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Description
Lookie lookie, finally got around to drawing me up some reference sheets, even though it took me nearly a year to finish all of them at the glacial pace at which I made them, but dag-flabbity dangit here they are. This one at least. I'll be uploading the others every other day across the next two weeks approximately. Starting with yers truly, followed by the Emovere characters. And now, onto the deets~

What's your name? Dakota Lesnutt

What are ya? Desert Cottontail

Where are you from? Wheee, Funderland

Are you a boy or a girl? A strapping young man, thank you~

How old are you? Depends on what part of the story I'm talking from~

What's your favorite color? Light leafy green. Look at the green color I use for trees all the time.

What's your favorite instrument? Didgeridoo

How about your favorite food? Indian curries

Gotta favorite type of flavor? Sour~

How do people describe you? Quirky, derpy, and sweet. Literally there words, not mine. XP

Who do you sound like? Like a dork. I'm not really compared to famous people, not my voice at least.

What kinda hobbies do ya have? Drawing, building things... I like to make stuff and travel a lot!

And special powers or abilities to share? I can Divide into my very own Emovere, the sentient avatars of my own psyche! And I'm not half-bad in a fist-fight, if I may say.

How are ya in a fight? Like I said, not half bad. Pretty decent even, if I may be so bold. But I have a tendency to be a bit squeamish. I hate the thought of breaking bones and frankly I don't like hurting people usually. I'm pretty good at talking my way around things.

Tell us a grand ol' story about you, Dakota. In the third-person, if ya will. Dakota, a young jackalope, was born in the tropical island-town of Wheee off the east coast of Funderland. Growing up, he had just about everything a person could reasonably ask for. A loving mother and stepfather, a cozy town with all the comforts in reach. Food stands, markets, entertainment shops, theater, you name it. His life was easy growing up. But sometimes, stability isn't fulfilling. Comfort isn't always the destination. What beauty is in a destination without a journey? At the ripe old age of twelve, his wanderlust finally got the better of him, and he snuck off one night in search of an aimless adventure. A cocky lil' kid as he was, he stole a Funderclap-Cannon token and set off on his way to the capital city of the country, Silly. Unfortunately, he didn't know a thing about the cannon transit system, much less accurate aiming, and accidentally overshot himself by like a million miles, and landed not in his own country, but just outside a little podunk redneck town. Backwater, Tennessee. He made it all the way to America in that one cocky blunder. Not long after arriving there, the old sheriff of the town, Mordecai Graham, took the young bun under his wing since he had nowhere to go, and cuz his wife kinda made him. It took Dakota a while to get back to Funderland again. Two years in fact, since exports are a tricky thing to get in and out of Funderland, and thus the cannon token that would work in a less magical land took some time to get to America. Being in a floating non-stationary portal in the sea, of course. But getting mail to his family proved plausible, and once his mom calmed her knockers, he found work in Backwater as the sheriff's deputy after he visited back home. Life in a wild-west feeling town in another country was just the stimulation he needed right then, and Funderful parents are not too difficult to talk down from a cautious place.

Skip ahead a bit to when he was 14 and some months, he heard some ruckus one night at the town's saloon. The moonshine was a fair bit strong as of late, and some tomfoolery broke out. Without going into too much detail, the cocky young man went right in there to break it up. Unfortunately for him though, this chapter ended with him being stalked all the way back to his little shack by the woods by the ruffians he'd gone and picked the wrong fight with. He was but a boy. A bunny boy with antlers atop his head. A jackalope they thought. The mythical horns could fetch a pretty penny on the low black, they thought. They were too drunk to realize they were nearly indistinguishable from deer's antlers though, and on that night, not only did Dakota lose two of his teeth in a brawl, but also his antlers to the crooks he'd engaged. As it turned out, fighting is hard. And that next day, sheriff Mordecai set the young rabbit on a rigorous training course to learn to fight and think on his feet. Mordecai was old, but still twice the man of many youngsters, and with deep Krav skills to prove it. He wasn't allowed to take on anything more than clerical duties until he could learn to anticipate and repel Mordecai's various surprise assaults, quizzes, and pranks. That was a good two years of grunt duty and getting owned by an old fart. But sure enough, Mordecai made a man out of him in time. Sorta. One thing that never rubbed off on him under the sheriff's tutelage was satisfaction with stability. His wanderlust only ever grew.

