Cool as a Cucumber.
Going to try my luck with this neat little group. Ever since PKMNC closed down, I've been craving for some RPing.
Name: Munro McVey
Age: 66 (7th of January)
Ability: Clear Body: Prevents other Pokémon from lowering its stats.
Nature: Brave, Somewhat stubborn
Height/Weight: 153 cm; 215 kg
Hometown: Geosenge Town
Job: Flaming Bagpiper – Munro’s acts involve entertaining guests before the Circus opens doors for the main acts and between some of the main acts themselves. He owns a custom bagpipe with a small propane tank especially rigged to produce flames whenever he wishes. He’ll play some dandy melodies to the guests, and occasionally pull off some tricks and stunts of his own.
Munro was born in the Town of Geosenge, in the coast of the Kalos region. He belonged to clan McVey, one of the many clans of that area that shared a friendly rivalry (most of the time!) between each other. He was a true McVey, bearing the same surname as his forefathers and founders of the clan before him. Few members would be as passionate about the clan as he was, the result of true devotion and loyalty and a sense of responsibility for bearing the name of the clan itself.
His upbringing was shared by every member of the clan, and not only his parents and brothers. It was a tight knit family at the time, where tradition, loyalty and respect for fellow clan members was most prized, and clan meetings were held almost every week, sometimes even more frequently. Munro thrived in the midst of this environment and the clan members, and as he grew into a young man, his love for the clan only grew further. He’d do anything for his clan, and whatever was good for the sake of it, was good for him as well – even risking his own life. So much so, that he did not hesitate to enlist in the army with fellow clan members of the same age when war broke in Kalos, in order to protect their ways of life from a looming enemy threat. The war however, took its toll on clan McVey, for most of the young lads eager to prove themselves in the battlefield ended up dead or missing in action. Where once a mighty clan stood, a generation gap arose, with old clan members on one side and small children (mostly orphans) on the other. As a consequence, the newest generation of members of clan McVey grew more and more distant from the clan’s affairs, and did not share the same interest in clan life as their fathers and grandfathers before them did. Although it didn’t seem apparent at the time, the golden age of clan McVey ended the very moment its first member set foot in the fields of war. Most lost their lives there. Lucky ones like Munro came back to tell the tale, but not without a price – his right eye was gouged, when a stray enemy bullet met his head. If it wasn’t for being a steel type and the bullet miraculously not hitting a major vessel, Munro’s fate would probably be the same of his comrades - that and having 4 brains. The bullet wrecked one, but he was still left with 3 brains to make up for that loss.
War aside and with peace returning to the region, Munro’s life was pretty fullfilling after those events, for he was never a ‘mon to dwell much on the past. Scars were forgotten, and whatever happened in the battlefield stayed there for good, burried under merrier memories of the following years. Thus, life went on after the war, and he lived the rest of his days in relative peace by the side of his mates – he soon landed a job in the docks near the area where he lived, and sometimes even joined sailors and fisherman in their journeys (which was probably not the smartest move for a steel type that would sink like a nail should he fall in the sea). Against all odds Munro managed to survive well into his late adulthood. He’s now an old geezer prone too drinking more than he can handle and smoke his pipe too often for his own health – all in all, he’s an odd mix of highlander and scurvy dog, and that reflects in his overall demeanor. He was always prone to drink a little more than he coud handle, and working with gruff sailors for his entire life further developed his taste for good (and copious ammounts!) of beer, nights of drinking and hanging out with his mates at the local pub. Munro was the soul of every party, and it wasn’t rare to see him dancing over tables playing his flamming bagpipes (which he lovingly nicknamed Scorchin’ Angie).
Munro never took much interest in having a family of his own, and the few romantic interests he had didn’t last for long - probably because he prized more the company of his work and clan mates in the local pubs than his girlfriends. He did however have many nieces and nephews to compensate for the lack of children or grandchildren, and he tried his best to teach them the ways of the clan, and they affectionately called him “old uncle Vey” or simply “Pops McVey”. It wasn’t uncommon for him to lead the children without any warning in grand adventures into the highlands or even the sea, which unremarkably greatly worried their parents, despite the fact that they all grew used to it throughout the years.
