presents!!

[khaarven]

So... I made tables for some people! :3 I didn't get to everyone on the site, so it's mostly just the people I've talked to lately. There's still one or two more that I want to make, like one for Nyroc and Cheetah, but I can only make so many tables before getting frustrated.

And, they're all blue/gray/ish. That was an accident, I swear. D: Those colors just happened to be in the pictures and worked out. I'm also not happy with any of them except for Volt's, but... Oh well. I'll redo them later when boredom strikes again. x3

Anyway, here ya go. Free tables. x3 Quote this post to get the codes, or you can ask and I'll make them easier to get. I was too lazy to remove the sample post. Also, change whatever you want with them, like the fonts and colors if you'd like!

For Switch:

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=d3d7d7] Once you have fed yourself, you must feed the pack. The quiet statement came to her out of the blue as she stared down into the muddy bed of the meandering brook. She remembered the look in her father’s yellow eyes—proud as always, slightly admonishing, and definitely teasing. She had been smaller then, and it had been before the sickness had struck her homeland. Had it been her that he was addressing, or her lazy but resourceful sister? Someone had given up hunting after pouncing on their first squirrel or rabbit of the day. Her mouth opened slowly, her forelegs bending as she edged slowly toward the water. A long-whiskered, smooth fish drifted underneath her. Another motto slipped into her mind as swiftly as the startled prey below her. You must feed the pack before you feed yourself. As she scooped the catfish from the water, Khaarven remembered her meeting with the loner here the other day. She hadn’t been much of a wolf to serve the pack, not when she was so new to it. Already, though, she had her duty as a Fisher and her Zeta rank, which amounted to her being a “full-fledged” member. Loyalty would come later, she supposed, after she actually got to know the wolves she would be helping to support. A wind blew in from the west, and with it the scent of a male wolf. She almost expected to see a flash of white fur as she loped steadily in that direction, but Volt Splitpaw did not appear once she had emerged from a clump of vegetation. Instead, she found herself facing a slightly younger wolf with beautifully colored fur and interestingly rounded ears. She found her pale eyes drawn to them before she looked at the rest of the wolf more closely. “Hello,” Khaarven said after she’d dropped her catfish. Her tone was relatively flat, but her inclined head and relaxed posture was far from impolite. “You’re with the Nomads, too, aren’t you?” She sniffed the air again to be sure and found herself drawn to the smell of trout. She raised a brow at the bones, and then her lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Another Fisher?

For Luna:

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=ecf3f4] Once you have fed yourself, you must feed the pack. The quiet statement came to her out of the blue as she stared down into the muddy bed of the meandering brook. She remembered the look in her father’s yellow eyes—proud as always, slightly admonishing, and definitely teasing. She had been smaller then, and it had been before the sickness had struck her homeland. Had it been her that he was addressing, or her lazy but resourceful sister? Someone had given up hunting after pouncing on their first squirrel or rabbit of the day. Her mouth opened slowly, her forelegs bending as she edged slowly toward the water. A long-whiskered, smooth fish drifted underneath her. Another motto slipped into her mind as swiftly as the startled prey below her. You must feed the pack before you feed yourself. As she scooped the catfish from the water, Khaarven remembered her meeting with the loner here the other day. She hadn’t been much of a wolf to serve the pack, not when she was so new to it. Already, though, she had her duty as a Fisher and her Zeta rank, which amounted to her being a “full-fledged” member. Loyalty would come later, she supposed, after she actually got to know the wolves she would be helping to support. A wind blew in from the west, and with it the scent of a male wolf. She almost expected to see a flash of white fur as she loped steadily in that direction, but Volt Splitpaw did not appear once she had emerged from a clump of vegetation. Instead, she found herself facing a slightly younger wolf with beautifully colored fur and interestingly rounded ears. She found her pale eyes drawn to them before she looked at the rest of the wolf more closely. “Hello,” Khaarven said after she’d dropped her catfish. Her tone was relatively flat, but her inclined head and relaxed posture was far from impolite. “You’re with the Nomads, too, aren’t you?” She sniffed the air again to be sure and found herself drawn to the smell of trout. She raised a brow at the bones, and then her lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Another Fisher?

For Velocity:

[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=d8dcdf] Once you have fed yourself, you must feed the pack. The quiet statement came to her out of the blue as she stared down into the muddy bed of the meandering brook. She remembered the look in her father’s yellow eyes—proud as always, slightly admonishing, and definitely teasing. She had been smaller then, and it had been before the sickness had struck her homeland. Had it been her that he was addressing, or her lazy but resourceful sister? Someone had given up hunting after pouncing on their first squirrel or rabbit of the day. Her mouth opened slowly, her forelegs bending as she edged slowly toward the water. A long-whiskered, smooth fish drifted underneath her. Another motto slipped into her mind as swiftly as the startled prey below her. You must feed the pack before you feed yourself. As she scooped the catfish from the water, Khaarven remembered her meeting with the loner here the other day. She hadn’t been much of a wolf to serve the pack, not when she was so new to it. Already, though, she had her duty as a Fisher and her Zeta rank, which amounted to her being a “full-fledged” member. Loyalty would come later, she supposed, after she actually got to know the wolves she would be helping to support. A wind blew in from the west, and with it the scent of a male wolf. She almost expected to see a flash of white fur as she loped steadily in that direction, but Volt Splitpaw did not appear once she had emerged from a clump of vegetation. Instead, she found herself facing a slightly younger wolf with beautifully colored fur and interestingly rounded ears. She found her pale eyes drawn to them before she looked at the rest of the wolf more closely. “Hello,” Khaarven said after she’d dropped her catfish. Her tone was relatively flat, but her inclined head and relaxed posture was far from impolite. “You’re with the Nomads, too, aren’t you?” She sniffed the air again to be sure and found herself drawn to the smell of trout. She raised a brow at the bones, and then her lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Another Fisher?

For Talon:

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][bg=435f8b] Once you have fed yourself, you must feed the pack. The quiet statement came to her out of the blue as she stared down into the muddy bed of the meandering brook. She remembered the look in her father’s yellow eyes—proud as always, slightly admonishing, and definitely teasing. She had been smaller then, and it had been before the sickness had struck her homeland. Had it been her that he was addressing, or her lazy but resourceful sister? Someone had given up hunting after pouncing on their first squirrel or rabbit of the day. Her mouth opened slowly, her forelegs bending as she edged slowly toward the water. A long-whiskered, smooth fish drifted underneath her. Another motto slipped into her mind as swiftly as the startled prey below her. You must feed the pack before you feed yourself. As she scooped the catfish from the water, Khaarven remembered her meeting with the loner here the other day. She hadn’t been much of a wolf to serve the pack, not when she was so new to it. Already, though, she had her duty as a Fisher and her Zeta rank, which amounted to her being a “full-fledged” member. Loyalty would come later, she supposed, after she actually got to know the wolves she would be helping to support. A wind blew in from the west, and with it the scent of a male wolf. She almost expected to see a flash of white fur as she loped steadily in that direction, but Volt Splitpaw did not appear once she had emerged from a clump of vegetation. Instead, she found herself facing a slightly younger wolf with beautifully colored fur and interestingly rounded ears. She found her pale eyes drawn to them before she looked at the rest of the wolf more closely. “Hello,” Khaarven said after she’d dropped her catfish. Her tone was relatively flat, but her inclined head and relaxed posture was far from impolite. “You’re with the Nomads, too, aren’t you?” She sniffed the air again to be sure and found herself drawn to the smell of trout. She raised a brow at the bones, and then her lips twitched in what might have been a smile. Another Fisher?