Skip ahead a bit more, I can feel your attention span waning. At sixteen, a cliche hooded feller in an eccentric gown wandered into town, and while Dakota was blundering his way through a misguided flirtation with a saloon waitress he'd had a crush on, he couldn't help but find himself drawn to the eye contact of the stranger, and went to go talk to him. Mostly about his fashion sense, as he hadn't seen such flamboyant style since the last time he'd visited his family in Funderland months prior. This lead to a quick friendship, and soon thereafter, he'd followed the path of the underdog heroes in his favorite comic books before him, and wordlessly abandoned his personal responsibilities and legal obligations to follow the odd fellow he barely knew. In retrospect, that was kind of a poopy thing to do to the people I cared for. But anyway, on his travels with the fellow, he met up with several of his compadres along the way and the little band of two became a band of eight. Eventually, once the chatterbox of the crew was rejoined with the gentlemen, Dakota learned of something called the Emovere. He'd only heard of them in passing from magic studies in school, but few details were given in those introductory lectures. These men he'd been travelling with, they were Emovere. Living, breathing incarnations of one man's fragmented psyche. Upon making preparations to go back to Funderland, they bid their bunny companion farewell and gave him some trinkets as thanks. But before heading back home, they had to do one thing first. There was only one token, and seven of them. What Dakota saw next nearly made him pee himself with excitement. The seven men joined together and became one in a swirling torrent of magic and awesome. What came after that made Dakota finish the deed. The man formed from the seven let out a shattering wail, that of a man whose mind had shattered just then. He didn't know what had gone so wrong, but the titan of a man, a rabbit just like him but well over seven feet tall had gone ballistic and began to attack Dakota with a ferocity he'd seen only in films. He nearly lost his life that day, and surely would have if the man hadn't clearly been reeling in agony from his mind tearing itself apart right after it had reformed. In a moment of distraction, Dakota took the cannon token and launched himself back into Funderland, leaving behind the mad giant in America.

I realize this all sounds campy and poorly thought out. Please believe me, the details make it a lot more engaging, but in the interest of time, that was the abridged version of what led me to my studies of, and ultimately the awakening of my own Emovere. Through nearly losing my life to the beast of a man, I became enamored with the prospect of living multiple lives through different facets of my own being. That's the rundown of it all, and the little origin of how I got my powers of Emovere Division.

Is it finally over? Greeeeat story! Now, how about some more juicy tidbits, hm?

What's your favorite genre? Adventure-Comedy, of course~

What is your greatest strength? Probably my sense of ambition, it keeps me moving when I would otherwise give right up.

How about your greatest weakness? Most likely my self-esteem. I'm often crippled by a low opinion of myself. I'm also a big fraidy-bun much of the time, and have a way of sabotaging my own fun in favor of fear. And sometimes self-loathing, I'll admit.

Where are you ticklish at? Everywhere really~ My ears, pits, and toes especially though!

What are some of your favorite things? I love art, traveling, experiencing new things, and trying to live a full life that I won't regret. The only life I see myself regretting is a life not lived.

What do you live for? I don't live to survive. I survive to live. A life merely survived is not a life lived. I live to make sure each life is complete, to realize my hopes and dreams, that I would not see my life incomplete when it comes time to move onto the next one.

What do you hate the most? I hate closed-mindedness. A closed mind lives in its own prison, and doesn't truly live. It merely exists. This both frustrates me to no end as well as fills me with a great pity for those small minded folk.

Have any phobias? Feral bees, needles, huge feral bugs in general, darkness, and people with really thick accents. At first, at least. And large crowds, those make me uneasy at worst though.

What's your dream job? I'd like to illustrate and author my own comic book, believe it or else.

Favorite cheese! Smoked gouda!

Boxers or briefs? Briefs. Boxers are too loose and feel weird on mah nethers.

C'mon, you know your people. Tell us what gets ya going~ Weeelllll, if ya really wanna know, tickle play is a major part of Funderlander culture, and a big factor for my more intimate side. I love feet too. Particularly fresh from the oven and fragrant. Bondage sure doesn't hurt anything either. And I love mixing itching powder into torture time, too. I'm much more of a tickler personally, but I'm sure not opposed to being a ticklee. Just gotta hold me down reeeeal good though, cuz I'm a very squirmy boy.