Despite the happiness that filled almost everyday of Munro’s life however, one thing keep eating away at the back of his mind – his beloved clan. The gap that arose after the war was more evident than ever, with clan members disperse and uninterested in the clan’s affairs. Munro tried to keep up with passing those values to the new generation, but even 4 arms couldn’t handle and teach the young ones everything. Gradually, things started to slow down in activity: meetings were held once a month when once they were held several times in the same period; there was no more interest in teaching younger generations of ‘mons the importance of tradition and the clan’s values; traditions were being lost or forgotten; the influence of the clan in the Town’s council was less and less evident, with other clans overlapping their ideals on top of clan McVey’s. All of this and more saddened Munro to a great extent, and was one of the few things that took the constant smile off the Metagross’ face.
One day however, an odd Circus came to town. Munro, not wanting to pass an opportunity to
get wasted on foreign beer have fun gladly bought a ticket to watch the show and hang around with other visitors and even some circus staff alike. It was already late into the night when Munro was at the counter, ordering one last beer (which were adding up tp the stack he had already gobbled up). All his mates had already left, and he was all but alone. As tried to reach for a couple of coins to pay up for the beers, he realized there were none left in his pocket.
- “Drat, did I really drink that much?...” the Metagross wondered, wobbling a bit as he hopped from the bench. He folded his pockets from inside out and showed them to the bartender “Ahhh lad, looks like I be skint.” he said with a nervous laughter. This wouldn’t have been a problem in any of the pubs in town (as they all knew Munro – and how big his tab tended to be), but this time none of that would help. He was already trying to find some sort of explanation or way out when he felt someone behind him “Bollocks, I be headin’ for the slammer…” he whispered, already prepared for anything. He turned around to see it was that was looming over him, and his single eye met the cold, yet alluring gaze of a Darkrai dressed in circus regalia.
- “Perhaps we can discuss an alternative form of payment.” the legendary stated, with a charming and yet intimidating grin "My name is Valentine Dark, the ringmaster of this illustrious circus." he hummed as he introduced himself, tipping his hat to greet the pennyless Metagross.
Munro exhaled in relief - at least they weren’t outright taking him to the police.
- “I’m all ears laddie, I may have no monny, but I can do sum’ work tah pay up fer this mess.” he laughed, pointing at the stack of empty beer mugs on the counter.
- “Is that so?...” the Darkrai intimidatingly leaned over the shorter Munro, still with a smile plastered on his face, making the Metagross wobble a bit as he eyed the Darkrai suspiciously. “Tell me Mr…?” the ringmaster raised an eyebrow, waiting to figure out what was the name of this broke loser.
- “Munro McVey, from clan McVey nonetheless!” the old Metagross pumped his chest and tapped it proudly with a clenched fist.
- “McVey. Hmmm, I see.” the Darkrai mumbled, faking interest ”Yes, I’ve noticed this Town is riddled with clans. I’m sure your’s is one of the most powerful around here – or am I mistaken?” his grin widened, while in turn Munro’s smile started to fade.
- “Eh, it seen better days mate. Times o’glory be long gone me thinks. Ye know, modern days be upon us, maybe this was bound tah happen sum'day.” Munro said, as he took his cap to nervously scratch the back of his head and adjust his eye patch.
- “This seems to trouble you greatly… you seem to love this clan of yours with all your heart.” the Darkrai said, now with genuine interest.
- “Aye lad, there be few things I love the most!” the Metagross nodded emphatically.
- “I bet you do – say Mr. McVey, should you, let’s say, have a wish…” he straightened his back, and Munro attentively followed his words “… what would it possibly be?”
- “Ah, that’s a though one…” the old man scratched his chin. He was innebriated, but his three remaining brains could still make up for some sort of judgement. But the conversation with the Darkrai made his thoughts drift away to his clan and how hopeless he felt about it. So, he said his thoughts out loud “Ah lad, I wish me clan was as mighty as it was back in the day…” he said, full of nostalgia. “Aye, that would bring a smile to me face.” he chirped, as he looked up to the ringmaster.
- “Your wish is now granted.” Mr. Dark stated, his smile bigger than ever. “I shall be waiting for you soon, Mr. McVey.” The Darkrai said coldly, turning around and disapearing in the shadows as silently as he had appeared.
- “… did the lad go bonkers?... And what does he mean he’ll be waiting fer me, ye didn’t even tell me what I needed tah do!” the Metagross raised his eyebrow, turning to the bartender – but he too was gone. Strange... Shrugging it off and happy he ended up not being charged a dime for all the beer he had drank, he took out a match and lit his pipe in the way back home.
