided, and while that part of his jaw was always a little painful, and he did have a bit of a whistle in his song after that, he’d had the courage and tenacity to save himself from beasts both real and figurative.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

The winter was one of the worst anyone could remember. It seemed as if the fauna had fled the mountains, leaving the Totoma clans with little to eat, and even less to drink thanks to the harsh winds that brought precious little snow. Every day was a blazing white wind, every night a howling nightmare.
She’d only existed for a short while, and that life had been impossibly hard. The food her parents had stored hadn’t been enough for five weaned lambs and two adults, and so her parents faced the daunting prospect of hunting.

Her father was the first to go, then her mother, and then- then when she realized they would all die, unless somebody did something- then she refused to go. Hunting was suicide. Besides, she didn’t even know how to hunt. Still, somebody had to raise her four sisters, so it would be her.

She had to feed them. That wasn’t easy, but it was doable. With tiny hooves, she freed lichen from under frozen surfaces, breaking through crusts of rime to get at the sparse vegetation below. Water was a bit easier. There were sheltering in a cave, and drips of water had frozen into icicles. They could knock these down and lick them for hydration. But children need more than food and water. They need love, and she had so much of that to give. She couldn’t let them give up. She couldn’t let them surrender. They would NOT go gently into that good night, not if she could help it. She was the first to be born, first to open her eyes. Her parents were not there. She would have to step up.

When her parents’ bodies were found after the winter’s winds had stopped, it was assumed the clutch was dead as well. But much to the surprise of the neighboring families, this was not the case. The clutch had certainly changed, though. They’d gone from five sisters to four sisters and one fearless Sister-Mother.

[Scaramouche Fandango]

Her naming dream was a taste; crunchy fresh apples, the juice oozing out as your teeth pierced the skin. Grapes bursting in your mouth, the raw earth taste of a turnip. The darkness and sweetness of a beet, the crisp, cool snap of a cucumber. Each one was an offering, a two-way sacrifice. The earth gives, and you tend the earth. The cycle continues, over and over, until the garden is lush and your family is fed. But as she sleeps, the memories return unbidden. The gentle softness of a fuzzy peach; the silky tartness of sour cherries. Each one a beautifully simple gift, given freely and with love.

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