Description
Lookie lookie, finally got around to drawing me up some reference sheets, even though it took me nearly a year to finish all of them at the glacial pace at which I made them, but dag-flabbity dangit here they are. This one at least. I'll be uploading the others every other day across the next two weeks approximately. Starting with yers truly, followed by the Emovere characters. And now, onto the deets~

What's your name? Dakota Lesnutt

What are ya? Desert Cottontail

Where are you from? Wheee, Funderland

Are you a boy or a girl? A strapping young man, thank you~

How old are you? Depends on what part of the story I'm talking from~

What's your favorite color? Light leafy green. Look at the green color I use for trees all the time.

What's your favorite instrument? Didgeridoo

How about your favorite food? Indian curries

Gotta favorite type of flavor? Sour~

How do people describe you? Quirky, derpy, and sweet. Literally there words, not mine. XP

Who do you sound like? Like a dork. I'm not really compared to famous people, not my voice at least.

What kinda hobbies do ya have? Drawing, building things... I like to make stuff and travel a lot!

And special powers or abilities to share? I can Divide into my very own Emovere, the sentient avatars of my own psyche! And I'm not half-bad in a fist-fight, if I may say.

How are ya in a fight? Like I said, not half bad. Pretty decent even, if I may be so bold. But I have a tendency to be a bit squeamish. I hate the thought of breaking bones and frankly I don't like hurting people usually. I'm pretty good at talking my way around things.

Tell us a grand ol' story about you, Dakota. In the third-person, if ya will. Dakota, a young jackalope, was born in the tropical island-town of Wheee off the east coast of Funderland. Growing up, he had just about everything a person could reasonably ask for. A loving mother and stepfather, a cozy town with all the comforts in reach. Food stands, markets, entertainment shops, theater, you name it. His life was easy growing up. But sometimes, stability isn't fulfilling. Comfort isn't always the destination. What beauty is in a destination without a journey? At the ripe old age of twelve, his wanderlust finally got the better of him, and he snuck off one night in search of an aimless adventure. A cocky lil' kid as he was, he stole a Funderclap-Cannon token and set off on his way to the capital city of the country, Silly. Unfortunately, he didn't know a thing about the cannon transit system, much less accurate aiming, and accidentally overshot himself by like a million miles, and landed not in his own country, but just outside a little podunk redneck town. Backwater, Tennessee. He made it all the way to America in that one cocky blunder. Not long after arriving there, the old sheriff of the town, Mordecai Graham, took the young bun under his wing since he had nowhere to go, and cuz his wife kinda made him. It took Dakota a while to get back to Funderland again. Two years in fact, since exports are a tricky thing to get in and out of Funderland, and thus the cannon token that would work in a less magical land took some time to get to America. Being in a floating non-stationary portal in the sea, of course. But getting mail to his family proved plausible, and once his mom calmed her knockers, he found work in Backwater as the sheriff's deputy after he visited back home. Life in a wild-west feeling town in another country was just the stimulation he needed right then, and Funderful parents are not too difficult to talk down from a cautious place.

Skip ahead a bit to when he was 14 and some months, he heard some ruckus one night at the town's saloon. The moonshine was a fair bit strong as of late, and some tomfoolery broke out. Without going into too much detail, the cocky young man went right in there to break it up. Unfortunately for him though, this chapter ended with him being stalked all the way back to his little shack by the woods by the ruffians he'd gone and picked the wrong fight with. He was but a boy. A bunny boy with antlers atop his head. A jackalope they thought. The mythical horns could fetch a pretty penny on the low black, they thought. They were too drunk to realize they were nearly indistinguishable from deer's antlers though, and on that night, not only did Dakota lose two of his teeth in a brawl, but also his antlers to the crooks he'd engaged. As it turned out, fighting is hard. And that next day, sheriff Mordecai set the young rabbit on a rigorous training course to learn to fight and think on his feet. Mordecai was old, but still twice the man of many youngsters, and with deep Krav skills to prove it. He wasn't allowed to take on anything more than clerical duties until he could learn to anticipate and repel Mordecai's various surprise assaults, quizzes, and pranks. That was a good two years of grunt duty and getting owned by an old fart. But sure enough, Mordecai made a man out of him in time. Sorta. One thing that never rubbed off on him under the sheriff's tutelage was satisfaction with stability. His wanderlust only ever grew.

