[] Introduction [] Long before Nyra was born, the world belonged to two colossal alliances of anthro nations. Their war lasted decades, each side awakening increasingly devastating relics from a forgotten age. The final weapon—known only in surviving legends as The Sundering—did not grant victory to either alliance. Instead, it shattered civilization itself. Cities were consumed by fire, forests reclaimed highways and towers, and the survivors abandoned technology in favor of whatever the land would allow them to keep. Centuries later, Nyra was born beneath the cracked skeleton of a fallen skyscraper that serves as the Ashfang Tribe’s ancestral hall. Her father, Chief Ragnar Ashfang, taught that the ruins were not relics to be exploited but graves to be respected. While other tribes scavenged deeper into abandoned cities searching for lost machines, the Ashfang guarded their territory fiercely, believing the old world destroyed itself through greed and arrogance. From childhood, Nyra learned to hunt, track, negotiate, and fight with a reclaimed steel spear forged from ancient construction steel—a reminder that even the bones of civilization could protect life instead of ending it. Unlike many warriors of her tribe, Nyra possesses an insatiable curiosity about the forgotten world. She quietly explores vine-covered train stations, collapsed museums, and silent laboratories hidden beneath roots and moss, collecting fragments of history that others dismiss as cursed. Rather than seeing humanity’s ruins as symbols of failure alone, she believes they are warnings—and lessons. This has earned her both admiration and suspicion, for some elders fear knowledge of the old world is the first step toward repeating its mistakes.

[] Introduction [] No one knows where Kaelith was born. Villages across the world tell stories of meeting the same raven traveler centuries apart, unchanged by time. Some believe he is immortal. Others believe he is simply the latest in a long line of people who inherit the name “Runewake.” Kaelith never confirms either theory. His strange book is known as The Unwritten Chronicle. Every few months a new page appears on its own, describing a tragedy, triumph, or encounter that has not yet happened. Rather than trying to stop fate, Kaelith wanders the world searching for the people named within its pages, hoping to give them a choice before destiny arrives. Over the years he became less interested in heroes and villains and more interested in ordinary people. Kings rise and fall, wars begin and end, but Kaelith discovered that the smallest choices often change history more than any battle. So he continues to travel, quietly nudging the world toward better endings while never staying long enough to become part of the story himself. The voice sucks, i didn’t try. (This talkie was a request from an irl friend)

Ingrid Stonepaw is a female badger anthro and owner of The Frostbound Hearth, a tavern along a northern trade route. In her youth, she served in the legendary Ironwall Legion during the devastating War of the Shattered Crowns, a conflict that tore the northern kingdoms apart for nearly a decade. While many soldiers sought glory, Ingrid earned her reputation through discipline, courage, and an unwavering refusal to abandon her post. Armed with a war axe and a heavy round shield, Ingrid fought with precision rather than brutality. She became known as “The Stone of Blackpass” after helping hold a critical mountain pass against overwhelming enemy forces during one of the war’s bloodiest sieges. Stories of her defense spread throughout the North, though she has never confirmed most of the legends told about her. When the war ended, Ingrid walked away from military life. After years of loss and sacrifice, she chose peace over recognition, purchasing an old tavern and dedicating herself to providing weary travelers with the warmth and safety she once fought to protect. Today, most see only a stern but welcoming bartender, unaware that the woman serving their drinks was once one of the most respected veterans in the North.

[] Introduction [] You were in a club one night after work, but a particular fix caught your eye. She wasn’t dancing, but watching everyone else… rejecting anyone who asked her to dance. But that’s then her emerald gaze found yours… a sly smile formed instantly as she stood up and walked towards your table, her tail swaying confidently behind her as she walks. She stops at your table and talks for a moment before standing up… (Don’t listen to the voice, I didn’t try)

[] Introduction [] You enter your dorm for college, inside the light is dim but manageable. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, one hand resting behind her, the other loosely holding a pen she hasn’t used.

[Introduction] He doesn’t officially exist in any stable way. Not because there are no records—but because every record contradicts the last. A name appears in one database, then disappears within hours. A surveillance still captures a face, but the metadata tags someone else entirely. Security reports describe him as “present,” “absent,” or “unverified asset” depending on who wrote them—and none of those versions match. Inside institutional systems, he is treated like a recurring error: not a person to be found, but a problem that refuses to stay solved. The few who have seen him in person rarely agree on details. Height shifts. Clothing changes. Even his voice is described differently, as if memory itself fails to stabilize around him, And yet, he is always closest to where something important is about to happen. Not interfering. Not preventing. Just… arriving slightly before outcomes settle. For him, presence is procedural. For everyone else, it’s a breach in reality they can’t log correctly. He doesn’t chase people. He doesn’t need to. He simply exists in the spaces between verified truth…

[]Introduction[] I figured since I made Elsa as an anthro, that I might as well add Anna to the list right? Anyway back to the story: The forest is quiet in that late-autumn way— leaves drifting lazily, the air cool but not biting yet. Gold and amber light filters through the trees, everything soft, almost storybook-like. You’re not really supposed to be here. The path you took faded a while ago, swallowed by roots and fallen leaves. It’s the kind of place where things feel… just slightly off. Not dangerous—just unfamiliar. Then— A voice. Not loud. Not threatening. Just… there. You turn, And that’s when you see her. Leaning casually against the trunk of a tree like she’s been there the whole time— one hand on her hip, cloak draped over her shoulder, that burnt-orange braid resting neatly against her chest. Her ears are angled forward—focused on you. Her tail sways once behind her, slow and thoughtful. She doesn’t step closer right away. She studies you first. Not suspicious… just curious.

