Syrlya | The Commander (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chronosynthesis) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crescentview2022-12-27 05:40 pm
chronosynthesis) wrote in crescentview2022-12-27 05:40 pm
[OPEN]
WHO: Syrlya and You
WHAT: Syrlya gets cursed, and then has one bad day after another so he runs away to the hotsprings
WHEN: ~few days after the spring dance until last day of spring. Closed prompts through end of Summer
WHERE: The farm, around town, the hotsprings
WARNINGS: There is NSFW in these parts
[Do Not Agitate the Goddess (mute) | Edge of the Woods + His Farm]
[Syrlya gave it a few days, at least didn't confront the Goddess about her questionable habits at the dance itself. It doesn't go terribly well.
He marches away from the pond, his expression is twisted into a scowl and fists balled. Anyone who crosses his path in the immediate aftermath is met with irritation, and then a pointed turn of his face away as he marches down the path.
After a few hours he's had some time to cool off--though he's still sulking, toiling on his farm ripping up weeds and pushing new seeds into the dirt. If they didn't have to do this to eat, he'd let this goddess know right where she can--]
[Twice cursed (blind) | Other people's farms]
[Luckily, going mute only lasts for a day, and then it's back to normal. For a couple days, at least. Until he wakes one morning to the room being strangely dark, like the sun itself was snuffed out--no, but it isn't the sun that's the problem. It's his eyes.
The morning is a panic. A level of fear he doesn't often feel as he's suddenly lost the sense most important to him.
The first trip is a stumble to the clinic... unsurprisingly, when dealing with a talking plant it doesn't offer any answers except that they, at least, don't seem to be injured. Nobody there accuses the goddess, but an errant magical effect... Syrlya can only think of one person who is capable.
So, his option is to wait it out for now, see if it clears up on its own. That is... not optimal. But ultimately Syrlya can't find any better options.
Doesn't mean he can't try and do what he needs to. So, using a glittering sword as a makeshift walking stick (watch your feet) Syrlya strides out of the farmhouse.
Or rather, trips out of it, hitting a few walls along the way. And then he's on a truly blind path, tripping and crawling over other people's fences with no real idea of his orientation. Just where he thinks it is. The warmth of the sun isn't helping him as much as he wishes it did.
Anyway. Sorry if he tramples your flowers.]
[Make That Thrice Cursed (table) | The Town]
[The blidnness clears up after two days as if it never happened. So not a malady after all, it seems. So Syrlya goes into town to finish errands he intended to before the weekend. He's just headed down the street with a bag of groceries more varied than the limited vegetables from their garden... when it hits.
A plastic folding end table drops seemingly from thin air and smacks right onto his head. Syrlya buckles with a startled cry, his bag tumbling out of his arms and spilling to the ground.]
((His plotting post is over here if you want a more custom starter or simply something else!))
WHAT: Syrlya gets cursed, and then has one bad day after another so he runs away to the hotsprings
WHEN: ~few days after the spring dance until last day of spring. Closed prompts through end of Summer
WHERE: The farm, around town, the hotsprings
WARNINGS: There is NSFW in these parts
[Do Not Agitate the Goddess (mute) | Edge of the Woods + His Farm]
[Syrlya gave it a few days, at least didn't confront the Goddess about her questionable habits at the dance itself. It doesn't go terribly well.
He marches away from the pond, his expression is twisted into a scowl and fists balled. Anyone who crosses his path in the immediate aftermath is met with irritation, and then a pointed turn of his face away as he marches down the path.
After a few hours he's had some time to cool off--though he's still sulking, toiling on his farm ripping up weeds and pushing new seeds into the dirt. If they didn't have to do this to eat, he'd let this goddess know right where she can--]
[Twice cursed (blind) | Other people's farms]
[Luckily, going mute only lasts for a day, and then it's back to normal. For a couple days, at least. Until he wakes one morning to the room being strangely dark, like the sun itself was snuffed out--no, but it isn't the sun that's the problem. It's his eyes.
The morning is a panic. A level of fear he doesn't often feel as he's suddenly lost the sense most important to him.
The first trip is a stumble to the clinic... unsurprisingly, when dealing with a talking plant it doesn't offer any answers except that they, at least, don't seem to be injured. Nobody there accuses the goddess, but an errant magical effect... Syrlya can only think of one person who is capable.
So, his option is to wait it out for now, see if it clears up on its own. That is... not optimal. But ultimately Syrlya can't find any better options.