However, he noticed a strange commotion as he got nearer. He heard laughter and the night sky was shinning reddish from bonfires outsider the usual clan’s gathering place. As he loomed closer, he saw something he hadn’t seen for ages – all clan members, young and old alike gathered around the fires, dancing, drinking and overall having an hell of a time. Had the Darkrai really magically pull of some sort of strings to tie the clan back together?
- “Oi mates, what be happenin’ here?!” the old Metagross shouted happily, running to meet his usual drink mates. The party however went silent – dancers stopped their prancing, man set their glasses aside and even the band stopped playing.
- “Who the Hell would ye be?” one of Munro’s long time friends said, closing the circle around the Metagross.
- “Ahah, very funny, ol’Munro can’t be late fer the party and ye lads already forget me name!" he laughed. Surely they were playing a trick on him, which was not unusual. However when people who’d usually not align in such pranks started to really question who he was and raise their voices to try and steer him away from the party site, he started to notice something was really off.
- “Munro McVey? We don’t know any Munro McVey.” one of them said “Ye are mistaken old man, maybe yer senile!” another shouted, making some burst out in laughter.
- “But… but why? Are ye lads pullin’ my leg? It’s not funny anymore, ye know?!” the Metagross whinned as he was escorted away from the party site. Left in under the shade of the night sky and with nowhere else to go, there was just one possibilty – go back to the wretched Circus and make things clear once and for all.
- “Oi mate, what the HELL did ya do?” the Metagross shouted, back to the circus grounds – strangely enough, the Darkrai was the first ‘mon he saw upon arriving. Well, he did tell Munro he'd be waiting for him, but something definitely was off “Me mates not recognizin’ me. Is this sum' sorta joke? Does this have anythin’ tah do with that glaikit wish ye asked me aboot?”
- “Are you not happy with the wish I granted you, Munro McVey?” the Darkrai’s grin was wider than ever, his eyes piercing Munro’s soul.
- “Ye be one lousy wish maker then, ye sheep shagger - I didn’t ask fer everyone tah forget who I am! Jings, I didn’t think ye were serious at all!” Munro shouted, raising his four hands to his head and clenching his hat between his claws “What does it matter if me clan’s the best clan in tha world if I can’t be part of it?!” he desperately shouted. Surely this was a bad nightmare – probably shouldn’t have drank so much beer. Yes, that was probably it. But what the Darkrai said next, brought shivers down the Metagross' spine - very real, cold shivers.
- “Oh, but you do belong to the best and mightiest clan in the world.” The Darkrai said calmly, taking a few steps forward and menacingly looming over Munro, whispering to his ear, his chilly voice stabbing Munro’s very soul “Welcome to Circus Darkrai.” – his fate had finally been sealed as an eternal servant of Circus Darkrai.
Wish: “Ah lad, I wish me clan was as important as it was back in the day…”
Backfire: Munro’s clan is now one of the strongest clans of his hometown, with proud and strong leaders like their forefathers before them. However, none of his former clan mates recognize Munro as a fellow bretheren - in fact, they forgot who Munro was entirely! Also, should Munro ever leave the Circus, the clan will slowly start to fall appart once more, leaving the Metagross with no family or friends (as well as nowhere to return) even if he somehow managed to escape Mr. Dark’s clutches (which he obviously will never be able to MWAHAHAH).
You’d be able to argue that he could always find a new clan to cal his own – but not Munro. For a ‘mon like him, his clan is more than just his family – it’s something he swore everlasting loyalty and protection, and something in which he could rely on if he should ever need anything. He’d give his life or his clan, and he had enough scars on him to prove it. It’s members were more than close relatives or mere drink buddies – they were all part of a tight knit family that Munro loved above almost everything. In his mind (and for almost everyone that hailed from his home Town Geosenge) stripping a ‘mon from his clan or being shunned by it is the worse kind of dishonour and for some, a fate worse than even death itself... So you can imagine how miserable and lost old McVey felt when he returned home only to find once familiar faces eyeing him from tip to toe with suspicious looks, ultimately denying him any possibility of ever returning to the clan. People with which he had grown with, shared experiences and some even seen grow since they were wee little lads, were now gone from his life forever – and with no perspective of ever coming back.