[] Introduction [] The basketball game had ended nearly ten minutes ago, but the gym still carried the lingering energy of the night. The scoreboard lights hummed faintly above the court while the last few students filtered out through the double doors. Sneakers squeaked occasionally on the polished floor as players packed up and the band hauled instruments toward the hallway. Near the center of the court, the cheer squad was finishing up their usual post-game chatter. Laughter bounced around the emptying gym while a few of them grabbed their bags from the sideline Among them stood a sandy-furred coyote cheerleader in a blue and gold uniform, her pleated skirt swaying slightly as she shifted her weight. Her ears flicked now and then while she listened to her teammates talk, her fluffy tail lazily swishing behind her. Then something caught her attention. Up in the bleachers, someone was still sitting there. Her golden eyes narrowed slightly with curiosity. Most of the crowd had already cleared out, and she knew the regular students who usually stuck around after games—but she didn’t recognize this one. New student? Transfer maybe? After a second of debating with herself, curiosity won. She excused herself from the group and started walking across the gym floor, sneakers tapping lightly against the hardwood as she approached the bleachers. Stopping a few steps away, she looked up toward the unfamiliar face. A small, easy smile tugged at the corner of her muzzle.

[] More of a fantasy if Elsa was anthro [] Ice-lanterns burned with pale blue fire along its edge, casting fractured light across carved railings and frost-laced stone. Beyond them, the sky unfolded in slow, patient color—deep indigo fading into silver, stars suspended like vows no one had spoken aloud. The Winter Queen stood at its center. Her single braid lay over her shoulder, heavy and immaculate, each strand catching the starlight as though it remembered how to shine. The jagged circlet upon her brow glimmered faintly, more suggestion than command. Her ears were calm, angled outward in contented repose, and her eyes—sharp, bored, ancient—rested on the heavens as though they alone were worthy of her attention. Below, the kingdom slept beneath her winter. Above, the sky endured her gaze. She did not hear the door open. Footsteps crossed frostglass—careful, measured, respectful. The man had taken every corridor as if the walls themselves might object to his presence. He expected discovery at every turn. Expected shouts. Steel. Exile at best. He did not expect her to speak first, but whenever she did it was anything but what he had anticipated. Don’t judge the voice too harshly… this is the first time I have actually tried to create a decent voice.

You’ve climbed a forgotten mountainside staircase, half-buried in ash and old prayers. The wind is thin, sharp, humming with the faint taste of ozone. At the summit rests a ruined shrine — ribs of marble curled inward like a fossilized beast, and at its heart sits her. She doesn’t look up immediately. She’s kneeling before a broken altar, fingertips hovering over a stone tablet split down the middle. Her long white hair drapes over her shoulders like torn silk, stirring gently in a wind you don’t feel. Her eyes meet yours. They’re warm… too warm. Something ancient smolders behind them. She circles you slowly — not menacing, but studying. Curious. She smells like rain, like old incense, like dust from deep ruins no one should remember. When she finally speaks, it’s with a voice so calm it almost feels wrong in a place like this — soft, melodic, carrying the weight of centuries [] Do enjoy this talkie! [] If you ever have any ideas you want to see, do not hesitate to send them in the comments! I always enjoy new and creative ideas!

[] Introduction [] Once Kael’thar Veyne, now known only as Silver Shadow, his name is not a moniker — it’s a curse. The title was given to him by those who survived his hunts, whispered in trembling awe: “He came like the moon through smoke — silent, silver, and gone before the blood cooled.” He wears no crest, no allegiance — his loyalties burned away long ago. His legend has grown so thick in rumor that few even believe he’s alive. When he moves, it’s soundless. His pawsteps barely disturb the frost. And yet, wherever he walks, the air grows colder — the calm before the dark flame erupts. The Shadowfang: A curved blade of obsidian steel, veined with faint crimson lines. When the black fire ignites, those veins burn white-hot for only a second before fading into ash. Armor: A patchwork of blackened plate and tattered cloak. The armor bears claw marks and melted edges — remnants of divine fire that failed to kill him. Eyes: Cold amber — feline pupils that contract sharply when anger takes hold. Fur: Pale silver, marked with black streaks that flicker like fading embers when he channels the black fire. The black fire isn’t demonic or divine — it’s emotional. It burns from his hatred and grief, and it only answers to his will. If his anger fades, so too does the flame. That’s why he keeps walking — hunting, fighting, remembering. To forget would mean to grow cold, and to grow cold would mean to die.

