Gglidden helped me consider adding two more varieties of rock hounds into the event - orange and purple varieties. I think I've decided on powers, but I wanted to get a vote on the amount of them available.

I'm trying to decide whether they'd be rarer varieties (10 to 15), or if there should be just as many of them as the other kinds (25). The thought about them being rarer is that maybe they're the alpha wolves of the Sonoma Tribe, so they're much more efficient hunters than the ones that have been fought. But at the same time, I want there to be enough for people who want to fight them to get the opportunity. I'm afraid that if I set the numbers too low that they'll be swept up really quickly though.

Here's my decision on varieties:

Purple rock hounds are able to cloak themselves to their surroundings. While not impossible to see in this form, they are very difficult to fight against, often landing critical bites and wounds on their opponent while they cannot seem to find them. The invisibility requires deep concentration, so anything that startles them will reveal them.

Orange rock hounds have more potent infection that infects rapidly when they bite into their prey. It has a higher success rate of 'zombifying' or stunning those it fights, giving the perfect opportunity for it to rip out their throat or gut them open. In addition, they can 'spit' their infection from long range.

Decided - there will be 15 of each variety, but they are extremely difficult to fight so please take note of that if you decide to fight one. I expect to see them cause much deeper wounds

Owl's life-tales.

Story 1 complete.

Another idea I had for days I want to write but don't know what to write about. It's really quite simple:

Just tell me a landscape, any landscape you'd like, and I'll do my best to write about it in detail to where you feel like you're actually there. Here's an example of my writings like this, though it won't be quite as long, maybe a few paragraphs. Please only one per person so everyone gets a chance to request one. In the event that this isn't an extremely popular idea, then I'll accept multiple requests from one person, but for now, only one per person please.

You can include any details you'd like as well and I'll try to include them in. For example, you can include a season, a time of day, a particular animal or something you'd like to appear in the story, ect. But please, not too many.

If you can't really think of anything right off hand, show me a picture of a place you'd like me to write about instead!

And please be patient with me as I am technically supposed to be taking a break from the Comm site

So anyone interested? There are no slots or limits, just request what you'd like and I'll see what I can do.

To-Do List -
One of Ocean's deer in a Redwood Forest

[=10]An alternate take on the basis of a previous story, re-written for an English essay.



When the dreams break, his eyes open, seeing strips of pale, cold sunlight cut through the air from the East. It's strange, seeing the sunrise when he wakes up. His old window saw only the Western lights; the glory of sunset and the ashen dark that follows it. He prefers the sunset, for the most part. In the night, there is solace. When it finally rains and the droplets create tiny shimmering pictures against the velvet dark, he can let himself think. He can dream up all sorts of things to push real life away. Child-like. Sometimes the whole world speaks to him, and he doesn't understand, but there are many things he doesn't understand these days and he wants to go back to that beautiful lack of responsibility, the years where he wasn't expected to care about anything. Is this what growing up feels like? If it is, he doesn't like it at all. Not one bit.

He unintentionally focuses on the pounding feeling that nestles in the middle of his skull, beating the waking brain, trying to force it to surrender to the illusionary comfort of sleep once more. But he's given in three times throughout the night and early morning, and he is not prepared to do it again, so he rises, sighing in dismay at the cold that has clogged his nose and head, for it refuses to go. It is either the third or fourth day of the bug's torture - he can't remember, but he just wants it to go away and let him get better. Maybe it's the new house. Maybe it carries little pockets of bad air like Mother used to talk about, and he breathed it in and got sick.

When he slips past the metal rungs of the ladders that lead up to the attic, unnoticed, his eyes fall upon another bedroom door. Not his own, no, but his mother's. Immediately, he is reminded of a time where his father would sleep in there, too - but back then, the door was a deep, furnished brown.