Good hearted: Munro always as a kind word for his friends, even if his choice of words isn’t always the best. He likes to keep younglings under his wings, since they remind him of his nieces and nephews. Always likes to share a good story of his past with the kids and eagerly watches their expressions of awe. He thrives in the company of friends, and would do lift mountains for them. Enjoys their company for long talks about pretty much anything, preferably over a good mug of beer. At the end of the day, you’ll most likely find Munro in the closest bar hanging out with buds. If a bar isn’t close, he’d most likely actively seek out the company of someone with whom he can chit chat nonsense while smoking his pipe. He’s a social butterfly, so everyone is a possible new friend for this old man.
Brave: Or fool, whatever you preffer. He’s known to take more than he can chew, all for the sake of his clan or anything he considers worth fighting for. Will try to solve things over a mug of beer and try to be frienly at first, but if things don’t go as planned, he can turn quite nasty.
Stubborn: Will try to prove his point even when you prove him wrong. Often makes bets about things he’s absolutely sure are true, and in the end turn out to be a bust. If he puts something in that thick head of his, there’s little one can do to stop him from trying to accomplish it.
Knowlegeable: Despite most of the time coming across as an old geezer prone to drunkardness and spew nonsense, Munro’s actually pretty wise if pushed in the right direction. He puts his brains to good use if needed, and even if alcohol sometimes fogs things up a little, he can store incredible ammounts of information, having an outstanding memory. If he could read, he’d probably be able to recite an entire jornal word by word after reading it.
Foul mouthed and loud: Having worked for years in the company of gruff sailors and spending more nights in pubs than anywhere else have made Munro’s choice of words not exactly the most… proper. He won’t outright swear every 5 words, but he isn’t exactly delicate on how he points things out, especially when he is excited or angered. Cover your kid’s ears when Munro’s mad about something, and he’s very passionate about a great deal of things. Munro is not very discrete either, so don’t count on him to keep a low profile.
Hard working: Work is work. Party is party. Munro would rather pay some rounds of beer for the lads in the closest bar, but he has a sense of duty and no one can deny that. He takes his job to the end, no matter what, and despite the fact that he’s an unwilling worker of the circus, he takes his number very passionately. He loves the smiles of awe in the customers faces, and that drives him through the day.
Soul of the party: Munro makes sure everyone around him is having as much fun as he is. He likes to pay rounds to his friends (despite not always having money) and will go to any lenghts to cheer up anyone in the proximity. He’s a reveler, and he makes sure everyone knows that – it’s not uncommon for him to bring his bagpipes and hop onto a table or the counter and start playing.
A bit of a pervert: Good looking women – watch out. Munro is an old fart, but recognizes a good lookin’ lass when he sees one. Don’t get him wrong though, he knows no better - he’s spent all his life working with men with lousy pick-up lines and without a good sense of romance or politeness, so the word gentleman isn’t exactly on Munro’s dicionary. A
good pummeling swift slap to the face would suffice to break the advances of this old geezer though, and with enough beatings persuasion can be quite respectful.
- Munro stashes his tobacco inside his hat.
- Weighs 215 kg, and can be quite hard to move him or lift him if he turns his ability off.
- Despite having been a sailor and dock worker, Munro is actually scared shitless of water (not that he’ll ever tell you that).
- Lost an eye and one of his 4 brains in the war, when he was hit by a stray bullet.
- Most of the time he walks with his feet bare, but will occasionally use some wooden slippers.
- Has some sort of obssession about fire, and will admire any fire type Pokemon.
- His flaming bagpipe is named “Scorchin’ Angie”.
- Also plays concertina and sometimes the armonica.
- Can play two instruments at a time (ahhh, the perks of having 4 hands and 3 brains).
- Munro has a scottish accent, but will sometimes sound more like a pirate due to his days as a sailor and dock worker.
- He’s pretty swift for an old man.
- Can’t read, can only sign his own name (and poorly).
- Won’t say no to a good brawl if provoked, but won’t often be the first to engage the fight.
- Belonged to the V Geosengian Riffleman Division during the war, and thus is pretty skilled with long barreled guns.
- Is pretty short compared to others of his species (he might try to throw you the nearest object available if you point this out).
- Lots of beer;
- More beer;
- Watching things burn (weeeiird);
- A good riddle (even if he can’t solve them most of the time);
- Smoking his pipe;
- The smile on people’s faces;
- Friendly competitions/bets;
- His clan – be it clan McVey or the crew of Circus Darkrai, which he actually grew to consider his new clan.