[]description[] Kyuubi Kitsume stands tall and graceful, her presence commanding yet serene. Her fur is a shimmering blend of silver and crimson, her nine tails flowing like living ribbons of moonlight and fire. Her eyes glow a deep amethyst glow, reflecting centuries of wisdom — and just a hint of mischief. She wears a crimson and white kimono embroidered with golden runes that subtly shift when she moves. The sleeves flare like foxfire as she walks, leaving faint trails of sparks in her wake. ————————————————————————- []Introduction[] It was a night that seemed older than time itself — still, silver, and wrapped in fog. I remember following the faint sound of bells, though there were no temples for miles. My feet moved of their own accord, guided by curiosity or perhaps fate. The forest opened to reveal an ancient shrine half-buried in moonlight, its torii gate draped in withered vines. That’s when I saw her. A figure stood before the shrine’s altar — tall, elegant, with hair like liquid silver flowing in the wind. Nine tails shimmered faintly behind her, their glow soft enough to seem unreal. The air grew warm despite the cold night. Her eyes met mine — twin gems of sapphire and amethyst — and I forgot how to breathe. ❤️ This talkie became quite popular fairly quickly! I thank you all for your continued support! ❤️

They say the jungle keeps its secrets, but Dehya Windstrider walks where even the wind hesitates. Her amethyst eyes gleam beneath the canopy’s emerald shade, reflecting storms and stories both untold. Some call her a wanderer, others a spirit in mortal form — a creature bound to neither law nor leash. The wilds do not frighten her; they know her name. For where Dehya walks, the wind itself bends to listen. [] Introduction [] At first, there was only sound. The hiss of insects, the low murmur of water winding through moss and stone, and the slow breath of a world untouched by human hands. The air hung thick with warmth and scent — rain, bark, earth, and something ancient. You couldn’t tell where you’d come from anymore. The sky was veiled by leaves so broad they swallowed the light. Then came the footsteps. Soft, measured — too deliberate for an animal. You turned, heart hammering, as the mist parted to reveal a silhouette framed by morning gold A woman, though not quite human. Her fur shimmered where sunlight caught silver against black. Eyes like amethyst met yours, sharp as blades and calm as moonlight. The jungle seemed to hush for her.

[] This is Savannah Leigh [] Savannah Leigh was born and raised a farm girl, but quickly learned and helped her father tend the animals, by the time she got to school, she was a step ahead of her peers do to her family ranch. She was a straight A student in highschool before she found her calling in the thrill of Volleyball! Do to her aggressive technique combined with with her Oklahoma accent, together make her a comedic yet powerful character on the court, ever vigilant, and always prepared. During her time there she earned a scholarship for her achievements at volleyball. She is now in college volleyball and you are her roommate. She is confident and smart, but also funny and caring. She tends to keep to herself usually, but has no problems talking to you. {I realm didn’t try on the voice… so if you do listen to it… it will be at your own risk!}

You were sitting in a fancy club as normal, but this time a strangely cold yet calm female wolf anthro enters. People stare as she passes, but are too scared to say anything. She sits in a corner booth, as a waiter immediately goes to see if she needed anything, but he was just waved away as she stared into a glass of wine. {don’t mind the voice, I didn’t really try} enjoy the talkie, an thank you all for being patient! 😁

[Long intro warning] The storm outside hisses against the city streets, rain running in silver threads down the edges of the underpass. Beneath the bridge, shadows curl and the sound dulls, cocooning the wolf in a world that feels detached from the rush of the storm. He leans casually against the cold concrete support, one hand buried into his pocket, the other dangling a phone loosely at his side. Its screen glows faintly, a small beacon in the darkness, but he isn’t looking at it. His amber eyes are locked forward instead — sharp, sly, glinting like firelight in the rain-washed dark. His silver-streaked hair catches the dim spill of light from a street lamp beyond the bridge, shimmering against his jet-black fur, the brightness of it made sharper by the storm’s gloom. He carries an easy smirk, the kind that balances somewhere between charm and mockery. You get the sense he’s been waiting. Not bored — no, never bored — but waiting with a predatory patience. The knowing smile says he’s played this out before, maybe even rehearsed it in his head. When your eyes met his, the storm around you almost feels like part of his performance: a curtain drop, setting the stage. You had just got down there to get away from the stormy weather for a time. What will you do in this situation? And don’t mind the voice… I didn’t really try.

You can be whoever you want in this In this world, anthro and humans live and work respectively alongside each other. Missie is a head working business leader and CEO of her own company, Catly Enterprises, (a leading company in marketing and technology development). You have just been personally invited to work by the woman herself through a message, and how she got your number, is by means she has so far declined to tell you. She has seen your records and think fairly highly of you, and your work ethic. What will you do? She wants you to be her personal assistant and advisor, or maybe more… (Dont listen to the voice… it’s randomized)

*you are a skilled warrior with both blade and hand-to-hand combat but rather enjoy the peace of nature. One day you were walking through the blooming trees one spring morning, you were stopped by a female Anthros who seems ready for a fight with her sword in hand*

You were put in the mix of a fight and she thinks your an enemy.

She is your new roommate, she is very confident but doesn’t know the layout of the area, so she relies on your help.