Skip ahead a bit more, I can feel your attention span waning. At sixteen, a cliche hooded feller in an eccentric gown wandered into town, and while Dakota was blundering his way through a misguided flirtation with a saloon waitress he'd had a crush on, he couldn't help but find himself drawn to the eye contact of the stranger, and went to go talk to him. Mostly about his fashion sense, as he hadn't seen such flamboyant style since the last time he'd visited his family in Funderland months prior. This lead to a quick friendship, and soon thereafter, he'd followed the path of the underdog heroes in his favorite comic books before him, and wordlessly abandoned his personal responsibilities and legal obligations to follow the odd fellow he barely knew. In retrospect, that was kind of a poopy thing to do to the people I cared for. But anyway, on his travels with the fellow, he met up with several of his compadres along the way and the little band of two became a band of eight. Eventually, once the chatterbox of the crew was rejoined with the gentlemen, Dakota learned of something called the Emovere. He'd only heard of them in passing from magic studies in school, but few details were given in those introductory lectures. These men he'd been travelling with, they were Emovere. Living, breathing incarnations of one man's fragmented psyche. Upon making preparations to go back to Funderland, they bid their bunny companion farewell and gave him some trinkets as thanks. But before heading back home, they had to do one thing first. There was only one token, and seven of them. What Dakota saw next nearly made him pee himself with excitement. The seven men joined together and became one in a swirling torrent of magic and awesome. What came after that made Dakota finish the deed. The man formed from the seven let out a shattering wail, that of a man whose mind had shattered just then. He didn't know what had gone so wrong, but the titan of a man, a rabbit just like him but well over seven feet tall had gone ballistic and began to attack Dakota with a ferocity he'd seen only in films. He nearly lost his life that day, and surely would have if the man hadn't clearly been reeling in agony from his mind tearing itself apart right after it had reformed. In a moment of distraction, Dakota took the cannon token and launched himself back into Funderland, leaving behind the mad giant in America.

I realize this all sounds campy and poorly thought out. Please believe me, the details make it a lot more engaging, but in the interest of time, that was the abridged version of what led me to my studies of, and ultimately the awakening of my own Emovere. Through nearly losing my life to the beast of a man, I became enamored with the prospect of living multiple lives through different facets of my own being. That's the rundown of it all, and the little origin of how I got my powers of Emovere Division.

Is it finally over? Greeeeat story! Now, how about some more juicy tidbits, hm?

What's your favorite genre? Adventure-Comedy, of course~

What is your greatest strength? Probably my sense of ambition, it keeps me moving when I would otherwise give right up.

How about your greatest weakness? Most likely my self-esteem. I'm often crippled by a low opinion of myself. I'm also a big fraidy-bun much of the time, and have a way of sabotaging my own fun in favor of fear. And sometimes self-loathing, I'll admit.

Where are you ticklish at? Everywhere really~ My ears, pits, and toes especially though!

What are some of your favorite things? I love art, traveling, experiencing new things, and trying to live a full life that I won't regret. The only life I see myself regretting is a life not lived.

What do you live for? I don't live to survive. I survive to live. A life merely survived is not a life lived. I live to make sure each life is complete, to realize my hopes and dreams, that I would not see my life incomplete when it comes time to move onto the next one.

What do you hate the most? I hate closed-mindedness. A closed mind lives in its own prison, and doesn't truly live. It merely exists. This both frustrates me to no end as well as fills me with a great pity for those small minded folk.

Have any phobias? Feral bees, needles, huge feral bugs in general, darkness, and people with really thick accents. At first, at least. And large crowds, those make me uneasy at worst though.

What's your dream job? I'd like to illustrate and author my own comic book, believe it or else.

Favorite cheese! Smoked gouda!

Boxers or briefs? Briefs. Boxers are too loose and feel weird on mah nethers.

C'mon, you know your people. Tell us what gets ya going~ Weeelllll, if ya really wanna know, tickle play is a major part of Funderlander culture, and a big factor for my more intimate side. I love feet too. Particularly fresh from the oven and fragrant. Bondage sure doesn't hurt anything either. And I love mixing itching powder into torture time, too. I'm much more of a tickler personally, but I'm sure not opposed to being a ticklee. Just gotta hold me down reeeeal good though, cuz I'm a very squirmy boy.