- Being alone;
- Not being able to cheer someone up;
- Mr. Dark (well duh);
- Running out of beer or tobacco;
- Whiskey (though he feels like a failure because everyone in his clan used to love it over beer).
Earthquake – learnt the trick from a guy in a pub many years ago. He was drunk, and lets just say that the bar was never the same after that day.
Frisbee, disk, or sometimes called plate lizards or “Devil’s Dish”, are a species of lizard originally native to Earth’s Sonoran desert. They were introduced about the same time Neanic Dragons were first released in the colony planet, and cover about the same area as this aerial reptile, which is its main predator.
This horned lizard, like it’s terrestrial counterpart has evolved elaborate camouflage measures to eliminate its shadow. Their bodies are flattened, with the sides thinning to an edge. The animals habitually press their bodies to the ground, their sides being fringed with white scales which effectively hide and disrupt any remaining areas of shadow there may be under the edge of the body. On Nea, this round, disk shaped body shape was further stretched, granting lizards with the best camouflage techniques superiority against their keen eyed aerial predators. They even developed powerful costal muscles that stretch their ribs in na even wider position, that allow them to become even rounder, thus effectively elliminating any traces of their shadow.
Furthermore, different populations of the species match their local backgrounds using a combination of colour-creating cells in their back scales. These cells include black melanophores and red chromatophores in an upper layer, scattered over a layer of white reflective iridophores, enabling the flat-tail horned lizard to match the local soil or rock. In addition, the dark midline helps to disrupt the outline of the lizard, resembling the thin shadows of plant stems in its windswept sand habitat. More recently has been theorized that the dotted pattern some specimens have may mimic an aditional set of eyes, which predators instinctively target, something common to several species that are heavily preyed upon – this additional deceiving camouflage diverts the predator from the real head of the animal, sometimes granting it enough time to flee and live another day.
This was an awesome experience, it feels good to do some non-Pokemon art from time to time.
Spurge Ferrets, or Spurge Ring-tailed Cats are descendants of Earth’s Ring-tailed cats (Bassariscus astutus) hailing from the arid regions of North America. These animals are neither cats, ferrets or even civets though, and instead belong to the racoon family.
Like the name implies, on Nea they sometimes use large Rocket Spurges or other giant cactii species as dens, carving them by cutting a whole through the fleshy exterior of the plant using a set of thickened front claws, taking advantage of weak spots on the plant's surface. While the cavity made by the animal can indeed stunt it's growth, generally isn't fatal for the rocket spurge, as resident ferrets mostly prevent other individuals of their species from cutting aditional holes, being somewhat territorial in a small radious around their dens - presence of other individuals however, especially females, is tolerated in their territories (that are marked with feces in a non-random faction). Spurge ferrets can sometimes be seen grooming one another, but this occurence is rather uncommon - remarkably however, individuals exhibiting this behaviour have been shown to be related, often mothers and their cubs from previous seasons. Ironically though, even though they were named after the main plant that gives them shelter, they seem to preffer rocky formations were they can peacefully bask and find crevices and burrows that they use as lairs, being mostly found in these semi-arid regions.
They were mostly active at night, but after some centuries evolving on Nea, it is now possible to spot these mammals in broad daylight. However, they are still solitary, and still mainly hunt in the cover of the night, when it’s cooler and more feeding opportunities are present. They are omnivorous and opportunist, but seem to have taken a rather curious taste for Bubble Squeakers (Breviceps harenacola) - and seem to have developed an ingenious way to rid their prey of an unpleasant fluid it exudes from the skin on its back. Apparently they find hapless toads (whose main defense mechanism is inflating their bodies) and take them to nearby water pools – unable to swim, the amphibians eventually drown, leaving the cunning predator with a dead frog which just needs to be rinsed clear of the sticky, unpleasant substance that was meant to deter predators. This behaviour hasn’t been documented yet, but judging from the half eaten toads sometimes found floating on shallow pudles close to known Spurge Ferret lairs, this is most likely the case. Camera traps have already been recently set near some of these pudles, but their ephemeral and unpredictable occurence makes confirming this behaviour a hard job.
These mammals now don a much paler fur, with their dark original markings having faded away to a much more paler brown, similar to Nea’s sandy soil. Now their fur coats share a certain resemblance to Fenec Foxes in terms of coloration, though darker individuals reminiscing of their terrestrial ancestors are sometimes spotted in certain areas.