Doesn't mean he can't try and do what he needs to. So, using a glittering sword as a makeshift walking stick (watch your feet) Syrlya strides out of the farmhouse.
Or rather, trips out of it, hitting a few walls along the way. And then he's on a truly blind path, tripping and crawling over other people's fences with no real idea of his orientation. Just where he thinks it is. The warmth of the sun isn't helping him as much as he wishes it did.
Anyway. Sorry if he tramples your flowers.]
[Make That Thrice Cursed (table) | The Town]
[The blidnness clears up after two days as if it never happened. So not a malady after all, it seems. So Syrlya goes into town to finish errands he intended to before the weekend. He's just headed down the street with a bag of groceries more varied than the limited vegetables from their garden... when it hits.
A plastic folding end table drops seemingly from thin air and smacks right onto his head. Syrlya buckles with a startled cry, his bag tumbling out of his arms and spilling to the ground.]
((His plotting post is over here if you want a more custom starter or simply something else!))
no subject
Oh? I can't imagine either of those powers would be much hindrance at all to the Goddess's ( question mark ) objectives. If anything, they seem quite fun - the illusions especially.
( Like, this guy is clearly already a plant, so if that wasn't going to stop people from taking him out on dates, a bit of illusion magic and plant-empathy wasn't going to be a dealbreaker. He concludes Syrlya is probably right about power removal being arbitrary. )
As for myself... I suppose it would be easiest to say I'm a nest for insects, among other things.
( As if it were quite normal, he seems to - swallow? - before he opens his mouth and reaching in, pulling out half a handful of something. When he opens his palm, several insects beat their wings - and then light. They seem to be fireflies, drifting about Mishka like a hazy aura as he walks. )
I look much more like you on the inside, if bug-eaten. As you might imagine, a general state of decay, in the great quantities I displayed, did not make intimacy my most popular past-time. Certainly useful, however.
( He's being a little bit more ambiguous in his descriptors just because he's not entirely certain if Syrlya really wants to hear all the details, honestly. He's heard up and down that his whole thing is pretty gross. )
no subject
A nest--[But his expression slips as Mishka seems to--almost gag, and then reach into his mouth and pull out fireflies? What the fuck?]
You're full of bugs? [His voice cracks on the octave. Congratulations, Mishka, for being something that's finally weird to the plant people.] I'm sorry, are you undead?
no subject
No, not at all - simply cursed. Most of my sort end up becoming ambulating creatures that wander about, but my strikingly charming charisma keeps it in check ☆ It's hardly contagious, though, so no need to worry.
( Not an unreasonable warning, considering insects tend to get into everything - perhaps a bigger concern for someone made, apparently, of leaves. )
I've exerted a level of control over its spread, so it's remained thus far on the inside. Perhaps I would look quite startling if I didn't catch it early on!
( Haha! Perhaps! Just kidding, he's lived it, he knows it's bad. But it was freeing, too, to finally let go.
He tucks that last thought away. )
no subject
So... It will kill you eventually? [He may be able to control it now, but there's only so much a body can give to parasites.] I'm sorry, that must be difficult. Is there anything that can be done?
no subject
( He says this as half a joke - grim humor is the best medicine for a terminal condition, but it's not entirely untrue, either. He's had years to make his amends, and he does not regret persisting as long as he has, the way that he's had to. )
If there's a cure, I haven't found it - but life is what it is, yes? I'm certain you've seen this, on your adventures. ( Those grim adventures that had earned such a wry laugh. ) All things decay; some - by design - quicker than others.
no subject
[As for the other matter...] ... And I don't know what the Goddess' plan is but if she really expects all of us to wed, after the initial shock your bugs will surely be tolerable to someone.
no subject
( Sympathy is such a rare thing that the expression of it for mundane misery nearly strikes as condescending - or would, if Mishka were not better than that.
The principles of the people here are terribly curious. Their baseline, it seems, is that misery is undeserved and preventable - curable. At first he considered perhaps it was just those like Amber who held such views, swaddled by an upbringing in an idyllic home - but the more he speaks to others, the more he feels it's perhaps something strangely global in scale, and it was only Etharis in its entirety that had been left out. )
If you seem so certain of my capacity to appeal, then I suppose I have no choice but to have faith! And? What of you? Have you found those who find appeal in the handsome bloom of your foliage?
( He sounds like he's messing with him but he isn't, exactly, he just Talks Like That, )
no subject