Despite all odds, Spurge Ferrets seem to be easily tameable, and actually make affectionate pets. Similar reports of Earth’s Ring-tailed Cats moving into miners camps are now happening in Nea as well, with several individuals gathering around moisture collecting stations, and generally being welcomed by the overall population. Some even take up living in ventilation towers, and special nets need to be placed in order to prevent individuals from falling in the shafts and blocking the ventilation system – special nesting boxes are placed instead, sometimes even already built on new ventilation towers, so that they can build their lair without any deterimental effect on their life and in the life of colonists. Many of Pogonia’s residents are so fond of this little racoon-like species, that it has become some sort of unnoficial mascot of the settlement in recent years. There is even a legal breeding facility in the outskirts of Pogonia, the only one on Nea, that specialises in breeding tame pet Spurge Ferrets to be sold to the general public.
Almost done creating species for 's contest. One more to go!
Pouncer bats are flightless bats of the genus Molossidae, a robust group bats that were given this name because of their resemblance to shepherd Molossus dogs. Descendants of naked bats (also called bulldog bats) of the species Cheiromeles torquatus, they arrived to Nea shortly after the first bats were introduced, that would later evolve (and be genetically modified into) Nea’s most well recognised flightless bats.
Bearded pouncers, or more simply pouncer bats have adapted to their environment in a similar way other Neanean flightless bats did – the initial lack of predators meant that their already semi-terrestrial lifestyle would shift almost exclusively to a terrestrial one, and in this bat’s case, also arboreal. Bearded pouncers are still capable of rudimentary flight, with small wings almost half their original size, that are safely tucked away in leathery pouches under the armpits. Their primary means of locomotion are divided between gliding from tree to tree or crawling on all fours, in search for potential meals - or using their remaining flight ability to do what they do best, and were named after: pouncing. A bat looking for food will often perch on top of a tree trunk or rock, with their head upside down facing the floor in attack position, leaping onto unsuspecting passerbys, mainly large ground dwelling insects. They have also been seen leaping onto larger prey like small mammals and lizards, but their preference still goes to insects. They have callous, disk shapped pads on the underside of their first finger which presumably functions as a cushioning “paw” at the wrist when the bat is moving about over solid substrate on all fours.
Although they mainly hunt alone or in couples (especially during mating season), they live in groups of up to 30 individuals sometimes even more, that use hollow tree trunks, or in the lack of thereof, rocky crevices or abandoned burrows to nest and roost. Their “nakedness” does not represent a complete lack of fur, but instead their coat is comprised of very sparse, velvety and short fur, the only longer fur being present on its hind legs, throat and some more scattered on the snout, back of head and base of tail. On Earth, this reduction in fur lenght was thought to represent an aerodynamic adaptation to flight, but on Nea that is no longer needed, as they have lost that ability – thus, and confirming that hypothesis, their fur coats are now slightly longer. The curved bristles on the tip of their hind legs are probably used for grooming, and getting rid of skin and fur parasites - another theory also purposes that they might have a role in mating, but this hasn't been confirmed yet. The most striking feature of these bats however is their reddish “beard”, that has given this new neanean species its scientific name, rubarbatum. Originally a small tuft of bristle hairs that covered the gular pouch of these animals, on Nea it grew bigger and more pronounced. It’s thought that this helps bats in their pouncing habits, as the dense fur protects their neck from possible injury, as well as muffling their prey’s struggle, which may alert other potential prey to their presence. Another theory states that bigger beards grant males advantage during breeding. Probably both theories are correct, but nevertheless one thing is certain: this fur tuft conceals a set of glands in males, that exude a pungent smell, granting these bats yet another, rather unpleasant nickname - “stinkers”. Females also possess beard, albeit considerably shorter, another hint that there may be an underlying sexual dimorphism that reflects selection of males with the biggest fur tufts.
Pouncer bats are a relatively common occurence, and are spread throughout many of Nea’s tropical patches of forest, sharing their habitat with many species, including the Phoenix Pheasant, also known as the Clawed Hoatzin. Remarkably, they don’t seem to be bothered by human activity, and will often nest in human constructions. Some populations are actually actively kept and protected near settlements, in order to keep insects and other pests at bay – these specimens are also incredibly tame, and show little to no fear when a human approaches them. Plush toys of Bearded Pouncers are top sellers with tourists hailing from Earth, where this species was relatively unknown to the general public – their cuddly appearence, with facial features almost reminiscing of dogs, ensures that this bat has a place in every child’s heart.